FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

---

Deep within the isolated mountain ranges of Gran, and beyond the windswept pines which marked the barbarian lands of Kaal, the duchy of Fales stood obstinately as the longest winter in memory rolled across its countryside. Day after day, night after night, bitter waves of cold wind and ceaseless snow swept across its demesne, covering its valleys, and blanketing the mountains in endless, bitter swells. The frigid touch of winter had reached every corner of the Falesian highlands, and behind it, the distant memory of summer became harder and harder to conjure.

For the humble peasantry of Fales, who were long inured against the northern climate, the snowstorms were just another inconvenience among a long list of grievances shared by the poor of the land. Steadfastly, they endured the winter as they always had... together. They gathered close in small, huddled groups around their sputtering fireplaces, sharing soup, blankets, and stories as the long hours of the winter crawled along outside their huts. On the rare occasions when necessity brought them outdoors, they hurried along about their business, eager to return home. To warmth, and to safety.

Bread still needed to be bought in the markets, however, and animals needed to be fed in their barns. These tasks were about the only reasons one might spot a peasant out and about in that time of season, shivering, and clutching their ragged cloaks close as they tromped through the knee-high snow. Amidst their hurried way, they shot glances full of ire and jealousy up the forbidding face of the nearby mountainside. There, the keep of the local duke looked down upon them from a place of comfortable superiority, high upon the towering, wind-sheared cliffs. Dark, heavy smoke rolled upwards from its old stone halls, suggesting plentiful warmth within.

_ Surely, the duke must be cozy_, they would think to themselves as they fetched their meager meals or cut wood for their fires. He's got serfs to cut his firewood for him, and plenty of warm mead for his table. Must be nice to be friends of the king.

Such thoughts, bitter as they were, never lasted for long. Soon enough the cold would shake the townsmen out of their resentment, and they'd quickly get on about their business, hurrying back to their homes where kin and comforts awaited them. Once inside, they soon forgot about their lordship and his estate, busy as they'd be in the effort to warm themselves in whatever ways that their meager earnings allowed. The peasantry might've had their own thoughts when it came to the duke and his holdings - as peasants always will - but in truth, the duke was not enjoying the comforts of his home.

In fact, he wasn't even there.

High above the humble villages and peasant towns of Fales, the old stone keep of Duke Hebron Dvoracek stood solid and resolute against the bracing gusts of mountain wind. The weathered, grey-stoned castle was one of the oldest buildings in the kingdom, and it bore the wear and scars of a fortress that had seen centuries of war, repair, renovation, and neglect. Mighty armies had once dwelled there in the more glorious days of the kingdom, but on that long, cold eve of winter, the keep was quiet and still. A grave of greater days.

Bereft of armies or noble knights, the only movement in those cold, dusty halls was that of serfs and maids. A cooking woman rubbing her clammy paws together while she waited for her bread to warm in the oven. A lone serf chopping firewood out in the yard, burly and strong, and puffing out his exertion in cool, vaporous clouds. And up in the highest room, the soft sounds of penmanship as the sole noble resident of the castle attended to her correspondence.

_ This is the fourth time this month_, the young doe wrote, her gusty sigh of exasperation lightly lifting the parchment off the desk. A delicate hand reached down to roll the sheet back onto its surface. He's taken the rest of the soldiers with him this time, and the spare horses. He insists that the hunt will be more entertaining with such a crowd at his side. Entertaining! The nerve. Never mind the fact that the raucous noise of their gallivanting will likely frighten off all the beasts of the wood, leaving nothing for the peasant's tables. He's likely hunted the herds to exhaustion by now, and the winter is so long this year... so terribly long. Things must be getting difficult for the people down in the valley. If only we had the benefit of the climate that you enjoy there in the Capital...

Setting aside her ink-stained quill for a moment, the young noblewoman leaned back into the soft cushions of her chair, sighing. Despondently, she looked out over the small pile of letters that she'd written thus far. A neat stack of inked, perfumed parchment sat waiting for wax and seal, and beside those, another heap of papers still awaited her pen.

_ Pointless_, she thought, flicking idly at the billowy feather of her pen. It's still getting worse.

It was out of frustration - and a mounting desperation for distraction - that Lady Helena Dvoracek had taken to writing that evening. With so many long hours of the day left to pass, she'd penned her acquaintances in the distant capital of the kingdom, listing in neat, orderly paragraphs the complaints of her station. It didn't matter to her that such letters likely wouldn't be read for weeks yet, or that her correspondence cost her father a small fortune in courier's fees. No, the letters were mostly for her own benefit, to provide her with a means of venting her emotions. God only knew that the maids and the cooks had listened to her whine enough as the morning had passed.

Of course, whining hadn't helped her. And as much as she loathed to admit otherwise, writing letters, of all things, certainly wouldn't do any better either. Lady Helena might've had a good many friends within the distant, glamorous walls of the capital city, but none of them would be of any immediate help to her now. Even if they had some friendly advice for her situation, it wouldn't reach her desk for weeks yet, by which point the matter would already be resolved. Wringing fretfully at her delicate wrists, now sore from an hour of writing, she stood and turned away from her desk with a huff. Her small hooves clopped daintily as she paced back and forth before her writing station.

"This isn't helping either," she said quietly to herself. Despite her best efforts at remaining calm, a slight twinge of anxiety had found its way into her voice. She tried not to notice it.

The shadow on her windowsill told her that it would still be a few hours before dinner, and yet she'd already exhausted her options for distraction. She'd begun the morning by helping herself to an uncharacteristically-large breakfast: a warm plate of buttery scones, candied nuts, breads with sweet jam, and several glasses of sugared berry tea with warm milk. Alas, this only filled her belly, and did nothing to sate her... other needs. Then, doing her best to excuse herself from the table with some small amount of dignity, she'd retired to her room to practice with her harp. She'd spent a few flustered minutes plinking away at chords and exercises until that too became an effort in futility. Embroidery came afterwards, with well-practiced movements stitching the emblems of her house and heraldry into soft sheets of fabric. Now writing...

No use. Nothing helped... for amidst it all, the wet, aching need between her legs had stubbornly refused to be ignored. It was maddening.

A weak, defeated sigh eased itself from her slender throat, and she stopped pacing to lean against the cold, stone wall of her room. The chilled surface of the brickwork offered a brief moment of relief, but only a moment. She was deep in the throes of her first heat. Supposedly a proud moment for any lady, but for her, it was agony.

"A walk," she decided, huffing quietly against the stone. The soft, tawny hide of her cheeks had already started to turn flush. "Some fresh air will do me nicely."

Slipping a heavy, woolen overcoat atop her slim gown, Helena left the comforts of her maidenly chambers behind, fleeing out into the familiar halls of Keep Kaderabek. It was already deep into the late months of the winter, and the old stone halls of the keep were frigid despite the torches that the serfs had put up at every corner. Frigid, and quiet. The castle was deathly still despite the daylight hour. Empty.

Her father, the Duke of Fales, was down in the capital on the business of the King, while her brother Malek was out on one of his incessant hunts in the nearby countryside. They'd robbed the keep of almost all its soldiers between the two of them, leaving her alone with a small contingent of maids, servants, cooks, and serfs. The silence did nothing to help her condition, of course. She could still hear her own blood - hot and wild despite her calm pace - running through her long ears as she made her way downstairs.

She strode through the halls with no particular direction in mind, keeping her pace steady and her back straight as she'd been taught. In the absence of her father and brother, she was the highest nobility left in the keep, and it was her responsibility to maintain the presence and dignity of the family in their absence. She passed through silent, dusty halls, long abandoned, and from there found herself wandering on instinct into the candle-lit study of her father.

