WENDUSSY SHORT

Setting up camp was a bit harder than expected. Anton never recalled tempting fate by claiming tents were a ‘piece of cake’ or anything along those lines, but the lopsided mess in front of him didn’t seem to care whether he had. Anton glared frustration into the canopy, then dragged a palm down his face.

“What bastard made you?” he grumbled, returning to the scene. The rods were wrong—again. Or the fabric was pinched? The ambient wind softened enough for the ticking on his wrist to reach his ears. Anton glanced—10 minutes lost.

“Fuck it.”

He wheeled around to face his rucksack, walking between the two tree trunks where it’d been left. The other two behind him would make for pretty good tent anchoring once he figured it out, but the papers he’d get would resolve that. Questing hands eventually found the right compartment, pulling out a glossy, if a little crumpled, brochure. So much for bragging rights.

Anton sat on the leafy floor to catch his breath. One rod. One missing rod was everything between him and small victory today. Still, the tent was magnificent—raised entry, and he wouldn’t need to crouch too low to get in. Those tree trunks would keep this structure pretty secure, though there wasn’t really anything around these parts that made it a real concern.

On that thought, he spent some time taking in the natural scenery. Untouched sections of the forest always grew in more vibrant shades than the beaten path. He sighed. The greenery mottling the unending sea of browning leaves brought a peace unlike that within his own four walls—but his biggest reminder was also right in front of him. This space should’ve been too cozy to setup in. More voices around, for him to call and answer beyond this soothing ambience. Anton felt a surge of defiance. It didn’t matter—even as the last one standing, he’d enjoy himself for all of them combined!

Vacation time was already locked in, anyways. With the backpack, beside him, Anton felt the urge to retrieve his phone. Instead, he pulled out a decently sized parchment—unfolding all the printed lines, and patterns detailing this quarter of the area. His eyes traced a set of thin letters centered on the top of the map: ‘Nahale-Gichig’.

So they’d ran with the heritage name after all. Felt off, but knowledge was just a search away…brow furrowing, he grabbed the compass instead, fishing out a pencil to chart out a rough trek route for himself. The only real thing of note on the way was one of the river’s braids, but it offered much more than what idleness could. Three directions—one for every day he’d spend out here.

The surrounding air took on the chill that came with fading sunlight, though it felt oddly sharp through his coat. There’d be no one to blame him for taking an early night. Feeling satisfied, he made to take his belongings in, but a pang of caution whipped out a can of masking spray. When the wind died again, he lightly doused the exterior, then took everything in for the night.

Anton squirmed in his sleeping bag. The distant sounds of rustling foliage were peaceful, but the noises he’d come to expect were missing—no birds, or insects for that matter. Perhaps a mile out wasn’t far enough, but there wasn’t much point in throwing himself deeper into the forest just for a few days. He shrunk deeper into the fabric as the wind quietened, thoughts of his own screen easily banished by an urge to follow nature’s direction. Tomorrow’s trek was a decent one anyways—a mile to the creek. He’d need all the rest he could get.

The next morning greeted Anton with the same chill from the night before. It slowed his muscles, but he stretched it out of his system by the time that sunlight started peeking through the eastern canopy. The ruckshack was reshuffled, leaving everything but two canteens and most of the dry, sealed rations behind. After a final once-over, the compass and map also joined him…and the phone. It wouldn’t do to lose it, and maybe there’d be a sight worth preserving at his one stop.

Getting there seemed of little issue. The contour lines he’d drawn his path over were nicely spaced, so the terrain never went beyond a gradual descent toward the creek. There were fallen logs to step around, and shattered trees in clearings, but his boots only met solid ground beneath the leaves. Surprisingly, taking rations was his best idea, given how he’d yet to see any sign of wild animals either. No wonder that forums had nothing to say on hunting here—in fact, talk on this area seemed absent.

Eventually he could the burbling. Reaching a break in the trees, he gazed down at the scene—a long stretch of rapids continuing around a bend. The creek itself too wide for him to jump across, even with a running start, and the moss covering the protruding stones in those rapids ended any other ideas. The land sunk toward it, flattening out well before reaching its bank. Near everything was covered in lichens, and the treetops arched to block even the water from direct sunlight. What little did threw a golden tinge on the green growth beneath.

