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Polar Power

Part 1

For Damiekinz

By Draconicon

The north wind blew more and more often these days. Some of the Husky people took it as a sign that Grakul, the dragon god of winter, ice, and snow, was favoring the Polar Bears with their push south. Some argued that it was just happenstance. Brynna didn't know who was right, but one thing was for sure: if the Polar Bears and their leader, Asmund, didn't have divine aid right now, she didn't want to see them get it.

The brown-furred Queen of the Huskies leaned over her castle ramparts, looking down at the white plain before the capital. The lands were painted with new-fallen snow, not the first but the seventh of the season, coming too early and too plentiful for her tastes. She was used to seeing the lands, if not green, then at least bare for at least another fortnight before the first snow-fall of winter came, but with it coming this early, the omens were not good.

She shook her head, clenching her fingers tightly against the rock wall. Everything she heard from the royal spies told her that her worst fears - and most secret dreams - were coming true, but she still hoped she would be proven wrong.

"Your Majesty."

Brynna turned. One of her bodyguards, a more traditionally patterned black and white Husky, stood at the stairs leading down to the courtyard. He gestured toward them with his spear, never leaving his ramrod-straight posture.

"Prince Brann has arrived."

"Brann. Yes. Send him up."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The soldier bowed and descended, and Brynna counted herself lucky that there was nothing more. She turned back to her view across the plains, shaking her head.

The brown-patterned fur that she and her brother shared was typical of the Husky royal family. It had been a badge of honor, a gift, it was said, far back down the line to the beginning of their rulership of the lands. They were meant to be marked as the rulers of their people, the head of the pack, the ones that guided the common folk to safety, security, and plenty.

Unfortunately, what had been an honor for her parents and ancestors had turned into a reminder of how detached she and Prince Brann were from the less pleasurable aspects of rulership. The common folk and her advisors were quiet enough when they were aware that Brynna was there, but she heard the rumors. When the Polar Bears had made their first move five years ago, crossing the border to attack the Seals - her kingdom's long-term allies - she had been indecisive, keeping them out of the conflict and hoping that the bears' hunger for conquest would burn out and be satiated. Her inaction had been easy enough to sweep under the rug back then, but now that the war had come to their border, everyone seemed to remember that she'd kept them on the sidelines.

Of course, back then they'd been happy. No Husky wanted to put their freedom on the line for a Seal. Her hesitation had been seen as pragmatic rather than disloyal, but now that their security was threatened, it mattered. They were suddenly very happy to blame her.

And, in some way, they were probably right. She should have done something then, but the risk had seemed so high. The Polar clans were terrifying enough, but with Asmund at their head, they had turned into something else.

"I can't be afraid again," she muttered. "I can't, not if they are to follow me."

Brynna looked down at her hands. They were soft, untouched by work or strife, and that theme was common across her body. Compared to the paintings of her stern mother and warrior father, she was soft and plump, particularly in the hips and legs. She had none of the austere dignity of past generations, and while it had made her an adorable child, it painted her as a weaker ruler, one that didn't understand her people, and who could not properly lead them in war.

If they only knew that she was hardly their worst option. Her brother -

"Sister."

Brann's familiar voice pulled her doom and gloom thoughts away from the future as she turned with a smile. True to form, he grinned back, already dressed in the battle-garb for the pack he was to lead to the border. As their prince, he wore double layers of leather lined with fur, more to reduce his risk of capture on the battlefield with the new rules of war than for any other reason. A cape draped over his shoulders and down his back, an affectation for most, but for him, it would keep the enemy from recognizing the silhouette of the more bottom-heavy Husky.

She chuckled, shaking her head.

"At least they won't peg you immediately," she teased.

"As if they could handle me. I'm the war leader of the kingdom, after all; I could handle any Polar Bear warrior and turn the tables."

"...Brann, are you going to keep pretending, even now?"

"Pretending? My Queen, my sister, as if I could lie to you."

Except that he was doing it even then. She bit off what she wanted to say, holding back how she could cut him down with a secret he thought safe with him and a slave that was long-since gone from their lands.

For she remembered. She remembered how he had 'roleplayed' with a Polar Bear slave years back, before either of them had ascended to their current responsibilities. It had been accidental, watching how he pretended to be caught and used, but she had seen it, and knew the hungers her brother kept from public knowledge. For all that he was their general, he had laid with the enemy time and again before the slave left them, and he was not what he pretended to be.