That turned out to be a mistake; the scent of a strong, healthy male buck nearly made her breathless, and she swiftly left the cozy, dimly-lit chamber behind, wondering why she'd even gone there at all. Ever since she was a fawn, it'd always been a place of comfort and peace. Now... it just reeked of something which only agitated her.

_ Mortifying_, she thought, stopping briefly to catch her breath. I should stay clear of brother's chambers as well. Bad enough that father's scent has such an effect on me.

After that, the young doe found herself moving quickly despite her best efforts at self-control. It wasn't long before she arrived at the end of her route, having passed through one torch-lit corridor after another until she breached even the exterior doors of the keep. The cold, wintry air blasted across her thin form as she pulled the heavy, oaken doors open, revealing the frigid expanse of the courtyard. From the threshold, she could see the whole of her family's estate spread out before her.

Their castle had been constructed in a roughly rectangular form, with the great stone walls of their keep encircling the soldiers' barracks, the courtyard, the old church, and a few of the servant's buildings, all of which sat astride the manor where her family resided. The courtyard's lush gardens had long-since frozen over, and the trees which grew up alongside their wrought-iron borders huddled close together, as though seeking warmth from each other. Their long, bare limbs wrapped around each other in a skeletal embrace, bereft of leaves. A thick layer of snow blanketed the ground at their roots. It'd be months still before it thawed.

On any other day, there would normally be a guardsman or two out in the courtyard to watch over the old gates of the keep, but the portcullis stood unmanned as Helena stepped out from the warm shelter of the hall. The whole courtyard was likewise abandoned. The flowerbeds had all shriveled and grown grey in their beds, and the graves in front of the church sagged in the frozen dirt, leaning against each other like tired old men. Neither bird nor beast could be seen amongst the frostbitten, snow-dusted foliage of the gardens. With the exception of the drifting snow, the scene was as still as a painting.

Then, just as Helena thought she was alone, a swift, sudden noise caught her attention. Her long ears swiveled towards the sound.

"Chock!"

There, under the cover of the slender trees which lined up along the western wall, one of the castle's serfs was busily laboring over a pile of firewood. His massive form rose up briefly as he hefted his axe, before falling once again with a sharp, practiced movement, cleaving the block in two. Chock! For a brief moment, Helena simply stared at the hulking figure, captivated by his rugged appearance. She felt no shame in staring, confident in the fact that he hadn't yet noticed her.

He was one of the kholops, the bearfolk serfs that'd been captured in battle by her grandfather during the Barbarian Wars, many years ago. Despite the bitter cold of the season, she was surprised to see that the serf hardly wore any clothing: a dirty pair of old, torn breeches provided him with some modesty, and an open sackcloth vest sat atop his broad shoulders, straining to contain the burly muscles of his back and chest. She knew that the serfs of the keep were afforded few luxuries, but she was amazed that he didn't at least have a coat, or a cape, or something of the sort. He must've been freezing. But then again...

"Chock!"

The doe blinked, astounded as she abruptly realized something odd about the brawny figure. Taking a careful step around the frost-bitten perimeter of the gardens, she dared approaching to observe him more closely. Sure enough, she was right; the bear had no snow upon his shoulders! She watched in awe as a thin veneer of steam rose up from his hulking form, floating in a haze towards the bare limbs of the trees above. His dark, rough fur was damp from the snow, but not a single trace of it lingered upon him. It seemed as though the mere warmth of his body heat was enough to melt the snow, just as soon as it touched him.

_ Remarkable_, she thought, gawking without even realizing it. So warm... even out here in the dead of winter. I'd always heard that the kholops were a sturdy sort of folk, but this...

Suddenly, the serf stopped in his labors, turning his broad head aside to look in her direction. He was... older than she'd thought at first glance. His face was hoary and grizzled, and weathered by years of forced labor. A long, grey beard hung limp against his chest. Beneath a heavy brow, his dark, sunken eyes regarded her calmly. His expression betrayed no hints of emotion.

Helena froze in her place as he looked down at her, caught in some deeply-ingrained instinct. Despite her position, she almost felt as though she needed to apologize to the serf, as though she'd intruded upon him somehow... upon him, even though this was her family's estate. Her words got stuck in her throat. The bear, for his part, said nothing. His soft, wet nose twitched as he looked back at her.

Very suddenly, Helena recalled why she'd left her room in the first place.

"Lady Helena!"

A familiar, wavering voice abruptly called out to her, breaking through the tenuous silence of the moment. Turning back towards the sound, the doe looked behind her towards the door of the keep. A faint smile crossed her lips. It was Mara, one of the older maids who'd been attending to her since she was just a fawn. She must've noticed her absence, sweet thing that she was.

The withered old shrew was already shuffling out towards her, trudging through snow that reached up to her knees, and reaching out with a shaky paw for Helena to come back inside. Her thin, ragged shawl fluttered across her narrow shoulders. If she were any more frail-looking, Helena suspected that the breeze would simply carry her away.

"What in God's name are ya doing out and about in this dreadful chill, my lady?" she asked, shaking her white-furred head. She tossed an annoyed look over at the burly serf, who only stared back at her impassively; it was a moment's exchange of emotions, too quick for Helena to understand. Then the maid quickly pulled her back inside, and Helena didn't bother to resist. She followed Mara back into the warm shelter of the halls, away from the bitter cold and the dark, inscrutable eyes of the kholop. For reasons she couldn't entirely understand, she almost felt relief to be out of his sight.

"You'll let in the whole winter, keepin' the door open like that, young Miss. Far too cold to be out and about, especially in a little coat like that."

The maid busily got to work, wiping away at the little patches of snow which had drifted onto Helena's clothing. In truth, the doe hadn't even noticed. Now that she was back inside, however, she only just began to realize how cold she'd been out there.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she murmured, letting the old shrew work. Mara had served as both her governess and her caretaker ever since her own mother had passed from the ague, and the maid was one of the only peasants in the keep with whom Helena felt she could be honest. She looked down, noticing the snow which clung to her servant's tattered skirts. She felt some shame for it.

"Forgive me," Helena continued. "I've been a bit... scatterbrained of late. I haven't been feeling well, you know."

The maid finished cleaning off Helena's coat, giving a few cursory sniffs about the air with a wrinkled snout. She nodded sagely. "Oh yes, I can imagine. First heat, and all that. A terrible time for a young lady."

Helena blushed. It was hardly a matter that she felt appropriate discussing with a peasant, kind and wise as Mara might have been. Taking the noblewoman by the paw, the old shrew guided Helena back into the heart of the keep, and back up the stairs towards her chambers.

"Suppose it's for the best that the soldiers are all out today," Mara said, groaning as she reached the top of the stairs. "Not right to have a lady hereabouts with such a condition, and no father in sight. His Lordship should've known better. You're about the age, after all."

"Excuse me, Mara..."

The shrew made a face, winking. "What? No need to be shy about it with me, missy. Who do you think helped your mother with these very same problems? If not me, who else? We're both women, my lady."

Returning the doe to her rooms, Mara gave her a knowing smile. "It'll pass, miss. Always does. Give it the day, and you'll feel right as rain tomorrow. It never lasts long."

Helena nodded, despite her reservations to discuss the subject. She supposed that she did trust Mara's judgement, after all. The maid had been a dependable part of the keep's staff since long before her own birth, and she'd seen more winters than her, her brother, and her father put together. Since her mother's passing, many years ago, the old shrew was the only other person in the keep whom Helena could trust with this sort of matter.

"But, what do I do about the... the symptoms?" she asked quietly.