Anton fished out his phone and snapped a photo. And a few more. He released a breath. Very worth the trip. He made his way down to a large, flat stone he’d spotted while surveying and sat, fishing out his canteen and food. This atmosphere even made his tough food taste better, and was likely the closest he’d ever get to being ‘one with nature’ as it were—outside of leaving civilization. Absently, he checked the reception of his phone—no bars. He effectively was, for now. None to see him but plants and rocks.

His eyes glanced around, confirming he was still the only man around here. His breathing shortened. No one to see. His fingers thumped on his phone case—if only the others had come. It would’ve been easier to ignore. As it was, he was feeling good—great, even—but also idle. This was supposed to be a ‘clean’ outing, but the more the thought lingered, the less answers he found to counter it. Who would know?

Might still be best to minimize his ‘trail’. Anton stood, fingers already navigating through his files on autopilot. Beside himself, he’d prepared here too. Walking as close to the rapids’ edge as he dared, the man knelt, pants readily tightening as the sounds of a generic bimbo getting ploughed rang out from the device in his hand. He splashed his free hand with water, then freed his length. Just this once, and then it was back to normal. Surely this was on a bucket list somewhere.

Running water did make forest cleanup a whole lot easier. He walked further up the creek to refill his canteen, then assessed his map on the rock. Maybe draining his stamina before the trek back was a bad idea, but the terrain wasn’t bad at all. Evening would set in on the way—another reason why he should hurry in leaving this place behind. Compass in hand, he set off.

Of course, giving into himself was the worst thing Anton could’ve done. Leaves still crunched, the wind still blew, the same air freshened his lungs, but he walked distracted. Were there any other good spots along his other trails? Some of these trunks would’ve made a pretty good brace—if he’d brought a girl who was down. Or even knew one. What if, instead of a group trip with the guys, it’d been one for just two?
He paused, fishing out his map to resume. Halfway back—too far to be this horny again. It’d be dealt with when he got back to camp. After. Anton lowered the map to put it away once more—

Black. Tall. Something he might’ve mistaken for a tree trunk, if it wasn’t so close. Or standing in the middle of his path. Its back was turned—so he hoped, with nothing akin to a face from this view. Something in that central mass swelled and fell, but no sound reached his ears from there. From anywhere. Amid growing shadows, the forest felt smothered. A harrowing terror told the man he wouldn’t be.

But what did it matter? The floor was covered in leaves. He could only hope that whatever this thing was wouldn’t—

A horrible cracking noise, and the thing dropped onto four legs, form sickly, large. Matted black fur, and as it turned, a bone ribcage was visible along its chest. A wolf’s skull whirled to face him, eerie red dots boring holes into him. Gnarled antlers branched out above its head—adding to the imagery of the false tree he’d seen. A bushy, long tail crunched the leaves beneath. Its jaw swung open.

A cacophony started—wind, scratching dust, crumbling trees, splitting wood, then the cries of countless beasts and insects but five tones off. Words came, in an array of screams.

“W-u-U…A-a…”

He was fucked. Beyond fucked. The only thing staving off his breakdown was the fear that any response would trigger its kill instincts now rather than later. Why the fuck was it trying to talk to him?

“…ONE.” The word raced from it like a shockwave, echoing around the trees. Its trees.

It took a step. Anton tried to take one back, but stumbled, feet almost numb from how cold they were. He screamed, limbs flailing to crawl backwards from his doom, but a…hand had already caught one of his ankles. Kicking it felt like steel, but he refused to look up at the fur it was attached to. Or the acrid smell that caught in his throat. Dying like this…couldn’t even make it a fucking foot out, but he’d be damned if he didn’t go down struggling.

The winds always scented prey in this region, but many of them kept within the wards. This path was new. Promising. And it had delivered. It had been centuries since the last filling meal. This man it caught was certainly prey. Perhaps less foolish than others, given its failure to run, but there was no mercy to be had here. The thumping at its wrist grew tiring. It clenched with force just below where the limb inside would rupture. The thumping stopped. It looked to his face—the man reached for a glowing square. Foolish.

The creature’s opposing hand fell on top of his, pressing the smartphone firmly against the ground. It felt fear from the man—savory for the meal—but there was something alongside that. Something else that flickered whenever it pressed just a little more weight on that square. It felt like…an echo. Almost kindred, but undefined. A hole to a greater sinkhole. Could this one hunger too? He bore none of the signs, nothing of the process—what was it?

