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Tales Of Morveria: Pethouse #00 - The Hunter & The Wolfess

A Woodland Romance.

By Mantrid Brizon

The crackling of the fire begets the sweet smell of burnt wood, its warmth more an emotional comfort than anything. It's the middle of summer, and it's here in the depths of the forest where a young man has made his home. A hunter and trapper by trade, he's always preferred the wilderness to civilization; without a bride or children, his days are filled with solitude. Rising from his chair, he makes his way toward the hearth, where the fire begins to dwindle. There are more coals than fire.

He considers adding more logs, but just then something passes by the window! He sees the form through the thick and hazy blue glass, the most affordable kind. He leans against the sill to glance through the window and sees a familiar form. The hindquarters of a deer enter the forest, just beyond his humble cabin and modest farm. What luck! It's been so long sine he's found game, having subsisted on his preserves and modest crops, as well as the forest's natural bounty. He grabs his muzzle-loading rifle, powder horn, a canteen, his satchel and a hide cloak, then heads for the door.

With his muzzle-loading rifle in-hand, the young hunter scans his surroundings. The deer is gone; he examines soft ground for clues. It'd passed by only to head into the nothingness of the forest. This is the first since the last seasonal migration, possibly a straggler from a herd, but he could use the meat. He scans the ground again and his eyes light up. Tracks! He begins following the deer, his rifle at the ready, thankful that he's downwind. Several hours pass and he seems no closer to his prize, when suddenly he notices something unsettling. A trail of broken and bent branches appear; they seem to be following the deer.

This isn't necessarily unusual in the wild, however, what worries him are the tracks; they've been damaged by brush, dragged behind whomever also stalks his prize. He knows of no other settlers. Perhaps these are raiders, hiding from the law in the dense forest?! Persistent and prepared, Hunter continues his pursuit, now following the poorly masked trail. Whoever is responsible is either an amateur or only wants to conceal their numbers. As darkness looms, he looks to the pinkish blue sky and knows that he will soon be forced to make camp, before the two moons rise.

He builds a modest fire and sets his leather satchel to the side. It's always filled with supplies; a bag of shot, percussion caps and also two loaves of hardtack and a pocket-sized flask of wine. He never knows when the opportunity will arise, so he's often prepared to leave at a moments notice. He takes a swig from his canteen, now nearly empty, before removing it from his person. He sets it aside and sighs. A whirlwind of thoughts engulfs his mind. How far into the wilderness has he trudged? Will he even catch up with the deer? Will it be worth the effort? Perhaps this wasn't the best idea?

Feeling a twinge of pain in his stomach, Hunter turns and reaches for his satchel. It's gone! A bush rustles and he witnesses what looks like a hand pulling the satchel into it, fingers coiled around the strap. Hunter rolls, grabs his rifle, jumps to his feet and takes aim.

“Who goes there?!" He shouts, cocking the hammer.

The bush erupts in rustling as he hears someone or something fleeing in the opposite direction. He has no other food and so he gives chase. He can hear the thief as their body slams into branches and bushes, which slows the fleet-footed rogue. He gains on the stranger who suddenly banks left. Following closely behind, Hunter notes the rocky walls. Are they entering a valley? The bushes become thinner and the trees suddenly vanish. He looks to his other side and gulps. They're running alongside a cliff!

Soon, he hears the soft feet of the thief sliding atop the loose sand that carpets the rocky floor, the dust of ages. Hunter slows his pace and raises his rifle. His animal hide boots make very little noise but for as still as the air is, he worries that the thief can hear his approach. Creeping closer, he finds a shadowy figure standing against a sheer rock wall. He's cornered the thief. A beam of moonlight illuminates the ground just behind the stranger, who appears to search for a way out.

“You..."

The stranger freezes in place.

“That's my food... I want it back."

The shadowy figure shifts, possibly turning around to face him. After a moment, he hears a strange noise, just as the being approaches. Stepping into the beam of moonlight, he can finally see who he's been chasing. The human's eyes grow wide. It's a Vostii, the paw-footed race of beast folk! Her specific breed appears to be that of a wolf, as her build is too large for a fox and too primal for a dog. The beast woman of the wolf-kin snarls.

“Yii nuzh'bo'vai ye'da." She growls in her native Hitrosii, the ancient elven tongue, proclaiming her desire for food.

“Kii'da tii piim'ya?" He asks her where her tribe is.

“Piim'ya mer'shmiikh. Yii ahd'nii..." She answers in a stern voice, insisting that her tribe is no more and that she's alone.

Hunter believes her - the beast folk are not known to be guileful creatures - but why would she admit to that? The Wolfess stands tall and proud; she's roughly his height, only a few fingers shorter. One hand holds his satchel by the strap while the other hand raises up. Her fingers are coiled and her sharp, ebony claws ready to slash. Hunter can see the desperation in her eyes. She's prepared to fight for his meager food. Her breathing is heavy but stable, her muscles tense. Perplexed by the Wolfess, his eyes slowly scan her form.

Though the wolf-kin are as large as humans, much like the dog-kin and many other varieties of Vostii, he notices that her fur is matted and dirty, clumps of debris all over. Despite its unkempt nature, it clings to her feminine form and reveals her malnutrition. Judging solely by her appearance, he'd be willing to bet that she hasn't had a proper meal in weeks; her ribs are faintly visible through the matte finish of her filthy fur. In contrast, her breasts are quite nice, being large and perky handfuls. However, in her current state they seem somewhat out of place.

Her long, dark hair seems to have natural dreadlocks from poor hygiene, and a gust of wind carries a rather unpleasant odor in his direction. She obviously hasn't bathed in some time. He winces, subtly clearing his throat as he copes with the stench. Considering her surprising bust and scrawny built, he cannot help but wonder how she managed to outrun him. His eyes continue to take in her form. Her slender waist leads to a very flat belly and broad hips, which upon closer inspection gives her a vaguely emaciated appearance.

The Wolfess' legs look slender and yet strong. It's as if she's lost all of her body fat and is now pure muscle, what little of it she has. Her digitigrade, paw-like feet are smaller than he was expecting, but still quite large when compared to his own. Her bestial double ankles easily distribute her weight and give a soft bounce to her step. A bushy tail hangs low and remains still, revealing her anxiety. A thick tuft of pubic fur is all that hides her vagina from his view, though it's probably light pink, like her exposed nipples.

Hunter isn't the least bit surprised by her lack of clothes or modesty. Casual nudity isn't uncommon among the wild and untamed beast folk, though he'd have expected to see more tribal body paint or jewelry fashioned from stone, bone or wood. Despite the vast number of human kingdoms, city-states and settlements, much of rural Morveria is still home to uncivilized tribes and clans who roam about, beast folk just like the Wolfess. Perhaps this female is alone and without a tribe? For the beast folk, this is often considered a death sentence, and many will do anything to prevent total isolation.

Wolfess' eyes widen and her wolf-like ears perk up. She's taken aback by the manner in which her pursuer gazes upon her body. Is he interested in her?! Is he contemplating something nefarious?! Wolfess snarls and raises a hand in preparation for an attack, flashing the sharp claws that crown each humanoid finger. Though Hunter recognizes her hostile posture, he knows that she's hardly a threat to him. The beast folk have many traits that make them physically superior to humans, but even if he did not have his rifle, she may be too weak to put up a fight. This only further softens him.

“Tii ho'zhei'lahn ye'da?" He asks if she desires food.

“Zhe." She nods.

Hunter slowly lowers his rifle, no longer willing to shoot the starving Vostii. Even for one of the beast races, being a female and alone is not an easy life. Upon seeing him lower his weapon, the Wolfess' raised hand softens, her fingers no longer primed for slashing. She scans the Yasheriit warrior, perplexed by his behavior. Piercing eyes, strong cheek bones and a square jaw covered in a full, clean beard. His build appears quite sturdy, even with his clothing masking it. He's a fine specimen of a man, healthy and strong. Why doesn't he kill or claim her? Why lower his weapon?

Her arm slowly falls to her side as she continues to study him. Hunter slings his rifle. They stand and stare, illuminated only by the faint moonlight, though she can see through the darkness with clarity. His expression changes, no longer full of hostility or even resentment. She cannot discern what it is, but something about the human softens.

“Come." He speaks to her in her native tongue, a language that many humans learn early.

“Why, Yasheriit?" She asks, using the ancient name the beast folk have given the humans.

“Come. Follow [me], and I [will] share food." He answers.

Her big, blue eyes widen in shock, her head cocking to one side. He motions with a hand and shows her the side of his body, silently assuring her that she didn't misunderstand. Her tail sways, involuntarily revealing her excitement. The wagging of her tail only further whirls her bestial scent. To him, she smells little different than a common farm animal. Despite how she offends, he finds himself rather amused by her delighted display. She takes a single step toward him and then waits. Seeing her apprehension, Hunter takes the initiative and walks away.

“Come. I [will] not hurt you." He calls out to her, promising not to harm her.

She allows him a few steps before she begins to follow. Glancing over his shoulder, Hunter notes her anxious yet submissive posture. He also cannot ignore her unkempt appearance. Most beast folk take much better care of themselves; she must've been alone for some time. Given the apparent circumstances, he cannot blame her. When survival is your prime concern, what does it matter if you wash behind your ears and brush your fur? Imagining her lost, hungry and afraid makes it easy to forgive both her hygiene and thievery.

Wolfess follows him at a moderate distance but she never allows the Yasheriit male to leave her line of sight. He struggles to find his camp, as the small fire he'd made had already burned out, and the forest is quite dense. Wolfess wonders if she should point the way for him, but he's the male. Only the obvious signs of the trail eventually guide Hunter back to his canteen and the smoldering embers, the remnants of his campfire. Upon reaching the camp, he collects some glowing embers with a flat rock and carefully blows them into flame.

Wolfess sniffs the sweet smoke, her anxiety slowly evaporating with the familiar scene playing out before her. Hunter builds the fire with twigs and dried leaves, the crackling flames brightening the clearing he'd chosen for their camp. He turns to her, now able to see her form much more clearly. Her colors are akin to a common dire wolf, the large, vicious, four-legged beasts who ravage the land. He cannot help but wonder if her breed of beast folk are somehow kin to the four-legged creatures; he also wonders about the hoofed Korutan and the lizard-like Sabaarii, both amphibious and land-dwelling.

They share the human's form, in most respects, but many possess inherited traits that, in many ways, give them physical superiority over humanity. Night vision for most, superb hearing and sense of smell, incredible strength for the horse, zebra and pony-kin, and so on. Their intellect is vastly superior to the common animals as well, but it pales in comparison to the humans; none of the beast folk, to his knowledge, have ever produced more than stone tools without the aid of humanity.

Their nature matches their intellect; it's primal and tribal, with considerable loyalty for the collective. How does one behave when they've lost their tribe? Is she seeking a new tribe with whom to belong? Undoubtedly. Who would dare walk alone in such dangerous lands? Perhaps that's why she's followed him, with little persuasion on his part? Perhaps it's a similar condition to the beast folk whom they've enslaved en masse? Most conform quite willingly, so long as they're treated well. They seem to accept it as their place in the social hierarchy, often without complaint.

Sitting by the fire, he twists his body and looks up at Wolfess. He glances at the satchel, which she wears over a shoulder like a human woman wears a purse. Extending a hand, he motions with his fingers. She cocks her head.

“Give." He politely asks.

After a brief hesitation, Wolfess steps closer, kneels down and then presents him with the small pack. Her willingness to obey intrigues him. As promised, Hunter shares his food; he removes both loaves of hardtack and hands her one. It isn't the most delectable meal but she's grateful for it. He even presents her with his canteen, after first taking a drink. Water wasn't part of the agreement! Why is this stranger being so kind to her? She cannot understand, especially after she'd wronged him. Had he done what she did, her tribe would've killed him on principle.

Wolfess' eyes scan the human as he adds more wood to the fire. Her tribe had long been wary of the Yasheriit, the ancient race with nefarious minds. The fleshy, flat-footed creatures are not only without tails, snouts and good ears, but lack the physical prowess of her kin. Using only the might of their magical tools and weapons, they've spread throughout the whole of Morveria. Their mastery of the world around them has left many of the beast folk in awe. The Korutan are particularly fond of his race; the hoofed beast folk have lived among the Yasheriit for as long as any can remember.

Wolfess' tribe tried to remain secluded, but over the years they were driven from their lands and gradually picked off. Raiders, slavers and other tribes of wild beast folk obliterated her tribe until eventually only four remained. Combat claimed her mate, and sickness claimed the remaining two. They were her mother and father. After tearfully performing the funerary rites, she began to wander; she's has been alone ever since. The fight for survival has kept her from feeling lonely. Now, however, she sits near the Yasheriit and a strange sensation fills her chest.

It's a pressure and a chill combined. Why does she suddenly feel so strange?! She continues to stare. His fair skin is nicely tanned from much time spent outdoors. His light brown hair is relatively short, swept back and held with natural pomade. His beard is trimmed and clean, as are his clothes, which are made of natural materials including wool and animal hides. His body appears quite healthy, perhaps even muscular, with thick arms showing through the sleeves of his shirt. He turns to her and looks to her with eyes as blue as the sky, as pure as the flowing streams. They're just like her own.

He flashes a modest smile, which disarms her and elicits a nervous gulp. He looks away and she promptly sniffs the air, trying not to be so obvious about it. Her Vostii nose picks up a strange but alluring scent. It's his natural odor, a distinct and masculine musk. It's not like the earthy musk of her kin, instead having a sharper, woody scent, but distinct from the fire and even the pomade in his hair. She likes it. Perhaps it's this difference that makes Yasheriit all the more alluring? She gulps again, feeling yet another sensation. This one, however, is very familiar.

She closes her legs and gently rubs them together, discomforted by the moistening of her loins. They're eager for a taste of the human's manhood. Has it truly been that long?! She hasn't exactly counted the days since she last felt a male inside of her, but it's been at least two seasons, which was the day before her mate's death. He was the last to fall in combat, fighting another small tribe who sought to steal her and her mother away. Her father survived without injury but her mate was not so lucky.

Wolfess feels uneasy, but it isn't her carnal urges that make her uncomfortable. Her kind are often quite open about their sexuality; before his death, she enjoyed the pleasure and comfort of her mate, a young man born of her tribe. She would often enjoy him within earshot of her parents and the others, and sometimes even where they could see. This was a common occurrence among her people, long before they were forced to flee their homeland, much as it was for the tribes who fought with them.

Wolfess' problem is two-fold. Despite his generosity, she doesn't have confidence in the Yasheriit. How can she enjoy the flesh of a male whom she cannot fully trust? Her body disregards this logic, urging her instead to eat her fill. Despite her ravenous appetite, she reminds herself of the second problem. Even if she could trust him, the Yasheriit don't possess her natural skills and athleticism, being overall physically inferior. However, their intelligence and organizational capabilities surpass all but the reclusive Hitrosii, the elves who dwell in the region of Chumar, and from whom language was born.