The maid waved a paw, as though the question was of no great concern. Surely, at her age, she'd dealt with more heat seasons than one could easily count.

"Take a handful of snow from the windowsill," she said. "Put it into a bowl. Let it melt, and then just dip a rag into the cool water to wash yourself. The chill will keep back the heat. Just don't go giving yourself a cold." She gripped the doe's paw, squeezing it firmly.

"Don't you fret now, miss. This just means that you're growing up. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all. Now, you just stay in your room, and keep yourself cool. We'll see you downstairs for supper, same as always."

Giving her lady one last, reassuring smile, the maid then left Helena to herself, closing the door behind her as she went. A moment passed. Then another. Helena waited for the soft sound of the shrew's footsteps to fade back down the hall, before following her advice. Placing her snow-dampened coat back upon the wall rack, she quickly removed her dress and undergarments before setting them neatly aside. Now that she was inside of the keep once again, her hide was already starting to grow warm, and sweat beaded upon her fur like little jewels of moisture. The scent of her heat filled the room, cloying the air.

_ Absurd_, she thought. It'll likely take ages to get the stench out of the linens.

Making her way over to the windowsill, the doe drew open the closed shutters and let the panels open, allowing the chilled air to sweep inside through a narrow slit. From this little opening, she reached out and scooped up a small pile of snow from the ledge, gathering the frozen clump in her palm before placing it into her handkerchief. It swiftly melted there, just as Mara said it would. Then, Helena wasted no time in pressing the icy, damp material between her legs. A shudder immediately rolled across her thin form, and she stifled a cry at the frigid touch.

"Oh, noooo," she moaned. "No. God... there simply must be a better way than this."

Lifting the sodden cloth up from between her thighs, Helena looked down at herself in shame. Her folds - usually a soft shade of pink, and discreet - had become puffy and enflamed over the last several hours. She was incredibly sensitive. Heat radiated from her, as though she were fevered.

Sighing, the young doe went back to her bed, sprawling out upon it and closing her eyes as she pressed the chilled cloth back up against herself. The cold dampened the warmth that she felt there, but only superficially. Deeper within, her body still felt aflame with desire. She wasn't a child... she knew what it was that her body wanted. She bit her lip as the wettened fabric slid gently against her, moving against heated flesh, and jarring her as it rubbed past the soft, pink hood of her clit.

_ It'll pass_, she told herself. Every maiden goes through this. I have plenty of snow, and plenty of linens... I just need to stay here and let it pass.

It was one thing to tell herself that, of course, but another entirely to experience it. The cloth warmed up far too quickly, and she was forced to make several trips back and forth to the window for snow to cool it down. Soon, the soft sheets of her bed were damp from the melted ice, and from her own wetness. Hardly an hour had passed since Mara had left her.

It was in that state - with her head thrown back against the soft, warm pillows of her bed, biting her lip as she tried to keep herself calm - that she finally allowed her finger to dip lightly into herself. Her body reacted immediately; she clenched hard, stifling a helpless moan into her pillow as her finger slipped further and further within. There, buried into the knuckle, she allowed herself to feel pleasure despite knowing the consequences.

A doe's heat couldn't be satisfied with her fingers alone. She'd tried it that very morning, and already knew well how worse it made things. Even as she touched herself in every way that she knew how, rubbing at delicate, warm flesh and stroking at sensitive nerves, all she did was further stoke the fires that already lingered in her belly. The need boiled below her gut, furious, nearly-painful. She whimpered desperately into the pillows. The rag had been left behind by that point, tossed onto the floor.

"Unfair," she sobbed into the sheets. Unfair, that she had to go through so humiliating a condition, while her brother got to traipse across the countryside, free as a songbird. How could she expect to cope with such a terrible thing? Unbearable, unreasonable...

"Chock!"

The sudden sound drew Helena out from the depths of her frustrated ecstasy. With her fur dampened and tousled with sweat, she turned to look at the window, abruptly recalling that she'd left it open. Praying that no one had heard the sounds she'd made, she hurried over to close it. As she made her way across her chambers to the window however, she caught a glance outside. The sight froze her in place.

There, out in the yard, the kholop serf still labored over his pile of firewood, stoically hacking away at one block after another. That thin veneer of steam still rose up from his hulking musculature, hinting at the immense heat which rolled off of his form. Helena found herself staring at the serf for far longer than she knew she ought, admiring him, without even knowing why. She'd never found the slaves to be particularly interesting before. They were boorish, uneducated, unmannered, and besides, it wasn't proper for her to speak with them, as they were below her station.

Nevertheless, the young noblewoman was inexplicably captivated by the sight of the bear, lost as he was in his labors. Hidden by the soft, pale curtains of her window, she watched him with wide eyes, letting her gaze drift over the rough curves of his body. He was so terribly masculine, she thought. So crude, in that barbarian sort of way. She supposed that she'd seen him many times over the years, working on the grounds, and such, but she couldn't for the life of her remember his name. She snorted brusquely.

_ What does it matter_, she thought. But then her eyes rolled back down to the white expanses of the courtyard, back to him, and suddenly, she found her hand slipping back between her sopping thighs. An obscene thought pressed itself into her head as she continued to watch the brutish serf work, and as her finger slid back inside. A tremor passed through her.

She imagined - appalled at herself for even doing so - what the bear would look like without clothes on, of any kind. Even worse, what they would look like, together, in such a state. The mere thought was absurd, and yet, as she delicately fingered at the damp petals of her sex, it stirred her in ways that she'd never imagined. Her body tensed suddenly as a rush of pleasure shot through her, and she bit her lip once more to prevent a bleated moan from escaping her. Down below, the serf labored on, completely oblivious to the effect he was having on her. She almost hated him for it.

A dozen ideas swam through the doe's head as she pleasured herself there by the windowsill, her legs trembling in bliss. A part of her screamed to punish the bear for instilling such dreadful thoughts into her body, but others... others... told her that this was the solution to her problems. That lowly slave could do for her what that frigid cloth could never achieve. With her mouth slightly parted, and her hand dipped between her legs, Helena sighed softly. A gust of breeze stirred the curtains, causing her soft, pink nipples to harden.

_ It's so cold out there_, she thought to herself. She knew where the thought was going. Addled by her heat, she ignored the thousand reasons why it never should have come to pass.

_ Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to invite him inside... to warm up._

---

In truth, Pavel didn't mind the cold.

"Cold is good for the tribe, rebenok," his father once told him. "It weeds out the boys from the men, and the sick from the strong. The cold doesn't kill you quickly like a kop'ye or an arrow in the back. It takes its time with you, makes you fight it, wears you down if you let it. A strong man can carry the cold on his shoulders for days. A weak man will die to it, and let himself be buried by it. Which of those men will you be, Pavel?"

Strong words. Pavel remembered them fondly, even decades later. It was, in fact, one of the few memories from his youth that the old serf could still conjure up with any measure of accuracy. He recalled so crisply the cold mountain air of the north, the towering pines rising up all around him, like giants, and the safety that he felt with his brothers, his tribe... as for his father - that tall and imposing figure from his cub years - the image was harder to conjure. He paused for the briefest moment in his work, axe raised high above his greying head.

"Chock!"

No use. It was too long ago now. He'd forgotten his face.

Ironically, it wasn't the snow or the cold which'd killed his father. It was the arrows and the kop'ye, which he'd so easily mocked. Their tribe had been attacked by the yuzhnyye muzhchiny, the Southern Men, and his father was one of many who'd been slain in the ensuing battle. Pavel himself had only been a cub at the time. Too young to fight. Too useful to be left behind. His fate wasn't to die in the battle like his father. Puffing out a breath of warm, foggy air, the serf lined another block up on the stand.

