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Life was good for Jorvik. He’d grown to enjoy the world he’d escaped to, leaving the cold, grim north behind, and with it, his own kin. Not that he missed them, other than in the sense one might occasionally reminisce about an abusive relationship, or other hard times. As a winter wolf, abusive was probably the best way to describe others like him, obsessed with dominance and cruelty as they were. Memories had the strangest tendency to only retain the positives, but nonetheless, he knew he’d never go back.

It’d taken him a while to adapt to warm climates, where there was no permafrost, no frequent blizzards, and no constant snow-cover to use for den-building and protection. That was fully compensated for by how friendly everyone was, here. Nobody in the southern parts of the world knew what a winter wolf truly was, and so they only saw a smiling, mostly tame wolf with luxurious white fur, and he had no issues using that to his advantage.

He was exotic, down here. Exotic, strange, and – though it felt strange to think about – attractive. Frequently, both male and female wolves would offer themselves to him, for the sheer joy of mating with someone so different. Even humans would, sometimes. Jorvik wasn’t one to turn down such advances, even if the idea of mating for fun had felt strange at first. Food was plentiful, here, and there was no reason not to spend some of his energy enjoying such pleasant intimacies.

Mostly, he spent his days near, but not in, the cities. While he was certainly a friendly dog in his heart, anyone who did recognize a winter wolf might not give him the opportunity to prove himself. A mage, an old guard, a veteran of the old northern wars, perhaps – many types one found in the larger cities – might all choose to greet him with violence rather than words. And so, he clung to the outskirts, only rarely going in to beg for treats or affection. It was a guilty pleasure; his former kin would’ve savaged him for acting so submissive, so eager to please, and so affectionate, but to him, it felt perfectly right.

Ultimately, Jorvik preferred smaller towns, rural settlements of farmers and hunters, in which he’d met many a paramour. Equally as often, he’d embrace his more animalistic side and simply be himself in the deep woods surrounding such places. Even prey was plentiful. In the north, one might have to chase a moose or bear for days simply to eat one’s fill. Here, he often found curious deer only meters away from his den. And berries! Oh god, one could eat well for weeks only off what the bushes offered freely.

Yet, something kept drawing him deeper into the woods, deeper and deeper each time he returned. It wasn’t anything he could define, pinpoint, or even explain, but deeper he went still. Somewhere there, in the dark woods, beneath a solid green canopy that left the undergrowth in a permanent dusk, he found something. Someone.

Jorvik heard him first; far off in the distance, a melancholic howling, a dirge-like cry of sorrow that made his very heart ache. Not someone in trouble, no. Someone profoundly sad, profoundly lonely, just as the wolf himself had been.

At that point, it was easy enough to follow the sound, and soon, he happened upon a clearing, next to a great cliff. Even here, the earth was covered with thick, green moss, and most of the sunlight was blocked out by leaves. Yet, this was different; there was a metallic tinge to the air, like the scent of lightning, and a faint smokiness, like a forest fire far away. Enough to turn most wary visitors away, but not Jorvik. After all, he’d encountered nothing but friendly creatures in these lands; even deep in the woods, other predators were few and left him alone. There was too much risk involved in fighting a wolf, even a small and slender one, compared to simply taking down a rabbit or deer.

And so, his nature led him to a fellow wolf, with fur black as midnight. He was curled up, almost invisible against the black, wet stone of the cliffside, but his ears perked as he heard Jorvik approach.

“A visitor? A saviour?” the black wolf groaned, as if in pain, standing up. He looked ancient; the coal-black of his fur fading into an ashen grey around his muzzle.

“What’s wrong?” Jorvik asked.

“I am cursed,” the black one replied. “Cursed to remain here until the mountains crumble, unless…” he paused, taking a moment to actually look at Jorvik. There was a glint of something in his eyes. Perhaps only an errant ray of sunlight, slipping through the canopy. “…unless I find someone to love me. A companion, if only for the night…”

Memories stirred in Jorvik’s mind. The humans often told tales like this; a prince or princess cursed to remain miserable until true love – sometimes, just a kiss – broke the spell. Surely those tales weren’t real, though, he’d thought, but then again, why would anyone lie about them? There was some other memory too, something that he knew he should’ve remembered, but it remained a distant spark in the recesses of his mind. He felt, confusingly, at ease. The other wolf had a kind of warm, musky scent, and he looked all but helpless. Old, yes, but not unattractive. Grizzled with experience beyond Jorvik’s days, and rough, but no less virile. The kind of raw, primal charisma that few creatures possessed, one that drew the good-hearted winter wolf ever closer.