"If you insist," Brynna said, shaking her head. "What are your plans, then, if you find them? Be bait for your army, lure their best out with your...stature?"

"You would sacrifice a prince to those monsters?" Brann gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in obviously faux outrage. "My sister, my Queen, such a horrible thought."

Yet, it was also a viable one. Ever since the dragon gods had blessed the world with protection from violent death, war had been waged in a very different fashion. When the enemy could not die through violence, it became more fashionable to fight with restraints, and the enemy that lost, rather than dying, would remain a prisoner, a slave to the victor until such time that they were freed or rescued. Such an attempt could take years, if not decades, and there were records of some remaining slaves for the entirety of the rest of their lives.

It was not uncommon for the most comely of an army to form a diversionary unit, fighting with guile rather than strength, and luring the enemy's best fighters to rut them then and there rather than going forward with more conventional warfare. It served to draw out the least controlled of the enemy, and once they were in a vulnerable position, the rest of the army fell on them and captured them, instead.

Yet, for all that Brann had indulged those needs at home, Brynna hoped he could suppress them in the field. It was one thing to 'indulge' with a slave, but if Asmund, that brute terror got his hands on the prince, she could only imagine the worst.

"Now, why did you summon me, sister dear?" Brann asked. "Surely not for fancies of strategy?"

"I only make suggestions, Brann. You are the warrior of the family."

"Indeed. So, please, sister, let's get the briefing out of the way so I can do my job." He took her hand, kissing the back of it. "And then we can get back to our life of fun."

"Yes...fun."

She looked out at the snowy plains. It felt more ominous every time she saw the spreading snow, as if Grakul had finally decided his favored people. Brynna tried to hold onto hope, but it was fast slipping through her fingers.

"I'm sending you to the border. There's been some...concerning reports, and I want you to see how many are true."

"You're sending me, the prince, to deal with 'concerning' reports? Sister, dear, we have many outposts up there. You could send a runner to Icerender Crossing for confirmation instead of wasting my time."

"I would, if Icerender Crossing hadn't gone silent."

Brann fell silent, as well he should. Icerender Crossing was one of the linchpins of the border defense, holding the crossing and the breaking point of the river between them and the Polar clans. Asmund had been raiding their colonies on the other side of the river for the last six months, but her advisors felt they were safe enough with him on the far side. If he had pushed past the river, if he had managed a crossing and seized their outpost, then he had a staging ground into the Husky lands, and one that was no more than three days' travel from the capital.

Her brother shook his head, snorting. He put on a smile that might have fooled his men, but not her.

"Then I shall have to dislodge him if he's still there."

"He may have advanced by now."

"Oh, he can't have. We would have heard something."

"Like we would have heard of him taking the outpost?"

"...No news is good news, sister. Let's not worry too much just yet."

But that was what she was good at. She was very, very good at worrying more than she needed to. Shaking her head, she turned back to her brother.

"Promise me one thing, Brann."

"I'll try."

"Promise me that you won't let Asmund take you."

"Sister, he couldn't."

"No, listen. Promise me. Promise me that you won't let him take you," she said. Her ears went back and her tail went still as she took her brother's hands. "He is a brute, but he is not an idiot. The minute he sees you, he will know who you are, and worse, what you know. He'll break you."

"You think I am so weak?"

"I...worry."

She worried about what she remembered. She worried about the times that he disappeared from the castle and came back with that stink. She worried about the things she had seen that night. Most of all, she worried about how her thoughts had turned to curiosity upon seeing what the slave had done to Brann, and she had only witnessed it. What must have passed through his mind experiencing it? Yet, she could never say it, and instead focused on practicalities.

"You know the highways and byways of our kingdom. You know the walls and the secret entrances, the safe passages, and most of all, the wards. If he takes you, if he breaks you, we are lost."

"Then I won't let him take me. Simple as."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

The siblings embraced each other, holding one another close for nearly a minute before Brann broke it. He smiled in that charming way that he did, one that disarmed so many conflicts and had gotten him out of so much trouble when he was just a pup. It didn't work on her, but it did draw a small grin from her in turn.

"Just you wait. I'll be back before you know it," he said.

"Be safe."

"And you."