No. It was the long, cold death of servitude which would be his end. He had been taken in as a serf, now nearly fifty years ago.

"Chock!"

Lifting up his axe, Pavel swung it down with a swift, practiced movement, cutting through the block of frozen wood with effortless ease. He'd been chopping wood like this for as far back as he could remember. Cutting firewood, lifting brick pallets, hauling wagons. Working for the Southerners had given him a body that even his father might've envied, and yet it did him little good. The cold was his only real enemy out here, always present, always biting at him from all sides. Muscles didn't help. His broad form steamed as the snow melted atop his shaggy, greying hide, and his breath came out in thick, humid gusts as he swung, restacked, and swung again.

He endured it. He'd worn such cold for years, after all. Such was his work.

With a gruff sigh, the old bear bent down to prepare yet another block for the stand. Beneath his heavy brow, his dull, amber eyes focused only on the next act. He didn't even turn to look when the lord's daughter approached him once again from across the courtyard. He didn't need to. He could smell her long before she came within earshot.

"Excuse me," she eventually called out to him. She'd stopped a few feet away from his pile, lingering by the frozen borders of the garden like a thin willow, her cloak billowing in the snowy breeze. Her voice was reedy and thin. She sounded almost distraught.

"Sir? A moment, if you could spare it?"

Even after decades of living amongst them, Pavel understood only a little of the Southerners' language. It'd never been formally taught to him, and the locals had no patience for teaching serfs like himself. He knew the words that he needed for work, and the words for eating and resting. Only what was essential. Still, recognizing that he was being addressed by one of the nobles, he dutifully hefted his axe over his shoulder and stood, groaning a bit as he rolled his aching shoulder. He easily towered over the doe, and from his great height he looked down at her.

She was clearly deep in her first heat, the poor thing. The ripe smell of it clung to her elegant clothes, profound and heady, and it drowned out the fine perfumes that she'd vainly used to try and cover it. The combined stench made his nose twitch. Fertile, the scent told him. Ready. He ignored the thought. It came from an ugly, animal part of him, one long subdued beneath labor and weariness.

"It must be cold out here," she continued softly, shivering in the snow. Pavel didn't immediately respond to her. Was that a question? A statement? Had he misunderstood her? Of course it was cold. That was obvious.

"We've enough firewood," she went on, gesturing towards the growing stack behind him. He turned back towards it, blinked stoically, and then looked back to her. Despite her high station, she seemed hesitant to meet his gaze... quite unlike her father, the lord of the castle. He shrugged at her words.

"Rabota dolzhna byt' sdelana," he said gruffly, reaching up with a heavy paw to scratch at his chin. Her eyes followed his claws, wide like a child's. He supposed that she rarely got this close to kholops like himself. "Rabota... the work... needs doing."

She nodded, but otherwise didn't budge. Odd. The young lady of the house had always seemed like such a timid little thing to Pavel, but then again, they'd never much had the occasion to speak before. Her responsibilities kept her mostly in the manor, where ladies belonged, and his in the courtyard. Until now their contact had been mostly incidental. He'd watched her grow up from a distance, seeing her play in the gardens as a young fawn, or catching glimpses of her fair face through her window on long, cold nights. Eventually, she spoke up again.

"You needn't cut any more for the day. You can stop for now." She pointed towards the axe, insistent now.

A moment passed as he tried to parse through what she'd said. Oh, he thought.She wants me to stop... my work must've just interrupted her nap, or something like that.

Shrugging his shoulders once more, he rumbled an apology in his native tongue, and set the axe on the ground near his pile. He certainly wouldn't complain about getting the chance to have an early start on his other chores. But as he made to turn back towards the servant's quarters, she suddenly darted forward and grabbed at his paw, stopping him. The bear froze in his tracks, his haggard face drawing up in surprise as she held him. Her hand was so small, it could fit neatly into his palm.

"I-I don't think your, uh... abode is quite warm enough," she said. Her cheeks were rosy. Small bits of snow were beginning to build up on her coat. "You should come inside the manor, where it's warmer."

Pavel blinked in confusion. He wasn't allowed inside the castle. The last time he'd gone in there was to beg for food from the maids, back when he was just a scrawny cub, freshly delivered from a cage. He looked hesitantly up towards the manor, doubt written on his grizzled old features. She seemed to sense his concern.

"Please, don't worry. I promise that you won't get into any trouble."

_ Easy enough for her to say_, he thought. Her silly little games could earn me a few new scars. Shaking his heavy head, he murmured a few words of apology, doing his best to explain himself in a spattering of mixed languages. He didn't dare try to pry his paw away from her - it would be the height of danger to touch her against her will - but he did pull gently back towards his hut.

She didn't budge. Worse still, the poor thing looked so terribly hurt as he tried to get away, that he almost recanted. Her slim body trembled beneath her cloak, and her eyes were desperate... perhaps almost fearful. Suddenly, she steeled herself. A look of resolve came over her lovely features, and suddenly she looked very much like her father. She spoke to him again, this time with a commanding voice. It wavered only slightly.

"You_will_ join me inside the manor. Now."

There was no room for argument in that tone. If he dared to deny an order from one of the lord's children, he'd be in for a world of pain when the soldiers returned. A low rumble of unease was all the complaint that she got. Bowing his head, he followed the doe back towards the manor, towards the home of his conquerors, which he'd never dared to trespass.

He hoped whatever game she was playing at wouldn't take long.

---

Helena led the serf back through the dark halls of Keep Kaderabek, taking care to avoid the kitchens and the servant's quarters as she guided him towards her chambers. Despite his surly appearances and obvious strength, he seemed just as terrified as a child sneaking about in the pantry. His expression was wary, anxious, and she found no small measure of mirth in watching him pad quietly through the cold corridors. Now that they were inside, together, the rush of what they were doing seemed all the more real, and she struggled to keep a calm demeanor as she hurried him up the stairs.

Blessedly, they reached her rooms with no interruptions. There was a brief hiccup when the serf refused to go inside - planting himself like a tree in the hallway, and stubbornly shaking his heavy head at her request - but eventually her own will won out. She pleaded, and then whispered threats, most of which he probably couldn't understand. Eventually he gave a low, grumbling sigh and ducked inside. She followed him gleefully, shutting and locking the latch behind them.

Once inside, the old bear simply stood by the door. His great, burly arms were tucked neatly at his sides, and although his head was hung low, his eyes wandered around the room, watchful. Helena supposed that he'd never been in a noblewoman's bed chambers before. She could only wonder at the differences that might've existed between her posh residency and wherever it was that he slept.

In any case, it hardly mattered. Taking the cloak from her back, she hung it up on the wall and turned towards him, doing her best to smile. "Well, isn't this cozy?" she asked, clasping her hands before her hips. The bear merely stared back at her.

"I suppose that you're not much of a conversationalist, are you? I can't imagine that you've any experience with the gentry, but that's hardly your fault, now is it? Let's start with names, perhaps." She gestured towards herself. "I am Lady Helena Dvoracek. You are?"

For a brief moment, the bear simply watched her, his somber eyes flicking from her hand to her face. Then he seemed to understand the nature of her question, and he gently tapped at his chest with a broad paw. "Pavel," he said gruffly. The word brought a smile to the doe's face. She simply adored the sound of the serf's voice. So rough. So powerful and raw, without any effort. It was marvelous, in the basest sort of way.

"Pavel? Lovely name, that."

