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The squirrel shifted uncomfortably in the silken garments and elegant knots that bound him inside this hunting lodge. His stomach unsettled not by the rich meal that he had earlier but the fate that was going to be in store for him. His tribe had a certain ceremony that occurred once every ten years. For all the young men within the tribe of marrying age there was a casting of a lottery. The 'winner' would be chosen for a very important duty, the duty to be a bride. The bride of the Hunting God.

For the squirrel, he considered it the unluckiest moment in his life when the lot fell upon him. For those chosen to be brides were never seen again, The squirrel youth couldn't argue against the decision for the last time there wasn't a bride, the entire tribe suffered a decade long famine. He was taken to be cleaned, bathed, dressed for his 'wedding' to the god, and at the feast, he had to sit next to an empty seat, a space for his new husband. After that he was taken to the hunting lodge where it would be the squirrel and the god's nuptial chamber.

Sitting there in the building woven together of deer skin and tent poles, he continued to wait. The fire keeping him warm in the winter air and the dancing flares of red, orange and yellow made him to his shame, getting drowsy. His eyes split wide open as some sort of shuffling reached his ears. Blinking away the stickiness that stubbornly wanted to keep his eyelids shut, a heavy series of thumps came closer. The squirrel's head pivoted and his vision focused on the turning door latch.

The door, a curtain of cured deerskin, was swept aside and the squirrel beheld the one known as the Hunting God.

He was wolf, gray of pelt and strong in body, with a leather breechcloth hinting like clouds at the mountain beneath it. As the god closed the door behind him, the squirrel could see wisps of steam wafted around from the god coming in out from the cold. Both more to the point, swirling designs on the wolf's body rippled in black and red as a large spear and a set of bow and quiver were set down. Then He came in closer into the room and the fire seemed to dim. When the wolf's red eyes met the squirrel rich brown, the squirrel's body felt more constricted than with all those clothes and knots tying him place made him earlier. Then the god spoke, voice rich and deep as the deathblow felling prey. "Hello my beloved."

The squirrel didn't know what to say. He just keep stammering right there and then. Mouth gaping, like a fish hooked and squirming in the hands of its captor. Never had the squirrel been attracted to men before. However this presence, this god before him was sending his blood rushing in an uncomfortable way in places normally hidden from the world. Cheeks now flush, the squirrel's eyes went seeking escape anywhere from the gaze of the wolf shooting him with bolts of fever chills.

It was his mistake when his eyes darted over the Hunting god's body. Solid like the forest, with every ridge of muscle a cliff worn by years of stalking, and taking down creatures, most likely divine one in the god's case. And now the squirrel noticed some leather bands bound around some of the limbs of his new husband. A declaration to how much power this male had, as they were strained, muscle lines defined perpendicular to the run of the bands.

Then wolf rushed over, the very motion escaping the brown furred rodent's sight. The squirrel eeped slightly but was surprised when he was pulled into an embrace, a hand pulling his wrist towards the god. He fell into the wolf's chest, soft like the carpet of moss in spring, but firm like smooth stone on the riverbanks. The Hunting God's fur smelling of pine, sweat and a slight tang of blood. Then the squirrel met the wolf's gaze yet again as his chin was tilted up. The wolf's face bent closer and the god kissed him. The squirrel had some experience with kisses, when courting some of the females in the tribes. But this was different, far more different and he wondered if this was what females felt on the other end. The wolf's tongue dived in, slipping through the squirrel's lips. The squirrel's breath drawn away, the sting of fire around his mouth, like when meat came fresh from the spit. The wolf's tongue like a playful salmon thrashing deeper into the squirrel throat.

And then he was set upon the pile of furs, the squirrel wanted to speak for everything was moving so fast. But the wolf shushed him. Then the god went about undoing those bridal knots and clothes. It was an uncomfortable sensation, as if he was being skinned. It didn't hurt but every layer, every binding that was loosened and cast aside. It was like being torn, gently, apart, his life, secrets, feelings, memories consumed by this pinnacle of masculinity and predation. And all the while the wolf was humming, crooning out a gentle tune.

Soon enough the squirrel shivered slightly in the chilled air. The hearth fire was now only embers in his sight and he was stripped naked. He felt weak, as if he had been running straight through the forest for several hours. The only warmth he had was the deity above him. Then his husband surprised him again. The wolf, instead of taking his pleasure from the squirrel's body like the village youth expected him to went down to the squirrel's groin.

There the squirrel felt warm sliding around his limp length. Below him, to his wide eyes was the Hunting God giving him head. A swirling tongue, licking his rod, running up and down, and a jolt of shock from teeth. The expertise of the god with his mouth setting the mere mortal aflame, toes spreading, back arched, dick throbbing about to cum then all stimulation stopped. He actually whimpered, and then those brown tear stained eyes saw the wolf with a vicious gleam of red, and the bride knew he was being toyed with.

Then the wolf went and turned the squirrel over, and when that large fluffy tail went to cover over that sweet little behind, it was grabbed and held gently in a warrior's grip. For the brown furred mortal, he got a better scent of the furs that he was now lying on. A heady musk from multiple males, still intoxicating even after what the squirrel suspected was ten years since the last time they were used. The squirrel turned his head back to escape the aroma to see the god dropping his loincloth, and to the wolf's pleasure the rodent's ass clenched.

It was a monster of a pole. Thick like the branches of oaks and it stood bouncing and ready to spear the squirrel. The village youth turned back in fear and then felt his insides skewered on that monster of a cock. The wolf began ramming it in him. Every thrust spread the squirrel wider and drove him further into the pile of furs. Every thought of fear and pain was driven out of the squirrel. His entire world filled with nothing but the Hunting God's cock expanding inside him. It went on like this, the pounding like the drums of the tribe, filling the warriors with heat, passion and mindless savagery. Both wolf and squirrel began to moan and growl together in unison. And then both cummed to the same lusty cry, the squirrel's spilling over with the wolf's seed and the brown furred youth soiling the furs further, adding his scent to those gathered there.

The squirrel collapsed, exhausted by the rough rutting by the divine presence above and behind him. With a wet slurp, his husband pulled out and his hole still felt warm from the dripping seed that that wolf dick spewed in him. Brown furred ears heard the flick of cloth being gathered and the wolf's hands moving on his body. The squirrel was tired and couldn't struggle against being wrapped up in his former bridal clothes. As he drifted off into slumber the last things he could see and feel were the strong arms of the hunting god carrying and embracing him and the door of the lodge opening. Nobody ever saw the squirrel again. And for ten years after, the hunting was good and plentiful and still at the end of those ten years, they chose another bride, a bride for the Hunting God..