As he darted down the stairs to rejoin the mounted pack headed north, she sighed. She knew that she would be expected to bear witness to the departure of her brother and his soldiers, but her eyes were already looking further north.

If Asmund had managed the crossing, then he would be here soon. She could already see the massive brute of a bear in her mind's eye, a beast nine feet tall and wearing nothing but the loincloth and sash that marked his place at the head of the Polar clans. He was a monster on the battlefield, and said to be worse in bed from all the reports of the captured slaves that had been rescued from his people.

She shivered, her thighs pressing together beneath her dress. Everything told her she shouldn't feel such things; she was the Queen, the leader of her people, the one that had to stand tall and strong against any adversity. It was what her mother and father had done, and their ancestors before them. It should have been easy for her.

And yet, every time she rallied her hopes, she remembered that one night. A simple 'game' that her brother had played with his slave, something that hadn't even been a real fight, a real conquest, and how intense it was compared to what Huskies did to each other. The sticky feeling of her juices running down her thighs made her grateful for the long, flowing garments required of her station; none would notice, and she had time to get herself under control.

Brynna forced the fantasies from her mind. For all Brann's perverted behavior, he was still a warrior. With the hopes of the kingdom resting on his shoulders and the responsibilities of leadership he carried, he should be able to put his wants behind him for the time being. And he could fight. He could win against the Polar warriors, provided that he fought smartly, avoiding direct confrontation and keeping to ambush tactics. They might even gain something in the meantime, new slaves taken from the battlefield to give them intelligence -

And perhaps experience?

The Queen squashed that thought. She had no need to satisfy that curiosity.

No, they had a chance. Not as good a chance as she would have preferred, but a chance. Provided that Brann avoided Asmund and returned swiftly with information on what had happened at the Crossing, it was just possible that they could turn this around. If Brann brought captives back with him, then there was a chance that the Huskies could have some confidence in her leadership again.

If, on the other hand, he had the bad luck to find Asmund...

She knew her brother, and she knew his pride. He would test his luck, and he'd come up short.

"Do not fight Asmund, Brann. He is more than you can handle...and he will break you. Keep your promise. Come back to me," she whispered to an empty, northerly wind that blew her words right back at her.

#

Brann thought that he'd at least make it to Icerender's Crossing before they found any sign of the brutes, but Asmund was clearly pushing his people hard. The Polar Bears ambushed him and his men while they were still more than a day out from the outpost, rushing them from hidden positions in the snow-banks and tackling half his men from their mounts before they had a chance to fight back.

The brute himself had already ripped the prince's second in command from his saddle, pinning him to the ground and fucking him then and there. Brann had hesitated before sounding a retreat, too lost in shock - and other things - to react as fast as he should. It was a fatal mistake, leading to the rest of his men barely putting up a fight before they were dragged out of their saddles, and no fewer than six bears rushed him.

"Let me go, you bastards!"

He managed to kick one of them in the face, gaining him some few dozen feet of retreat before they caught him again and dragged him from his saddle. They ripped his cape from his shoulders in the process, revealing more of his figure as he hit the ground and rolled away. His attackers laughed.

"Oooh, look at that pretty little ass."

"Sure he ain't a bitch with her chest bound?"

"Only one way to find out."

"I am a prince, thank you very much," Brann growled, setting himself with hands outstretched.

They rushed him. He managed to catch one grasping hand, lashing out with a quick kick under the Polar Bear's armpit to drive him back, but more followed. He was in a constant retreat, darting away from one hand after another, any of which would have the strength to catch and pin him if they managed to get a grip. Despite his training, he was already short of breath.

Don't get caught by Asmund, his sister had said.

If he was going to be caught, best to let it happen with these than their leader. He'd lost sight of the monster, but he'd been too busy rutting the second in command to notice him yet. Brann thought of how it would feel to have a nine-foot-tall Polar Bear looming over him, pushing his legs apart and claiming him, and stumbled at the distracting thought.

His attackers took advantage of his mistake. He yelped as one of the Polar Bears caught him by the belt, yanking him off his feet and throwing him overhead. His belt snapped, his weapons - two nets and a collection of bolas - falling out of reach. Brann screamed before he landed facedown in a snowdrift, ass up in the air.

Before he could recover, the Polar Bears caught up with him. One slapped his ass hard enough to make him yelp, his face reddening as he fought futilely to escape.