There were so many different things she could say now that introductions were complete. She could offer to get them drinks, tea perhaps, or snacks. She could show him what she'd learned about the harp, or allow him to see the work that she'd made with her embroidery. These were the first ideas that jumped to her mind, and for good reason. They were the sorts of things that a noblewoman would offer to a guest, and the only things she was accustomed to offering.

But none of that was what she really wanted. Helena's smile faded slowly as she recalled the reason that she'd brought him there. She really didn't need to bother with formalities for a slave... did she? By the doorway, Pavel had hung his head down once again, and his eyes had demurely fixed themselves upon the floor.

"Pavel," she said, drawing his attention. When he was looking at her once again - those big, golden eyes fixated on her body, in the same way that she'd looked at him from above - she acted.

With a movement so slow and careful that it may as well have been choreographed, she reached up towards the small clasps that held her dress across her shoulder. Her hand trembled as her fingers slid across the cool metal. For a moment she hesitated, considering what she was about to do, and what it might mean for her and the serf. Then the need between her legs overpowered any reluctance she might have felt. With a swift movement, she popped the clasp free. Her dress slid down her narrow shoulders, falling into a pool about her hooves with a soft sound.

The serf's breath caught in his throat. To her pleasure, his mouth hung open in shock as his eyes affixed themselves to her naked form. For Helena, it was the first time that a man had ever seen her in such a state, and a small part of her was thrilled that it was with someone like Pavel, a man of no consequence or noble birth. Her nipples stiffened in the cold air, and for the briefest second, she saw him look there. He swallowed.

"Ehr...y-ya... ya dolzhen idti," he finally managed to stammer. Despite all the confidence that one would expect a creature of his size to carry, his voice was quavering. Weak. He took a step back from her then, clumsily reaching out towards the door. Of course he would try to flee, she thought. Moving quickly, she pressed herself up against the door's frame, barring the path with her own naked form. Pavel's face immediately looked away from her.

With no other way out, the serf merely stood there by the doorway, doing his best to keep himself turned aside. As though somehow, he could still preserve her modesty simply by looking the other way. Quietly, he mumbled words in that surly, Northern tongue. Apologies, most likely. Perhaps begging to leave. Helena didn't know. More importantly, she realized that she didn't care. Between her legs, her body was afire with want.

"You will not leave," she told him firmly. The confidence in her own voice surprised her. She couldn't recall ever having been so commanding with a serf before. Distantly, she recognized how unlike herself she sounded in that moment. "Do you understand me?"

Pavel said nothing in response. His massive body shook gently, although he made no sound. He still refused to look at her.

"You will not leave," she repeated. "You will stay, Pavel. That is an order."

Again, nothing.

"Pavel... look at me."

This command, he seemed to understand. Helena suspected that the serf had served her family for decades, and it seemed as though the long years of Pavel's service had made him into an obedient slave, if nothing else. Slowly, with a miserable expression, the bear turned his head back towards her, eventually raising his eyes to meet her own. With his gaze firmly held, she repeated herself one last time, for emphasis.

"Stay."

This time, Pavel nodded. Satisfied, Helena slowly pushed herself free from the doorframe, taking her time to make her way over to the bed. The smooth linens still reeked of her heat, but it wasn't an unpleasant scent, now that she was indulging in it. She leaned back against the vast, sumptuous expanse of her pillows, relaxing, before turning her gaze to meet the serf's. He looked back at her with a hollow expression.

_ Annoying_, she thought to herself. He ought to be more grateful. I could have chosen anyone for this, a prince, or a lord, and yet... he's still looking at me like that. Perhaps, if things were a bit more even...

"Now," she said, gesturing with a finger. "I want you to take off your clothes, serf."

Her words were met with a blank, vacant stare. She'd expected surprise, or at least something along those lines. But then she chided herself silently. Of course, he probably just doesn't understand. She reiterated, a slight strain of impatience now tinting her voice.

"Your clothes," she repeated, pointing at his own garments. "Now."

_ That_, he understood. A slight, trembling shudder of pleasure ran along the length of the doe's spine as she saw the look of disbelief on his face... and then the defeat. He was hers, she realized. She owned him. All of those muscles, all of that power, and yet Pavel couldn't muster even a drop of resistance to deny her. He was bigger than her, stronger than her, and more powerful than anyone else currently in the keep, in almost every way... except the one that mattered. A devilish smile swept across her fair features. If she wanted to, she realized that she could end his life with just the mere suggestion of what was occurring between them. A word or two in her father's ear would be all that it took. The power thrilled her.

"Strip", Helena said again. Her voice dripped with newfound confidence. "Now."

Slowly, hesitantly, the bear obeyed her command. With a rolling shrug, he shucked off the last, tattered scraps of the burlap vest which covered his shoulders. He kept his eyes lowered while he worked, fixating them on some imperfection in the floorboards while he pulled one beefy arm free, and then another. When at last he'd fully removed the garment, the brawny serf looked around himself as though he were unsure of where to put it. The old bear seemed reluctant to even insult the floor with the filth of his clothing. Without any obvious solution present, he simply held it in one meaty paw, standing bashfully with his other arm draped across his chest. A look of shame was stamped upon his muzzle.

The vest had hardly hidden anything before its removal, but Helena was still gratified to be able to see her servant's body without it. He was a marvel of masculinity. The wide expanse of his chest was covered in a thick forest of rough, russet fur, with a denser patch of darker hide that sprouted up from between the firm, imposing mounds of his pectorals and trailed down the line of his gut. The faintest hint of Pavel's nipples - thick, dark mounds of flesh - could be seen amongst the thicket, with the cold no doubt causing them to peek out from the crests of his chest. Further down, Pavel's prodigious belly hung just over the waistline of his trousers, its dark fur speckled with flecks of grey. It wasn't the sort of paunch that the fat, spoiled nobles of the capital bore. His came solely from his bruin nature, a wall of muscle and thick padding that helped him to survive in the frigid winters of the north.

Even if he hadn't found the nerve to deny his mistress, Pavel was still clearly uncomfortable with her ogling. He moved those shovel-like paws of his in a futile gesture to cover the exposed fur of his chest. Atop his broad, greying head, his ears splayed to their sides in an obvious display of distress. "Pozhaluysta," he begged her softly. His low, rumbling voice sounded ridiculous in pleading tones. Standing there in such a humble and ashamed pose, Pavel seemed almost like a giant dog who'd been chastised for chewing on the furniture.

"Ne delay... ne delay etogo so mnoy-"

"The breeches as well," Helena said, interrupting his protests. Now that he'd been with her for some time, Pavel's scent was finally getting to her, and she wanted to hasten things along. The old serf smelled like pine and sweat, like the brisk cold of winter and the heat that one sought to escape it. She wanted to wrap herself up in his warmth and savor it until the long frost had passed... God above, she wanted everything from him, and she didn't care what it might cost him.

"The breeches," she repeated, this time gesturing towards the careworn pants that clung to his thighs. The garment had clearly been made when Pavel was much younger and smaller. It was torn in several places, and the cheap fabric strained to contain the heavy musculature of his legs. Between them, a promising bulge attracted her gaze, and she felt the space between her thighs tighten hungrily as she eyed it.

There was a brief moment of hesitation as Pavel considered her command. He even dared to look her in the eyes momentarily, but it was a fleeting, pleading glance. Whatever he saw in her, it didn't suggest that there was any room for argument. A deep, anxious sigh rolled out from his chest... and then he obliged. Gulping audibly, he brought those big paws of his to the waistline of his breeches and tugged them down.

"Oh," she said. Her eyes widened. "Goodness... so that's what it looks like."

