The mist clung to Vyrn like a lover’s breath, heavy and damp, curling through the narrow streets and pooling at the edges of the haunted forest. I rode into town on my mare, Shadow, her hooves clopping softly on the cobblestones. My half-plate armor, polished to a dull gleam, hugged my slender frame, the steel plates shifting against my narrow waist and wide hips. The longsword at my side swayed with each step, its weight a familiar comfort against my shapely thigh. My long brown hair, tied back in a loose braid, brushed the small of my back, tickling the exposed skin where my armor left a gap. Vyrn’s townsfolk eyed me warily from their doorways, their faces pale as if the mist itself had drained their color. I couldn’t blame them. Two bodies, bloodless and cold, had been found in the forest’s shadow. Whispers of a werewolf had spread faster than the fog.
The mayor’s hall was a squat, timbered building at the town’s heart, its windows glowing with firelight. I dismounted, brushing a stray lock of hair from my oval face, my sharp cheekbones catching the flicker of a nearby torch. My small breasts pressed against the leather padding beneath my armor, a subtle curve that didn’t escape the mayor’s notice as he greeted me. He was a stout man, maybe fifty, with a graying beard and eyes that lingered too long on my hips. “Kaelin, is it?” he said, voice oily. “The swordswoman who hunts monsters?”
“That’s me,” I replied, keeping my tone brisk. My lips, full and soft, curled into a guarded smile. “You’ve got a problem. I’m here to solve it.”
He led me inside, where a fire roared in a stone hearth. The air smelled of smoke and stale ale. He explained the deaths—two men, farmers, found with their throats torn and bodies drained. The townsfolk swore it was a werewolf, hiding in the ruins of an ancient fortress deep in the forest. “We need it dead,” he said, sliding a pouch of gold across the table. “And you’ll have help. Torren and Gavric, my best guardsmen, will go with you.”
I raised an eyebrow, my slender fingers brushing the hilt of my sword. “I work alone.”
“Not this time,” he said, his tone firm. “The forest is treacherous. They know the land.”
I didn’t like it, but the gold was heavy, and the mayor’s stare told me arguing was pointless. “Fine,” I said, tucking the pouch into my belt. “Where are they?”
Torren and Gavric were waiting outside, leaning against a hitching post. Both were human, broad-shouldered, and battle-scarred, with the kind of bulk that came from years of swinging axes and drinking too much. Torren, maybe thirty-five, had a shaved head and a jagged scar across his jaw, his dark eyes raking over me like I was a prize horse. Gavric, a bit younger, had shaggy blond hair and a smirk that made my skin crawl. Their leather armor was patched but sturdy, and both carried short swords and daggers. I caught the glint of lust in their gazes, their eyes tracing the curve of my plump ass as I turned to mount Shadow.
“Easy, lass,” Torren said, his voice a low growl. “We’re here to protect you.”
“I can protect myself,” I shot back, swinging into the saddle. My thighs, long and toned, gripped the horse’s sides, my armor creaking softly. “Just keep up.”
The ride to the Moon’s Rest, a ramshackle inn a half-hour from Vyrn, was tense. The forest loomed to our left, its trees gnarled and black, the mist weaving through them like ghostly fingers. Torren and Gavric rode behind me, their horses snorting, their conversation a steady stream of crude jests. “Bet she’s as tight as that armor,” Gavric muttered, loud enough for me to hear. Torren chuckled, his eyes on my swaying hips. I gripped the reins tighter, my jaw set. I’d dealt with men like them before, but their boldness unnerved me. Out here, far from Vyrn, I was alone with them.
The Moon’s Rest was a sagging wooden building, its sign creaking in the wind. The common room reeked of sweat and spilled ale, a handful of travelers hunched over their mugs. The innkeeper, a wiry woman with a pinched face, handed us a key to a single room. “Only one left,” she said, eyeing us warily. I didn’t argue. We’d need to plan our approach to the ruins, and I wanted to keep Torren and Gavric where I could see them.
The room was small, with a single creaking bed and a rough wooden table. A lantern cast flickering shadows on the walls. I set my sword against the bedpost, my armor clinking as I stretched, my hourglass figure outlined in the dim light. Torren and Gavric dropped their packs, their eyes never leaving me. “Time for a drink,” Gavric said, pulling a flask from his belt. He took a long swig, then passed it to Torren, who grinned.
“Join us, Kaelin,” Torren said, his voice thick with suggestion. “Loosen up before we face that beast.”
I hesitated, my instincts screaming caution, but refusing might sour things further. I took the flask, the burn of cheap ale stinging my throat. My lips glistened as I wiped them, catching Gavric’s stare. “Let’s talk strategy,” I said, trying to steer the conversation. “The ruins are a day’s ride. We’ll need to move fast, strike at dusk when the werewolf’s active.”
Torren leaned closer, his breath hot with ale. “Plenty of time for that. First, we need to trust each other. Ain’t that right, Gavric?”
Gavric nodded, his smirk widening. “A bonding ritual, you could say. Makes us a team.”
My stomach twisted. Their eyes were hungry, their bodies tense like wolves circling prey. I stood, my hand inching toward my sword, but Torren was faster, stepping between me and the bedpost. “No need for that,” he said, his hand grazing my arm. “We’re all friends here.”
“Back off,” I said, my voice low, but Gavric was already behind me, his hands on my hips. My armor felt suddenly heavy, restrictive. I was strong, skilled, but they were bigger, and there were two of them. The room felt smaller, the air thick with their intent.