In many ways this makes the Yasheriit a far superior race, and to beast women like Wolfess, quite desirable as mates. After all, with their might they've conquered the known world! The elves saw fit to retain only a modest portion of it. Why would a superior being defile themselves by indulging in the flesh of a mere beast woman? Would he risk impregnating her with a Polotan, the half-breed children that come from such unions? No matter how loudly her body cries out for it, hungry for his masculine attention, he may only see a dimwitted tribal.

Wolfess' confidence is shaken. Her nature pressures her to offer herself, to roll over and present herself, or endear herself to this new and strong male with her hands and mouth. He might protect and provide for her; he might give her a new tribe in which to belong. What a small price to pay for security. He may even be good at it! Only the fear of Hunter's rejection, and perhaps even hostility toward her advances, keeps her still and quiet. Instead, she sits and eyes him from a distance, studying him.

He sits and eats his humble meal, routinely stoking the fire with a damp stick. He never shows hostility or displeasure with her, leaving her be. When he does look to her, he appears friendly and inviting. He even smiles at her! Her mind races. She silently imagines the healthy Yasheriit male mounting her, his hands on her hips as he claims his prize. Do the Yasheriit even mate like the beast folk or do they have their own, uniquely human customs? What does skin feel like against her fur?

Her lips curl in a subtle grin as the thoughts continue. How large is his manhood? What does it look like? Is it different from the penises of her kin? Would she enjoy it as much or even more than mating with one of her own kind? Would he enjoy her as he kneels behind her, grasping tightly to her hips and thrusting himself into her quivering flesh? Would he moan and groan and spill his seed inside of her? Are his balls large? How much seed does he possess? Would he allow her to keep it? If they were to breed, would he claim their half-breed Polotan children as his own and help her raise them?!

These increasingly carnal thoughts only make things worse, her womanhood seeping her lubricating fluids, which soak her pubic fur. Only her fear, powerful and unrelenting, keeps her from pouncing on the Yasheriit then and there. With a soft huff, she nibbles on her bottom lip and does her best to control her thoughts. She reminds herself that this male is a stranger to her, and having heard rumors of Yasheriit arrogance, she tells herself that there's no chance of ever enjoying him, not even for the sake of petty pleasure.

In spite of these negative thoughts, Hunter never demands that she leave, only deepening her confusion. He is the antithesis of the arrogance she was warned about. Too curious to walk away, she decides to stay with him for as long as he'll allow it. Strength in numbers, after all! That night, they sleep atop little bedrolls, which they craft themselves. When Wolfess struggles to find the insulating materials needed to shield her body heat from the cold ground, Hunter helps her. He even goes so far as to surrender some of his own bedding.

She's taken aback by his generosity. Perhaps she was wrong about him? It's often cold in the dead of night, even on the hottest days of summer, but that night was exceptionally warm. The gentlest of breezes blew over them, caressing her fur and rocking Wolfess to sleep. Having a full belly for the first time in more than a week made it even easier. She awoke the next day refreshed and well-rested, not once awakening during the night. How long has it been since that's occurred?

Her mind returns to her newfound companion. Even considering the warm weather and the food, she was unusually comfortable. Perhaps his presence contributed to this? A little smile graces her lips. She sniffs the air, eager to enjoy the scent of the human male. Her eyes widen and her heart sinks. With a swift twist, she turns her head. Wolfess glances around the camp, panic setting in. He's gone! Jumping to her paw-like feet, her breathing hastens. Looking at their camp, Hunter's satchel and canteen are also missing!

Should she call out to him? Should she search? Did he leave her behind?! Is she alone all over again?!?! Perhaps this is why he never shared his name; he never intended to remain with her. Fear creeps into her very core and she feels herself beginning to tremble. Suddenly, her ears twitch as she focuses on a distant sound. With her head on a swivel, she looks toward rustling bushes, only to breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

“I found food." Hunter says as he emerges from the bushes with his satchel filled.

Opening the flap of his satchel, he dumps out the contents and reveals several pounds of sweet, purple berries. Wolfess cannot help but smile as he takes the blade of his hand, cuts the pile in half and pushes an equal portion toward her. That's very generous, considering his body burns more energy than hers. The Yasheriit is proving to be as resourceful as he is compassionate, which only draws her to him. Wolfess glances at Hunter as she picks at the berries, which are perfectly ripe and quite flavorful.

He eats his share but leaves his canteen between them. She reaches for it to take a drink, then pauses. With a smile on his face, he nods his acceptance. As she drinks, her eyes closed and head tilted back, Hunter cannot help but stare at her large, plump breasts. The big, fur covered mounds of feminine flesh jiggle in a most appealing way, and the light pink skin of her nipples glistens in the sunlight. Examining her womanly curves, he stares at her thick tuft of pubic fur. The thick, fluffy but matted hairs conceal what he knows to be a very human-like vagina.

Imagining her loins and seeing her bare breasts in the daylight somehow softens the odor of the unwashed beast woman whom he so graciously spared the night before. He gulps and turns his eyes away when he feels his manhood stirring.

“Why did you do that?" He thinks to himself. “She's a Vostii of the wolf-kin... And quite unclean..."

He turns toward her, unable to prevent himself from eying her body once more. Only her sudden attention as she lifts her head and presents him with his canteen, a delightful smile on her face, keeps him from continuing to enjoy her splendor. He brings the canteen to his lips and takes a drink, only to find that Wolfess had consumed much of the water. He receives only a few gulps.

“Thirsty?" He asks, a little smirk on his face.

With a rather bashful look, she bows her head and subtly nods, her dark hair swaying so adorably.

“There [is a] stream nearby." He remarks.

She's grateful for his calm and casual demeanor, especially after drinking nearly all of his water. After eating their humble breakfast of berries, they begin their journey together. Hunter's stream refills his canteen. As he feels the cool water rushing in, he turns to Wolfess. She searches the ground for something, and soon picks up a rock which she then breaks against another, creating a sharp flake. The wind blows and he glances at the water over his hands, softly chuckling at the thought of giving her a bath.

Taking the canteen from the water, he returns the brass cap only to pause. Fresh deer tracks! It's likely the same beast he'd been tracking the day before they met. He turns to Wolfess, who now holds a long and thick stick. She balances it and examines it for defects. He calls out to her.

“To'var!"

Her ear twitches at the word for “companion". She looks to him, trying to hide her smile. He proclaims his desire to hunt the beast, offering to share the bounty with the lone Vostii of the wolf-kin. She doesn't hesitate, instantly offering her natural abilities as a tracker. In fact, she admits to having desired to kill the deer herself, tracking it for two days, well beyond the land where his cabin is located. The stick and rock she'd just collected were intended to be weapons, for future hunts.

Hunter looks her up and down, flashes a little smile and then nods. He's glad to have her hunt with him and says as much, motioning with a hand and showing her the tracks. Wolfess is overjoyed. She does her very best to hide it, as the last thing she wants is to display any vulnerability to her newfound companion. The truth is that she wants nothing more than to prove herself useful to him, so that he won't send her away. Nothing is worse than being alone in the forest, and a male's companionship is her preference.

With Wolfess by his side, they resume the hunt and track the deer with her enhanced eyesight, hearing and sense of smell. Hunter quickly loses the fresh tracks in the dense forest and fails to find more broken brush, as the trees begin to open up. Wolfess, however, finds a hidden trail that he never could've found on his own, seeing the faintest of tracks on the increasingly firm and rocky ground. She leads him faithfully, all the while crafting a simple spear of sharpened wood.

They follow the trail for some time, stopping only to forage for more food and to collect water, but once again they're forced to camp for the night. Hunter sets a few small traps while Wolfess finishes making her weapons, hardening the tip of her wooden spear beneath the coals of the campfire. Hunter returns with a small bundle of edible mushrooms and berries, just as she finishes knapping a modest knife from the shard of stone. They sit by the fire and eat what little food they have. To Wolfess' shock, Hunter gladly shares whatever he finds, never once rationing unfairly.

His generosity doesn't appear to be fleeting. The wild game isn't as abundant as it once was, otherwise neither would bother with such a troublesome hunt. Suddenly, a branch shakes and both jump to their feet. Wolfess can hear the cries of a small animal in the distance, a rabbit. Leaving his rifle behind, Hunter makes a torch with a small log wrapped in plant fibers and disappears into the darkness, away from her line of sight. She listens for him, fearful that something awful might befall him. After all, the forest is hideously dangerous, especially at night.

This fear unsettles her and gives her pause. Why is she starting to care for this male, and so swiftly after meeting him?! He's little more than a random Yasheriit male, whom she tried and failed to steal from. If anything, he's a fool for being so kind to a thief! A kind, gentle, strong and handsome fool. Moments later, he returns with a large hare, which had choked in his snare. What luck! Hunter is about to begin the work of skinning and cleaning it when Wolfess steps closer. Something inside of her demands it; a test is in order.

“Dai'tei." She asks for the rabbit.

Hunter doesn't hesitate. His trust in her is astounding and she feels a fluttering in her stomach. It isn't hunger. Sitting near the Vostii, he watches as she uses her new knife to skillfully butcher the creature. Using rocks of moderate size, she cooks the rabbit meat atop them before presenting him with the larger portion. Given the circumstances, it's a flattering gesture; he cannot help but smile. Wolfess can see how his lips curl and her tail begins to sway. She's pleased him!

They eat and talk, but their conversation is slow and awkward. At no point do they ask each other their names, content to speak only about niceties like the weather, the stars, and the unusual lack of game. They set down their bedrolls and prepare to sleep, but a cold wind blows in. Hunter had felt guilty the previous night, having never offered Wolfess his animal hide cloak, despite the warmth in the air. A part of him wanted to make her more comfortable, to set her mind at ease as she'd clearly been through a terrible ordeal. This night will be different.

She's shocked and flattered by his offer, and though a part of her recommends against it, another part begs for his attention; she accepts his generosity and further offers him a place beside her. He takes a moment to think. Unease creeps into the Vostii. Had she offered too much? Is he uninterested in her?! Suddenly, the human turns to her and agrees to sleep beside her, as it will certainly be a colder night than the previous. However, he has something he must do, something very important.

Wolfess cocks her head and furls her brow as her companion disappears behind some bushes. What could he need to do so late in the evening?

“Ahh..." He sighs with delight.

She cannot help but giggle as she hears him relieving himself just beyond the bushes and against a tree. Hunter returns to find his Vostii companion pulling their bedrolls together, her back turned, her perky buttocks up in the air and her tail swaying as if it were waving to him. Hearing him approach, she looks over her shoulder and smiles, then waves with a clawed hand in a strangely inviting manner. Hunter joins her atop the makeshift bed, tosses a pair of logs into the fire to keep it lit, then looks to her and wishes her a goodnight.

For as strong and as capable as he is, he's quite soft-spoken. She smiles and nods, then rolls over and lies down on her side, her back facing him. Hunter covers them with the cloak and relaxes on his back. Time slows down. Wolfess tries her best to sleep, but something prevents her. Lying atop her bedroll, she turns her head and stares at Hunter. Her unblinking gaze lasts for quite a while. She finds herself rolling over, facing her body toward the sleeping human. After a long pause, she slowly pushes away the cloak, sitting on her legs as she watches him sleep.

“Who will it harm?!" She thinks to herself. “I just want a closer look. A proper sniff..."

She finds herself kneeling beside the human, her clawed hands on her knees as her eyes scan him from head-to-toe. As her sapphire orbs examine him, she pauses. There's a bulge at his groin! Nibbling on her bottom lip, she glances at Hunter's face. He remains flat on his back, a head supported by a little pillow made of a bundle of dry grass. His soft snoring proves that he's in a deep sleep. A hand slowly creeps closer, coming to rest over the bulge of his groin. Her fingers flex, gently squeezing it. It's firm!

Wolfess quickly pulls her hand away. Her lips curl into a little grin, her teeth still clenching the flesh of her bottom lip. Being an experienced woman, she knows that he's growing aroused in his sleep, a common occurrence in healthy males. The fear of capture begins to fade as the voice of her primal woman roars.

“Look at that! Please! It's been far too long! I only want to see it! Let me have a taste!!!" She hears it yelling in the back of her mind.

Biting on the tip of her tongue, she winces in preparation for being caught. Her fingers grasp the leather belt around Hunter's waist, slowly and carefully untying it. With his belt undone, she lay it flat. Returning to his trousers, she notes the devices that hold them closed. Four wooden discs fit through matching slits cut into the animal hide, held in place by tiny ropes. The Yasheriit are a clever race, indeed! One by one, she pushes the buttons through the slots. His manhood throbs, as though it knows what she's doing.

Slowly and gently, she pulls apart the flaps that cover his crotch. A powerful musk arises from his exposed flesh, wafting around her snout, slithering up her nostrils and crawling deep into her nasal passages. For a moment, she finds herself frozen. Her eyelids droop and then flutter, her sapphire orbs rolling backward as her mouth hangs open.

“Ooohh..." She coos.

What a lovely smell! Yasheriit musk is wonderful! Leaning over, she places herself on her elbows and knees. A clawed hand slowly reaches inside of his pants. She's surprised to find that humans have fur as well, her palm brushing the forest around his manhood. Her fingers gently caress the warm, firm flesh and she briefly gasps. It's feels even bigger than it looks through his pants! Pulling very gently and very slowly, she inches it upward and away from his thigh, where it'd been pressed between his leg and his trousers.

The fear returns as Hunter shifts, causing her to pause and glance at his face. He remains asleep and so she continues. With a quick pull, the human's penis slips free from its prison. She gasps and stares with wide eyes. It's already so big, larger than she's ever enjoyed, and yet a squeeze of his shaft reveals that he's not yet fully erect! No wonder the Yasheriit are so popular with beast women. Hunter remains still, clearly deep into his sleep. Growing bolder, Wolfess' dainty and furry hand gently strokes the increasingly firm obelisk that is the human's manhood, her eyes drinking in the sight of the exotic phallus.

What a fascinating shape! He's not quite as thick as the men of her kin, but his member has a very consistent girth and even more length. The large, swollen head is much thicker than those of her kin, the point less prominent. The bulb of dull pink flesh has a ridge just before where the shaft begins. Her fingers drag along it as she loosens her grip. His skin is so soft! Her hand grips his shaft once more as she moves her hand toward him, pulling back the foreskin from the tip of his manhood. It opens like a budding flower, revealing even more of him! Her eyes widen.

“Ooohh!" She coos with childlike delight.

Up and down, she strokes Hunter's endowment, playing with it as though it were a toy. Wolfess cannot help but wonder how the exotic penis will feel inside of her. Do Yasheriit men feel as good as her own kind? Will he feel better?! With her loins now dripping with eager anticipation, her pink nether lips hungrier than they've ever been, she cannot control herself. Though she'd only intended to examine him, her hand now strokes his flesh in a consistent rhythm. She leans even closer and touches the tip of his manhood with her nose. She inhales.

“Ahh! Ooohh..."