“All it would take,” the black wolf whined, “Is for any visitor to show me love, to let me mate with them…”

“But why are you trapped here to begin with? Why would nobody love you?” Jorvik asked. He could already feel his sheath swelling, despite his doubts. Something about the other wolf was getting to him, and a kind of naivete that he’d developed living in these plentiful lands prevented him from suspecting anything. Instead, the tingling arousal was pleasant and seductive. How much harm could it possibly do?

“Once, a long time ago…” the black wolf murmured. “It was said that someone like myself could never experience true love or affection. A curse, for a misdoing. I was chained here, though with unseen shackles, to wait forever.”

It wasn’t really an explanation. Yet, Jorvik felt dazed, uncritical, and terribly drawn to the other wolf. Surely nothing truly evil was so attractive, so friendly. He knew how evil acted from his now-distant kin; never with a soft touch, but with immediate violence and hatred. This wolf wasn’t it, despite his strange musk.

As the black wolf padded closer to him, Jorvik could see his swelling shaft bobbing between his hind legs. He, at least, wasn’t shy about what kind of love he needed, or at least, wanted. No doubt about it. And his lust was infectious, sending excited little tingles through the smaller wolf’s frame as the strange one brushed against him.

“Will you let me?” he asked, and Jorvik shuddered. He didn’t sound so miserable, now, as if the very prospect of being set free had invigorated him. Jorvik was constantly second-guessing himself. Was this really a good idea? Was he about to mate with some stranger wolf, allowing him to mount him?

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before. It also wasn’t as if he’d ever met anyone harbouring ill will, here. Sure, the humans had their schemes and plans, but all were very forthcoming to a cute enough pup, and cuteness was something the effeminate Jorvik had in spades.

“Will you allow me to mount you, be my companion for the night, and set me free?” the black wolf rumbled. His cock throbbed visibly, watery precum steaming in the increasingly cold nocturnal air.

Despite it all, despite his body slowly moving with a mind of its own and raising his hindquarters – assuming a mating position and presenting himself – Jorvik couldn’t help but feel as if he’d forgotten something. Some instinctive part was screaming at him that this wasn’t a good idea. Yet, he wanted to help the stranger; after all, even if he had done some bad things, a little kindness went a long way towards making someone a better person. That, and his lust was rubbing off enough that Jorvik’s cock had fully slipped out of his sheath, too.

His tail flicked out of the way, baring his puckered entrance. The other wolf growled with lusty appreciation, letting his tongue drag over that tight, increasingly eager hole.

“Speak the words,” he growled. “Agree to be my bitch for the night.”

Jorvik’s breath hitched. The words caught in his throat, at first. The black wolf slurped again, sending fireworks of pleasure through his body, enough to make his tail curl, like those common city dogs. His cold nose was pressed right under Jorvik’s flagging tail, close enough that he felt every puff of hot breath. Too hot. Something was wrong. But whatever it was, he could deal with it later. He was feeling that desperate, gnawing need to be filled, the one that he’d always feel when in the presence of a strong, virile male. The one only bitches in heat felt. Bitches in heat, and… him, whatever that said about him.

“Yes,” he finally huffed. “I’ll set you free. Mount me,” Jorvik half-whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling. “Please.”

With a triumphant howl, the black wolf was on his back in an instant, pressing Jorvik’s chest against the mossy ground with sheer weight, his paws – adorned with claws – digging into his hips, holding them both steady. His hips were already thrusting, bucking against the winter wolf, his cock painfully jabbing against his taint, and then his tail.

Jorvik felt something warm and wet splatter over his hole. It seemed to soak into his blood, inflaming his desires even further, relaxing his body until he was drooling against the ground, hips held up only by the black wolf’s strong paws.