Anton felt pressure in the air again. It’d speak, probably uncaring of how badly his leg now ached. Could bruising even describe what’d happen to it?

“NEED?”

Hearing it this up close was deafening. It was looking to his right—at the smartphone under its palm.

“W-What?” he coughed.

The beast’s head canted to one side, then the other, and snapped back to face him.

“D E E D,” it continued, wolf-skull lifting away.

All paths were made known. And through paths, actions. It cast its eyes along where this prey came, finding the creek. This prey indeed seemed lesser, in a way.

What was lost?

Another bone-snap. The world around them filled with whispers, languages foreign, harsh, and too numerous for the man beneath to parse out a single thing resembling words. In the waters. Fleeing. Gurgling, it searched.

The shaking above him grew more violent, cold droplets inexplicably splashing him amid the noise worming into his brain. Somehow, he was still alive. The why was something he truly didn’t want to think about.

It prickled her tongue—something of the prey below, or at least a piece of it. Hunger flaring, she collected until the streams offered no more, then faced him again. The noise around him stopped, and the limbs restraining him grew still. Anton eventually opened his eyes to meet its red dots staring readily. Certain of his attention, the skull tilted backward, lower jaw opening to reveal a violet tongue. His confusion rose until a ray of fading sunlight passed over it—white, stringy material!

Anton’s heart found his throat, while the mother of all pits opened in his stomach. This was…that was…it’d found his cum. He wasn’t some poor sap in the wrong place, but the retard of some old folklore tale, and this would be retribution. He heaved, no longer concerned for how he might influence it. His life was already over. As if confirming it, the wolf skull swung down, orbs returning to his as the tongue slipped from his jaw.

His seed crawled down its length, a small drop pooling at the tip before drooling down to his chest. Except the appendage rushed out, scooping the entire trail back before its jaw snapped shit. Anton flinched at the noise, then became aware of his awakening erection against the fabric.

Showing him had been the right choice—through this token consumed, it could even better see the need festering within this human, so much that it could rival its own starvation. This prey’s—no—seeker’s body was also changing beneath, but too much was unknown. It looked to the hand trapping the unknown rock. It was involved, but how? Was there more to it than a deeper glow? The bone jaw swung open again.

“B E STI LL.”

The grip released his left leg, instead lifting his wrist between them. What would happen next seemed obvious. Anton closed his eyes. Razor-sharp claws cut a thin line across the back of his hand. He hissed, more out of surprise at the continued sensation of fingers. Its tongue lapped at the wound, collecting blood. It reached for the glimmers of sensation floating above incensed cravings. Knowledge flooded in. Something within the rock, itself not quite a rock. It could feel the hint of something. Cravings demanded attunement.

Ssslk.

Mating? A need to breed? Significant, but so did all life. The forms they offered weren’t all too different. Still human…but there were many. Many more than any of his past prey had seen. Even the portion in that device was a far cry from the sum total that could be out there. From the lot he’d seen.
Ssslp.

Glut. A never-ending source, and a kind that always craved more, no matter how much they ate. Echoes called to it, from ages past—shivering in a place too sparse for home—she. Compatibility was solved.

The wolf skull threw itself back, 3 voice howl starting as its form began to violently twist and shake. Digitigrade legs lengthened, bones swelling from knee to haunch, and ankle to toes, leaving a small, but thick, reverse section of limb between them. It stretched itself upright, as if reaching for the canopy, and its hips jerked forward with another set of cracks. The fur, now growing more thickly, just barely blurred the roiling skin underneath.
Its chest broadened, ribs snapping and re-mending in view to hug the new frame. With the legs complete, it kneeled over him, two-and-a-half-foot thighs legs too massive to straddle him properly—but he was already transfixed. It leaned over him, placing its chest directly above—and each side swelled, mounds the size of his head popping out to greet him, dangling with every last sway of her transformation.

The torso still narrowed in a haggard way toward her hips—between which there sat a suspicious tuft of fur. An arch above jerked those hips forward—that was unmistakably a cunt!