“We’re going into danger,” Gavric murmured, his fingers digging into my waist. “Need to know you’re with us, Kaelin. All the way.”
I swallowed, my heart pounding. Resistance might mean a fight I couldn’t win, not here, not now. I needed them to face the werewolf—or so I thought. “Fine,” I said, my voice tight. “But you keep your hands to yourselves after this.”
Torren’s laugh was rough. “We’ll see.”
The lantern’s flicker painted their faces in harsh angles, Torren’s scar gleaming, Gavric’s eyes glinting like a predator’s. They moved closer, boxing me in, the creaking bed at my back. My armor was still on, the steel plates cold against my skin, but Gavric’s hands were already at my belt, tugging at the buckles. “Let’s get this off,” he said, his voice a low growl. I stiffened, my hands balling into fists, but Torren grabbed my wrists, his grip like iron.
“Easy, lass,” he said, pinning my arms above my head. “This is just to make us a team.”
My heart raced, a mix of fear and something darker stirring in my core. I wasn’t a stranger to desire, but this was different—raw, forceful, their intentions clear in the way their eyes roamed my body. Gavric unfastened my armor, the plates clattering to the floor, leaving me in my padded undershirt and leather breeches. My small breasts pressed against the fabric, my nipples hardening despite myself as his hands brushed my waist. “Fuck, look at those curves,” he muttered, his fingers tracing my hourglass figure, lingering on the flare of my wide hips.
“Get on with it,” I said, my voice sharp, trying to keep some control. But Torren’s grip tightened, and he pushed me back onto the bed, the mattress creaking under my weight. My long legs sprawled, my thighs parting slightly as Gavric knelt between them, yanking at my breeches. The leather peeled away, exposing my shapely thighs and the tiny bulge of my cock, still tucked in my undergarments. Gavric’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Well, shit,” he said, a grin spreading. “That’s a nice little secret.”
“Shut up,” I snapped, but my voice trembled. Torren’s hands were on my undershirt now, ripping it open to expose my small breasts, my pink nipples stiff in the cool air. He growled, his calloused fingers pinching one, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure through me. “Fuck, you’re a pretty thing,” he said, leaning down to suck hard on my nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.
I gasped, my body arching despite my mind’s protests. Gavric tugged my undergarments down, my tiny cock springing free, barely three inches but hard as steel. He laughed, his hand wrapping around it, stroking roughly. “Cute,” he said, his thumb circling the tip, smearing the bead of precum. I bit my lip, stifling a moan, my hips twitching under his touch. The humiliation burned, but so did the heat pooling in my core, my plump ass clenching as he slid a finger lower, teasing my tight hole.
“Turn her over,” Torren said, releasing my wrists. I could’ve fought then, could’ve reached for my sword, but the weight of their presence, the ale, the isolation—it all pressed down on me. I let them manhandle me, flipping me onto my stomach, my knees digging into the mattress. My ass was high, exposed, the cool air kissing my skin. Gavric’s hand came down hard, a sharp smack that made my plump cheeks jiggle. “Fuck, that’s a nice ass,” he said, spanking me again, harder, the sting blooming into heat.
I gritted my teeth, my fingers clutching the rough sheets. “Just do it,” I said, my voice hoarse. Torren knelt in front of me, his breeches already down, his cock thick and veined, jutting out like a weapon. It was maybe seven inches, curved slightly, the head glistening. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, grabbing my braid and pulling my head up. I glared at him, but his grip tightened, and I parted my lips, letting him slide in. His taste was salty, musky, filling my mouth as he thrust deep, hitting the back of my throat. I gagged, my eyes watering, but he didn’t stop, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.
Behind me, Gavric’s fingers probed my ass, slick with spit he’d smeared from his own mouth. “Tight as fuck,” he muttered, pushing one finger in, then two, stretching me roughly. I moaned around Torren’s cock, the vibration making him groan. “That’s it, slut,” he said, his hips bucking faster. Gavric’s fingers pulled out, replaced by the blunt head of his cock—thicker than Torren’s, maybe eight inches, straight and heavy. He didn’t wait, didn’t ease in, just pushed, the burn of his entry making me cry out against Torren’s shaft.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” Gavric growled, his hands gripping my hips as he slammed in, bottoming out in one brutal thrust. My body rocked, my tiny cock throbbing against my thigh, trapped between pain and pleasure. They set a rhythm, Torren fucking my throat, Gavric pounding my ass, their grunts filling the room. My breasts bounced with each thrust, my nipples brushing the rough sheets, sending sparks through me. I hated how my body responded, how my cock leaked, how my ass clenched around Gavric’s thickness, but I couldn’t stop it.
They switched, Gavric pulling out and moving to my face, his cock slick with my own juices. “Clean it,” he ordered, shoving it into my mouth. I tasted myself, sharp and bitter, as he fucked my throat, his hands tangled in my hair. Torren took my ass now, his curved cock hitting different angles, grinding against my prostate. I moaned, my voice muffled, my body trembling as they used me. Gavric’s hand came down again, spanking my ass, the slaps echoing in time with Torren’s thrusts. “Fuck, she loves it,” Gavric said, his voice thick with lust.
They flipped me again, Torren lying back on the bed, pulling me to straddle him. My thighs spread wide, my knees sinking into the mattress as he guided his cock back into my ass. Gavric stood over me, his cock in my mouth, thrusting deep as Torren fucked up into me. My tiny cock bobbed, untouched, leaking onto Torren’s stomach. The pleasure was overwhelming now, drowning out my resistance, my body shaking as they drove me toward the edge. “Cum for us,” Torren growled, his fingers digging into my hips, bruising my skin.