He let out a growl as his tip finally caught in Jorvik’s clenching hole, and he sunk in, slowly, inch after burning inch impaling the winter wolf, claiming him with each watery spurt of precum. He felt warm, entirely too warm, an almost devouring and possessive heat that radiated through Jorvik’s body. The kind of heat that made him want more.

With a pleasured whine, Jorvik thrust back against the wolf’s shaft, forcing more of that wonderful steely heat into him, begging in the most canine of ways even as his body clenched around it with evident desire.

“Rrh, good… bitch,” the black one snarled. That previous helpless melancholy was entirely gone, replaced by a ravaging, fiery, bestial lust. Jorvik knew that he’d made the wrong choice, but he was too far gone, swallowed up by his own carnal needs to do anything but whimper and moan.

Oh, he whimpered and moaned, especially when the beast began to thrust. He didn’t hold pack, pistoning his feral cock into Jorvik at an almost violent pace, eager to properly claim him, and each second of it brought the winter wolf deeper into exquisite, almost painful ecstasy. Doubly so when he felt his lover’s swelling knot catch inside him – almost – only to pull out with a pop that almost made him collapse.

Neither of them spoke a single word. Words weren’t needed. Jorvik knew fully well that he was getting dominated by the bigger, stronger male. That the black wolf was about to seed him in only a few minutes, permanently marking him as his mate – no, his property – and there was nothing he could do but wallow in the pleasure their mating was drowning him in.

With a submissive whimper, Jorvik came, before the wolf had even sunk his knot into him. He clenched around the black one, squeezing and milking with primal desire matching every throb of his cock as his own seed splattered onto the moss below. A satisfied, almost mocking growl from his partner echoed in his ears, and then, a sudden pain as his jaws clamped around the winter wolf’s scruff. A mating bite. No wolf, dog, or fox could ever mistake what that meant.

The black wolf held himself inside Jorvik’s quivering body, hilted in his warm embrace. Slowly, his knot swelled; enough that the two would be tied together until he’d finished seeding his new bitch. It flooded into Jorvik’s body in watery gushes, the heat of it almost overwhelming, filling hm to the brim with a strange warmth. He was throbbing, heavily so, and there was so much of that lupine cum – no wonder, with how the other wolf had apparently been alone for what seemed like years – and Jorvik could only groan, feeling it fill him. It wasn’t a feeling he was entirely unfamiliar with, but this time, it felt different. Tainted, somehow, each spurt only leaving him hornier despite just having reached his own blissful climax. Not only that, but oddly soothing, clouding his mind somehow, until he was struggling to remember why he was even here, or… who he was, at all.

The black wolf growled one word, his eyes taking on a dim red glow, like the last breath of embers on a cold winter night. “Mine.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Jorvik realized what the other wolf really was, and it was far too late; they’re consummated their deal, he was full of the demon’s tainted cum. Until whatever deal he’d unwittingly made was fulfilled, he’d remain here. He’d belong to the demon wolf.

It didn’t feel good to realize that, even in his dazed state. But it did arouse him, beyond measure. His cock hadn’t even had time to retreat back into its sheath before it began to swell again, thanks the demon’s newfound hold over him.

“Let’s see what my new toy is capable of, then…” it growled, still securely tied with Jorvik, its saliva soaking the white wolf’s fur. “Not an ordinary wolf, are you? No…”

It paused for a few moments, as if savouring Jorvik’s forced subservience. He felt the demon’s shaft throb inside him again, felt a strangle tingling around his ears and scalp, as if the beast was looking through him.

“A winter wolf. Yes, I thought I’d recognized your kind…” it rumbled, and then hopped off Jorvik’s back, standing there, knot holding them together. Each word it spoke seemed almost painful to hear, the humiliation of being claimed by something like that intensely shameful, and yet – arousing. It wasn’t just a demon, Jorvik thought. It was a demon of lust, an incubus, though in the body of a wolf. No doubt one of the victims it’d claimed before. Was that why it’d seduced him so easily?

“The winter wolves are shapeshifters, aren’t they?” it panted, after another brief moment of silence. “Yes,” it added, with a sibilant hiss. “Oh, we’ll have a lot of fun, won’t we? We’ll shape you into the bitch you so obviously desire to be. The perfect bitch to take my knot over and over again until there’s nothing left except a clenching, drooling, eager cunt…”

“Nn-“ Jorvik groaned. “-no.”