"Yeah, even sounds like a bitch."

"Come on, get those pants off 'im."

"Or her."

"Get 'em off!"

They pinned and spread him out on the snow. One managed to get his claws into the Husky's waistband, wriggling his fingers past Brann's pants and almost brushing his dick when -

"Off!"

The barked command broke like thunder over the ice, forcing the bears away from him. Brann groaned, wincing and panting for breath as he was released. There was only one man that the Polar Bears would obey that quickly; his luck had just run out.

He lifted his head, watching as Asmund approached, a black cock-tip just barely visible beneath a loincloth that was still settling in place. Unlike the other bears, Asmund wore almost nothing. No fur capes, no harness armor, no scavenged boots, just a loincloth and a blue-white sash that marked him as the chosen leader of the Polar clans, a collection of nearly a dozen bear tribes that had come under his banner. No weapons, either; the massive bear didn't need them, not with those rolling muscles and the deceptive speed with which he moved.

The leader of the Polar clans chuckled as he stopped a foot away from the prince, idly kicking Brann's left boot. The bear snorted.

"Idiots. He's not a soldier," Asmund said. "Armor's too clean, too high-quality, and too much of it."

Dammit.

"Brown-furred, too. Now, what does all that add up to?"

The other soldiers said nothing, one of them just about managing a shrug under the interrogation. Asmund sighed.

"It means we've caught a royal."

The rest of the bears 'ooohed' as loudly and dumbly as Brann could have imagined. He tried to roll away as they grabbed for him, but it was too little, too late. They dragged him to his knees before their leader before stepping back. Brann hissed as Asmund grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back.

"Prince, right? Prince Brann?"

"..."

"The Seals talked about you, you and your sister. They had already given up on any help from your kind before we finished with them."

"It was her decision," he muttered.

"Perhaps. She'll have her turn, but first, you."

"..."

"You're beaten. You know what that means?"

"Yeah...I know." He chuckled. "Slavery."

"No."

"...No?" Brann blinked.

"Not the way you're thinking about it. You're thinking about getting fucked. That's not slavery. Not my kind." Asmund smirked. "You get a choice. Either you take the easy way, do what I say, tell me what I want, or I break you. Understand?"

Break him. Brynna had warned him about that, but there'd been no reason to take her seriously. Slavery was slavery; you lost, you were taken in, and you were used, either as labor or as a source of pleasure. Breaking had never been a part of it; what did the bear mean?

"What do you want?" Brann asked, trying to buy time.

"Everything, but we will start with how to take your Queen."

"Heh. Suddenly, the mighty Asmund is afraid?"

"Not at all. But I crave speed, and her." The bear leaned in, gripping Brann's chin. "Tell me what I want, and I will give you what you want. Refuse, and I will take what I need, and turn you into what I want."

"Mmph...I'd like to see you try."

"..." Asmund's muzzle turned up in a smirk. "I love it when bitches say that."

#

He was taken to Asmund's tent, where he was laid onto a large travel bed that would have held at least three bear partners for the night or six Huskies. He was swiftly stripped by Asmund's soldiers, only for them to be sent away. The Polar Bear leader loomed over him, chuckling.

"Remember. I gave you a chance."

"Hmmph. So, when do we get to the rutting? I know you want this ass."

"Not as much as you want me to take it."

"What -"

"There was a night, was there not?"

"..."

"A night where a slave learned what you were. What you wanted. What you craved."

Brann's breath caught in his throat as the bear stepped out of his loincloth and sash, letting both fall to the floor. A cock as dark as the night sky with a pair of balls that were low and heavy were revealed, swaying as the bear leaned over him.

"That slave found me, and told me everything," Asmund said. "You want to experience this, but under your terms. You may fight, but -"

Brann lashed out, punching for the bear's nose, only for the chieftain to catch it before it landed. The Polar Bear chuckled.

"You will fail. You had the choice to have it on your terms, but you chose otherwise. Now, it will happen my way. You will not be fucked, not until you earn it."

He was forced down against the bed, the bear pushing him around until the Husky was flat on his back, only for his captor to shift his position until that hard-cheeked white-furred ass was right over his head. The rounded cheeks parted just enough for him to see the black-colored pucker between the cheeks, and he could smell the scent of sex, of rutting musk, and the constant little shine of sweat between the cheeks.