She sighs with delight and then coos, only to stick out her tongue and lick the tip. She can no longer stop herself, feeling the urges overpowering her.

“Mmrrmm..." Hunter shifts.

Wolfes pauses and turns her head to look up at him. The bulb of his manhood remains atop her warm, wet tongue. When he doesn't awaken, she slowly begins to drag her tongue along the shaft before swirling it around the tip. Her grip softens, his foreskin rolling back and over her tongue, which she rubs all around the head of his endowment. Wolfess can feel herself losing all control. Her body aches for his masculinity; all it wants is to feel the cascading pleasure of his manhood reaming her taut loins before injecting his hot seed deep inside of her.

Wolfess' lips wrap around his manhood, which fills her wolf-like snout. Her head begins to bounce up and down; she moves in a smooth rhythm, as if to a song only she can hear. Her nostrils flare as she puffs air, taking a moment to gasp as her tongue licks all around Hunter's shaft. Growing increasingly aggressive, Wolfess reaches down and grabs Hunter's testicles. What large balls he has! They feel so heavy as she pulls them up and over the seam, where the flaps at the front of his trousers begin. All the better to impregnate her with.

With a hand stroking his manhood, she leans in, presses her nose against his crinkled flesh and sniffs the large, oblong orbs. Hunter wriggles, startling Wolfess. She pauses, her tongue still pressed against his flesh, curled beneath and cupping his testicles so lovingly. After a moment, when he still doesn't awaken, she slowly drags her tongue along his flesh, licking each ball before continuing along the entire length of his shaft and over the swollen bulb which crowns the symbol of his masculinity.

She once again stuffs him into her mouth, thoroughly enjoying his wonderful taste, and all while her womanhood drips with her arousal. Wolfess takes a hand and begins to rub her sticky, slimy nether lips, her fur matted from her lubricating fluids. Oh, how she'd love to feel this phallus inside of her, spreading open the flower of her womanhood. Surely, he'd stretch her in the most enjoyable ways! She has always had small loins, and even her previous mate, who was noticeably smaller than Hunter, spread her nethers apart with every delightful thrust.

She's longed for this. She craves it. Perhaps she should have it? As she strokes Hunter's rock-hard manhood, she marvels at it. It isn't merely the unusual shape but also its size. He's longer, thicker and he even smells better! Why is that?! Is Hunter's allure somehow related to the knowledge that he's a prime mate, that their offspring would be a superior creature? The thought of her belly, swollen with Hunter's offspring, drives the Vostii wild. Wolfess raises a leg and plants a paw-like foot near his hips. Will he stop her if he awakens?

She genuinely contemplates straddling him, pushing his manhood inside of her and riding it with considerable vigor. Just then, Hunter mumbles and even shifts. Moving swiftly, the panicked Wolfess returns his erect penis to his animal hide trousers, hastily buttons the front, pulls his cloak over them and lies atop her bedroll. Somehow, she does this in seconds and without scratching him with her claws. What a sneaky creature she is! Though he doesn't appear to have awoken, the fear of being caught prevents her from trying to play with him again.

However, it doesn't stop her from enjoying some pleasure. Huffing and puffing, she massages her clitoris and teases her taut womanhood, pushing a finger inside. How long must it have been for her own finger to feel so large?! With a wriggling finger and canted wrist, Wolfess indulges herself until an orgasm causes her to clench her teeth and grunt, and all while she stares at the sleeping Yasheriit who lies right beside her. The thought of it being him who she feels inside of her makes the pleasure sprout that much faster.

With a heavy sigh, she rolls over and faces away from him, peering through the darkness. He's blissfully unaware of what's just transpired. The following morning, Hunter awakens from an unusual dream. It's rare that he dreams about sex, especially after so long without it, but as he stretches his arms and back, he remembers the vivid sensation of a mouth devouring his masculinity in a most pleasurable way. It's a shame it ended so abruptly. He ties his belt around his waist, which must've loosened in his sleep. Did he also fail to fasten all of his buttons when he relieved himself? He can't remember.

Glancing at Wolfess, he watches her sleeping peacefully, curled into the fetal position as she lay atop her bedroll, right beside him. Something about her calls out to him. Unable to help himself, he reaches out a hand and pets her head so softly, even playing with a perky ear, flopping it about. It twitches but she doesn't open her eyes. She's been such a good companion for him these past few days. He normally doesn't feel lonely in his cabin, but having her with him has given him a new perspective. Why did he insist upon living alone in the first place? How foolish could he have been?

His eyes scan the Vostii from head to toe and then back again. He looks closely at her face, her subtly twitching nose and upper lip as she softly snores. Has she always been this cute? Has he simply not noticed until now? A hand tenderly pets her head of matted hair and he leans in to kiss it, only to suddenly pause. What if he wakes her? Perhaps she wouldn't appreciate finding his lips on her. Why is he drawn to kiss her in the first place?! Shaking the thought from his mind, he instead lifts his animal hide cloak and slips out from their makeshift bed without disturbing her.

Despite his conflicting thoughts and feelings, he intends to do something nice for her. As good a companion as she's proving to be, she deserves a treat, and he knows exactly what to look for. Wolfess awakens refreshed and well-rested, having slept quite soundly throughout the night. Perhaps a little pleasure was just what she needed? The taste of her Yasheriit companion still fills her mouth, and to her delight, it's quite lovely. A groan escapes her throat as she stretches, her muscles flexing. Brushing her hands over her body, the dust and debris fall from her fur.

It briefly worries her; she's always taken such good care of herself, especially her hair and her loins, but lately cleanliness hasn't been a priority. Her worries dissipate as she cannot help but feel her own, ample breasts. The Vostii's mind wanders. Does her human companion appreciate how large and perfectly formed they are? So perky and firm, yet supple and bouncy. Perhaps she should find a way to frame them, so that he pays them more attention. She did so love his wandering eyes. Perhaps then he might find reason to touch them!

She sniffs the air, eager to smell the scent of her human companion. Her eyes widen and her heart sinks. She glances around the camp, panic setting in. He's gone! Again!!! Recalling the previous instance, she tries to calm herself. Hunter wouldn't abandon her. He didn't the last time. Why would he, now? No matter how she tries to soothe herself, the uncertainty makes her shiver. Her fondness for the Yasheriit is growing faster than she ever thought possible, and being without him, let alone by herself, is increasingly terrifying.

Just as her heart begins to race, she hears the now familiar voice of her companion. He hums a tune to himself as he harvests something in the forest. Emerging from some bushes, he pauses when he finds her already awake, sitting atop their bed of grass sheaves with the cloak covering her legs.

“Zdas'vu'tii. Pa'draok." Hunter greets her and offers a gift.

Opening the flap of his satchel, he reveals a most remarkable find. Ilium rose heads! Three massive bulbs, larger than the largest Korutan's fist, barely fit inside of the satchel. The soft flowers are smooshed together, stuffed into his pack. Even for a Vostii who prefers meat, the flavorful Ilium rose is a delicacy. Reaching inside, Hunter pulls a bulb from his satchel, the deep golden flower shimmering like crystal clear water from a glacial stream. Kneeling beside her, he hands her the golden bulb, only to reach in and retrieve two more. One is silver and the third is as black as charcoal and shines like a polished gemstone. Wolfess can hardly believe her eyes. Is he truly giving her all three bulbs?!

“These [are] for you." He assures her in her language.

“All?!" She gasps.

“Yes." He nods, a warm smile on his face.

Words cannot describe her gratitude. For a brief moment, a part of her feels guilty for what she'd done the night before. She was seconds away from taking his body, claiming his manhood like a piece of meat, and now he gives her the tastiest flower in all of Morveria for seemingly no reason. She looks into his eyes and smiles. With the softest touch, he strokes her cheek and then pets her head. Hunter makes his way toward the burned out campfire, near which he places his rifle and canteen.

As she watches him striking their camp, a thought enters her mind. How would he have rewarded her if she had used him last night? Perhaps she'll soon find out? Taking a bite out of the golden bulb, she savors the sweet and succulent flower, her eyes focused on her human companion. Once he's cleaned the campsite, Hunter sits and watches as Wolfess enjoys the second bulb. Her primal woman is eager to devour it, but looking into her companion's eyes silences the savage beast. She takes the half-eaten silver bulb and presents it to Hunter.

He scoots closer, places his rifle between them and accepts her gift. As he eats the delicious flower, she rests a clawed hand on his upper back, gently rubbing the nape of his neck. Her tender caress sends a shiver up his spine. He turns his head and looks at her arm. Wolfess stops but leaves her hand in place. Hunter's eyes turn to hers and they share a long and awkward stare. With the subtlest of nods, he appears to give her permission. Wolfess continues to stroke him, and from his body's adorable twitch, it's clear that he enjoys it.

“Tii uch pra'kazii." He suddenly says.

Her eyes widen while Hunter's face flushes. Does he truly find her to be “very pretty"?! As their eyes break contact, she notices the dust and debris in her fur for the second time. How long has it been since she's cleaned herself?! The uneasiness returns in full force. Seeing her discomfort and believing that he has embarrassed her, Hunter clears his throat before suggesting they continue with the hunt. The deer won't present itself, after all. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, they resume their original mission with earnest.

Wolfess finds the trail with ease and they follow it for some time, stopping only to forage for more food and to collect water. They're once again forced to camp for the night. They sit by the fire and endure hunger pains, sharing the black bulb of the third Ilium rose. They also share the flask of wine, though between the two of them it isn't nearly enough to become intoxicated. There's no other adequate sources of nourishment available. Hopefully, they're catching up to the deer.

Another cold wind blows in, and this time Hunter doesn't just offer his cloak; he places his bedroll beside hers as though this was always their routine. Wolfess lay on her side, a bent arm supporting her head. Her mind races as Hunter slithers closer, placing himself behind her and gently pressing their bodies together. Guilt creeps in as she hears his stomach growl. She'd been so distracted by what he'd said that on several occasions she lost the deer's trail. She isn't even sure if they're following the right path anymore, though she'd never admit it.

Perhaps if she could've remained focused, they'd have found the deer and killed it, and then they wouldn't be hungry? It's all her fault. She isn't proving her usefulness to the Yasheriit, and tribes do not suffer useless members for long, not without good cause. Her heart races as Hunter places a hand on her side before slowly sliding it around to her belly. She feels herself being pulled even closer to him.

“Perhaps he does have a use for me? Does he intend to breed me?! Am I to be his mate?!?!" She thinks to herself, growing excited and a little aroused.

However, to both her and her primal woman's dismay, Hunter doesn't tear off his clothes, hold her down and ram his big, beautiful and exotic penis inside of her taut, quivering loins. Instead of ravaging her to her heart's content, he simply holds her, his chest against her back as he keeps her close. Why does he still want her so close when she's failed him? Why does he touch her so tenderly if they aren't going to mate? Did he truly mean what he said? If so, why isn't he having sex with her right now?! He easily could; she would never deny him. She wants it!

Hunter remains still, making himself comfortable. He rests his face against her shoulder blades and feels a calm washing over him. Though her unwashed body still offends his nose, he's long since adapted to it. Furthermore, he cannot help but notice his own unpleasant odor. If he were to spend as much time alone in the wilderness as she had, he'd be even filthier. Humbled, Hunter says nothing, content to snuggle with the Vostii female of the wolf-kin. With his arm around Wolfess' waist, he pulls at her a little more, until she feels her buttocks pressing against his groin.

She prepares herself, ready to feel his endowment reaming her, but that moment never comes. Instead, they drift off to sleep in the comfort of their shared warmth. Sometime during the night, he awakens to his manhood swollen and eager, her perky buttocks still pressed against his groin. He lifts his head and looks her over. Just then, the thought enters his mind. He gulps as he realizes how badly he desires her! He feels her soft breathing and watches her. It briefly shocks him, as it did earlier that day, but it's been quite some time for him. If he were being truthful, he'd love to enjoy a woman's pleasure, even a woman of the beast folk.

Acting on its own accord, his hand moves away from her belly. It glides up her furry body, only to caress and then cup one of her large breasts. He gives the ample mound of femininity a soft squeeze. What a perfect specimen! As if sensing the male's urges, Wolfess' tail briefly bounces between them, before slithering to the side and draping over her hips. Feeling it brushing against his trousers, he cranes his neck and peers into the darkness between them. Moving slowly and carefully, he lifts the cloak off of them.

There it is, her buttocks so beautiful and now fully exposed. Did she move her tail for mating, or is he misinterpreting it? Is she even aware of what's going on? He leans over only to find her eyes closed, mouth slightly open and her breathing slow and steady, just like it was before. Desire builds. He leans back and stares at her behind, imagining himself pulling his manhood from his trousers, rubbing it against the splendor that awaits him, betwixt her legs, before pushing it into her loins as hard as he can. How tight would she be? The look on her face as she feels him claiming her would be quite a sight, and well worth the attempt.

However, looking over the Vostii, he stops to ponder her desires. She hasn't made an effort to seduce him, as some of the lone females often do. He's read books telling stories of human men who came across one or even several frightened female Vostii in the wild, alone and without a tribe or even males to protect and provide for them. These tales tell of men accepting their bodies, which the beast women so eagerly offered in exchange for protection and food. It always sounded so bestial, so primal. The carnality of the beast folk is well-known, especially among the slave masters.

Race and breed seems to matter little when it comes to this kind of behavior, and enjoying the flesh of the beast folk is almost ubiquitous among his people. Perhaps Wolfess would enjoy it? Perhaps he should claim her, as a beast man does? He then recalls the teachings of The Order, the sages of his faith. Adonai, The One, and the creator of all that is, was and ever will be, would not like him using the Vostii for pleasure as if she were but a plaything, even if his feelings developed further. She has agency, and so far she hasn't made any attempts to ensnare him.

If anything, her uneasiness after his compliment proves that she isn't interested in him, despite the gift of Ilium rose bulbs. Should that really matter? Should he truly care what a beast woman thinks? After all, his is the more capable and intelligent race. She would be honored and perhaps even grateful to feel him enjoy her flesh, spilling his seed into her loins and blessing her with a Polotan child! These shockingly brutish and carnal thoughts startle him and leave him aghast at himself, and so he shakes them from his mind. Subduing his own primal urges, Hunter pulls the cloak back over them, places his hand over her belly and does his best to return to sleep. Wolfess is never the wiser.

By noon of the third day of tracking, they finally catch the deer. It's a healthy, meaty buck with at least eight points on his antlers. Wolfess jumps as Hunter fires his rifle. What noise! What smoke! The deer drops dead, at least one-hundred yards away from where they stand, at the other end of a clearing. What power he wields! That would've taken the hunters of her tribe several spears and another long pursuit. No wonder his kind have spread far and wide. Who could stop the Yasheriit when they possess such weapons? He sets the rifle aside, leaning it against a tree as he approaches the slain beast.

