Someone had once said that freezing to death was a pleasant way to die. You get cold for a while, then go numb, then fall unconscious. It was supposed to feel like a warm blanket settling over you as you drifted off to sleep, and were mercifully out of sorts while your core temperature dropped low enough that your heart grew slower until its last beat. Supposedly, it was as easy as sitting down and taking a nap. Quiet, peaceful. Painless. Sir Reynald vowed to find this person and shove his sabatons as far up whoever’s ass that spouted that god-awful bullshit would taste steel for a month.
He had lost track of how much time he had been down there in what were apparently called the Cells, though it occurred to him that they weren’t so much cells as alcoves carved into pure ice and walled off with bars. Time wasn’t so much a measurable factor in the dim-lit Cells, and Sir Reynald had long since given it up to faith that somewhere, somehow, a clock still ticked. He had prayed to the Chief God that time still marched ever forward and that he would not be eternally stuck here under the whims of devil monsters. If time still moved, then there was hope for death.
Reynald sat in the dark, naked and shivering. He clutched his knees to his chest in a desperate attempt to warm some of himself, aware of his precious body heat being drained through the floor. The floor was ice, the walls were ice, the ceiling was ice. The only thing that wasn’t ice were the iron bars that locked him in his cell. He sat in the middle of the room, as far from the walls as possible. He kept away from the bars as well, as touching the black wrought metal seemed somehow even colder than the ice.
The chill permeated to his very core, but it wouldn’t kill him, no. His captors were far too careful to let that happen. He would freeze, but not to death. His misery always started with his fingers and toes. The chilly pain would settle in before his back and neck muscles grew tight and rigid. His ears would start to hurt until they throbbed with such agony that he thought he might rip them off to spare himself the pain, but by then his muscles were too stiff to respond much. He had learned to use this stage to his advantage. The colder his muscles became, the tighter they pulled, and in the fetal position, he could salvage some of his own body heat. He would sit like this, essentially frozen into hugging himself, until his body grew numb and eventually his head swam. His vision would go blurry, and thoughts came muddied and hazed as his brain cooled to dangerous temperatures. It would be shortly after this stage that they would come. Sometimes even sooner. Yet always they came. Giggling, and smiling…
“Please…” A familiar voice echoed through the corridor, breaking through the icy crust of Sir Reynald’s mind and causing him to move closer to the bars. “I beg you.” the voice came again, pleading and desperate. “Let me out, I can stand it no longer!”
“Ingram…” whispered Reynald, to nobody in particular. The voice was Ingram, his subordinate. Memories came back like a trickle of water slipping down outcroppings of ice. Yes, they had been taken together. Reynald had not been sure if Ingram had survived the skirmish in the snow, having last seen the young man face down in the frost.
“Oh, you don’t have to beg.” came a sickly sweet voice from down where Ingram had called out. Even Reynald’s sluggish sensibilities could make out who this was. Zena, the Alpha. The demon bitch who had locked him and the rest of his detachment in the Cells. There was no mistaking her voice. “Dear, sweet Ingram. Have you come to your senses?” she asked tantalizingly. Ingram had gone silent, then he spoke in a low, defeated tone. “Yes. I accept the love I have been shown. Please… just let me out…”
There was a jangling of keys as Sir Reynald’s heart sank. Ingram had broken. It was not his fault, Reynald thought to himself in a mental clarity brought on by the realization that Ingram had forsaken the Chief God. No more Ingram’s fault than the countless number of men who had sworn before him. The cold was enough to drive any man mad, and Zena’s methods of breaking men were certainly effective. What use were principles and faith while trapped in the freezing dark? The comfort of knowing that your soul is still safe because you refuse to give in to the demonic filth was a flimsy, bitter amenity that offered no protection from the frigid pain. Reynald shook his head. If only the cold was their only weapon against his resolve.
The creak of the cold iron protested its opening, and Reynald did not have to see it to know that the wolves had opened his cage. Another voice, softer and milder than the Alpha, rang out. “Don’t worry, Ingram. I’ll take good care of you! You never have to be cold again!”