It wasn’t as if he was a stranger to changing his gender. He even enjoyed doing it, but that was at his own initiative. His own will. Being forced into a female shape by someone else – especially a demon – was a violation. Worse yet, it was a violation he knew he’d enjoy; when in heat, he was barely able to control himself. A perfect toy for a demon who never ran out of lust, in other words, and he could already see himself – herself, soon – with her tail raised, swollen with half-breed demonic pups, and yet begging for more, mindlessly, her whole existence narrowed down to worshipping his infernal alpha.

The demon pulled out of him with a wet slurp, followed by a gush of his seed, taking yet another moment to admire the thoroughly bred, defeated winter wolf.

“With a male form like that, it’s obvious what you really want anyway, is it not?” the black wolf rumbled. It was no longer hiding its more demonic features; those unnatural, razor-sharp claws, the embered eyes, the musky scent of brimstone and lust that now hung heavy around it. “Every other winter wolf is strong, masculine, enormous… and you choose to skirt the line just between male and female, not daring to cross the line despite knowing that is where your truest desires lie. Being a good breeding bitch for anyone stronger than yourself.”

It was taunting him. None of that was true, but it felt true regardless. Jorvik could only offer a weak whimper. Such was the power the demon held over him, now; he’d willingly allowed it to break its chains, and in turn, he was now chained. With every claim it made, Jorvik felt his urges and instincts rearrange to match what it claimed. His conscious mind knew it wasn’t real, but that part of him had precious little influence at that moment.

“Let’s begin. Roll over,” the demon growled. Jorvik obeyed without question, baring his belly – and erect, throbbing canine length – to the demon.

“A good bitch needs… rrh, we’ll save the best for last, won’t we?” the black wolf snarled, pacing in circles around its newest toy. Jorvik closed his eyes, trying to avoid that piercing gaze and yet feeling it on every inch of his body.

“Teats, first. Like so,” it continued, placing a paw on Jorvik’s stomach and scratching his skin with those unnaturally sharp claws. The white wolf winced, another whine escaping his muzzle. He could feel his muscles weakening, from androgynous to outright feminine, as the demon tapped into his natural shapeshifting. There wasn’t much difference between male and female wolves. In his humanoid shape, it’d be all the more evident. Wider hips. Softer fur. Narrower shoulders, and…

He could feel a tingling sensation sweep over all eight of his nipples, suddenly feeling very sensitive. He wouldn’t have much in the way of breasts in this shape, but each nipple grew a little more erogenous, a little more prominent and visible.

“And them, of course, we’ll have to shape you to be a little more… receptive,” the coal-black demon rumbled, pleased with the progress of its new playtoy. Its paw slipped further down along Jorvik’s belly, all the way to his plump sheath. “After all, good bitches don’t have any unsightly cocks like this. Only eager, wet holes to pleasure their males,” it went on, goading Jorvik, its voice practically dripping with malevolent glee.

Jorvik shuddered as she – no, not a she, yet – felt an almost burning sensation in his loins – he was male, and he wasn’t going to change just for-

A kind of clenching deep inside him. A straining, impossibly arousing pressure building up between his legs. Jorvik, helpless to fight the demon with the influence he’d allowed it to have over him, craned his neck just in time to see his balls slowly be absorbed into his body, just like his muscles had been. His sheath seemed to pull back, and he cried out with an increasingly feminine, high-pitched howl as it slowly became shorter and shorter, a clit at best – and then, that pressure erupted all at once. There was a mind-bending sensation as that stiffness suddenly collapsed into a blissful, quivering wetness instead, an opening forming just beneath where his cock had been. It darkened, forming into a feminine, canine sex, already glistening with lust.

For a brief moment, while Jorvik’s mind still remained masculine enough to be affected by it, he growled with desire at the scent of his own heat, inhaling it greedily. Then, suddenly, her attention shifted to the much more prominent, exciting smell of male lust surrounding her. Jorvik’s nostrils flared. The demon smelled wonderful, her heat-primed mind drawn to his arousal, the memory of having been male, of even being a shapeshifter, drowning out in the pleasurable waves of dazed attraction and need. There was nothing she could do as her hips nudged upwards, drawing another approving, perhaps mocking growl from the dark wolf next to her.