Helena had never seen a man's body in any sort of intimate light before. Of course, in the years of her budding maidenhood, she'd watched a few of the laborers at work in the summertime, their shirts tossed over their shoulders or tucked into their belts as they tended to the courtyard gardens. She remembered staring at the muscles of their tawny bodies - their hides glistening with sweat - and the flush that went across her cheeks as she admired their forms. She'd read long, steamy stories in the letters of her friends from the capital regarding their escapades with the sons of nobles and couriers from faraway lands, but the details were always scarce. Here before her, she finally saw the truth of what males were.

Like the horses and dogs that her brother took out to hunt, Pavel had a sheath that poked out from just beneath the line of his belly. Fat, squat, and slightly rounded like the rest of him, it sat amidst a dense bush of dark, curly, pubic fur that covered his lower belly and inner thighs. Below his sheath, a pair of full, heavy-looking testicles kept close to his body. Even from the bed, the scent of them struck her like a tidal wave, and she sucked in a deep breath of it without a second thought. The sound she made then seemed to frighten Pavel. Almost immediately, he covered himself with the paw that held his vest. A look of terrible fear swept over him.

"Pozhaluysta," he repeated. "Please... no. U tebya techka."

She couldn't care less that he was afraid. After what she'd just smelled - after what her body had told her - she wouldn't brook any argument. Rising off the bed, she stood and approached him, dropping to her knees. The fat, heavy-looking mass of his sheath jutted out from below his belly towards her, and without hesitation, she pressed her slender snout forward, burying it in the space where his sheath met his testicles. Her cold, wet nose caused him to shudder slightly, but otherwise he stayed perfectly still.

Up close, the scent of him was unreal. Primal, earthen, saturated in masculinity... it stuck to the back of her throat as she took in deep breaths of him, moving her nose along the length of his sheath to take it all in. Her lips parted, and without thinking, she kissed him there, raking her snout through the dense bush of his pubic fur. Her lips graced across his sack, huffing softly, like an addict.

"Please," he stammered again from above her, helplessly. His massive paws were bunched at his sides. "Please... eto ne pravil'no."

She ignored him. By now, she'd gone too far to simply let him go. Horrible as it was, she knew that she had all the power here. As though to prove it to herself, she reached towards him then, feeling the bear's body seize up and go rigid as her hands groped at his testicles. The weight of them was simply unbelievable. They were like two fat stones, dense and solid, spilling out of her palms. Leaning forward, she kissed them both for no other reason than because she could, and because she felt the desire to do so.

For a time, Helena did nothing more than simply satisfy herself with the scent of her serf, indulging in his body as though it were a fine luxury. Her lips and nose traced over every inch of his genitals, feeling the coarseness of his fur, and reveling in his heat. Between her legs, a veritable puddle had formed from her own eagerness. The thought of it brought new ideas to her... and the scandal of it nearly made her breathless.

Giving one last, puckered kiss to the thick, wobbling flesh of his sheath, the doe stood back up, grinning mischievously as she pulled Pavel back along with her to the bed. There, she laid back against the soft expanse of the pillows, and spread her legs. Pavel's eyes widened as he looked down at her. She could see the reflection of her folds in the light of his eyes.

"Touch me," she said. Taking his vast paw in her hands, she brought it down between her thighs. He resisted for a moment - just long enough for her to realize how truly powerful he was - but then relented, and he looked away from her as his paw finally connected. A low sound escaped from his muzzle as his palm was pressed up against her lips. Shame, perhaps. Fear.

Helena could care less. The touch of another person there was a delight that she'd never imagined, and she threw her head back in pleasure as she forced his palm against her, harder. She used him much like she had the cloth, only finding far greater satisfaction from him than from any mere fabric. Wrapping her legs around the massive bulk of his forearm, she moaned shamelessly. Wet sounds emanated from between her thighs.

_ This is it_, she told herself. She looked up from her ecstasy, and did her best to ignore the distraught look on Pavel's weary face. A part of her remembered that he was just a serf. He was, if nothing else, there to serve her.

_ This is what I needed..._

---

Pavel had never been with a woman before.

It was one of about a thousand thoughts that'd gone through the old serf's head, when Lady Helena had first brought him there to her chambers, and stripped to her bare fur before him. That, and the thought that he would surely - almost undoubtably - be executed just from being in the same room as her in such a state. He could hardly be blamed for his utter lack of arousal.

He was staring his own death in the face.

It was the fear of such death which froze him then, and which had prevented him from fleeing earlier, when he knew that he should've. It was the same fear that'd rooted him in place the day his father died. The fear which had allowed him to be captured, and the fear that'd forced him to remain a slave. Fear. He knew that the young lady was in heat, and that the condition must've driven her to this absurd course of action. And yet, that knowledge didn't help him in the slightest. If they were caught now, no one would believe that story. They'd put the blame on him. He knew it. There was no question.

As he stood there by her bedside, with his massive palm pressed up between her slender legs, Pavel occupied himself by considering the myriad ways that he'd be punished for this transgression. Lashes would be the least of his troubles. Looking away from the act didn't make things any easier, either. He could still hear everything, all of those wet, slick sounds, and the smell... the stench of her heat grew worse with every passing moment. His palm was already sodden with her fluids. It coated his fingers, stuck to his claws. He was certain that he'd reek of it long afterwards.

All the while, Helena writhed and moaned softly on the bed, clutching at his wrist desperately, moving his paw this way and that. He allowed it. His life was in her hands. Briefly, the old bear turned to look down at her, at her soft, rapture-possessed features. For a moment he recalled the memories of her as a fawn, as a small, gentle thing playing in the gardens, with no hint of the faults of adulthood. But there was nothing of that in her now. The doe opened her eyes, meeting his gaze.

There was no innocence there.

"Pavel," she said softly. Her voice was low now, husky, as quiet as she could be to avoid the prying ears of the maids. Her hands moved his own, raising it to rest on the flat of her lower belly. Her fur was so smooth, softer than anything that his rough old hands had ever touched.

"I want you to kiss me now."

Pavel's ear twitched. He understood enough of her words to get what she meant. He'd never experienced a woman in that sense before, but he knew very well what it was she was talking about. He'd seen it himself, with soldiers and women from the village, hiding behind barns, or doing the act under shadowy brush. Perhaps there was a time, long ago, when he might have even envied them. Now, Lady Helena was asking it of him. Commanding.

"No," he said bluntly. "My ne zhenaty... we not married."

It was a weak excuse. Pavel knew it, even as he said it. His paw was dripping with her fluids. What did a kiss matter, after such a thing? Helena didn't seem to care for it either. The doe merely rolled her eyes, pushing herself up on her elbows to lean towards him. At the same time, she pulled on his paw, drawing him down. As before, he resisted, but only briefly.

_ This isn't right_, he told himself, even as she drew his head down to her level. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his greying muzzle. It tasted sweet, like cream and berries.

_ Not like this. Why me? What have I done to deserve this?_

The kiss was - as might be expected when considering the inexperience of both parties - a brief and muddled affair. Their lips met with a soft, subtle connection at first, before eventually hardening, with Helena soon gaining confidence and pressing her muzzle up against his own. Pavel stayed very still throughout the exchange. His mouth failed to move, and so Helena made up for it with desperate motions, sucking at his thick, ursine lips, weakly lapping at him with her tongue, and huffing against his whiskers. She had her eyes closed. Pavel didn't.

_ She deserves better than this_, he told himself, looking down at her. It's not her fault. She's in heat, and her family is not here to take care of her. She doesn't know what she's doing. To herself. To us.