I didn’t want to, but my body betrayed me, my cock twitching as a wave of pleasure crashed through me, my ass clenching around Torren’s shaft. He groaned, slamming up hard, his cock pulsing as he filled me with hot cum. Gavric wasn’t far behind, his thrusts erratic as he spilled down my throat, forcing me to swallow. I gasped, choking, my body trembling as they collapsed, their weight pinning me to the bed.
They fell asleep quickly, their snores filling the room, their cum leaking from my ass, dripping down my thighs. I lay there, breathless, shaken, my ass burning, my throat raw. I slipped from the bed, pulling on my breeches and undershirt, my armor left on the floor. I needed air, needed to think. I grabbed my sword and crept out, the night air cool against my flushed cheeks. The stables were nearby, the scent of hay and horses grounding me. I had to find answers, had to know if the werewolf was real—and if Torren and Gavric could be trusted.
* * *
The night air bit at my exposed skin as I slipped into the stables, my breeches clinging to my thighs, still damp from the mess Torren and Gavric had left behind. My torn undershirt barely covered my small breasts, the fabric catching on my stiff nipples as I moved. My long brown hair, loose now from its braid, clung to my neck, sweat-soaked and tangled. The stable’s earthy scent—hay, leather, and horse sweat—grounded me, pulling me back from the haze of what had happened in that cramped inn room. My sword, sheathed at my hip, was a reassuring weight, its hilt cool under my slender fingers. My ass still burned, a dull ache with every step, but I shoved the feeling aside. I needed answers, not regrets.
The stables were dim, lit only by a single lantern hanging from a beam. Horses snorted softly in their stalls, their eyes glinting in the shadows. A figure moved near the back, a lanky boy of maybe eighteen, human, with messy brown hair and nervous eyes. He was mucking out a stall, his thin arms straining under the weight of a pitchfork. His clothes were patched, his face smudged with dirt, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that caught my attention. He froze when he saw me, his eyes darting to my hourglass figure, lingering on the curve of my hips where my breeches hugged tight.
“Who’re you?” I asked, my voice low but firm, my full lips curling into a slight smile to put him at ease. My oval face, framed by stray strands of hair, caught the lantern’s glow, highlighting my sharp cheekbones.
“L-Luka,” he stammered, gripping the pitchfork like a shield. “Stableboy. You’re… the swordswoman?”
“Kaelin,” I said, stepping closer, my long legs carrying me with deliberate grace. His eyes widened, flicking to my thighs, then up to my breasts, barely concealed by the torn fabric. I leaned against a stall door, letting my plump ass rest against the wood, knowing the effect it had. “You’ve heard things, Luka. About the werewolf. Tell me.”
He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I-I don’t know much. Just rumors.”
I tilted my head, my lips parting slightly, letting a hint of seduction creep into my voice. “Don’t lie to me, Luka. You’ve seen something. Out with it.” I stepped closer, close enough to smell the sweat on him, close enough to see the flush creeping up his neck. My hand brushed his arm, light but deliberate, my fingers trailing down to his wrist. “Tell me, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
His breath hitched, his eyes locked on mine, then dropping to my lips. “I… I saw it,” he whispered. “In the ruins. Days ago. Big, like a man but… not. Half-plate armor, carrying a greatsword. It didn’t attack me. Just… watched.”
I raised an eyebrow, my hand sliding lower, brushing the front of his trousers. He was already hard, a modest bulge straining against the rough fabric. “Go on,” I said, my voice a husky murmur. I pressed my palm against him, stroking slowly, feeling him twitch under my touch. My own tiny cock stirred, a faint throb in my breeches, but I ignored it. This was about control, about getting what I needed.
Luka groaned, his pitchfork clattering to the ground. “It was… peaceful. Like it was guarding something. Not killing. I swear.” His hips bucked slightly, chasing my hand. I tightened my grip, stroking faster, my fingers deft and teasing. His cock was average, maybe six inches, straight and eager, leaking through the fabric.
“Good boy,” I murmured, my lips brushing his ear. My other hand slid to his waistband, tugging his trousers down to free his cock. It sprang out, flushed and slick, the head glistening. I knelt, my knees sinking into the straw, my shapely thighs spread as I leaned forward. My tongue flicked out, tasting the salt of his precum, and he whimpered, his hands hovering like he didn’t know where to put them. I took him into my mouth, slow and deliberate, my lips sealing around his shaft as I bobbed, my tongue swirling. My ass, still sore, clenched as I moved, the ache a reminder of Torren and Gavric.
“Fuck,” Luka gasped, his hands finally settling in my hair, trembling but not pulling. I sucked harder, hollowing my cheeks, my throat relaxing to take him deeper. My small breasts pressed against his thighs, my nipples grazing his skin through the torn undershirt. I worked him for a minute, maybe two, until his breaths came in ragged pants. “It… it wasn’t alone,” he managed. “Tracks. Not wolf. Smaller. Like… boots.”
I pulled off, my lips wet, my hand still stroking him. “Boots?” I asked, my voice sharp. “People?”
He shook his head, his eyes glazed. “Dunno. Didn’t see.” His hips bucked, and I felt him pulse, close to the edge. I slowed my strokes, dragging it out, my thumb circling his tip. “Tell me everything,” I said, my tone commanding.