“It’s better when you embrace your role as a bitch, isn’t it?” it hissed. “Now, let’s burn away all those unpleasant male thoughts. You don’t need them anymore, do you? Beg for me to breed you. Beg me to fill your worthless womb with my seed…”

Jorvik was already begging. Not with words; her throat and tongue both felt too swollen with lust to form any coherent phrases or sentences, but the drooling lust from her new sex, and the quiet, desperate whimpers from her mouth were just as clear as any words ever could’ve been. She needed it. In her first heat – forced upon her by this hellhound – she could do nothing but surrender to it.

Demons didn’t mate the way others did. Certainly, it pounced on top of her, rutting her with sharp, harsh trusts, driving that burning hot length into her again and again. And she came, similarly, spraying the ground with her juices, almost immediately as it sunk into her, only to feel the tension begin to rise almost immediately afterwards again. There was no relief, no refractory period, not for a bitch in heat. Nothing but more tainted lust, as it pressed her into the dirty, making her his with each buck of its hips.

When it finally allowed its knot to swell in her clenching sex, Jorvik could feel its cock bucking inside her. It felt more intimate, this time. More arousing. The sensation was so unlike being mounted as a male; she felt every inch of the infernal shaft inside her, every pulse of its demonic veins, and every thick – oh, it was far thicker than the cum of the average wolf – spurt of seed gushing into her, filling every inch of her with it as it knotted her. But there was no satisfaction. Instead, each time the black wolf seeded her, she wanted more, as it filled her with a ravenous, infernal hunger, insatiable lust, for ever more sex.

Jorvik shuddered, helpless, her mind afloat in an endless, fiery lake of pleasure. She felt the demon tug at her sex, and it didn’t hurt when it yanked its fully swollen knot out of her gaping spade. Nor did it hurt when it thrust it in again, stretching her taut around it, continuing to fuck her with its whole length, violating her, breeding her with boundless demonic energy as it took out every single moment of its long celibacy on her, filling her with every last drop of its pent up seed.

Even the hellhound grew tired eventually, leaving her alone for a brief few hours, languishing in its den. Jorvik wasn’t sated; she never would be. This was to be her life, constantly just on the edge of orgasm or cumming so hard her mind threatened to shatter permanently, and unable to get even a moment of respite from her fel-fuelled lusts. It’d always return, after a while, to fuck a fresh load of demon-seed into her, further cementing both its dominance and its claim on her body. Between those matings, she wallowed in its den as the demon sculpted her into the ideal mate, burning away more and more of her old instincts and memories with each spurt of tainted hellhound cum.

Jorvik’s body did what it was designed to do, letting the demon’s seed take root, as best as it could. Her belly swelled, too, but it was with a false pregnancy. Demons, after all, couldn’t offer anything real. They were only creatures of emotions, not true physicality. Thus, Jorvik’s heat remained, assuring that she herself remained dripping wet and eager each time her new master desired to use her, barely able to move in that filthy den at all.

After a few weeks of that, of being continuously used until her pure white fur was smudged black with soot, the scent of brimstone nearly permanently burned into her lungs and her pelt encrusted with its spent, fel seed, there was precious little left. It was her life, for a while; being a mindless fucktoy for the dominant hellhound, eagerly letting it take her.

It would always return to mock her, but one day, it overplayed its hand, goading Jorvik by telling her what a good slut she was, unable to even remember that she’d been male at some point, because her mind had always been that of a breeding bitch. And that cruel mockery sparked the faintest memory in her mind.

She did remember. Hazy details, yes, each one like a jagged shard of frosted glass in her mind, difficult and painful to extract, but she remembered. The demon had control over her body, and with it, her instincts and urges, but it could not read her thoughts, nor change them. Yes, each thought came with a splitting headache, but it didn’t stop her.

The demon was far bigger than her, strengthened further by the dominance it’d displayed. And so, she had to plan. Each time the demon mounted her cum-matted body again, she focused on planning to escape, letting the overwhelming pleasure of the demon’s canine shaft plunging into her, seeding her over and over again distract her from the pain. She lost track of time, most it spent in false pregnancy, languishing in the black wolf’s den, but slowly, a plan came together. A plan she’d use to escape.