Reynald heard the approaching sound of claws scraping the ice with every step before Zena came into view in front of his cell. The sounds of Ingram and his new wife fell on deaf ears as Reynald affixed the wolf Alpha with a glare that could have melted the iron bars between them. The Alpha met his gaze, smiling widely and toothily.
“Ah, Sir Reynald.” she said, making the knight’s fists itch for contact with her smirking mouth.
“Every time you utter my name, demon…” said Reynald, his teeth too cold to chatter. “I feel as if I shall never be clean again.”
Zena’s smirk grew a fraction wider. “Don’t worry. Getting dirty is so much fun~”
Reynald attempted to grit his teeth, but his muscles failed him. He turned away, not able to bear the sight of his tormenter any longer.
He heard the jangle of keys and the creaking of iron again. He hung his head between his knees, resigned to the fate he knew was to come. He heard another voice exchange some words with Zena, but he payed them no mind. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He retreated into himself, if only to cope with what happened next.
“I really wish she’d let me take you out…” came the voice of Snowpelt. Reynald knew it was her. She came every day. He’d never spoken a word to her, staying as silent as the snow that surrounded him. “Heh, tongue still frozen?” she joked lightly. She always made jokes like that. She sounded uneasy, as if trying to inject humor where she knew there was none to be found. “That’s okay. I know how miserable you must be.” she said with convincing sympathy, before Reynald winced at the sensation he knew was coming.
A slow, gentle warmth spread over his back as the wolf draped a blanket over him, as she did every day. She had once explained that it was made from demonic snow wolves, but not the kind like her. Apparently there were demon wolves out there that were actually more like wolves than humans. The first day, Reynald had tossed the damned thing away from him, unwilling to let something so blatantly demonic touch him. He quickly came to tolerate it as one of the few sources of warmth in his life. He knew the warmth spreading over him was borne of hellfire, but he didn’t care. His body wouldn’t let him so easily toss aside the one modicum of comfort he was allowed.
Snowpelt sat down beside him, and lay her head on him. She also draped an arm around him, secure in the knowledge that he had stopped fighting against her weeks ago. Reynald’s body betrayed him as he pressed closer to her. Both of them knew this was not out of any affection, but merely Reynald’s body trying to leech as much life saving warmth as it could. Snowpelt always felt warm. Not only warm, but comfortable, and inviting. Demonic allure, he knew.
She stopped trying to talk to him after a while as they sat there on the ice. She always tried, but Reynald knew that each time, she tried less and less until it was the same platitudes she spouted at every meeting. “I don’t enjoy this.” she would say, with a little more heavy sorrow each time.
It mattered not, soon the demonic energy would seep into his skin, and he would suddenly feel hot. His body would still yearn for her warmth, but something else in him began to yearn for her, too. He would sit there with her, until he could stand it no longer. Then he would grab her and pounce on her. He was already naked, and the demonic energy made him hard as a rock with desire for her. She never bothered wearing clothes, either. Reynald had not yet seen a wolf yet wear any. So it was a simple matter to push her down, lever her legs apart, and drink of every bit of warmth she had to offer. She could have easily stopped him, but the bestial display of domination was something she enjoyed immensely.
Reynald pinned her down, then sank his hips between hers. She was already slick with anticipation; this was her favorite part. His cock entered her without any resistance, her body surrendering to his whims completely. Reynald could not stop himself even if he wanted, his body moved of its own accord as survival instinct and charmed need drove him to start rocking his hips. At first he hugged her close as they fucked, taking every bit of heat offered and allowing his blood to circulate it through his core. He buried his face into the wolf’s ample bosom, continuing his pace until he felt renewed vigor infuse him as his heart pumped more and more warmth throughout his body.