"You are going to break."

"F-from what? Being...being under that?"

"I could fuck you, but you want that. No. You are going to be taught your proper place. You are under me. Under every Polar Bear that wants you. You are nothing but a little ass-licking, hole-slurping toy that we can pass around as we see fit. Your days as a prince are over. But you will still be useful...

"I'm going to sit on you. And I'm going to stay there, making you learn your place, until you tell me what I need to know. And you are going to find that there are far worse things that you could do than give me that."

The bear sat down before he could argue, and he was immediately smothered between the cheeks. His muzzle was swallowed between the plump globes, his eyes going wide as he felt the sweaty fur pressing against his face, smearing along his own fur and leaving the mark of the bear's ass on his face. He could not breathe without both smelling and tasting that ass, and he was thankful only that it was clean besides that...that slippery sweat.

He gasped, trying to get more air as the bear pushed down harder and harder, but it was impossible. With his head pinned and that pressure on his face, his air supply was getting cut off. Little by little, he was being kept from getting what he needed. His head was already spinning, his eyes rolling back in their sockets.

Can't...can't breathe...

Brann wheezed, trying to get something, anything, but his nose was rammed right up against the sweaty flesh between the cheeks, so near that black pucker. His eyes rolled back, forcing his mouth to open -

"Mmmph!"

He tasted that pucker. Sweaty, wet, salty from the accidental lick. He had one taste, then the next touch was not so bad, then -

"Mmmph!"

Another taste, as if it was almost random, as if he licked it off and then the bear made more, or just bad luck, or something that was just bound and determined to punish him. He panted for breath, tasting, smelling, lost in ass.

"That's it. But you're not in yet. Further."

The Polar Bear sat down that much more firmly, and the pressure pushed the Husky's jaws further apart. Soon, those cheeks had his mouth as wide as it could go, and once more, he was all but suffocating around the cheeks.

"Mmmph! MMPH!"

There was no mercy as the bigger male sat on him. Limited air came through, leaving him gasping in harsher and harsher ways as he struggled to get enough air to stay conscious. Every breath, every wheeze that passed through his mouth and nose carried with it the musk of the big man's big ass, and he could not escape it no matter how hard he tried. He moaned, he whimpered, but there was no mercy.

And he realized something. Down here, suffocating as he was, he might actually be able to die.

There was no way for someone to die from violence, not any longer, but there was a chance that someone could pass on from sufficient suffocation. His eyes rolled back as he squirmed, but his arms were pinned and there was no way for him to immediately pull away. The bed was too flat, the bear too strong, and -

"AH!"

Asmund had pulled up, giving him the slightest chance to breathe. He took it, sucking in every bit of air that he could fit into his lungs before the massive warrior sat down again, crushing his head into the mattress and driving him, once again, between the cheeks, his nose and lips pressed flush against that pucker. He tasted it, the sweat and the flesh flavors mixing together then separating and mixing again. He couldn't move, could barely shift his head at all, and the taste of ass was so strong that he was drifting off.

This was beyond humiliating. No prince, no person of means should be subjected to this. Slaves were meant to be fucked, not toyed with, not...not treated like this...

His cheeks burned as the bear ground his ass back, each slow grind of those cheeks smearing that sweaty, musky scent on him more, marking him in such a way that even if he was released, his men would know what had happened to him.

"Nnngh..."

"Serve or suffocate, boy."

"Nnngh...nnngh..."

Brynna was right. Asmund was going to break him, it was just a matter of how long he could hold out. If it was at least a few days, then she might know that he had been taken, could prepare, but -

The bear shifted his grip, and before Brann knew what was happening, a sudden pressure on his jaw forced his mouth open. He grunted as his tongue slipped free, once more pressed against that soft, slick pucker. The taste, combined with the smell, made his cheeks burn hotter than ever.

"That's what you are. What you will become," Asmund said. "No more prince, not even a slave. You will be a broken little hole-slurper. You understand? This is what you chose for yourself."

"Mmmph!"

"Lick."

He refused, only for the pressure of that ass to come down harder. His eyes rolled back, his muzzle feeling like it was straining just to hold together for that moment.

Then the pressure eased, and the bear spoke again.

"Lick."