The next time the demon came to use her, she begged for it to mount her muzzle as well, so she could swallow its tainted seed. Eager for yet another way to further its dominance, the demon accepted without thinking twice, mocking Jorvik for her evident debauched submission. It drove its throbbing shaft into her mouth. And why not? Jorvik wouldn’t be able to bite him, after all, nor use her magic against him.

Not intentionally.

Yet, the acrid taste of the demon’s shaft, and the sheer girth of its owner forcing it down Jorvik’s throat made her cough, involuntarily. She couldn’t control it, and thus, neither could the demon. Her icy nature burst forth, her magic of the coldest, freezing winter, around his cock, sinking deep into his vulnerable flesh.

The frost enveloped the demon, in all the worst ways. He shattered like a dropped icicle, howling in agony, and Jorvik ran. She ran as fast as she could, as far as she could, white the demon was incapacitated. He’d regenerate soon enough; bad beings like that never stayed down. It’d come after her, too, at least for a few years, unless she figured out a way to get out of their “deal” herself.

Yet, for now, she was free. It was oddly liberating, running at breakneck speed through trees and undergrowth, mouth filled with the copper tang of exertion, and her legs burning with the same until they barely moved at all. The further away she got, the more the demon’s hold on her lessened, though it’d not fully leave her. She was still in heat, after all, despite her swollen belly leaving her looking as if she was pregnant already.

She only rested what must’ve been miles away, after washing herself of the demon’s scent in a river she came across, to hinder him from finding her, should he try. And yet, her rest was plagued with nightmares, insecurity, confusion about what she could even do about her increasingly precarious situation. Jorvik found herself unable to change back, the demon apparently having robbed her of that ability to make sure the poor winter wolf was fully in the grip of heat, and desperately eager to let him have his way with her.

Several times, Jorvik considered going back, offering herself to the demon again. This time, it’d be permanent. After all, there was pleasure to be had. Endless pleasure, in being a mindless breeding toy for such a magnificent, strong, male.

Help, then, came from an unexpected source. Expected, perhaps, if one was experienced with being in bitch in heat. The next morning, Jorvik was surprised to find a grey wolf – a male, of course – staring at her. She recoiled from him, snarling, her half-awake mind perceiving the shape of her former oppressor in her new visitor. And yet, he didn’t budge, nor did he advance, simply observing her with a curious look in his eyes. A curious look, and a fully erect lupine shaft.

The world was, after all, a friendly place, and none were friendlier than male wolves, when they encountered a female in heat. And this wolf didn’t talk, didn’t have any scent but intoxicating male musk about him; he was merely a wolf, like any other, drawn to her scent. This one was a loner, here without his pack, perhaps having been cast out and seeking to start a new one of his own with the mysterious, alluring bitch that Jorvik had become.

He wasn’t in a hurry, courting her for days, realizing on some instinctual level that Jorvik wasn’t exactly in a healthy state. Despite her heat, Jorvik hesitated to accept his advances, even knowing how maddening it must’ve been for him; a mating would leave her heavy with pups, unlike with the demon. Then again, it was exactly what her body was screaming at him to do; to present herself for the beautiful male and allow him to tie with her, to fill her with his precious seed. Yet, she fought those urges despite the raging heat, remembering what’d happened the last time she surrendered to lust.

On the third night, the male – perhaps tired of waiting and impatient – slunk behind her as she laid down for the night, and stuck his muzzle right under her tail, against that aching, feminine sex between her legs. There was a simple, honest desire to his actions, something pure and truly loving in comparison with the demon’s schemes. Jorvik shuddered, springing back up as she felt the electrifying tingle of his broad, feral tongue slurp over her oversensitive, quivering spade.

The male insisted, following her as she jumped around, giving her sex darting, affectionate licks at each possible opportunity, scooping up her heat-juices and seemingly delighting in the taste, until her legs felt too weak with arousal to try to avoid it. Jorvik – and especially her body – knew exactly what the male was proposing, what he was offering, and such urges and instinct could never be delayed for long.