Snowpelt squealed like a beast in heat, fully surrendering to the human’s feverish pace. Her cries only grew louder when his strength returned, and he started to get rough. Once his body was warm, his hatred blossomed anew. His body would not stop, but he would let her know that there was no affection in their coupling. His thrusts grew harder as their coupling grew more bestial, he reached out to wrap his hands around her neck. He couldn’t do any damage, not in his weakened condition, but the power play was one he could not avoid. He did everything in his power to convey the message that she was just a beast to be fucked.
Reynald changed from desperate wretch trying to leech every bit of warmth that he could, to channeling every bit of rage and frustration he felt at his current predicament and taking it out on the waifish white wolf in front of him. He wrapped her hair around his hand and did his best to wrench her and inflict pain. He moved her around like a rag doll, heedless of protests or cries as he took his own pleasure from everything her body could offer. From his expression to his movements, Reynald’s affections were as icy as the cell they kept him in.
He hate fucked her, until he felt his orgasm approaching. He continued, not caring to prolong the sensation, as his knowledge that she enjoyed his treatment only served to cheapen his attempts at some manner of catharsis. He sailed right over the edge of his orgasm and plunged into the depths of pleasure as he dumped his pent up seed into the wolf girl’s eager belly. Exhausted, short of breath, and feeling almost too hot, he shoved the wolf away from him as the pleasure receded, along with the magic addling his mind. Guilt and self-hatred settled in to serve in place of any post-orgasm afterglow, and he started to seethe at his fate.
Kept down in the icy cells, freezing near to death before the wolves would come down and allow him to take their warmth in an effort to break him. Snowpelt sighed satisfactorily before she sat up and smiled at Reynald. It was a sad smile, but a content one. “I don’t suppose you’ll accept our love this time, huh?” she said, fully aware of what the answer would be.
Reynald spat at her, though he was unable to conjure anything to actually spit out. His glare, however, was icy enough that the walls around him seemed almost warm by comparison. Snowpelt nodded, then stood to leave. She pulled the gate closed behind her, and Reynald heard the lock click. She cast him one last glance over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Sir Reynald.” she said, and walked off.
He didn’t deign to answer, the cold already settling in. Zena wrapped an arm around Snowpelt and Reynald was able to hear their conversation as they headed off. The first to speak was Snowpelt.
“Can’t we just let him go? He’s not being won over like the rest, maybe it’s better if we just-”
“No, sweetling.” Zena interrupted. “He’ll break just like all the others. He will be yours in time.”
“But I can’t bear to see a human so miserable…” said Snowpelt.
“Humans always find a way to make themselves miserable. That is why it is up to us to free them. Once they give in they’ll find a life of such joyous wonders. A life with monsters, so full of pleasures and love. Sure, it seems cruel now, but wouldn’t it be far more cruel to let him return to a life so devoid of love?” explained Zena.
“I suppose so….” said Snowpelt, her voice uncertain.
Back in his cell, Reynald’s body started to lose heat again. He felt his muscles tightening, and the shivers starting to set it. He brought his legs up, and wrapped his arms around them. He hugged them tight to his chest in an effort to conserve all of the heat he had just gained, but it would be for naught. His exhaustion set in, and his eyes fluttered close. He slept a miserable, fitful sleep. He would have given anything for the ability to not wake up. For the wolves to let him go too long so he could accidentally freeze. He prayed for any number of accidents or oversights to allow him death, for he stubbornly refused to give in to Zena and her torturous tricks. She might have gotten the others, but she wouldn’t get him…
Sir Bright felt himself slowly slip out of a warm darkness as the waking world greeted him with the sensation of a warm, slick tongue dragging itself up the length of his shaft. His wife’s tongue was slightly wider than his girth, a change that had come gradually over her during the course of their marriage. Demonic energy would always alter a married couple in subtle ways to make sex more pleasurable. Bright had notice the first change when his cock was noticeably thicker and longer after regular time in Grim’s company. Bright had often wondered if it was Grim’s desire that he was larger between the legs, though it was her assurances that she had loved him just the way he was.