Pavel's paw moved on its own then, coming up to cup gently at the doe's delicate chin. Then, lifting her head up by the slightest of angles, he opened his maw and kissed her properly, imitating what he'd seen so many others do over the long course of his life. Considering the size difference between them, it would have been unfair to call it anything but a ravishing. Helena trembled and made a soft sound of joy as their tongues finally met, and Pavel loomed over her, locking his jaws with her own. He felt her confidence melt under his touch.

How long he held her there, kissing her, Pavel never knew. Eventually, it was he who broke the contact, drawing away by a fraction, and leaving a thin line of saliva between their lips. He pulled away slowly, looking down at her with concern. If anything, she was more of a mess than before. Her skin was flushed. Her fur was damp with sweat. She panted against his muzzle, and down below, she'd made a truly terrible mess of the sheets. Her vulva was engorged, angry-looking, even to Pavel, who had no experience with such things. He frowned.

"Budet tol'ko khuzhe," he said. She looked back at him with confusion, clearly not able to understand. He pointed down between her legs. "Tvoye telo... tut nichego ne podelayesh... no good."

She seemed to understand that, if little else. Leaning back up towards him, she wrapped her thin arms around his torso, breathing against his furry chest. She was absurdly warm. If Pavel didn't know better, he'd have thought she was suffering from a fever.

"Please," she begged him. "Help me... I can't... can't do it on my own."

Pavel didn't understand half of the words that she'd said, but he knew what she was asking of him. There were certain realities to a female in heat that even he recognized. Of course, he thought. I'll be killed either way, if what we've done here is ever discovered.

Looking down at her weak, trembling form, so much smaller than his own, Pavel's features hardened. If he rejected her, she might very well become distraught enough to punish him, perhaps even report what they'd done together. If he could find the strength to meet her needs though... to satisfy her...

The bear sighed then, a long, gruff sound. He'd served the family of Dvoracek for decades now. What was this, but one more service? Perhaps his own father would have found it ironic.

"Tishe, lan'," he rumbled quietly, leaning down to speak into her long, soft ears. "Onto bed now... lech' na spinu."

Prying her off from his chest, Pavel eased the doe onto her back before kneeling there by the bedside. From there, his snout was level with her thighs. She watched him warily from her place amidst the pillows as he then spread her legs, crimson beneath her fur. Vulnerable. She parted easily for him.

For a moment, Pavel merely stared at the sight before him. He tried his best not to appear surprised, but this was just as new to him as it was to her. Wrinkling his nose, he pressed forward gently, hesitantly, and recoiled when she stiffened at the first contact of his cold nosepad. But no, she was just sensitive, he realized. He pressed in again, this time to a different reaction. She moaned when his lips finally pursed against her.

Even with the difference in their species, the scent of estrus was still an exceptionally powerful force, and it struck the serf in ways that he was wholly unprepared for. Very swiftly, his tentative, nervous explorations of her body grew bolder, more desirous, and soon his tongue joined the effort, sweeping across her swollen folds in broad, wet strokes. Further up on the bed, Helena did her best to stifle herself, clutching her blankets close to her face as she held in a wide assortment of sounds.

Pavel wasn't exactly being quiet on his own front, either. The repeated swiping of his tongue was audible amongst the wet, fertile fields that it was delving into, and a deep, sonorous rumbling emanated from his chest. Occasionally, he stopped to swallow the excess of her fluids, and great bulges traveled down his broad neck as he drank from her. His great, clawed paws held her thighs down against the bed. This was a necessity, as her squirming would make his job a great deal harder, otherwise.

Again, and again, he lapped at her. His mobile lips honed in on whatever seemed to pleasure her most, focusing in on her clitoris, or the sensitive folds of her vulva. He lost himself to the act without even realizing it, quickly becoming drunk on a taste that he'd never imagined imbibing in. Even if he'd never known it, his body had craved such a thing for so long, and been so long denied. He reveled in it now, in her, and the old serf took his time indulging. Helena didn't stop him. Time after time, her body seized up as new and powerful pleasures shot through her, wracking her slender form in powerful contractions that she had no name for.

By the time Pavel pulled his face out from between her legs, his muzzle was just as wet and saturated as his paw. His dull, amber eyes had taken on a far-away look, and he stared at her in a way that no man ever had before. A new scent came upon them both, then.

Helena knew what it was before Pavel even stood.

---

As the old bear picked himself up off of his knees, rising to stand in front of her, Helena's eyes widened. There, hanging ominously before her vulnerable, spread thighs, was the object that she'd desired all along, even if she'd never thought about it consciously. It seemed as though her scent had finally brought Pavel's body to attention; his firm, ursine shaft at last stood proudly from its sheath, anchored down by its own weight so that it pointed directly between her legs. Directly at her, as though it was an accusatory finger, pointing blame.

The young maiden had no concept of what was large or small for a male, and consequently, she had no idea whether Pavel was considered above-average for his species. All the same, his cock looked monstrously thick to her. Thicker than her own wrist, perhaps even her forearm. She'd never imagined that such an organ could inspire fear, and yet that's what she felt as she looked down at the massive, throbbing organ between his trunk-like legs. I'm responsible for that, she thought. Her ears flattened against her skull.

As much as her mind told her to be terrified, her body screamed for him in other, far more persuasive ways. Down below, her belly contracted powerfully as the scent of him - strong and virile - washed across her inexperienced nose. It steamed off from his flesh in waves, practically visible in the chilled air of the room.

_ Surely you can make this work_, her body told her. Swallowing nervously, her eyes flicked further down, narrowing in on the weighty globes of the bear's testicles. Each orb was nearly as big as her fist.

_ This is what you need. Take it. It's yours. He is yours_.

Looking up into Pavel's eyes, she could see that the serf was just as frightened as she was. It was, truth be told, a ridiculous expression on such a powerful figure. It seemed almost ludicrous to Helena that such a hulking, masculine creature could look so timid, and be so obviously aroused at the same time. Pavel's ursine shaft throbbed visibly with his erratic heartrate, leaking a prodigious stream of pre-seed onto her sheets. She could feel the warmth of it even from the bed. She wanted it.

"Ty prekrasna," he said softly, or as soft as his gruff voice could allow. Helena had no idea what it meant, but the look that he gave her spoke volumes. Pity. Fear. Adoration. She only then realized that for Pavel, this may also have been a time of firsts.

Leaning forward, she carefully took his broad paw into her own, and pulled him onto the bed. The frame groaned and cracked as his massive weight settled onto it, but she didn't care. His warmth swallowed her, and she took it gratefully, wrapping her thin arms around the bulk of his chest as he crawled atop her. There seemed to be no end to him, and by the time he'd aligned himself with her, her muzzle was even with his chest. His hips were so wide, she doubted she could even wrap her legs around him.

Her sight was covered now by a field of dark, grey-speckled fur. She could see nothing of what went on below her waist. It didn't matter to her. She trusted him. Burying her nose in the dense, thick fur of his chest, she kissed and sighed against every bit of flesh that she could reach, drawing shudders from his powerful frame whenever her lips brushed against his nipples. Between her legs, his shaft throbbed impressively, pumping out a dense surge of thick, viscous pre-seed onto her waiting folds. She clutched him close.

"Breed me," she begged.

She didn't know if he understood. Miscommunication would be the hallmark of their intercourse, it seemed. It didn't matter. He answered her with the strong, smooth motion of his hips, and all words were silenced as the massive log of his flesh pressed up against her, sliding his heat and weight up against her vulva. Together, they both made sounds of pleasure, neither having experienced such a sensation before.