Wolfess takes a moment to examine it, amazed at the seemingly magical power of the carved wooden stick and metal tube, fused together with metal bands. Hunter notices her curiosity but doesn't discourage her, merely calling out to her. The more he calls her “companion" and “friend", the more akin to him she feels. It only makes her desires harder to subdue. Wolfess kneels beside him, ready to assist. Using a humble knife made of steel, Hunter butchers the carcass and removes only the intestines; they'll need the rest.

Wolfess does her part with her stone blade. Her skill is remarkable. When they're finished they have quite a haul; nearly one-hundred pounds of meat and organs! That night, Wolfess and Hunter prepare their camp near to a small stream. They sit beside yet another campfire, their kill hanging from a nearby tree. Wolfess cuts the meat to his specifications while Hunter creates a primitive smokehouse of sticks and moss. They must preserve as much as they can. As the meat smokes, they cook the organs for a feast at their new campsite.

For as hungry as they both feel, they know they could never eat it all; their stomachs have likely shrunk to the size of walnuts, so portions must be small and careful, lest they make themselves sick. Hunter overcooks several organs and salts them using supplies in his satchel, saving some for later. The deer's hide will come in handy as a large sack to carry the freshly smoked meat, while the remainder will give them at least two days of hearty meals. They eat their fill and relax beside the fire.

As darkness falls, Wolfess makes her bed beside Hunter's. She doesn't wait for an invitation, nor does she give him the chance to pull his bedroll beside hers. He notices her initiative but says nothing. In fact, he cannot help but smile. He doesn't dare say it, not after the awkwardness of his last confession, but sleeping beside her has been more peaceful than when in the comfort of his own bed, in the warmth and safety of his cabin. Now that the hunt is over, will she leave? It's a thought that unsettles him, for more than one reason.

That night, the sky is clear and a cold wind blows in. Hunter stokes the fire and they share his animal hide cloak, but this time it isn't enough. Perhaps they should've made a proper shelter with rocks, sticks, leaves and sod? It's too late, now. Wolfess holds back a shiver. Seeing this, Hunter gives her a squeeze, hoping to share his warmth with her. Their bodies press together as if they were meant to be that way. She feels his bulge against her buttocks, so near to her loins, and recalls his wonderful taste.

The night she should've straddled him but didn't is a constant regret. Shifting her big, sapphire eyes, she looks into his. Hunter is taken aback by how beautiful they now seem to him. The pair look to each other and stare. Though they feel the chill creeping in, neither pays any attention to it. Without uttering a single word, they share a little kiss. Their eyes widen. Who's responsible? Was it her primal woman taking control or did Hunter demand her affection?! The air is still as they look each other up and down, questioning who moved first. Both have already forgotten.

Her bushy tail cannot help itself and softly wags, thumping against Hunter's leg and revealing her true feelings. It eases his mind. Things have changed between them, and they know it. It would seem, then, that it's just a matter of how much they'll allow it to change.

“Raban" He suddenly begins.

“Hmm?!"

“My name [is] 'Raban'." He speaks in her tongue, finally telling her his name.

Her heart warms. It's such a simple thing, and yet it shows so much trust in her. They lean in and share another kiss. One becomes three, and then a dozen. Wolfess opens wide and licks Raban's tongue with her own, a clawed hand reaching around and grabbing the back of his head as she begins to roll over to face him. Her hot breath blows in his face, causing him to pause. Her aggression quickly overwhelms him, as the naked Vostii of the wolf-kin suddenly clings to his shoulders and pushes him down! She moves with him as she rolls him onto his back, the cloak falling from their bodies as she straddles his pelvis.

“Tara." She speaks with a trilled 'R'. “My name [is] 'Tara.'"

Before he can say a word, Tara skillfully removes his belt and undoes his buttons. It's as if she'd done it before. The look on her face is startling, like a ravenous beast about to pounce atop unsuspecting prey. Her hunger for him is as plain as the canine nose on her face. With her clawed hands resting on his belly, she slithers backward and sits on his legs as she gazes down at his crotch.

“It [is] cold. Sex [will] warm us." She growls with lust.

Pulling apart the flaps at the front of his trousers, Tara reaches in and grabs onto his throbbing manhood as if she owned it. She remains seated atop his thighs as she strokes him with both hands, which his length demands. Her eyes are wild, icy firestorms, her mouth open and tongue hanging out in bestial joy. His body responds to her ministrations and Tara begins playing with the firm obelisk with childlike glee. She strokes it, rubs it, massages it and even wiggles it about, as though she cannot believe what she's holding in her own two hands.

Raban knows what she wants, and he knows what he wants, but cannot decide what's proper. Should he give in and enjoy the beast woman's loins, or resist and allow their passion to grow in a more appropriate setting? In the end, he grabs onto her waist and pulls her up, making her straddle his pelvis once more. Tara gasps and then giggles. Her tail wags with delight. It would seem that he wants this just as badly as she does! The human's strength as he pulls her up with ease sends a rush of adrenaline throughout the Vostii's body. It readies her for what's to come.

Feeling the underside of his phallus pressing against her moistening nether lips makes Tara coo. It feels even hotter against her womanhood than it did in her hands. The heat from his member radiates over her trembling flesh, melting her very core. It's a startling sensation. A man's organ has never felt so good simply resting against her loins like this. Just how long has it been for her?! Raban lifts his wool shirt over his head and tosses it aside, only for his hands to then reach out and grab hold of her ample breasts.

She smiles as he balances and massages and even kneads them, working her chest with the same care that she shows his manhood. It's a comfort beyond words to know that the Yasheriit delights in her feminine mounds as much as she'd hoped he would. She wants to be beautiful in his eyes, and now she knows that she is. Somehow, the odd manipulation of her mammaries, which her previous mate never performed, is also quite enjoyable. When Raban rubs her nipples with his thumbs, his hands cradling her large bosoms, she feels her body shivering with delight.

Tara responds by placing her clawed hands atop his now bare chest, giving her additional support as she begins rocking her hips. The Vostii grinds her dripping wet nether lips along the shaft of his well-endowed manhood. The girthy phallus presses against her loins and constantly rubs the budding flower of her womanhood, sending a lovely shiver up her spine. Her tail begins to wag. Raban releases a soft groan as he feels her steaming hot loins smearing viscous fluid all over him. He responds by squeezing her breasts and gently pinching her nipples.

“Ahh! Ooohhh..." She cries out and then coos.

He can hear the sounds of her anticipation, the slimy juices of her vagina smeared onto his member by her rocking motions and making sounds similar to the smacking of lips. As she coats his manhood with her lubricating fluids, Raban begins to notice a rather pungent aroma emanating from her. A few specks of dirt flake from her pubic fur and land on him. Tara's body, as well as her nethers, haven't been washed in some time. Lifting herself up, he can see how thick and oily her vaginal fluids are. Should he really have sex with an unwashed beast woman?

He begins to worry. Who was her last lover? What if he catches something from her?! Sexually transmitted diseases aren't uncommon, after all. Before he can come to his senses, Tara rises up and lifts his manhood, her fingers wrapping around the base of the impressive member. She growls with lust as she presses the bulbous tip of the spear against her opening. Her juices seep from her opening as she briefly rubs the head of his member back and forth over her tender flesh, teasing her taut loins. The sensation steals the oxygen from his lungs.

Whatever strength remained vanishes the moment she lowers herself in a quick, confident and fluid motion. Raban grits his teeth and watches in awe as the flower of her womanhood opens. It swallows his endowment, revealing her true splendor. Tara is the smallest he's ever seen, the tightest and hottest he's ever felt! She stretches over his swollen manhood and squeezes him tighter than his own hands could. Tara drops herself down, never showing an ounce of hesitation. A faint but audible pop escapes her nether lips as Raban's engorged tip slips beyond her taut opening. She's never felt anything like this!

“AHHH!!!" She cannot help but shriek.

Raban feels so big! Looking down, she already begins to pant. That was only the head; there's so much more of him left for her to enjoy! Thick, slimy fluid trickles down the fleshy obelisk, preparing the Yasheriit's manhood for the task at hand. After a brief moment of trembling, her body hastily adapting to her new lover, Tara resumes her work. Down she goes, her legs spreading apart as she wiggles her hips. It's as much for his amusement and pleasure as it is to help ease his phallus inside of her.

Inch after satisfying inch burrows into her quivering flesh, her vaginal canal having never before been stretched like this. Her eyelids flutter and a bolt of satisfaction shoots up her spine. It causes her to cant her hips, rubbing her clitoris over the forest of pubic hair that covers Raban's groin. A pressure in her belly reminds her of the substantial nature of her lover. She'd certainly stolen from the right male; the sensation of her womanhood being filled to capacity is unlike anything she's ever felt before.

Looking down once again, she's startled to discover that there's still a bit more to go. If all of the Yasheriit are as long and girthy as her Raban, then it's no wonder so many beast women desire human males. With a soft plop, Tara finds herself sitting atop his lap. Putting her weight on his pelvis, she spreads her legs even further apart, smooshing her body against his. The bulb of his flesh, which covers his equally impressive testicles, presses into the crease in her buttocks before resting against the underside of her bushy tail. How wonderful; she's taken it all! Just in time, too, as she feels the tip of his manhood brushing against her cervix.

If he had more to give, she couldn't handle it; they're a perfect fit. The warmth radiates between them, her arms and legs quivering as she sits still, her body still adapting to her lover. She's never struggled with a male's organ before, huffing and puffing as she tries to regain control of her own body. She opens her eyes to look down upon her lover, who wears a similar expression. He can feel the throbbing of her vagina, so taut and supple, so hot and so wet; she does absolutely nothing and still her loins massage him, increasing his pleasure with every passing second.

He can hardly believe the sensation. Feeling himself filling her to capacity, the end of her womanhood kissing the head of his manhood, is even nicer than the warmth of her perky buttocks atop his balls. Tara slowly rocks her hips and gently, perhaps even sheepishly, bounces atop his lap. The familiar bump of testicles against her furry behind draws her attention. As if to verify their presence, she lifts her legs ever so slightly and places even more pressure on his pelvis, as well as her cervix, then rocks and swivels her hips again; she smooshes them into her ass, jiggling his balls with her rough, circular motions.

It's an incredible feeling, mating with Raban. She's never had a male penetrate her so deeply, reaching the very end of her loins. His stones are as impressive as the tree. How much seed do they hold? Her lips peel back and reveal her sharp teeth as she enjoys the thoughts almost as much as she enjoys his flesh. Raban is truly an impressive male, not just in endowment but in character. None had ever been so good to her. Surely, he'll be the one to breed her. Her lips curl at the corners, forming a rather sinister grin as she works him a little harder, spurred by these carnal and passionate thoughts.

“Rrrr!"

She growls as her fingers coil, scratching Raban's tender flesh. Tara begins to bounce harder and faster, still rocking and bucking and swiveling her hips. A wonderfully carnal rhythm begins. This is exactly what she needs. Raban watches in stunned silence, the pleasure completely overwhelming him. Her mountains of femininity bounce and jiggle so beautifully as she moves, rocking her lover's body as much as her own. The sound of soft plopping, of flesh against fur, causes his heart to race and cheeks to flush. What a carnal and beautiful beast she is!

His two stones, so full of life-giving seed, slap against her buttocks. Somehow, it doesn't hurt. Her desire continues to grow, as does her aggression. She leans in and steals several kisses, only to lick his cheek and then his neck. Her tongue caresses him with brutal sensuality, lapping at his throat like a thirsty hound at a stream. Her hot breath all but sears his flesh as she pants. Raban can hardly believe what's happening. The Vostii's body moves like the waves of the Great Sea of Senii, her splendor even greater than his wildest dreams.

With her pelvis leading the charge, Tara's belly curls as she rams herself down, only to arch her back and buck against him as she lifts herself up by her knees, over and over and over again. Her motions are so strong that he feels her reaming her own loins, the thick base of his masculine peninsula pressing firmly against her nether lips with the end of every bounce. Her growls increase in volume and intensity, as does her progressively savage behavior. It's as if she's possessed by the spirit of pure lust. She behaves more like an animal than a beast woman!

Tara suddenly straightens her back and reaches behind her. Clawed fingers wiggle as she very carefully slips them behind his bouncing and jiggling testicles. Confident that she won't harm him, she grabs hold of his stones only to rub and fondle them so lovingly. The abrupt sensation of her warm palm and wiggling fingers startles him, though his alarmed jolt only adds to her pleasure. It becomes increasingly clear to him just what this is. Tara needs more than just sex; she needs to be mated, she wants to be bred. The pleading of her primal gaze confirms it.

Tara never gave her last mate children, as they both wanted to wait until they'd found a new home to call their own. She always drank the tea brewed from the neberum mushroom caps to prevent pregnancy, only for her mate to die shortly before her parents. Perhaps it's for the best? Had she taken her mate's seed, she'd have been heavily pregnant upon meeting Raban, is she were even still alive. Tara's desire is insatiable, and a part of her considers her earlier reluctance to become pregnant a mistake, one that she cannot repeat.

The Vostii's carnal nature takes Raban by surprise; he's never had sex with a beast woman before. Are they all so primal, so brutal, so pleasurable? Now using her legs to full effect, Tara balances herself atop her large, paw-like feet and bounces up and down, perpetually gyrating her hips as she rides him with considerable vigor. She's never worked a male so hard in her life. His substantial nature only coaxes the ravenous beast out of her, pulling the raw passion from her very core as if his hands were reaching inside of her. What's happening to her?!

Raban begins to wonder if he's truly the one in control, or if Tara is exerting the dominance that only a female can wield. He grabs onto her feminine orbs, squeezing her ample mounds and trying to subdue the Vostii of the wolf-kin, only to lose his grip amidst her vigorous bouncing. He tries for her waist instead. Nothing slows the beast woman; he can hardly hold onto her as she uses him as though he were little more than her plaything. Tara watches with a most sinister grin as she can see the human faltering.

What a good job she's doing! Her Raban appears to be only moments away from succumbing to her splendor! This only further stokes the flames of her passion, adding fuel to the fire. Raban fails to gain control of his lover; her body feels so wonderful! How could he possibly succeed?! He's never felt such heat, never knew such moisture as that inside of Tara's quivering loins. He's never experienced a womanhood so tight, nor enjoyed such a warmth as when she stretches out and rests her furry body over his.

The sudden dampness of her musky fur doesn't ward off his pleasure, instead proving how much effort she must commit to him. Even as she lay over him, in what should be a rather compromising position, she continues to move with intensely carnal passion. Raban's body rocks with his Vostii lover, the pleasure all but overwhelming. Her skill is truly unmatched. Is this a characteristic of all beast women or is Tara an exception? Losing control over his own body, Raban's hands reach down and grab hold of Tara's perky buttocks.

The female of the wolf-kin can sense her might, as everything Raban does only begs for more. Her tail begins to wag, swaying to and fro as she moves her whole body up and down, over her lover. Raban feels a soft pat against his chin and opens his eyes to a lovely sight. Tara's feminine mounds are so close to his face that as she moves herself up, they bump him. Unable to help himself, he takes his hands from her hind quarters and corals her soft globes, lifting and pushing them together before tending to her tender flesh with his lips and tongue.