“That’s all,” he panted. “Swear it. Just… please…”
I smirked, giving him one last slow lick before standing, leaving him trembling and unsatisfied. “Thanks, Luka,” I said, wiping my lips. “Stay quiet about this.” I turned, my hips swaying as I left the stables, his desperate groan echoing behind me. My mind raced. A werewolf in armor, not killing? Tracks like boots? Torren and Gavric’s predatory behavior felt less like protection and more like a setup. I needed to see the ruins for myself.
I returned to the inn, slipping past the snoring forms of Torren and Gavric. My armor was still on the floor, and I buckled it on quickly, the steel cold against my flushed skin. My sword was in hand as I saddled Shadow and rode out before dawn, the mist swallowing the inn behind me. The forest loomed, its trees like silent sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky. My heart pounded, not just from the ride but from the uncertainty. Was the werewolf the threat, or was something else at play?
The ruins were a day’s ride, but I pushed Shadow hard, reaching the crumbling stone walls by mid-morning. The fortress was a skeleton of its former glory, its towers collapsed, its courtyards choked with vines. The air was heavy, the silence oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. My boots crunched on gravel as I dismounted, my sword drawn, its blade catching the weak sunlight. My long legs carried me through a shattered gate, my armor clinking softly, my braid swinging against my back. My narrow waist and wide hips felt exposed despite the steel, my senses sharp for any sign of danger.
I searched for hours, finding nothing but broken stone and faded runes. No tracks, no blood, no werewolf. Frustration gnawed at me, my thighs aching from the ride, my ass still tender from the night before. I was about to turn back when a twig snapped behind me. I spun, sword raised, only to see six figures emerge from the shadows—bandits, their blades drawn, their faces hard. Humans, all male, ranging from twenty to forty, their leather armor patched and filthy. The leader, a wiry man with a hooked nose, grinned, his dagger glinting. “Well, look at this,” he said, eyeing my curves. “A lone lass, ripe for the taking.”
“Try it,” I said, my voice cold, my stance wide, my sword steady. My shapely thighs tensed, ready to move. They lunged, and I met them with steel, my blade flashing in a deadly arc. I cut down one, his blood spraying, but there were too many. A second grabbed my arm, a third kicking at my legs. I twisted, slashing another across the chest, but a blow to my back sent me stumbling, my armor taking the brunt but leaving me winded.
Before they could close in, a roar shattered the silence. A massive figure leaped from the ruins’ walls, landing with a thud that shook the ground. He was enormous, nearly seven feet, a werewolf in battered half-plate armor, his fur dark and matted, his eyes glowing amber. A greatsword, as long as I was tall, gleamed in his clawed hands. He moved like a storm, his blade cleaving through two bandits in a single swing, their bodies crumpling. I rallied, my sword dancing, taking down another as the werewolf—Rorak, I’d soon learn—dispatched the last two with brutal precision.
Panting, I faced him, my sword still raised. His armor was dented, his fur streaked with blood, but his eyes were calm, almost human. “You’re no bandit,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “Why are you here?”
“Kaelin,” I said, lowering my blade slightly. “Hunting a werewolf. You, I presume?”
He snorted, sheathing his greatsword. “Rorak. I’m no killer. Those men you came with—they reek of deceit. And you…” His nose twitched, his eyes darkening with something primal. “You carry their scent. Fresh.”
My cheeks flushed, my ass clenching at the memory. “That’s none of your business,” I said, but his gaze was intense, his massive form radiating heat. His furred chest was broad, his muscles rippling under the armor, and I couldn’t help but notice the bulge at his crotch, straining against his tattered breeches.
“You need my help,” he said, stepping closer, towering over me. “But first, a tribute. For saving your life.” His tone was commanding, leaving no room for refusal, his clawed hand gesturing to the ground.
My heart pounded, a mix of fear and unwanted arousal stirring in my core. “And if I say no?” I asked, my voice steady despite the tremor in my thighs.
“You won’t,” he growled, his eyes glinting. “Kneel.”
The ruins’ shadows stretched long, the air thick with the scent of blood and stone. Rorak’s presence was overwhelming, his towering form blocking the sun, his amber eyes boring into me. My armor felt suddenly heavy, my slender build no match for his sheer mass. My long brown hair clung to my sweat-damp neck, my oval face flushed as I met his gaze. I should’ve fought, should’ve raised my sword, but the memory of Torren and Gavric’s coercion, the ache in my ass, the isolation of the ruins—it all pressed down on me. I dropped to my knees, the gravel biting through my breeches, my shapely thighs spread slightly.
“Take it off,” Rorak growled, his clawed hand gesturing to my armor. I hesitated, my fingers trembling as I unbuckled the steel plates, letting them fall to the ground. My torn undershirt followed, exposing my small breasts, my pink nipples hardening in the cool air. My breeches were next, peeling away to reveal my wide hips, my plump ass, and my tiny cock, already half-hard despite my racing heart. Rorak’s eyes raked over me, a low rumble in his chest. “Fuck,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re perfect.”
He stepped closer, his breeches straining against a massive bulge. He tugged them down, and my breath caught. His cock was enormous, easily ten inches, thick and veined, its texture rough, almost scaled, the head a deep red. It twitched, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Suck it,” he ordered, his clawed hand tangling in my hair, pulling my head forward. I resisted for a moment, my lips parting in protest, but his grip tightened, and I leaned in, my tongue flicking out to taste him. He was musky, wild, the texture of his cock alien against my lips. I took him in, struggling with his size, my mouth stretching wide as I bobbed, my throat gagging as he pushed deeper.