In all actuality, most husbands of demonic wives found themselves more heavily endowed after regular sex with their demonic spouses. In natural humans, the male ego was almost always at least subconsciously worried that perhaps their natural gifts were sub par. It was this fear that led to demonic energy altering their bodies to allow them to be more comfortable with their own image and thus more at ease in bed. Sure, there were incubuses who desired for units the size of their arm, or even as thick as another leg, but most people were happy with only a modest increase. Of course, for the size-curious who did not relish the idea of walking around on a regular basis with something like that swinging between their legs, there were always the alchemical potions that could make cocks grow to some rather inhuman sizes, at least in a temporary capacity. Bright had silently wondered what such a thing must feel like, though he dare not voice it to Grim who would likely insist that they immediately quest to find the answer. As it stood, Bright was very comfortable with his length as it stood, altered as it was.
And stood was exactly what it was doing. Grim always shamelessly relished the opportunity to be the first thing Bright felt in the morning. “Morning wood is probably the best thing about humans.” she’d said, only the sound was rather muffled when she did. Grim did not sleep much, generally only sleeping for a few hours while embracing Bright in the warm confines of their tent or room. She was always awake first, however, eagerly lying between Bright’s legs, enjoying the first taste of the morning. Her tongue lapped upward along his length, slightly wider than its girth. This was one of the subtle changes that Grim had undergone during the course of their marriage. Bright enjoyed the way the wider tongue curled up along the sides of his cock, slightly wrapping itself around his length as his wife bobbed her head up and down.
Bright craned his neck upward in time to see Grim quickly take all of his length into her mouth, her lips enveloping his cock until they rested against the base. He caught sight of her eyes, burning like coals, look up at him and wink slyly. He felt her tongue press itself against the underside of his length still in her mouth and the warm appendage slithered around to tease at the nerves she knew he liked. Grim’s claws gently rubbed along Bright’s stomach, and the paladin lay his head back. Grim encouraged him to fully relax and take the time to wake up as she encouraged the waves of dull pleasure to crash through his thoughts and wash away the vestiges of sleep from his mind.
Bright felt himself slip into the confines of Grim’s throat tighten around his member, eliciting a groan from the awakening paladin. His shuddering breath came as a marked sign that he was awake and now approaching orgasm. Grim did not tease him as she had before, eager to drink down the creamy load that had been churning in the paladin’s balls all night as he slept. The first orgasm of the morning was always thick and rich with spirit energy, and she was definitely going to enjoy this one. They’d not slept on a proper bed in weeks, and it was a hassle enough doing anything in the cramped conditions of their traveling tent. No, she was going to enjoy this. Bright felt her claws lightly scratching against his thighs as Grim brought a palm up to cup the paladin’s balls, massaging them as if to open the way for the delicious cum she sought after.
Her efforts were rewarded with a steady stream of pre starting to leak out of Bright’s tip, which she drank down. She was tempted to savor the taste, but her demonic nature craved spirit energy, rendering her too hungry to hold it in her mouth. She eagerly swallowed every drop before the vocalizations of her husband told her it was time. She knew his every movement and when his body conveyed his approaching orgasm, she took his cock into her throat and started swallowing. The movement of the muscles in her throat would spur Bright over the edge and simultaneously ensuring that every bit of cum went right down into her belly. She did not let off, her throat milking the paladin for everything he had until the orgasmic contractions of his cock had nothing left to give.
The demoness finally rose, climbing back up the bed to lay beside the panting paladin. “We should do this more often.” she said, smiling sweetly.
“Oh, Chief God, yes.” Bright said, smiling back. “Would that every day could be greeted in such a fashion.”
Grim pulled a face. “It totally could, you know.”
“We’d need a much bigger tent.” Bright said, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling before pulling Grim closer.
“Well we should get some money and spring for one of those tents that are bigger on the inside than on the outside. We could get one that has a bed and everything. I hear some of them even have fireplaces.” said Grim.
“But where would we get the money?” asked Bright.
Grim shrugged. “I don’t know. Find someone willing to pay us to beat people up?”
“You wanna become bounty hunters?” Bright said incredulously.