He didn't penetrate her. Perhaps he couldn't, she thought. Perhaps that was too good to be true. Holding himself up by his brawny arms, Pavel instead merely thrusted against her, grinding his shaft against her sensitive lips, and using the slickness of their combined fluids to temper the friction. With every push, his cock slid against her folds, ending with the soft, heavy "plap" of his testicles as they slapped up against her perineum. The rough fur of his sheath scratched at her inner thighs.

Nothing about the act of their lovemaking was romantic, or even truly intentional. Helena knew that she was doing only what her body told her to do, and acting on instinct alone. Although she couldn't tell for certain, she suspected Pavel was doing the same. Without experience, they had only each other to rely on. She guided him with her touch, letting the hike of her fair voice acknowledge when he was moving correctly, whispering praise, even if he couldn't understand it. His body rocked above her, back and forth. Hot, musky sweat dripped from his hide.

Occasionally, she reached up to touch him. Her delicate hands traced across the bunched tissue of his scars, raking through his dense fur to feel the explosive power of his muscles as they expanded and contracted. Despite his size, his body seemed just as sensitive as hers, and she marveled at his every shudder and rough gasp as her fingers brushed across certain points. Reaching down, she felt his shaft as it slid across her. Cupped at his cub-makers. His body tensed at that, and a particularly strong gush of pre-seed oozed from him, marking her lower belly. She reeked of him now.

"Ya... y-ya pochti zakonchil," he rumbled. His hips trembled, and his cock slid messily atop her as he erred in his thrusts. Abruptly, Helena realized that he was probably feeling the same sort of pleasures that she was. That rush, that contraction of muscles, that overwhelming feeling of giving in that made her see spots and lose her breath... she'd lost track of how many times he'd given her that same sensation. A weary smile crossed her fair features as she thought of him feeling it as well. She reached out with both her hands, one cupping at the thick, blunt head of his shaft, the other going up to thumb at the dark, raised flesh of his nipple.

"It's ok," she whispered up to him. Gently, she stroked him, drawing new shudders from his body. Her thumbs eased in slow circles around his erogenous zones, mimicking the same movements that felt so good on her own body. "It feels good. Don't be afraid."

Pushing downward, she eased the tip of his cock back against her folds. His form went rigid then. He must've felt it, must've realized how close he was to taking that next step. Helena herself had no idea why she wanted it. She simply did. Her only regret was that she couldn't kiss him when at last the thickness of his tip eased inside of her.

It wasn't by her own strength that he finally entered her. Without warning, Pavel's hips suddenly flexed. It was a surprisingly subtle movement, but enough to push his length inwards by the slightest of increments. A burning ache, flush, wet pain... and then he was inside of her. She couldn't imagine that it was more than a few inches, but still... inside her, nonetheless. She could've taken a lifetime to adjust to him, but there was nothing else to it. The tightness, the intimacy of that final breach. It was enough.

Pavel came inside her almost as soon as his shaft found purchase within her body. She felt his release on a number of levels, even if she didn't know what it was. The sudden rigidity of his brawny muscles, the gust of his warm breath upon her head, and the heat. Unimaginable heat, flooding into her, answering the call of her body. It felt as though the serf was pouring himself inside of her, drowning that terrible need in his seed.

Pavel himself was remarkably quiet throughout the event, even as his cock continued to pulse, and pulse, and pulse within her. His massive, ursine sack throbbed between her legs as it was emptied... emptied into her. She could still hear him huffing above her, trying his best to stay silent, to stay still. His hips flexed with every throb, betraying his urges. He was fighting not to tear her apart, she realized. She merely held onto him as he struggled, riding it out with him.

_ Pulse... pulse... pulse... pulse..._

She closed her eyes, feeling him. There was pleasure, and no small amount of discomfort... but she no longer felt need.

---

When it finally ended, Pavel allowed himself one last, gusty sigh. He was no stranger to the pleasures of that kind of relief. He knew the satisfaction of his own paw, after all, and had done such a thing many times. But this was different. Here, on top of this female, having her scent in his nose and her taste upon his lips, it felt different.

Even without looking, he knew that he'd made a terrible mess of her. The excess of his seed was already matting the dense fur of his crotch, and he felt it pooling down across his testicles. He'd finished inside of her, fool that he was. Panic swept over him at the mere thought. Nothing could come of it, surely. He'd never even heard of such an absurd pairing coming to fruition... and yet...

As though to punish him, his sack clenched one last time, releasing another potent surge from his balls to settle deep inside of her.

_ Out. I have to get out of her!_

Pavel began to pull his hips away, only to stop suddenly. At some point, the young maid's legs had slipped over his hips, wrapping across his rear. He looked down in surprise. Helena stared back up at him. Her legs were rigid, holding him inside.

"My ne mozhem," he said, urgently. "Eto nebezopasno. Chto delat', yesli vy zaberemeneyete?"

He tried to tug away again, but Helena's legs remained steadfast. He knew that he could easily pull out if he tried harder, but the force required to do so might possibly hurt her. He was so much larger than her, far too thick, upon reflection. Getting inside was already unfeasible enough as it was, but pulling out without care-

_ Throb._

Again, it seemed as though his body was making up for lost time. Another gush of semen swept inside her, flowing deep within her heat-enflamed core. The thickness of his shaft kept so much of it locked inside. Pavel shuddered, knowing that it only added to his chances. What would happen if this noblewomen conceived a cub? They would all know.

And yet, Helena didn't seem afraid. Looking back at him, her face was calm, almost relieved. Breath escaped her delicate, black nose in small, steamy puffs, and her chest rose and fell slowly. Despite his fear, Pavel was rendered breathless by the mere sight of her. He'd never before noticed the loveliness of his lady. Duty, and the burdens of work had hidden it from his attention. Her hand came up to grace his haggard face, and his eyes grew heavy as he felt the softness of her touch. So delicate.

"Stay with me," she asked him. He nodded. How could he do otherwise? Leaning back down against her, Pavel covered her body with his own, curling around her as though she were the last flower to be untouched by the cold. A small, precious thing, that he had no right to love like he had. He treasured the sensation. It was all that kept the fear at bay.

Eventually, Pavel softened enough to pull himself free from her. In the long hours of the evening, as dinner went ignored, and Helena's brother returned from his hunt with the soldiers, the serf attended to her. Together, they wrapped themselves in blankets, ignoring the repercussions of what they'd done, and buoying themselves on the strange, tender feelings they'd never felt before.

Outside of the noblewoman's door, a lowly footman decided that he'd heard enough. Creeping away from the hall, he fled downstairs towards the chambers of Lord Malek.

---

A Note on Translations of Kaalish:

Kholop: a lowly serf, with legal status close to that of a slave

Rebenok: child

Kop'ye: a spear, usually of crude make

Yuzhnyye Muzhchiny: 'Men of the South', referring to the civilized peoples who settled south of the pine forests of Kaal.

"Rabota dolzhna byt' sdelana": "This work needs to be done"

"Ya dolzhen idti": "I have to go now"

"Pozhaluysta": "Please", or a request for mercy

"Ne delay... ne delay etogo so mnoy": "Don't... don't do this to me"

"U tebya techka": "You are in heat"

"Eto ne pravil'no": "This isn't right."

"My ne zhenaty": "We are not wedded"

"Budet tol'ko khuzhe": "This will only get worse"

"Tvoye telo... tut nichego ne podelayesh": "Your body... there is nothing I can do"

"Tishe, lan'": "Hush now, doe"

"Lech' na spinu": "Lie down on your back"

"Ty prekrasna": "You are so beautiful"

"Ya pochti zakonchil": "I am almost there"

"My ne mozhem": "We cannot"

"Eto nebezopasno. Chto delat', yesli vy zaberemeneyete?": "It is not safe. What if you get pregnant?"