“Fuck, yes,” Rorak growled, his hips thrusting, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. My hands braced against his furred thighs, my nails digging into his muscle. My tiny cock throbbed, leaking onto the gravel, my ass clenching as I fought the urge to touch myself. His claws scraped my scalp, guiding me, forcing me to take more. I choked, tears pricking my eyes, but the heat in my core grew, my body betraying me again.
He pulled out, his cock slick with my spit, and yanked me to my feet. “Over there,” he said, pointing to a stone altar, its surface worn smooth by time. I stumbled to it, my legs shaky, my thighs trembling. He bent me over, my breasts pressing against the cold stone, my ass high, exposed. His claws grazed my hips, parting my cheeks, and I felt his tongue—hot, rough, impossibly long—licking my tight hole. I gasped, my body arching, the sensation overwhelming. “So fucking tight,” he murmured, his tongue probing deeper, stretching me, slicking me with his spit.
I moaned, my fingers clawing at the stone, my cock twitching against my thigh. “Please,” I whispered, not sure if I was begging him to stop or keep going. He stood, his cock pressing against my hole, the tapered head massive, unyielding. He didn’t wait, didn’t ease in, just pushed, the burn of his entry making me cry out. “Fuck!” I gasped, my body rocking as he filled me, inch by brutal inch, his thickness stretching my ass to its limit.
He growled, his claws digging into my hips, bruising my skin. “Take it,” he said, thrusting hard, his cock grinding against my prostate. I moaned, my vision blurring, the pain and pleasure blending into something raw, unstoppable. He fucked me relentlessly, his hips slamming against my plump ass, the altar creaking under our weight. My breasts bounced, my nipples scraping the stone, sending sparks through me. My tiny cock leaked, untouched, smearing precum on my thigh.
He pulled out, the sudden emptiness making me gasp, my ass clenching. My body trembled, sprawled across the stone altar, my long brown hair fanned out beneath me, sweat-soaked and tangled. Rorak’s amber eyes glinted, his massive, furred form looming as he grabbed my hips, flipping me onto my back with a rough tug. My legs fell open, my shapely thighs trembling, spread wide, exposing my tiny cock, hard and leaking, and my stretched, slick hole. The cool stone pressed against my plump ass, sending a shiver through me, my small breasts heaving, my pink nipples stiff in the ruins’ chill air.
“Fuck, look at you,” Rorak growled, his voice a low rumble, his clawed hands gripping my thighs, spreading them wider. His cock, massive and veined, its rough texture glistening with my juices, hovered over me, the head a deep red, dripping precum. He leaned in, the tip brushing my hole, teasing, before he thrust in, slow but unrelenting, filling me inch by brutal inch. I moaned, my back arching, my narrow waist twisting as his thickness stretched me, grinding against my prostate. The sensation was overwhelming, pain and pleasure blurring, my tiny cock twitching against my stomach, smearing precum across my skin.
He fucked me like that, my legs splayed, his claws digging into my thighs, leaving red marks on my pale skin. Each thrust rocked my body, my small breasts bouncing, my nipples scraping the air, sending sparks through me. “So fucking tight,” he snarled, his hips slamming forward, his cock buried deep, the rough texture scraping my insides. I clawed at the altar, my fingers scraping stone, my moans echoing in the ruins. My long legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, my heels digging into his furred back, urging him deeper despite the burn.
He kept at it, relentless, his thrusts steady but brutal, his amber eyes locked on mine, watching every twitch of my oval face, every gasp from my full lips. My hair slid across the stone, my sharp cheekbones flushed with heat. I was lost in it, my body responding despite my mind’s protests, my ass clenching around his cock, my tiny cock throbbing untouched. “Fuck, Rorak,” I panted, my voice hoarse, my thighs trembling as he pounded me, the altar creaking under our weight.
After what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, a wet pop that made me whimper, my hole gaping, slick with his precum and my own juices. He grabbed me, his claws under my plump ass, lifting me like I weighed nothing. My long legs dangled, my body trembling as he pinned me against a crumbling wall, the rough stone scraping my back, my small breasts pressed against his furred chest. His claws spread my cheeks, holding me open, and his cock slid back in, deeper now, the new angle hitting places that made me scream. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, his thrusts brutal, his fur brushing my skin, coarse and hot. I wrapped my legs around him, my heels digging into his back, my moans echoing in the ruins, louder now, raw and desperate.
His knot began to swell, a thick bulge at the base of his cock, stretching me further, the pressure unbearable. I screamed, my ass clenching as he knotted me, locking us together, his cock pulsing inside me. My body shook, pinned against the wall, my thighs trembling, my tiny cock trapped between us, leaking onto his fur. The intensity was too much, pain and pleasure crashing together, my vision blurring as I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“Cum for me,” he snarled, his claws pinching my nipples, twisting hard. I cried out, my body shaking, my tiny cock pulsing as I came, ropes of cum splattering my stomach. He roared, his knot throbbing as he filled me, his cum hot and thick, flooding my ass. I trembled, pinned against the wall, his weight crushing me, his knot keeping him buried deep. My thighs shook, my breath ragged, the aftershocks of my orgasm leaving me dizzy.
He held me there, panting, his eyes softening slightly. “Good girl,” he murmured, easing me down, his knot still lodged inside me. I whimpered, my ass stretched and full, his cum leaking around the knot. He waited, his claws stroking my hair, until the knot softened, and he pulled out, a gush of cum dripping down my thighs. I collapsed against the altar, my body trembling, my mind reeling.