Desperate to avoid that pressure again, he did as he was told, dragging his tongue up along that pucker. Taste, sweat, taste, flesh, taste, sweat. Before he knew it, he was licking constantly, and he was so shattered and unfocused that he couldn't stop. He wasn't sure that he entirely wanted to stop.

Lick.

Lick.

Lick.

And little by little, his air was running out. Once more, he was struggling to breathe, and the taste of that hole, that reminder of what he was doing every second or third lick, burned him with humiliation. He couldn't squirm, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but breathe and lick away.

"Serve or suffocate," Asmund said again.

The pressure was growing, the bear taking more and more weight off his legs and putting it on Brann's face. He whimpered, whining as the sight of that ass overwhelmed him, the sheer pressure of it, the size, everything breaking him down.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He was...he was a prince...he was supposed to be taken and fucked, used...

As his air slowly started running out, his thoughts went back to that night. The night when he had teased the Polar Bear the family kept as a slave, and they had agreed to spar with him 'losing'. Brann had always been interested in what happened to slaves that were taken, and wanted to try it with the biggest, most powerful 'enemy.' It was supposed to be controlled, easy.

It was anything but. It was so...so good, and he came harder than he had for any fantasy before. Nobody knew, and nobody was ever supposed to know. Somehow, Asmund had found out...and was using it against him.

And it was working. He whimpered, red-faced and burning with humiliation at both his denial and the musky rump in his face. He...he wanted to get fucked...wanted to feel that polar bear cock again...not this...not this!

"Mmmph! MMMPH!"

"Serve or suffocate."

"MMMPH!"

"Serve...or suffocate."

He whimpered, several tears running down his face as his tongue was all but pulled into that pucker, so near to penetrating it. If he had any courage left at all, he might have tried stabbing his tongue upward, a chance to defy the bear and penetrate him, even if it was only through this humiliating position. But he had none of that. All he could do was stare at that increasingly-wet black pucker as he slathered it with spit, and he knew, deep down, that it was all that he would ever get if he didn't give in.

If he didn't serve, he would be nothing but an ass-boy, a hole-slurper. His only hope for more, to fulfill those needs that he'd had for so many years, was to give them what they wanted.

Brann managed to hold off those thoughts for a few minutes, but after the third time of almost passing out, he wheezed and whimpered, and then, gave in.

"There...there are...secret passages..."

"Go on."

"And a ward. But with weak points."

"Tell me."

"And hidden roads to the castle."

"Tell me everything."

And Brann did, spilling every secret that was entrusted to the royal family, and as he did, the pressure on his face eased. Never completely, but with enough space to speak without licking the hole over him with every word. And as he served, a tingle went down his spine, a tingle that went all the way down to his cock. He throbbed as he served, and by the time that he had given away every weakness of the Husky capital, his cock was as hard as it could get.

He whimpered as the big Polar Bear finally pulled his ass up, panting hard as he was able to get a breath that was half-normal, though still stained with the clean-sweat and ass-musk of the man that had shattered his pride. Brann panted as he threatened to lower his ass again, and knew he couldn't go under it again, not without at least a taste of something else.

"Please...please..."

"You served," Asmund said.

"Yes, yes, I served. Please!"

"And now, you want a reward."

"Yes! Please!"

"Heh...open."

He opened his mouth as far as it would go, staring at the large black cock that was even then lowering toward his mouth. He stuck out his tongue eagerly, offering it as a channel for that huge shaft, and as he tasted something besides ass for the first time in who knew how long, Brann moaned. It was a sound most unbecoming of a prince, but he no longer cared.

Slowly, bit by bit, that massive cock lowered itself into his throat, and he swallowed the head as it passed into his neck. He swallowed hard, and harder, letting it get in good and deep, and he sighed as he felt it settle properly. It felt good in there. It felt right.

And as Asmund began to thrust, he knew that he had been taken. Not just taken, but broken, as his thoughts were no longer on rebellion, but on serving. Happily, deeply serving the big, powerful bear, and giving himself to the Polar clans.

He didn't want to be rescued.

He didn't want to leave.

He just wanted to be used.

The End

Summary: Brynna sends her brother, Brann, to look into an outpost on the edge of their kingdom with the polar bears that has gone dark. He finds out that there's something big waiting there.

Tags: M/M, Husky, Polar Bear, Stripping, Slavery, Rimming, Oral, Musk, Sweat, Size Difference, Royalty, Series, Desperation, Breaking, Weak,