“Ahh!" Tara cries out as he seemingly attempts to suckle at a breast.

What a strange thing to do to a female during mating. Is that some sort of sign? A ritualistic message about his intention? Does the Yasheriit also seek to impregnate her?! Pushing herself down and accepting the whole of his endowment inside of her, Tara gazes at him with longing. He leans in and kisses her lips so softly, so affectionately. She responds by dragging her tongue along his neck before returning his kisses. Her clawed hands grip the sides of his head as she wrestles his tongue with her own, handily winning several matches.

The pungent aroma of her unclean body has long-since ceased to disturb him, as does the thought of her filthy loins consuming the whole of his manhood. He doesn't even care that specks of soil and grime flake off of her coarse fur and land on his increasingly sweaty flesh. What disturbs him is her audaciousness. She kisses him as if she was the male, touches him as if he were her property, and enjoys his phallus as if she were the master. That won't due at all, but she's so good at it! He must first overcome her prowess with sheer force of will.

Try as he might, he fails to overcome her. Raban is enslaved by the beast woman's splendor; he's truly at her mercy. Tara's body feels handcrafted by The One for his enjoyment. Her feminine wiles may be savage and primal, but they're undeniable. All he desires is to lay there and enjoy her. He can think of nothing else. His hands explore her body, bristling her damp, dirty and musky fur. He watches as she throws her head back, snarling with pleasure as her climax approaches. What a beautiful creature!

“Ooh, treasure. You mover very good! Mmm... Very tight! I [have] never felt this good. You [are the] very best!" He groans, lovingly stroking her back.

Tara is briefly taken aback, her head bowing forward as she peers into his eyes. Did he just call her “treasure"?! Perhaps he misspoke? No male has ever extolled her skills as a lover, not even her mate. Is her womanhood truly so special for Raban to proclaim it as the very best? Surely, he's enjoyed women who were better than her. Surely, he's enjoyed Yasheriit women who were more compatible and of equal or greater skill. After all, her mate never made such claims! How, then, could she be so good?!

Is it possible that Raban is not experienced, or does she truly please the human better than she pleases her own kind? The idea that she may not have pleasured her previous mate wounds her, but knowing that she's superior to every female the Yasheriit has ever mated with causes her self-esteem to soar. Perhaps he really did mean to call her a treasure?

“You [are the] very best, Tara. You [are] very beautiful. Perfect breasts. You [are a] very skilled lover. You truly [are a] treasure. You [are] my treasure." He continues, his hands grabbing her perky buttocks and squeezing.

Once again, he compliments her. He praises her body and acknowledges the perfection of her ample breasts, which are smooshed against his chest. He squeezes her buttocks as he extolls her skills, again calling her a treasure. He certainly did not misspeak. Something inside of her changes. Tara feels a burning. It's not the burning of carnal desire or raw sexual pleasure, though she certainly feels those as well. This is a burning in her chest, a firestorm engulfing her heart. It's a feeling she hasn't felt in so long that she cannot be sure she's ever truly felt it before.

Unable to respond with words, all she can do is gaze deeply into his eyes and kiss him as passionately as she's ever kissed anyone. However, there's something in their kisses that wasn't there before. They're softer and yet somehow more demanding. What's happening?! Gyrating her hips as she rubs her body up and down over his, she's soon unable to do even that. A pleasure most powerful swells in her nethers and creeps through her very center, affecting her limbs and causing her body to weaken. It's her first orgasm with Raban, and it's occurring much faster than it ever has.

Unable to even kiss him, Tara resorts to licking his cheek and neck like a common dog. She loses the strength in her arms and legs, and all she can do now is lay atop him, bouncing her pelvis up and down in short, feeble strokes. He closes his eyes, his hands squeezing her waist, content to simply relax and enjoy her splendor. The pleasure finally overwhelms her, a cascading warmth flowing throughout her entire body and rocking her to her very core; she orgasms for the first time in many, many months.

Raban feels the clenching of her loins, the constant spasming of her nethers as well as the rest of her body. Her arms and legs tremble, her back arches and her cries become weakened whimpers. He opens his eyes to watch, amused by the expression on Tara's face. With her eyes closed and mouth agape, her large, wolf-like ears are pulled back, her long dark hair quite stringy and matted from sweat. It sticks to her furry face and frames her snout, which emits the faintest of sounds. If he didn't know better, it would sound as though she were whining after stubbing a toe or banging an elbow.

Her eyelids flutter as she pants and shivers and shakes. She wiggles her hips as she rocks back, inserting the whole of his member within the pulsating flower of her womanhood. The Vostii has climaxed, a creamy off-white substance seeping from her loins which her trembling has begun to smear all over his masculinity. The rapturous sensation is now so overwhelming that she can no longer move. Raban wraps his arms around his lover and holds her, caressing her back as he nuzzles her cheek and neck.

He cannot help but feel proud. He's pleasured women before, but none have responded so well or endured such a powerful climax, and certainly not so quickly! He's eager for more. He knows what he's done to her; he can feel the spasming of her loins which remain stretched over his endowment. However, Raban wants nothing more than to see what he's done to her. He places his hands on her ribcage, his thumbs beneath her smooshed breasts. Her eyes slowly open. What's her lover doing? Does he want her to move? It suddenly occurs to Tara that Raban has yet to finish! Her poor mate!

She pants and gasps for air, her legs still shaking as she tries to resume her work. This isn't just about her, after all. Raban wants more and more is what he'll get. Suddenly, the human pushes against her, forcing her torso off of him. Raban guides her back onto her knees as he begins to rise. He presses his chest against her body and kisses her chest, at the very tops of her ample breasts. With his hands guiding her so carefully, so lovingly, he has her stretch out her legs until they're straight and behind him, making the Vostii of the wolf-kin sit atop his lap once more.

Seated atop her lover, she looks down at him and feels her face flushing beneath her fur. He gently pushes against her shins, closing her legs behind him as he sits upright, his hands near the small of her back. He looks up to her and smiles the warmest smile. Her heart flutters and her cheeks burn. There's something about this new and very foreign position that's so alluring. She's never felt so intimate with any male; being locked in passion's embrace, dominant and yet submissive at the same time.

He kisses her lips and nuzzles her, then places his hands on her broad hips and begins guiding her movements. She obeys her mate, as the female should. The pleasure swells as she endures the sensation of total fulfillment, her loins choked with the masculine organ that pierces the tender flower of her womanhood. Her freedom of movement may be limited, but this is a far easier position for her than squatting over him, and it feels so much better, so much more intimate.

Tara smiles and continues to rock and swivel her hips, her lips locked with her human lover's, their tongues entwined. A clawed hand once again reaches around and happily fondles his exposed parts, caressing the large stones that hold the seed she so desperately craves.

“I want [to] feel your cum. I want [you to] cum inside me." She coos, gently juggling his testicles in her dainty fingers.

“I also want [to] cum inside you. I want fill your belly." He flashes a sinister grin, equally eager to give her exactly what she wants.

Tara is overjoyed to hear this and begins to work her lover even harder. She rocks and swivels her hips as she bucks against him, bouncing subtly atop his lap with her arms and legs more or less unusable. She feels the large testicles of her lover, encased in the thick flesh that presses so firmly into her buttocks, his flesh tickling her anus as she vigorously rocks her hips. It isn't long before she cums yet again, shaking and shivers and whimpering through another orgasm. How many of these will Raban give her?!

His hands on her buttocks and hips insist that she continues, eager to ravage her tender flesh. It unleashes her inner beast; she once again reverts to a primal state. Tara pushes her lover onto his back as she straightens her legs, then plants her paw-like feet on the bedding, right beside his hips. With her strength returning, she places her hands on his chest for balance as she squats over him for a second time, and begins to bounce up and down. The beast woman rides him harder and faster, his pleasure growing rapidly, cascading waves of bliss.

However, she soon bounces so hard that it startles him. The plopping of his flesh against her fur is surprisingly loud, creating a faint echo in the small, claustrophobic clearing where they've camped.

“Rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr!" She growls, closing her eyes and snarling through clenched teeth.

“Nngh-nngf! Do not break me!" He exclaims through heavy panting, asking her not to break him.

Seconds later, she loses her balance; her feet slip away from the bedding, her legs spreading apart as she lands on his lap, sitting atop his manhood which spears her trembling womanhood.

“AAAHHHH!!!!" She shrieks.

Raban watches in shock and awe as Tara not only orgasms for a third time but provides a dramatic display, proof of her rapturous joy. A geyser of steaming hot and clear liquid flows from her loins, splashing his pelvic region and soaking his skin with the fluid that, in the cool air, creates a faint mist. Tara's nethers spurt this watery substance for several seconds, leaving him as aroused as he is awestruck. He's never had a woman do that before! He's heard stories about it, but to pleasure a woman so thoroughly as to make her squirt is a new and invigorating experience. Clearly, she must be very pleased with him.

“I. Hhff-hhff. I [have] never... Hhff. I never cum water." She speaks softly and through labored breaths.

Raban tries and fails to think of something clever or cocky to say. Instead, he reaches out for her and softly pets her cheek. As if she's suddenly morphed into a shy, young girl, the Vostii bats her eyelashes, turns her head and nuzzles his palm before kissing his wrist. Taking his hand away, he playfully bounces the well-endowed mounds of her chest, eliciting a giggle from the young woman of the beast folk. They look to each other and share a gaze, a long and intense stare that's often only shared between the most enamored of couples.

Raban suddenly sits up again, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. Her clawed hands rest upon his broad shoulders before gliding down his body, caressing the soft flesh of his shoulders and upper back as she sits still and rests. He pulls away and looks to her. Their noses touch as they stare into each other's eyes yet again. He gives her a kiss and then nuzzles her face, all the while kissing her cheek and stroking her back and sides most affectionately.

“No woman [is] more beautiful than my Tara. You [are] my treasure. I claim you." He speaks softly.

Tara's eyes grow wide. Does he truly intend to claim her?! Has she found a partner?! Will she have a Yasheriit for a life-mate?!?! If his words are not misleading or the boasting of a man in the heat of carnal passion, this could mean so much for her, and for their future. Will he impregnate her or is he merely arousing her with sweet words? A tiny part of her fears that he's insincere, but the way he holds her, the way he extols her, the way he claims her; she finds herself believing him, and increasingly aroused.

Eager to please the man who may have very well become her new life-mate, the man she may spend the rest of her days and reproduce with, she lifts a leg for a third time.

“I [will] milk you, husband. Give me your cum." She coos.

“No." He shakes his head.

Tara's confusion is answered when Raban grabs hold of a thigh, just behind her knee, and directs her to wrap her legs around his waist once again. She obeys. He wraps his arms around her body and guides her, allowing her to rock and gyrate her hips, as she did before, only to suddenly swing her around.

“Ahh!" She exclaims, her eyes widening as she's nearly thrown onto her back. “What [are] you do[ing]?!"

“I [am the] male. I [will] lead." He growls, then steals a kiss.

With arms planted above her shoulders, he pulls their lips apart, looks down at her and flashes a strange smile. Her heart races. He looks like a predator about to pounce. She wriggles beneath him and whimpers, only to then cry out in a combination of shock and pleasure as Raban gives her a firm thrust, somehow reaming her taut womanhood even more than it already is. Tara squeals as she begins to squirm, her human lover taking swift action to subdue her. One hand moves from above her shoulder only to slither beneath it, beneath her armpit; his fingers grip her shoulder from behind, with the other following suit.

He lay over her, supported by his forearms and knees, his fingers curled over her shoulders and holding her in place as he assumes command. With her legs in the air and pelvis canted upward, she gazes up at him, her brow as soft as wet sand. Fluttering eyelids obscure her view as she tries to peer into his eyes, the windows to his soul. All she can see is his neck, his head tilted back as he grunts and groans. Raban continues his thrusts, forcing her nether lips open as he pushes the large phallus inside, filling her womanhood to capacity.

So strong are his thrusts that his two stones plop firmly against her buttocks, the sound barely muffled by her thick fur. Is this the way all Yasheriit mate? Though experienced, Tara has never endured such a foreign sexual position. It isn't as intimate as the last, but it's just as pleasurable and makes her feel thoroughly dominated, a feeling she adores. The men of her tribe never mated like this, even when they were experimenting with new pleasures for which their mates were conscripted.

She feels so much closer to him than she did before, and not merely physically; there's a primal intimacy about this position that she rapidly grows to appreciate, a bonding of sorts. It's made even more intriguing by her human lover, who knows exactly what he's doing. The dominance he exudes as he looms over her is as alluring as it is startling. He's never seemed more masculine than when he directs her movements, using his hands to guide her arms and legs and demand that she hold onto him, as she did whilst sitting atop his lap. Even his kisses feel different as he begins to claim complete control.

Powerful thrusts rock her entire body, each one driving in his worthiness as her new mate as much as his well-endowed manhood. Her clawed hands can no longer remain confined to his back and sides, which she has since begun to claw with involuntary spasm. They grip the bedding, crunching the sheaves of grass beneath them even louder than her body. His hands move from behind her body and slither over her hands, one at a time. Feeling his hands, Tara turns hers overs only for him to grab hold, their fingers entwined as they cling to each other.

She turns her head to look, struck by how overcome she is at such a benign sight; her hands pinned beneath his as he thrusts his manhood inside of her loins is indescribable. She turns her head again, to face him and look him in the eye, only for him to immediately steal even more kisses. Their tongues fight for dominance as they kiss, a battle she swiftly loses. Their hands move out to the sides and then above their heads as Raban pins her down, rocking and thrusting his hips as her paw-like feet remain in the air, bouncing and swaying just behind and below his buttocks.

The beast woman melts beneath her human lover, consumed by his unbridled passion. What a brute! What an alpha! What a remarkably talented lover! Are all Yasheriit this skilled?! She doesn't care; she already has one to call her own. The longer her pleasure endures, the deeper her desire grows and the stronger her love for him becomes. She's truly found her life-mate, and henceforth Raban will have her undying loyalty.

“Ahh-ahh-hhnnnngh-hhnngghhnnnnNYAAHHH!!!" She suddenly squeals.

Tara's body spasms, her clear fluid gushing out of her for a second time. Her muscles lose their strength as she nearly passes out, her body succumbing and her limbs falling limp, her legs sliding over his before falling flat atop the bedding. She's never felt such pleasure! Raban feels his end nearing and doesn't deny himself, despite the rational voice urging against it. He won't be a liar; he will give her every last drop. Her fur is damp and matted with sweat, her musty odor stronger than it's ever been. He doesn't care. He needs this, and if her actions and words are as sincere as they seem, so does she.

“Nngh... Oh, Tara. Nngh-nngh. I love this. Nngh! I love this, Tara! Hhnngh! I love you! Rrrr-rrrr-nngh! NnnnnnHHHNNGGAAAHHH!!!" He roars, reverting to his native tongue.