She stuck her rump up, just as she had with the demon. This time, there were no warning bells, no further hesitation; this was something she wanted. The male gave an appreciative, lusty growl as he saw her presenting herself, tail raising to finally show off that beautiful, swollen sex.

He leapt on top of Jorvik, and she whimpered joyfully. Oh, her new lover was no gentler than the demon had been; he was, after all, just an animal, brutish and eager. But yet, their union was somehow more fulfilling, as his shaft finally jabbed into her clenching, lust-drenched spade.

He rutted into her, barking and growling with a very masculine pride over finally being allowed to mount his new – as he hoped she’d be – mate. As always with the ferals, he was energetic, pistoning into her like a jackhammer, and soon, Jorvik was howling with those spasms of pleasure, her juices gushing over his sheath, and her feminine sex clenching and milking around his shaft, around his swelling knot.

Already, his seed was gushing deep into her in watery spurts, thicker with each one. And this time, it was like sweet ambrosia, sating that near-permanent hunger rather than inflaming it further, like the demon had. In the throes of her orgasm, Jorvik finally felt her mind clearing up, her body eagerly drinking its fill of the male’s bountiful, virile gift, already anticipating her belly swelling with real pups. Another orgasm wracked her body, quivering and fluttering, leaving Jorvik howling out her ecstasy to the nightly skies by the time the male’s knot swelled inside her. It left the two tied together, his cum like a soothing balm to her lust-inflamed body.

A satisfied growl. A pleased, happy nibble at her neck and ear. The familiar panting of someone who loved her, if only in the most primal, animal ways on her back. Jorvik felt as if a weight had been lifted from her mind. A weight, or a lodestone that had been threatening to drag her back into lusty despair.

The two curled up together that night, fully sated, repeating their carnal coupling every few hours, whenever the male wolf found it in himself to go again, and Jorvik happily accepted it each time, until she was a sopping mess of mixed fluids.

That was all it took. Slowly, day by day, her mind slowly recovered, the knowledge that she had been – and remained – a shapeshifter, a winter wolf, once male. The other wolf’s love and affection, freely and unconditionally given, were enough to break the spell she was under and shatter what remained of the demon’s influence. Well, all except one – she was still unable to conceive. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, truly – she did prefer the male form, after all.

She stayed there, in recovery, with the feral male, though eventually he left her, seeing that his new prize conquest seemed infertile. Not that Jorvik held any grudges; they’d both enjoyed their time together, and she could hardly expect them to spend all their lives together.

Once he was gone, Jorvik finally shifted back into his more familiar, comfortable, male form. It felt almost alien after being stuck in one shape for so long, like a den left vacant over the winter, or for humanoids, a pair of shoes not worn for a season. Yet in the end, he fit right in.

Yet, it was different, now. His male form was smaller, no larger than perhaps a coyote. More slender, more feminine. Quicker, though also physically weaker. Another blessing, perhaps; most wouldn’t recognize him as a winter wolf, if he remained this small. Yet, also a curse, as he noticed when curling up to sleep; his scent had shifted. Even in male form, he smelled like a heady melange of the feminine and the masculine; halfway between horny stud and needy bitch in heat. He felt it too, that now-familiar twinge of need, even if it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been, before. That might be a problem, with how much attention it’d draw, likely from both genders.

It’d be a few more months before he dared to return to civilization, but with time, his faith and trust in strangers slowly recovered. It wasn’t what drove him back, though; that was him drooling for the kind of pastries the humans made, rather than the constant diet of raw meat. Jorvik realized he’d gotten spoiled, living in those warm and friendly lands, and eventually set off to meet more soon-to-be friends in the more civilized places.

Perhaps most surprisingly, he had learned something from his encounter with the demon. It’d put him in touch with what he figured was his feminine side; the softer, more sensual, yet voracious and carnal side of him. A new development, to go with the scars of his lost naivete.

Well, lost, except for when he wanted to. As fate would have it, the experience became far more erotic in retrospect, and Jorvik found himself fantasizing of being tricked into turning female and claimed once more. Sometimes, he’d play that scenario out with others. Sometimes, he’d “allow” them to dominate him, pretending to be an innocent pup, all while truly remaining fully in control.

One last advantage that he didn’t hesitate to use? As he had learned, the world was quite a bit friendlier towards females in heat.