“It would certainly pay more than… whatever it is we do now.” said Grim.
“We help people.” said Bright.
“Yeah, and how much gold have we made so far?” asked Grim.
“Not much…” admitted Bright. “But it’s not helping people if you do it for money. Besides, monsters don’t generally have money.”
“Yeah, and you only accepting donations doesn’t help either.” said Grim.
“All right, all right.” answered Bright. “I’ll tell you what. The next time we’re in a demon town, we can… I dunno. Look at post boards or something. Surely someone somewhere needs some chores done. Do enough handy jobs and I’m sure we’ll scrape enough for a new tent in no time!”
Grim rolled her eyes, poking Bright’s chest playfully. . “Provided you actually accept money this time.”
Bright held up a finger, looking at his wife and nodding. “I solemnly swear that I will accept a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work.”
“Good.” said Grim with a nod. “I’ll hold you to that!”
The couple went about preparing for the morning. They ate with the wolves for breakfast, a meager meal of bread, porridge, and dried meats. Bright noted that breakfast attendance was very small, and Zena had assured them that this was merely because most of the wolves were sleeping in with their husbands. Bright knew that monsters could subsist solely on the energy of their husbands, and vice versa, but he could never bring himself to forsake food. He enjoyed breads, while Grim always said she could never completely give up the feeling of sinking her teeth into something. Still, the couple politely ate their modest breakfast and then were soon shown to the Highpass Ridge.
The Ridge was the quickest way through the mountains, though the perilous path was rife with dangers and the time of year all but assured that it would be frozen over. The couple made their way along the Ridge but were stopped only an hour into their trek.
“Looks like the trail isn’t frozen, but it is freezing.” Bright said, surveying the ice wall in front of them.
“I could probably melt that.” Grim said, “If we melt through we might be able to cross before the entire thing gets covered in ice.”
“Well, then. If we can, then it’s probably the best option. Just be careful, if you flame too hot then you’ll melt the ground underneath us. The last thing we need is a slippery trail.”
Grim set to work. Pyromancy was her specialty, and she summoned up her energy to send a steady stream of fire-charged magic at the ice wall. Slowly and steadily, the ice gave way under the flames. Grim grew frustrated, for she could easily melt the ice if she opted to use hellfire instead of just magic, but she knew the wisdom in Bright’s words. The entire Ridge was ice. Flaming too hot could bring down a slushy avalanche of water and snow, and she refused to put Bright at such a risk. So the going was slow, and soon the sun dipped low over the horizon.
“Let’s go back.” said Bright after a length. He’d been all too aware of the strain evident on his wife’s face, but she was too stubborn to stop. “It’ll be an uphill fight during the dark. We’ll come back in the morning and we can finish cutting through.”
“I can keep going!” Grim said through gritted teeth. Bright shook his head, and moved forward to put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. Her flames sputtered out immediately as she looked over her shoulder at him, her hair matted with sweat. “I’m fine, really.” she said, her words in such a sweet, reassuring tone that Bright knew them to be a lie.
“You’ve cut through this far, we’ll just come back tomorrow and everything will be fine.” Bright said gently.
“But why waste the time when we can press on? I can keep going.” she repeated.
Bright shook his head, smiling with a soft chuckle. “I know you can.” he said, doing his best to not sound patronizing. The wrong tone could easily set her back to flames and he’d never talk her down until they were through. Still, he did not want his wife to strain so. “But you’ve already expended that much energy. I’m getting cold and I would love for the chance to… recharge your batteries.” Bright said in his most flirtatious way, winking at Grim.
Grim shook her head right back at him, a smile creeping over her face against her will. “Well, all right. If you’re cold we can go back and warm up. But we’ll come right back tomorrow and I’ll finish melting this ice!” she said determinedly.
“Most definitely.” said Bright, “Besides, I really needed an excuse to sleep in that bed again.”
“Demon Lord, you’re right about that.” agreed Grim.
The two of them set back toward Highpass Castle, eager for another bath and a second night’s rest.