Though she cannot comprehend the Yasheriit's language, she doesn't need to; his body tells all. With a firm push, Raban sheathes himself within her, forcing her loins to stretch over the very base of his shaft just as they squeeze him as hard as they possibly can. She gasps and holds on for dear life, her womanhood wrapping the throbbing manhood in her quivering flesh. Her fingers curl, gripping his hands which still pin her down. Her body rocks and her breasts jiggle, her back arching as she finally feels it. She's waits for this moment since they've begun, wondering what it would feel like and the human doesn't disappoint.

The Vostii's eyes roll back in her head as she feels him draining his precious seed into her hungry loins. Jet after powerful jet flows through his pulsating organ, flowing freely from his fleshy obelisk, the bulbous tip of which tickles her cervix. Each blast coats her cervix, which itself throbs and spasms, in rhythm with her body. The force of his expulsions sends hot, gooey semen through the tiny opening, forcing its way through before spilling copious amounts of life-giving sperm directly into her uterus.

A pleasure washes over her unlike anything she's ever felt before. It's greater than the pleasure of his sheer size and shape, of which her loins have made her well aware. Why is this so good?! She's felt a man releasing his seed inside of her before, but something about Raban feels better. Is his seed somehow different? Is it hotter? Is it thicker? Perhaps it's thinner and therefore able to reach deeper? She can contemplate the what and why of it for only so long before the cascading pleasure sends her mind reeling.

Tara clenches her teeth and whimpers, her eyes so narrowed that they appear to be closed. For the third time since they began, Tara's loins shower her mate. As they remain locked, Raban keeping himself sheathed to the hilt, she cannot help but notice that he doesn't have a knot at the base of his penis. Will her fluids flush his semen out of her and prevent her from claiming the ultimate prize?! Before she can think to mention it, Raban lifts himself up, pulling in his knees. He peers down at their fused genitalia, and the look on his face is telling.

It appears to her that he's worried about the very same thing. They don't see a speck of his seed emerging from the geyser of fluid, yet he continues to press against her, as if to form a seal between their parts. Before she can tilt her head back and look up at her lover, he leans in and steals a kiss, then stretches out and lay over her. Eager to keep his seed inside, she clings to his buttocks with both hands and also crosses her legs behind him. The last thing she wants is for his precious seed to spill out. Raban, however, never once tries to remove himself.

Her heart warms at the thought that the Yasheriit, a highly intelligent and capable being, would so eagerly breed her. However, still uncertain, she tests the waters and very slowly uncrosses her ankles. Her legs, which still tremble from her pleasure, begin to stretch out, eventually lying flat beside his. Even her hands release his buttocks, falling to her sides as she now lay beneath him, her fur drenched and her chest heaving as she pants for air. Raban doesn't pull away, not even a millimeter. He remains over her, keeping it deep inside as he nuzzles her neck and listens to her breathing.

What a good job he's done! He's never made a woman, human or beast folk, orgasm so intensely. He's also never climaxed so strongly, nor expelled so much seed or with such force. It felt as if he'd shot his seed like a bullet from his rifle. All he can do now is hold himself up and over the Vostii of the wolf-kin, his mind racing. He kisses her snout and imagines her belly swollen, carrying the fruit of their passion. He kisses her lips and imagines her large breasts, a half-breed infant in her arms as she nurses the child.

They look into each other's eyes and the vision continues. He imagines her in his cabin, holding a half-breed son, now several years old, her belly again swollen as she prepares to give birth to yet another of his children. The thoughts are so strong and so vivid; it infects his mind unlike anything ever has. No desire has been stronger. Only after another series of kisses does he even begin to withdraw himself from the Vostii's body. They both bow their heads to watch as he slowly removes his manhood, half-flaccid and yet still substantial.

They look to each other and try to kiss, instead licking the tips of each other's tongues for some seconds before finally pressing their lips together. It's such a primal moment, one that neither of them will ever forget. Raban lay beside his new lover and rests a hand upon her belly. Tara turns her head and smiles, overjoyed to have a new mate.

“[Am] I truly your mate? [Do] you truly claim me?" She cannot help but ask, eager to hear him say the words.

“Yes. You [are] mine. You [are] my mate." He nods.

“Will I drink water of neberum?" She sheepishly asks, bowing her head so that her eyes may look innocently up at him.

“Why? You want children. I also want children. I give you my seed [to] make you pregnant." He replies, resting a finger beneath her chin and lifting her head so that he may kiss her. “Allow my seed [to] remain within you. Allow my seed [to] grow."

“Truly?!" She gasps in disbelief.

“Yes." He nods his head and smiles.

“And if I need more?"

She bats her eyelashes as she sweetly as she can, only to flash a sinister smirk.

“You [are] my mate. I [will] give you all you need."

Her heart skips a beat as he once again claims her for himself. His eyes as serious as they've ever been. The feeling is overwhelming; belonging is all she's wanted since she lost her tribe, and now she has a new mate and a new tribe, even if she has to birth it herself. Tara rolls onto her side, takes Raban into her arms and holds him tightly. After a few nuzzles and kisses, she opens her mouth to speak.

“I love you."

Tara is left frozen. Raban looks into her eyes, a warm smile on his face. It slowly turns into a rather confident smirk. He'd beaten her to it; before she had the chance, he said “I love you" first!

“Truly?!" She chokes out while trying not to shake.

“Yes. I love you, Tara." He assures her as he rubs his nose against hers.

“And I love you, Raban." She giggles and cries happy tears, kissing him again and again.

Neither are lying. Raban gazes into the icy blue eyes of his Vostii lover and realizes that the life he led before they met was but a bad dream. He holds her, feels her warmth and wonders how he'd ever lived without her. How had he never noticed before, the crushing weight of his solitude?! Her companionship these past several days, and the passion they've just shared; it proves that there's no going back; he'd never willingly return home, alone. Despite the carnal nature of what they've just done, he feels a deep desire to make good on his claims. He needs to keep her, to care for her and the life that may very well be growing inside of her.

Tara is similarly affected. She would never willingly walk away from the kind and compassionate Yasheriit, the human who's undoubtedly saved her life. How much longer would she have survived all alone? Would it even have been worth it, without another soul to talk to, to hold, to sleep beside, to share in her life? Raban saved her, he provides for her, he cares for her, he gives her comfort and treats her well, and his skills as a lover and natural endowment have proven to be better than her greatest fantasies. He's even spilled his seed inside of her, and during her most fertile time!

By her tribe's law, he's now her mate, her husband; her loyalty and life will forever be his to keep. Only death will part them, though if this is how she feels for him now, by the time that occurs she's certain their spirits would remain bound. Having said all there is to say, the couple share a few more kisses and snuggle beneath the animal hide cloak. Within moments they've fallen asleep in each other's arms. Despite the chill in the night air, that night is the most peaceful they've ever been.

Tara awakens to the soft nuzzling of Raban's thin and pointy nose nuzzling the side of her snout. His beard is more coarse than her fur when it's clean, and it gives her a most pleasant tickle. Opening her eyes, she's met with his now familiar smile, so warm and so inviting. Before uttering a single word, he leans in and claims a kiss. She can taste her morning breath and yet he doesn't hesitate. Raban finds his clothes and carefully pulls them over the many trails of red that cover his flesh.

Tara cannot help but feel proud; she's marked her new mate more thoroughly than any male she's ever enjoyed in her past. Raban is truly superior to the others, and most worthy of being called her mate. As she tries to stand, Tara winces and stumbles, feeling a considerable soreness in her nether region. No man has ever left her womanhood feeling so tender, so used. Raban is compassionate, as always, and gives her an arm to hold on to. He takes a lustful pride in her condition, as does she.

With her new mate supporting her, she hobbles for a time as her body adjusts. Raban cooks their breakfast and their meal tastes even better than last night's dinner. Is it the salt and native herbs that he's used, the fact that he cooked the meat so thoroughly, or could it be as simple as it being their first breakfast as a couple? Whatever the reason, they savor it. They need to, as they have quite a lot of work ahead of them. For the next two days the pair remain at their campsite, dutifully working to construct a more comfortable and secure shelter while also preparing the deer's hide and meat for travel.

Partway through the first day, Tara performs the ancient tribal ritual of bonding with Raban; painting their chins with the appropriate stripes, sharing the binding kiss and then igniting and extinguishing in their palms the fire of the sacred bond. It was only the second time she had bound herself to a male, and she hopes it will be the last. Shortly after performing the primitive marriage ritual, they find another stream where they may replenish their water.

It isn't so much a stream as it is a creek, as it's wide and deep enough for the pair to wash in. He'd never say it and risk embarrassing or upsetting her, but Raban is quite thankful for the opportunity to clean her. They wade in the shallows of the cool, crisp creek and Tara quickly dips beneath the surface before popping up again; she washes her hair and brushes it with her claws before wrapping the long locks into a bun, which she secures with sticks. Raban watches her, standing in the creek up to his navel, enthralled by the beautiful Vostii of the wolf-kin.

Feeling his gaze, she turns back to her new mate and smiles. She dips herself below the surface again, the rippling water just beneath her flaring, canine nostrils. After a long and intense stare, she blinks. Raban chuckles. He continues to watch his Vostii lover, who has yet to spring up from the water. With a furled brow, the perplexed Raban approaches her, wading deeper into the creek. What is she doing? Just then, she pops up from the water and spits a stream at him. He tries to block it and fails, chuckling as he looks to her with one eye closed.

With an innocent smile, her fur dripping and matted and her formerly bushy tail wagging, Tara lifts her hand from beneath the surface of the water to reveal a type of fibrous plant. He immediately recognizes it. It's an underwater moss that is often harvested when cloths and sponges are not readily available. She approaches her new mate and presents him with the aquamarine clump. He takes hold of it, only to rest both hands over hers and gaze into her eyes with longing. She glances at his lips only to nibble on her own, then they lean in for a kiss.

As their lips slowly part, she pulls her hand away while still clutching the moss. She kisses him again and again, moving from his lips to his cheek, her hand so lovingly rubbing the moss over his glistening flesh. She takes great care in washing her new mate, who stands still and watches her, a little smile perpetually gracing his face. She cleans his chest, shoulders, back and arms, all while caressing him with her empty hand and nuzzling and kissing his neck, face and lips. It's more than just a bath; this is a sensual display, a romantic gesture meant to prove her willingness to care for him.

As she rests the clump of moss against his chest, he takes hold of it. With a whirling of his index finger, he instructs her to turn around. It's Raban's turn. He scrubs her very carefully, ensuring that every speck of dirt and grime leaves her beautiful body. He washes her arms, her belly, her back and her legs, and even rubs her footpads as she sits atop a large rock hidden just beneath the surface. She cannot help but giggle as he tickles her toes. He wipes down her underarms, her neck, her taut buttocks and then her breasts. He takes great care in lifting each mound, even cleaning the crease beneath her impressive bust.

She wonders just how thorough he'll be, only to feel his hand reaching between her legs. Tara coos and shivers, her eyes closing as her mate rubs her womanhood. With his fingers pressed alongside her nether lips, she nibbles on her bottom lip and softly moans as he spreads her and caresses just inside of her. His finger tickles the warm, pink flesh of her femininity as it works its way inside, feeling her, awakening her. She turns to face him, which pulls his finger from her loins, and wraps her arms around his neck. Tara kisses him softly and tenderly.

“What [are] you doing, mate?" She asks between kisses.

“I [am] clean[ing] you. I want to be thorough." He smirks, returning every kiss.

He places his hands on her hips and pulls her closer. The brush of his manhood against her groin as it swells and stiffens instantly draws her attention. Taking the mossy plant, she reaches below the surface and rubs all over and around his masculinity, even going so far as to grab hold of his shaft and push back his foreskin so that she can thoroughly wash the head. His phallus isn't like her kind, and so she must pay close attention to how she handles the swelling organ. She doesn't stop there, and treats his body to an equally thorough scrub.

All throughout, they share loving glances and tender kisses. When all is said and done, they cling to each other and kiss with great passion, their tongues entwined as much as their bodies. Raban lifts one of her legs, holding just behind her knee. Tara sniffs and licks her mate's neck as his obelisk begins to slowly pierce the flower of her womanhood. As if spurred by the sensation of his member grinding against her vaginal canal, working it's way deeper and deeper inside of her, she grabs the back of his head and sniffs him, inhaling deeply.

Though she'd never embarrass him by saying so, she's pleased to have him fresh and clean. She lets out a little yelp as Raban pushes much of his manhood into her, he himself groaning from the taut, warm flesh squeezing and enveloping his member. She begins to pant and kisses her mate with untold desire, the furry flesh atop her snout crinkling as she pushes her face against his. He gives her a few thrusts, but standing atop muddy and rocky soil doesn't lend to stability; their passion is cut short as they begin to sway.

Eager for more but realizing the futility of this position, the Vostii pushes her mate backward as she wriggles away; his masculinity slips out of her loins, already so hard and throbbing. She places her clawed hands on his chest and moves him away from her but toward the shore, where a log awaits. An all too familiar urge has resurfaced, and having pledged themselves to each other in sacred rite, it's only proper to indulge in their flesh. Besides, there is a place he hasn't finished scrubbing.

Rising up from the water and leaning against the log, Raban finds himself besieged by his beloved Tara, who finds herself once again gleefully relinquishing her splendor to him. Within moments Raban learns that his new wife is as skilled with her mouth as the woman who tended to him in his dream. Perhaps he was dreaming of her? A premonition? Eager to satiate her, he pulls her up and commands she sit upon his lap. He'd rather she not keep him waiting, when he'd already tasted her splendor.

Tara begins but pauses. She has a request, one he would never deny. Turning around, she shows him her behind, wagging her tail as she peers over her shoulder at him and wiggling her buttocks. Leaning back, she rubs the underside of his manhood with her bottom, going so far as to push it between her cheeks and grind her nether lips against the ridge that runs the length of the underside of his shaft. She's a wonderful tease, knowing exactly how to rile him without giving in. What a nefarious woman he's claimed!

Thankfully, Tara cannot resist him for much longer, perhaps even more eager to indulge in her mate's masculinity than he is to consume her feminine splendor. With her back facing him and tail raised high, Tara reaches behind her and cradles his manhood with dainty fingers before rising up and guiding the bulbous head; she pushes him first against and then into her loins. Raban watches in stunned silence, as enthralled by the sight of his well-endowed organ spreading and penetrating her as he is by the physical sensation and the embarrassing sounds.

Tara's face flushes as the air escapes her loins, forced out by the phallus that penetrates her. Though her pleasure rapidly mounts, she presses on. Further and further she pushes him inside, filling up her taut hole, wiggling her hips in a most adorable manner as her womanhood struggles to consume her mate's masculinity. Somehow, it's more of a chore to take him in thi manner than it was for him to penetrate her, standing, facing him and with her leg lifted. Before long, she's seated upon his lap and leaning backward, against his chest.