Amid surging lust, one sobering thought: if this thing thought it better to fuck him that kill him, what was he about to unleash onto the world?
Anton decided he couldn’t bear those sins, as much as those hips wanted him to. Getting to his side, he scrambled from under the she-thing, making for a dead sprint toward the nearest tourist trail. Night was already approaching, but this cycle offered plenty of moonlight—black fur crashed into him. His clothes became ribbons in an instant. He fell backwards onto fur—her tail, already placed to cushion him. It pushed Anton upright, forcing the man to look up, and up, and up at this new variant of terror he’d brought into being. Even her cunt floated above his forehead!

Its eyes, pinpricks before, now filled the holes of those sockets. She crouched before him, deeply, grinding fur down his chest till her cunt slapped the top of his treacherous erection. The concealing tuft he expected to meet slid past, almost like it was avoiding his entry.
The creature above hummed a tune, and he twitched, cock jumping irately. How did—

“Your favorite.” Less screaming. Scratchiness overlaid thousands of times until it the mind thought it silken. This voice was more feminine. The odd ritual—she knew what he’d seen. The form wasn’t a copy, but it didn’t matter—

The tuft bunched underneath him, becoming firm to let her grind her newest pair of lips along his length.

“a BEAUTIful fore s t. One. Male,”—she slid to his tip—“another. FEma l e.”

Anton knew what she was doing. And realized how little he was truly going to stop himself.

“Oncemore.”

His length still jumped at the sound. It didn’t matter.

“Spill. Your seed.”

Anton’s hands, trembling, slid onto her hips. He knew what to do. He didn’t know what he was about to do. Furry arms engulfed his back. He thrusted. Their hips met with a heavy smack, her arms assisting more than he knew, and immediately Anton started jerking against her. Her muscles were doggedly wringing pleasure from every inch, and—

Ssluck.

Fathers above, it was trying to suck him further! But the iron grip kept his nutsack lodged against her spasming lips. The tune came again, forcing muscles to arch into her with nowhere else to go.

“S a v o r it. As I do.” Her hands pulled back, letting him slide till only the tip remained inside. “My…virginity is yours.”
Knowing these voices could also whisper was surreal. It also rolled goosebumps up his skin. He pulled at her hips.

“As yours is. M I N E.”

And with that, their hips met once more. His legs shook—whatever it is she’d become, it was something that certainly killed through sex. He’d die when he came, and it wouldn’t be long. Her hips rocked again, and laughter rolled down his back—a steady, popping noise in such number. Her palm grabbed the back of his head.

“mm. Fool. See me.”

The hand pulled him back enough to look at her skull-head. And the massive tits between. Satisfied, she slipped it off him to grope her breast, dragging her hips off him.

“You must drink,” she stated, gyrating on the head still left inside, “Why not seize the clouds?” At his confusion, she continued. “It is not your meat I seek…hm…” Her hips crashed down again. “…perhap s it. Is.”

This montstrous minx had done enough to put his worst impressions to bed. Beside himself, he hoped this wouldn’t create a new spawn of this species—there was no chance any man could survive, let alone someone like him. His hands reached up her body, fingertips just barely catching her sagging tits—her tail slid underneath, giving him a convenient seat. She settled properly atop him, shuffling her legs until she could ride and keep her full body in view.

Anton stared at the snug cunt planted firmly over his, taking in the sight, before looking up at the she-monster.

“Say it.”

Her voice even mimicked the actress!

“R…aah..”

Repeating porn lines anywhere felt odd, let alone to a creature beyond your wildest nightmares. She flexed herself on him.
“I c a n choose another.” A lilt of airiness joined her tones—

“RIDE ME TILL THE COWS COME HOME!”

“Buckle. UP. Cowboy.”

She set a quick pace. It seemed she wanted an end to this rodeo too, so he slipped a questing thumb near the top of her entrance to help.

“gAAH!”

There it was. Porn addiction had taught him something, at least. She managed two more bucks before holding onto him, lips pulsing angrily against his balls. Anton didn’t notice exactly when he came. There was simply a point where she started to, and now, where they were both climaxing.
Her tongue was out, head pointed at the moonlit canopy above. His teeth couldn’t possibly be more clenched—two weeks without jerking off could not possibly leave him this pent up.

Her tongue returned, and with a snap, the wolf skull turned back to him. The orbs looked dim. He was still cumming.

“3 Days.”

It was the length of his stay—so what?

“Plenty of time…for page 50.”

A different tune came.

“Hey! You chose this one because I’m not done!”

Static popping filled the forest. Then other things.