The ruins’ shadows stretched long, the air thick with the scent of blood and stone. My body trembled against the altar, my ass still stretched and leaking from Rorak’s knot, my tiny cock soft against my thigh, my long brown hair plastered to my sweat-damp neck. My half-plate armor lay scattered on the gravel, my torn undershirt barely covering my small breasts, my nipples sore from his claws. My shapely thighs quaked as I pulled on my breeches, the fabric clinging to my wide hips, my oval face flushed with a mix of exhaustion and defiance. Rorak loomed over me, his massive werewolf form radiating heat, his battered half-plate armor glinting in the weak sunlight. His amber eyes softened, but there was a weight in them, a story untold. His greatsword was sheathed now, strapped across his back, but the blood of the bandits we’d slain still streaked his dark fur.
I steadied my breath, my full lips parting as I met his gaze. “Why help me?” I asked, my voice hoarse but firm, my sharp cheekbones catching the light. “You saved my life, took your… tribute. What’s your stake in this?”
Rorak adjusted his armor, the steel plates creaking as he shifted his massive frame. His eyes narrowed, his gravelly voice low, carrying the weight of months spent in the shadows. “The killers aren’t me,” he said. “Vampires. In Vyrn’s catacombs. They’re the ones draining your townsfolk.” He stepped closer, his furred chest heaving, the musky scent of him mixing with the ruins’ decay. “I’ll help you end them. We strike at dawn, when they’re weak.”
I tilted my head, my braid swinging against my back, my slender fingers brushing the hilt of my longsword, now back at my hip. “How do you know?” I pressed, my tone sharp. “You’re no hunter. You’re hiding out here, alone. What’s the story, Rorak?”
He growled softly, not in anger but in reluctance, his claws flexing. “You want my tale, Kaelin? Fine.” He leaned against a crumbling pillar, his amber eyes distant, as if seeing the past unfold. “Six months ago, I was a mercenary, working the trade roads north of Vyrn. Human then, or close enough—cursed with this form by a witch’s blade in a skirmish gone wrong. The change made me stronger, faster, but it drove me from my kin. I wandered, hunting for purpose, until I stumbled on a village, Draven’s Hollow, two days’ ride from here. Empty. Bloodless bodies in the streets, same as Vyrn’s. No tracks, no signs, just the stench of death and something… unnatural.”
His voice darkened, his claws scraping the stone. “I tracked the scent, my nose sharper than any man’s. Took me weeks, through forests and bogs, until I found them—seven vampires, a coven, slipping through the night. They were fast, silent, their leader a monster with eyes like burning coals. I followed them to Vyrn, watched them slink into the catacombs beneath the town. I tried to take them once, alone, in a cave they used as a lair before they moved here. Got two before the rest swarmed me. Nearly died.” He touched a jagged scar across his furred chest, hidden under his armor. “Too many, even for me. I needed a plan.”
I shifted, my plump ass aching as I leaned against the altar, my long legs crossing, my armor still unbuckled. “So you camped here,” I said, glancing around the ruins, their broken walls looming like ghosts. “Why these ruins?”
Rorak’s lips curled, a hint of a wolfish grin. “This fortress was a hunter’s stronghold, centuries ago. Built to cage beasts like me—or worse. The runes on these walls, faded as they are, still hum with old magic. Keeps the vampires from sniffing me out. I made camp here, in the highest tower, where the wind carries their scent but hides mine. For weeks, I watched Vyrn, tracked their kills. They hunt at night, sleep in the catacombs by day. I’ve been waiting, planning, but seven against one? Even I’m not that reckless. I needed allies—someone with skill, not just muscle.”
His eyes roamed my body, lingering on my hourglass figure, the curve of my hips, the swell of my ass. “Then you showed up,” he said, his voice low, a hungry edge to it. “A warrior, not just a pretty thing. I smelled the guardsmen on you, their deceit, but you… you’re different. Sharp. Strong. Worth the risk.”
I flushed, my cheeks burning, my tiny cock stirring despite the ache in my ass. “You could’ve warned me,” I said, my voice tight. “Before the… tribute.”
He snorted, stepping closer, his heat overwhelming. “You survived it. And you liked it.” His claw brushed my cheek, gentle but possessive, sending a shiver through me. “Dawn’s coming. We hit the catacombs together, end this. You, me, and those two fools you brought. They’ll fight, even if they’re scum.”
I nodded, my throat tight, my body still humming from his touch. I buckled my armor, the steel cold against my narrow waist, my small breasts pressing against the torn undershirt. My sword was ready, my resolve hardening. The vampires were the real threat, and Rorak’s story rang true. I didn’t trust Torren or Gavric, but I needed their blades. And Rorak—his strength, his knowledge, his raw power—was my best shot at surviving this.
* * *
The ride back to the Moon’s Rest was a blur, the forest’s mist wrapping around me like a shroud. My mare, Shadow, snorted, her hooves pounding the dirt path as the dawn’s first light bled through the trees. My half-plate armor clinked with each jolt, the steel cold against my narrow waist, my wide hips swaying in the saddle. My torn undershirt clung to my small breasts, the fabric chafing my sensitive nipples, still raw from Rorak’s claws. My long brown hair, tangled and damp, stuck to my neck, framing my oval face. My ass throbbed, stretched and sore from Rorak’s knot, his cum still leaking into my breeches, a sticky reminder of the ruins. My tiny cock twitched at the memory, a traitorous spark of arousal I shoved down. I had to focus. Vampires, not werewolves, were the threat, and I needed Torren and Gavric, however much I distrusted them, to face the coven.