What a pleasurable chair he is! His arms wrap around her slender both, his hands cupping her ample bosoms, squeezing, stroking, massaging and occasionally kneading her womanly mounds. It gives her a level of support that makes her work even easier. With her clawed hands on his legs, she begins to bounce, rocking and swiveling and gyrating her hips as she pleasures the both of them to the best of her ability. As if to tease her, Raban gently nibbles on one of her wolf-like ears, while also pinching her nipples. She gasps and then coos, her gaping maw forming a beautifully submissive grin.

It isn't long before her body warms and her fur is once again damp with sweat. She's forced to lean forward and support herself, her hands on her legs as Raban steadies her with his hands on her buttocks. She doesn't last long, and after a creamy climax Tara decides it's time to prove her love for the Yasheriit; slow and sensual removal of his manhood from her stretched loins precedes her pushing him into her anus. This isn't merely an accident or a strange tease. To Raban's shock and delight, she takes him inside of her body and uses every millimeter; the sack with his two stones presses firmly against her gaping womanhood.

Raban is hardly able to withstand her as Tara once again displays her skills as a lover, enthralling him as she bounces up and down. Once he regains control of his hands, he devises a sinister use for them. With one holding her inner thigh, the other covers her vagina. He rubs her clitoris so softly, before pressing against it and rubbing even harder, covering it with a palm as his fingers begin to work their way inside. The wailing Vostii of the wolf-kin quickly climaxes; her geyser pours into the creek as his hand is unable to stop the flow.

Though it's quite a pleasure to have access to the entirety of her body cavities, he only desires one for the finale; no place is as befitting of his seed as her vagina. After all, he must honor his mate's request and give her a child!

“You enjoy[ed] that." He remarks, his hands now resting upon her hips.

“Yes." She chokes out, panting for air, her buttocks flush with his pelvis as she sits atop his lap.

“Good, but we must switch."

“Huh?" She glances over her shoulder, her weary eyes looking up at him.

“There [is] only one place for my cum. [A] proper place. You know where." He grins.

Her face flushes beneath her fur at his words. He truly has claimed her, and she adores him for it. Moving his hands from her hips and placing them onto her perky buttocks, he slowly lifts her up. Raban guides her movements while Tara does little more than obey, doing whatever her new mate asks of her. How could she not? Raban is such a wonderful man! Their offspring will be strong, indeed! Standing upon shaky legs, she reaches back and wipes his throbbing member with her hand, cleaning it with water from the creek before squeezing it back inside of her vagina.

Somehow, her womanhood has become even tighter after her last orgasm. It's a genuine struggle to push the swollen head of his manhood inside; it makes a very audible popping sound as the rim slips beyond her nether lips, returning into its rightful place. Lowering herself down the considerable length of his shaft is quite the chore! She grits her teeth and whimpers; once he's inside, the pleasure is almost overwhelming. The deeper he goes, the more she cries out and the hotter she becomes.

She isn't sure why. Is it their bond, further strengthened by his words and dominance? Is it the fact that he is preparing to inseminate her? Or does she simply enjoy moving him from one hole to the other? The fact is that she cannot be sure; Tara has never experimented with her previous mate or the handful of lovers who came before him, and she's never attempted to conceive before. Only Raban has enjoyed such a privilege. She continues down his manhood until she feels the flesh at the very base of his member; her nether lips kiss his pelvis. She tries to continue to pleasure him, but she cannot, weakened by her own pleasures.

Raban takes note of this, and as a male should, he takes control of the situation. He slips his hands beneath her thighs, just behind her knees, and carefully pulls her legs over his own, first one and then the other. Now, much of the work is a result of his efforts; Tara is left straddling him, speared atop her mate's manhood and supported by his pelvis and legs. He leans back, places his hands upon her hips and does with her as he pleases. He rocks her back and forth, instructs her to swivel her hips, and manages to bounces her ever so slightly atop his manhood.

She can hardly believe how competent he is; he knows exactly how to bring her to the edge, quickly and with little effort. Feeling the immense organ filling her insides, grinding in circles against the walls of her vaginal canal as it throbs and pulsates, brings her to climax even quicker than having him inside of her ass. Thankfully, Raban is just as overcome by the pleasure. Before long, she feels the splendor of his emissions as it washes her insides, powerful spurts that gush over and then through her cervix, filling her uterus.

She's soon at capacity, her fertile garden coated with his seed, but Raban isn't finished. The human's semen, thick and hot, begins to build around the head. It moves like a mudslide or lava flow, slowly and methodically as it follows gravity, down his shaft and toward her opening. She glances down as she feels it seeping, only to see more cum than she's ever seen before, oozing out of her and dripping from her mate's scrotum. The sight alone prolongs her climax, and she throws her head back as she wriggles and writhes atop her lover, who's forced to hold onto her, an arm around her waist and another above her ample breasts.

He growls into her ear as he squeezes her body, his arms shaking as he pumps the last of his cum into the whimpering beast woman. How clean is her womb now, with Raban's seed swimming inside of it? The pair remain atop the log and clinging to each other; her back rests against his chest as her clawed hands grip his forearms, her chest heaving as she pants for air. As she finally calms down, his hands move to her inner thigh and a breast. Turning their heads, they continue to pant, only for their lips to curl around the corners of their gaping maws as they begin to laugh, nuzzle and kiss.

Tara licks his tongue before offering hers in a very primal display of affection. Her mate's cleaning has thoroughly scrubbed Tara's loins and given her several climaxes, and who knows what'll happen in nine months, thanks to his seed! With a hand reaching back, she caresses the human's bearded face, basking in his affection as he nuzzles her cheek. She remains atop his lap, leaning against his chest as they take a long moment to relax. She doesn't rise from him until she feels his endowment softening inside of her. It softens to the point of removing itself, slipping from her loins under its own weight.

Though she's finally recovered, her heart not longer racing and her lungs no longer gasping, it's still quite a chore to move. Her womanhood is quite sore, and she winces as she closes her legs, attempting to rise off of her mate's lap. She stands on shaky legs and looks down at the mess between them, only to turn to him and giggle; his manhood is equally filthy, now. A final scrubbing with the mossy plant and they are well and truly clean. The lovers return to camp, walking hand-in-hand, or hobbling, in Tara's case. Taking a seat near their campfire, they prepare themselves a lunch.

Raban learns that his new mate is as skilled a cook as she is a lover, with knowledge of herbs almost as vast as her knowledge of carnal pleasures. Her desire to serve him fills him with a myriad of thoughts and feelings. It's a flattering and heartwarming gesture, but he's never had a woman care for him, at least not since he left his parents' home, so many years ago. He must prove himself worthy of her doting. After their meal the couple sit and snuggle. Raban cannot help but notice that without the filth tainting her fur, Tara now has a faint but pleasant aroma, like a field of honeysuckle. Odd. He used no soaps or oils!

Tara nuzzles her mate's bare chest, having asked him not to dress in his clothing when at camp. Considering the warmth of the day and the comfort of the Vostii's body, he had no qualms about it. Her nostrils flare as she sniffs his flesh. The lovely scent of his clean skin allows her full access to the heavenly aroma of his pheromones, which are akin to the pleasant smell of burning leaves and sweet grass. After a long rest, they finally resume work. To Tara's disappointment, her new mate must don his clothing; unlike her, his skin has no natural fur to protect it. She'll have to go the day without seeing his endowment hanging about.

They complete the construction of a simple dwelling, outlining an L-shaped area with rocks before constructing a matching frame of sturdy branches. Smaller sticks lean against the L-shaped frame before being covered with a thick layer of dry leaves, which they then top with sod. Raban prepares a fire pit beside a little door, which he places over the tunnel entrance. An open area in the side of the L and near the door, where their bedding has been placed, serves as a window and views the fire; it's reinforced with an arch made of bent branches.

The entire shelter was constructed around their bedrolls, which they've since lashed together to become one. It was a more complex build than Tara was used to, but it's well worth it. After finishing their work, she crawls inside to join her new life-mate, where the pair snuggle and nap. They awaken just in time for dinner, which is as pleasant as lunch, though this time they both share in the cooking. After their meal, they use the deer's hide as a bag and tie much of the preserved meat into a tall tree with willow vines. That will hopefully keep it safe from any curious animals.

They crawl into their little home, both of them amazed by the level of physical and psychological comfort it provides them. They lay beside each other and enjoy a long and loving embrace, smelling each other's the natural scent. Though Raban doesn't understand the significance of her pleasant smell, Tara knows it's true nature; her keen senses can detect good compatibility, and Raban is a perfect match. As good a man as he was and as much as his death hurt her, Raban is a better male and the superior life-mate when compared to her previous.

Yet again, their passion swells beyond comprehension or understanding, and under the light of the many stars and the two moons, Tara and Raban christen their hut with a night of rapture. Their eagerness to please the other is matched only by their affinity for exploration, a trait for which both take considerable pleasure. For Raban, it's all new. Though an experienced man, he's never endured such carnal pleasures with any woman, let alone one of the beast folk, nor has he had sex so many times in one day. He would call her insatiable, if he wasn't initiating much of it.

For Tara, being entwined in the foreign embrace of the Yasheriit, who insists upon looking into her eyes as they climax together, is an experience unlike any other. She's enjoyed the pleasure of males before, but none of her previous lovers or even her first life-mate had the level of passion or the seemingly endless libido of her beloved Raban. Lying beside him after the end only affirms in her mind the value of the hardship she's endured; the road of her life had been painful, bit it led her to him, a male so worthy that she'd gladly fight and die for him.

The second day at this semi-permanent camp is not unlike the first, with breakfast, a rather exploratory wash, a pleasant lunch and dinner, and an equally impassioned night in each other's arms. When their work was done, the deer's meat was dried and packed and they were ready to travel, neither were eager. This was such a lovely place, and the memories they were making have been some of the best of their lives. Why leave so soon? Several more days of relaxation followed, all of them like those before. It might have continued forever, where it not for one fateful afternoon...

“Tara! Ye'da!" Raban calls out.

He looks at the rock plates, which carry well-done venison steaks. By chance, the human and the Vostii of the wolf-kin share their favorite dish. Eager to make the meal even more special, Raban garnishes Tara's meal with sweet honeysuckle. It's not Ilium rose bulbs, but it'll do. Hopefully she won't be gone for much longer. Tara's ears twitch and then shift. Hearing her mate's distant voice calling her by name always brings a smile to her face. It sounds sweeter on his lips than it did on anyone else's. With a weaved basket made of soft willow vines, she carries an assortment of berries. It isn't good to only eat meat, after all!

As her paw-like feet shuffle the grass, her hair stands on end. The Vostii stops in her tracks, feeling its presence before she ever sees or hears it. A sniff of the air confirms her greatest fear.

“RABAN!!!" She screams.

Hearing her voice in the distance, Raban bolts upright, kicking over a few rocks he'd left near the fire. The sound of terror in her voice sends a shiver up his spine. Grabbing his rifle, he checks to ensure that it's primed and ready before racing off to meet her. He closes in on her wails as fast as he can, only to hear something else, a sound that makes his blood run cold. Bursting through a patch of bushes, he emerges into a small clearing, where Tara had found many berry patches. Her willow basket lay on the ground, the contents spilled and crushed.

“TARA!!!" He shouts in a panic.

“Raban!" Her voice calls back from a distance.

Following the sounds, he sees his beloved as she leaps the way only a Vostii can, moving from behind one tree and around another. A quill-bear chases her, only a few feet behind her. The monstrous beast is one of the most dangerous animals in all of the northern and central regions of Morveria; a pack of dire wolves or the Drakozhai, the desert raptors, are no comparison. Tara sees her lover and turns toward him, her heart soaring. He has his rifle! He will save her!

“Come!" He shouts in her language.

Just as she begins a sprint, Raban dashes to his right, into a patch of bushes! Where is he going?! Is he abandoning her to the beast?!?! The quill-bear roars. The ground thumps as the one-ton brute, taller than a covered wagon and longer than two draft horses standing single file, barrels toward her. She cannot help but look back, only to see the beast's maw as it roars again and tries to bite her. She screams like a little girl, unable to do anything else.

“Jump!"

Jump where?! Up?! To one side?! She looks for a tree branch but none are high enough to save her, and she likely couldn't reach them anyway. Seeing a clearing to her right, she dives just as the quill-bear barrels past her, swiping at the space she was with a huge paw and razor-sharp claws. As it passes by her, one of the many hundreds of foot-long spikes covering it's body, which are similar to those of the humble porcupine, scratch the bottoms of her footpads. The sudden sharp pain almost causes her to lose focus; she falls to the ground and rolls in an uncharacteristically inept manner.

She reels from the pain in her feet and looks down to see a trickle of crimson staining the emerald grass. BOOM! She jolts from the sound of her mate's rifle and turns her attention toward the noise. The quill-bear roars as the loud report of her mate's rifle echoes throughout the forest. The beast races past Raban, who hides somewhere in the brush. Only the gun smoke gives away his position. Tara manages to glimpse the hideous creature. It's massive paws, each nearly as wide as the torso of an adult male, slide along the ground, kicking up dust and debris. It slowly turns, almost shambling as blood spews from a wound near its neck.

“RUN! RUN TO CAMP!" Raban commands.

Tara does as she's told, or at least she tries to. Pushing herself up from the ground, she discovers that the cuts to her footpads are more severe than she'd assumed. The pain leaves her hobbling. Just as the quill-bear makes another charge at her, another plume of smoke and a loud boom comes from her right. Raban has already circled around, but having also turned back, he shoots the quill-bear in almost the exact same spot as before. Because of this, it does far less damage, as the blood of a quill-bear clots very quickly; wounds must be made in many areas and all over the body to stop them. A shot to the thick skull often results in a ricochet.

Tara cannot believe that her human lover would even dare fight a quill-bear alone. When her tribe was still at the height of its strength, when she was still a small child, nothing less than every hunter and warrior of age would've been enough to fight one quill-bear. Paralyzed with fear, she stands and faces the beast, unprepared to die but unable to save herself. Just then, a figure emerges from the brush and tackles her.

“RUN TO CAMP!" Raban roars, lying atop her.

The bulky quill-bear barrels past them, only to skid to a stop, slowly turn and recommence the assault. By now, Raban has discovered Tara's wounded feet. Assuming that to be the cause of her near-fatal idleness, he all but carries her, holding onto her wrist as she drapes an arm over his shoulders. He pauses and releases her only to turn and aim his rifle, which he'd barely managed to load while also helping his hobbled lover. BOOM! An excellent shot pierces the quill-bear's eye... And it still charges! They dive out of the way, one landing on either side of the trail and allowing the beast to move between them.

“Damned abominations." Raban growls in his language, trying to reload as he lay on the ground.

“Raban!" Tara shouts.

Just as he prepares to put away his powder horn and collect a lead bullet, Raban turns to see the quill-bear charging him! He kicks up his legs and rolls backward, from hips to shoulder, moving out of the way just in time to prevent himself from being trampled. He shoves the bullet into the muzzle then rams it down the barrel with the ramrod as he makes his way toward Tara. With rifle slung, he scoops her into his arms and carries her like a bride. Moving through thick brush makes it easier to avoid the creature, but humans are even slower than beast folk.