The inn came into view, its sagging roof barely visible through the fog. I dismounted, tying Shadow to a post, my shapely thighs trembling from the ride. My sword hung at my hip, its weight grounding me as I slipped inside. The common room was empty, the air thick with the stale stench of ale and smoke. I crept upstairs, my boots silent on the creaking steps, and pushed open the door to our room. Torren and Gavric were sprawled on the bed, half-dressed, snoring like boars. The room reeked of their sweat and the lingering musk of our earlier encounter. My full lips curled in disgust, but I steeled myself, kicking the bedframe hard.
“Up,” I said, my voice sharp. “We’re moving. Now.”
Torren stirred first, his shaved head gleaming in the dim lantern light, his scarred jaw twitching as he squinted at me. “Fuck, lass, it’s barely dawn,” he grumbled, sitting up. His broad chest was bare, his leather breeches unlaced, revealing a glimpse of his thick cock, still soft but intimidating. Gavric groaned, his shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes, his smirk returning as he took in my disheveled state. “Look at you,” he said, his gaze lingering on my hips. “Been busy, eh?”
“Shut it,” I snapped, my hand on my sword hilt. “We’re heading to Vyrn. The threat’s in the catacombs, not the ruins. Get your gear.”
They exchanged a glance, their eyes glinting with something I couldn’t read—amusement, suspicion, or both. “Catacombs?” Torren said, buckling on his armor. “Thought it was a werewolf.”
“Plans change,” I said, keeping my tone flat. I didn’t mention Rorak. Their earlier “bonding ritual” had left me wary, and I wasn’t about to trust them with the truth. “Move, or I go alone.”
Gavric chuckled, standing and stretching, his muscles flexing under his patched armor. “Feisty. We like that.” He stepped closer, his hand brushing my arm, and I jerked away, my sharp cheekbones flushed with anger.
“Touch me again, and you’ll lose that hand,” I said, my voice low. He raised his hands, mock surrender, but his smirk didn’t fade. They gathered their weapons—short swords and daggers—and we headed out, the morning mist swallowing us as we rode back to Vyrn.
The town was quiet when we arrived, the streets empty, the townsfolk shuttered in their homes. The catacombs’ entrance was a stone archway behind the mayor’s hall, half-hidden by overgrown vines. Rorak was waiting, his massive form shrouded in a tattered cloak, his amber eyes glinting under the hood. His half-plate armor gleamed dully, his greatsword strapped across his back. Torren and Gavric tensed, their hands on their weapons, but I stepped between them. “He’s with me,” I said, my tone brooking no argument. “He’s here to help.”
“A fucking werewolf?” Gavric spat, his eyes narrowing. “You trust this beast?”
“More than I trust you,” I said, my lips curling. Rorak’s gaze met mine, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but he said nothing, his presence a silent promise of strength. We descended into the catacombs, the air growing colder, heavier, the scent of damp stone and decay thick in my throat. My armor felt tight, my slender build dwarfed by the towering walls, my long legs stepping carefully over broken flagstones. My braid swung against my back, my plump ass still aching, but I gripped my sword, my senses sharp.
The catacombs were a maze of tunnels, lined with ancient coffins, their lids carved with faded runes. Torchlight flickered, casting shadows that danced like specters. We moved silently, Rorak leading, his nose twitching as he tracked the vampires’ scent. Torren and Gavric flanked me, their breaths loud in the stillness, their eyes darting to my hips, my thighs, even now. I ignored them, my focus on the darkness ahead.
We found the vampires in a vast chamber, seven coffins arranged in a circle. The air was thick with the stench of blood and rot. The vampires were pale, their skin like marble, their bodies unnaturally still. Three men, four women, their ages impossible to guess, their beauty eerie and cold. Rorak nodded, and we moved fast, staking three before they stirred—a woman and two men, their bodies crumbling to ash as the wood pierced their hearts. But the remaining four woke, their eyes glowing red, their fangs bared. The vampire master, a towering male with long black hair and a face like carved ivory, rose last, his presence suffocating, his strength radiating like a storm.
The battle was chaos. The vampires moved like shadows, their claws raking, their speed blinding. I ducked a female’s swipe, my sword flashing, slicing her arm. She hissed, lunging again, but I drove my blade through her chest, ash exploding. Rorak roared, his greatsword cleaving a male vampire in half, blood spraying the walls. Torren and Gavric fought with surprising skill, their blades flashing, but the master was a nightmare. He hurled Gavric against a wall, the guardsman’s shoulder crunching, blood seeping through his armor. Torren cursed, slashing at another vampire, but the master’s claws raked his chest, leaving deep gashes.
I danced through the fray, my longsword a blur, my slender frame weaving between attacks. My small breasts bounced under my armor, my thighs straining as I pivoted, my braid whipping. I caught the master’s eye, his gaze hungry, not just for blood but for something darker. “Pretty thing,” he hissed, his voice like silk over steel. “I’ll drain you slow.”
“Try it,” I spat, lunging. My sword grazed his side, drawing black blood, but he was too fast, his hand closing around my throat, lifting me off the ground. My legs kicked, my armor creaking, my tiny cock pressing against my breeches as fear and adrenaline surged. Rorak roared, his greatsword swinging, forcing the master to drop me. I hit the ground, gasping, my lips parted, my cheeks flushed.
We coordinated, Rorak and I moving as one. I darted low, slashing the master’s legs, my blade biting deep. He snarled, turning on me, but Rorak’s sword came down, severing his head in a spray of gore. The remaining vampire, a woman, screamed, lunging at me, but I drove my sword through her heart, her body collapsing into ash. The chamber fell silent, the air heavy with dust and blood. Gavric groaned, clutching his shoulder, blood soaking his armor. Torren panted, his chest wounds shallow but bleeding. Rorak stood tall, his fur matted with blood, his eyes on me.
“You’re hurt,” I said to Gavric, kneeling beside him. His face was pale, his blond hair slick with sweat. “Can you walk?”
He nodded, gritting his teeth. “Fucking vampire. I’ll live.”
Torren clapped my shoulder, his touch lingering too long. “Not bad, lass. Not bad at all.”
I shrugged him off, standing, my thighs aching, my ass still tender from Rorak’s earlier claiming. “We’re done here,” I said, glancing at Rorak. “You kept your word.”
He nodded, his amber eyes softening. “Vyrn’s safe. For now.” He turned, his cloak swirling, and vanished into the shadows, his massive form blending with the darkness. I felt a pang, a mix of relief and something else—his presence had been overwhelming, but there was a strange honor in him.
We limped back to Vyrn, the mayor waiting at the hall. His eyes roamed my body, lingering on my hips, my long legs, the curve of my plump ass. “You’ve done well,” he said, sliding another pouch of gold across the table. “Stay. Vyrn could use a woman like you.”
I took the gold, my fingers brushing the pouch, my lips curling into a tight smile. “I’m done here,” I said, turning away. Torren and Gavric offered to stay, their eyes hungry, but I shook my head. “Find someone else to play with.”
I mounted Shadow, the weight of the gold in my belt, my sword at my side. The forest watched as I rode out, its shadows deep, the mist curling like a promise. Rorak was out there, and part of me wondered if our paths would cross again. My body ached, my mind heavy with the weight of what I’d done, what I’d endured. But I was stronger for it, my resolve a blade as sharp as the one I carried.
* * *
Bonus: The Inn’s Backroom
Before leaving the inn to return to Vyrn, I needed a moment to clear my head, to wash away the ruins’ encounter. The innkeeper, the wiry woman from before, caught me in the common room, her pinched face softening as she took in my disheveled state. “You look like you’ve been through hell,” she said, her voice low. Her name was Mara, maybe forty, human, with short black hair and a lean, wiry build. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, lingered on my torn undershirt, the curve of my small breasts visible through the fabric.
“I need a bath,” I said, my voice hoarse. “And privacy.”
She nodded, leading me to a backroom with a wooden tub, steam rising from the water. “Stay as long as you need,” she said, her hand brushing my arm. The touch lingered, her fingers calloused but gentle, and I felt a spark, different from the coercion of Torren, Gavric, or Rorak. “I can help,” she added, her lips curling into a faint smile.
I hesitated, my body still humming from the ruins, my ass sore, my tiny cock stirring at her offer. “Alright,” I said, my full lips parting. “But no games.”
She chuckled, closing the door. “No games.” She helped me unbuckle my armor, her hands deft, her eyes tracing my hourglass figure, my wide hips, my shapely thighs. My breeches came off, revealing my tiny cock, and her eyebrows rose, a soft “Oh” escaping her lips. “You’re full of surprises,” she said, her voice warm, not mocking.
I stepped into the tub, the hot water stinging my sore ass, soothing my aching muscles. Mara knelt beside me, her hands lathering a cloth, washing my back, her fingers grazing my spine. I sighed, leaning into her touch, my nipples hardening as the cloth brushed my breasts. “Relax,” she murmured, her hands sliding lower, cupping my plump ass, kneading gently. I moaned, my thighs parting, my cock twitching under the water.
She stripped, revealing a lean body, small breasts with dark nipples, a patch of black hair between her thighs. She climbed into the tub, straddling me, her hands on my shoulders. “Let me take care of you,” she said, kissing me, her lips soft but insistent, her tongue teasing mine. I kissed back, my hands on her hips, pulling her closer. Her pussy pressed against my tiny cock, the friction sending sparks through me.
“Fuck,” I gasped, my lips brushing her throat, her pulse hot under my tongue. She rocked against me, her hands sliding to my ass, a finger teasing my hole, still slick from Rorak’s cum. “Careful,” I said, wincing, but she was gentle, circling, not pushing. Her other hand stroked my cock, slow and deliberate, her thumb circling the tip. I groaned, my head falling back, my long hair trailing in the water.
She shifted, turning me to face the tub’s edge, my knees on the wooden bottom, my ass raised. Her tongue found my hole, licking softly, soothing the ache. I moaned, my fingers gripping the tub, my cock throbbing. She worked me with her mouth, her hands spreading my cheeks, her tongue probing deep. “Fuck, Mara,” I panted, my body trembling, the pleasure building slow and intense.
She stood, pressing her body against mine, her nipples grazing my back. “You’re gorgeous,” she whispered, her hand stroking my cock, her other fingers sliding into my ass, two, then three, stretching me gently. I rocked back, fucking myself on her fingers, my moans echoing in the small room. She kissed my neck, biting softly, her hand speeding up on my cock. “Cum for me,” she said, her voice husky.
I did, my cock pulsing, cum mixing with the water, my ass clenching around her fingers. She held me through it, her lips on my shoulder, her touch grounding me. I turned, kissing her hard, my hands on her small breasts, pinching her nipples. She gasped, her thighs parting, and I slid a finger into her pussy, wet and tight, working her until she shuddered, her moans soft but desperate.
We collapsed in the tub, panting, the water cooling around us. “Stay safe,” she said, her eyes warm. I nodded, climbing out, my body clean but heavy with what was to come.
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