Where did the beast even come from? They hadn't seen it before! As they make their way back to camp, Raban passes beneath the deer hide bag, nearly within eyesight of their camp. The realization hits him like the beast's immense paws; it wants their food. Placing Tara beside a tree, Raban raises his rifle and steps into the path, just in time to fire one round at the terrible creature. He strikes its shoulders, near the neck and on the other side, opposite his first two shots. Blood spurts before slowing to a stop. He dives out of the way only to be cut by the quills on the beast's right arm, dropping his now empty rifle.

Seeing this, Tara finds her spear nearby, and though unsteady, prepares herself for a fight. The quill-bear skids to a stop and slowly turns to face Raban, who picks up and loads his rifle, slowed by his wounded arm. Fearful that it will catch and kill him before he can fire, Tara throws her spear as hard as she can. Just as the beast takes its first step, it flinches and roars at the sharpened stick which now juts out from behind an armpit. As it moves, the spear shifts, preventing the beast's blood from properly clotting. It's a fine hit, but it will cost her. Raban watches in horror as the monstrous animal charges for his Vostii lover!

The beast woman leaps for the lowest branch, which hangs over her head at twice the height of a man. She catches it, but before she can jump to an even higher branch it breaks. As she falls to the ground, the quill-bear rears onto its hind legs and swats her with a paw, smacking her in mid-air and sending her flying. Raban shouts in fear, anger and sorrow, his rage greater than the beast standing with its back to him. Cocking the hammer of his rifle, he takes aim and fires, his bullet striking the most difficult of spots on a quill-bear; it severs the spine at the base of the skull and keeps going, obliterating the beast's brain and dropping the one-ton monstrosity in an instant.

The fight is over, but where is Tara?! Dropping his rifle, Raban races to find her, calling out her name as he begins to cry. In his mind, he begs The One to spare her, invoking Adonai's holy name for the first time in his life. A groan catches his attention. Lying in the brush, Raban is elated to find his beloved Tara, whose life has brought him so much comfort and joy. This elation morphs into horror upon seeing the deep gashes so close to her neck. He leaps into action, carrying the wounded Vostii.

“Do not worry, my treasure..." He whimpers in her language, eyes watering as the fear takes hold. “I [will] not leave you."

Tara fights to remain conscious but her eyes are simply too heavy. Blackness overcomes her and everything becomes still. A loud pop jars her. The light returns for but a moment. She turns her head, her vision already fading, and sees Raban battling a fire that creeps toward their hut. She tries to call out but she's just too weak, and once again succumbs to the darkness. Everything remains void for some time, the blackest abyss shrouding her. There is no sense of time or space. Is she dead?!

The faint echoing of voices seems to awaken her, her consciousness returning but her vision still gone. Soon, figures emerge from the abyss, glowing faintly in white. They match the voices. Her mother and father come to her.

“What are you doing here? It's not your time!" They scold her.

“Where am I?" Tara asks them.

“Where you shouldn't be." Her mother continues.

“Are you giving up already? I thought I raised a strong daughter!" Her father growls.

“Giving up? What are you saying?!"

“You have much life ahead. Children. You must fight, Tara. Build a future." Her mother speaks.

Before she can question her parents further, more beings appear. Faces so familiar and yet so distant pass by her. They surround her in a misty, glowing fog that radiates warmth. Her brother, her childhood friend, her grandmother and finally her first life-mate. They all speak to her. They say many things, but most of all they urge her to go back, to fight, to claim her life and live it to the fullest. According to them, she isn't meant to return until she's withered with age. They demand she wake up. Wake up from what? In an instant, the visions fade. A cold on her forehead causes her to stir and a blinding light washes over her.

“Ra... Raban?" The weakened Vostii calls out.

“Hello, Tara. How [do] you feel?" Her mate greets her.

Tara winces and slowly shakes her head. Raban wipes her brow with a damp piece of wool, torn from his own shirt, which he'd scrapped for bandages. He'd expected as much, given how long she was unconscious. Tara is confused. She only closed her eyes for but a few moments. How could she have slept for five days?! As he feeds her venison stew, made using hot rocks and a large leaf, Raban explains what'd happened. After being wounded by the quill-bear and nearly bleeding to death, Raban managed to stop the bleeding, just in time for one of the rocks he'd kicked to explode in the fire and send embers flying.

The fire never reached her, and so he managed to subdue it. He later sewed her wounds with plant fibers and a needle made from one of the quill-bear's own claws, which he'd painstakingly filed down with a rough rock. He then used fire and gunpowder to seal her more serious injuries. Thankfully, though the claw marks were quite deep, they're also very thin; with any luck at all, her fur will grow back and cover them completely. Gently pressing the fresh and painful scars makes her wince.

“Yii na pra'kazii sii'chas?" She sheepishly asks.

Raban cannot believe his ears. How could she think she's lost her beauty?! Stretching out beside her, Raban rests a cheek on his palm and smiles at his mate. With a soft and tender kiss, he answers her in her language.

“You [are] always beautiful to me, treasure..." He assures her.

“Raban..." Tara's eyes begin to water.

“... But you could have [a] bath."

After a giggle, the pair snuggle and enjoy each other's company. From the way he clings to her, it's clear that Raban feared he would lose her; she hears the shaking in his breath as he tells her how happy he is to speak to her and how much he loves her.

“Thank you, Raban. Thank you for saving my life."

“I would never allow you [to] die, Tara. You [are] my mate; you cannot die without me." He says as he holds onto her.

“I will not. We have too much life for living." She replies, looking into his eyes before kissing him with all the passion she can muster.

She's too weak for much more excitement, and Raban is exceedingly patient and understanding. For the next few days, he cares for her as best he can, providing water and every meal as she lay in their bed. To her surprise, Raban had managed to butcher the quill-bear, preserving several hundred pounds of meat. This time, he hid it much farther from their camp. She spends much of her time recovering by watching him through the little window. In time, Tara's strength returns and she feels ready to travel.

Crawling out of the entrance to their hut, she marvels at the effort he'd put into making their campsite a home. Decorations abound, and torches in the ground show paths to everything they need. It's such a lovely home; it's a shame to leave, despite the attack by the savage beast. However, something unsettles her. Finding her lover stoking the central fire, Tara hopes to ease her mind. As always, Raban is quick to comfort her, offering her grass pillows to sit on and a snack of sweet berries.

She refuses all offers, instead only wanting him to answer one question. What does their future hold? At first, he doesn't appear to know how to answer her, taking quite a while to ponder his response. Finally, he turns to her, takes her hands into his and speaks in her tongue.

“I save[d] your life. I care[d] for you. Everything I have, I give [to] you. You ask me, 'what [does] our future hold?' I answer, 'what [do] you want it [to] hold?' I desire [a] life, children, and old age. I want you [to] share [those things] with me. I will never leave you, Tara. Return with me and we will build our future."

His words reach inside and caress her beating heart. It's not just because he's so loving and sincere, nor because that was what she was hoping he'd say, but because of his final words. In her visions, that's what her parents and brother and even her previous mate had all said. With tears in her eyes, she lifts his hands and nuzzles them, giving his hands a kiss. She lets go of his hands and leans forward and Raban is quick to grab her shoulders and examine her, fearing that she might faint. To his delight, she only wants to hold and kiss him, and proclaim her love for him. Raban returns her affection three-fold.

Tara and Raban remain in their camp for the next few weeks, subsisting on the quill-bear's meat and berries, until she's truly ready to travel; despite her assurances, he waits until she can walk without the aid of sticks. He ensures that she has a steady stream of healthful herbs and is a constant comfort, emotionally and physically. No man has ever cared for her the way that he has. Who else has fought a quill-bear and endured scars for her? Who else sat by her unconscious body for days, treating festering wounds and praying for her to awaken? It nurtured a love so strong that it defies definition; at times they feel their bond might even transcend death.

With the aid of a pair of simple sleds, they load up as much of the preserved meat as they can and begin the arduous march back to Raban's cabin. It's a journey that takes twice as long as it did to initially hunt the deer, the event that brought them together. They could've made it back sooner, but Raban insisted that Tara not push herself. He didn't even want her pulling a sled, but she reminded him how harsh the winters can be; they couldn't afford to leave any meat behind. He reluctantly relented.

Reaching a familiar clearing so long after first leaving, Raban almost doesn't recognize his own cabin, though little has changed. Tall grass and flowers cover the field he wanted to till, but nothing is missing or damaged. Tara marvels at the log structure, one-hundred-times larger than the hut she shared with him in the wilderness. Opening the heavy door for her, he presents his home as hers, welcoming her as if she'd always belonged there. It's a great honor, but equally intimidating.

Examining her new home leaves Tara feeling a mixture of excitement, fear and unease. Raban's cabin is so strange, so new, and he has so many devices brought from human civilization, tools she's never seen before. What do they do? What is or isn't dangerous? How will she adapt? Will she ever feel truly at home here, as she did in the humble little hut? Sensing her uncertainty, Raban is quick to reassure her, praising and comforting her in a way that only he can. Somehow, he always knows just what to say to make her feel herself again.

They unload the sleds at the front door and Raban shares the details and layout of his home, now theirs. Though she doesn't say it, hearing him say “our house" over and over again goes a long way to soothing her frazzled nerves. They store the stockpile of meat inside of the home before he gives her a proper tour. Leading her around his homestead, he shows her their lands, the plot where he desires to plant crops, a pen for animals he doesn't yet have, the woodshed, outhouse, and a smokehouse.

He's done much work to build a home, long before they ever met, and because of that she still feels uneasy, like an intruder in a world that is not her own. Returning inside, he presents his cast-iron stove, his many cooking and gardening utensils, the rack of weapons above the stone fireplace, and finally the bedroom. Climbing up and sitting upon the bed reveals the comfort of the mattress, which is nothing like the bed of boughs they'd been sleeping on.

Just when she fears that she'll never be able to adapt to her new surroundings, Raban sits besides her and stretches out, lying on his side whilst slithering an arm around her slender waist. He pulls her down, causing her to giggle as she falls backward, against him. He embraces her as she turns to face him. They share a loving gaze and an even more loving kiss, and just as quickly as it came, the discomfort leaves her. Snuggles, kisses and admissions of love meld the two together, and before long she finds herself straddling her mate, christening their marital bed in a most appropriate manner.

The wooden bedframe sways and creaks as her eyelids flutter, her lips peeling away from clenched teeth as she released pleasured snarls. The wondrous sensation of the whole of his manhood filling her taut loins is like no other. Her vigor in pleasuring her mate is as intense as his. His hands caress her lithe body, moving from her perky buttocks to her slim waistline and then up to cup her well-endowed chest. Not once does he so much as glance at her scar tissue, content to gaze upon her feminine mounds or peer with longing into her big, sapphire eyes.

His passion is a bellows to the fire in her soul. The road only ever led to Raban; there could never be a more worthy mate. Spurred into action by his love and tenderness, she works him with such intensity that she briefly fears breaking his manhood, or perhaps even the swaying bedframe. Her initial fears are soon put to rest; she slows her pace whilst showering her mate's groin with a geyser of orgasmic fluid. He rolls them atop the bed, places her onto her chest and knees and continues, pummeling her womanhood with his girthy organ with such ferocity that it startles her, almost as much as it arouses her.

Raban is just as much as beast as she is, and yet his passion, his love for her; it nurtures an unbreakable bond. After many more climaxes in varying positions, all of them comfortable for her, given her healing wounds, Raban releases the torrential flow of his seed. As always, he leaves it deep within her fertile loins, where it belongs. He has so much to give, but after roughly two weeks without mating that was to be expected. Finally finished, they curl into each others' arms and fall asleep.

She's never felt more comfortable in the strange bed of the Yasheriit. Perhaps that's simply the comfort of being wrapped in her mate's loving embrace? The following days prove easier for her than she'd assumed, and soon a month has passed. She begins feeling ill and realizes quickly that her time with Raban, the nearly two weeks they'd spent in the wilderness after first meeting, is about the time she became pregnant with his child. A Polotan, a half-breed of human and beast folk, grows within her womb. She has no fear when sharing her discovery with her mate, and why would she?

He reacts with joy and excitement and works even harder to prepare their home for their firstborn. Raban's dedication warms her heart. He cares for her as he always has, and when the time comes, Tara gives birth to a son. By then, her wounds have long since healed and her scars become covered in her soft fur, just as Raban thought they would be. He proves to be just as dedicated to his newborn son as he is to his mate, and despite the child who wakes them at all hours, it isn't long before she becomes pregnant again. A pattern begins.

Seasons pass, and Tara stands at a window as she prepares a meal of freshly harvested crops. Corn, potatoes and carrots simmer in a pot, alongside fresh chicken, which she's cleaning and which their humble farm now raise in quantity. She glances outside and cannot help but smile, watching her eldest son, now four-years-old, and his little sister working with their father in the garden. Raban picks up their youngest son and carries the toddler, only to turn to Tara and ask the little boy to wave to his mom. He does, his little hand flopping about as he shakes his arm.

Taking her hand away from her swollen belly, Tara waves back, her lips curled into a little smile. She resumes her cooking, eager to feed her mate and three young children, all the while her mind racing. It's been quite a number of years since she found Raban in the forest. Back then, he was little more than a person to rob, a stranger who could cause her harm. She was so afraid when she ran, hearing him chasing her, and so nervous when he finally caught her, but each and every day she's increasingly thankful for it. Just as her visions had said, as she lay wounded and near death, this was a chance at a real life.

Raban didn't merely feed her and give her pleasure, he didn't only save her life from that quill-bear; Raban has given her a reason to live, a purpose; each child she gives him is further proof of that. She often thinks back on her time before finding him, the horrible, crushing solitude of wandering alone in the woods. Hungry, filthy and desperate; eager for a mate and a tribe to call her own. Her perseverance has paid her in full, and she, like her mate, has never been happier.

Entering his home with his youngest son in his arms, his eldest son and only daughter racing each other inside, Raban looks to the heavily pregnant Tara and smiles. His eyes scan her form as she stands near the stove, her bushy tail swaying as she cradles her belly with one hand and places pieces of chicken into a pan with the other. She's still as beautiful to him as the day they became mates. He looks to his children as they climb up and into the chairs that sit around their dinner table, and chuckles as his daughter still needs to jump up. Her little tail flails. She's inherited her mother's bestial strength.

They're rambunctious, even for their age, and he can only imagine what their fourth child will be like. His cabin was once so quiet, so peaceful, and so lonely. Tara and their children have changed all of that. Setting his youngest son into a highchair he'd crafted himself, he walks over to his mate and kisses the side of her snout, a soft and joyous hum escaping her throat as she nuzzles his face. Looking to the Vostii and their half-breed children, Raban cannot help but smile. For all the work he's had to do to provide and care for his growing family, he wouldn't change a thing.