Amarok facefuck

You feel completely powerless; your limbs ache, and everything feels so far away right now. Your face remains buried in the snow, its icy chill starting to spread through your body, and you know you have to move, to get up, but you simply can't. When you finally muster the strength just to lift your sore neck, you're unexpectedly faced with nothing but fur. The wolf is standing before you, so close to you that you can smell his musk, but not making any moves as of yet.

Your confusion doesn't last long before the Amarok's hardening member slipping out of its sheath makes everything crystal clear. Before you have the opportunity to turn away, the wolf has already gotten his legs over you, mounting you from the front. The position is pretty awkward, but you have no say in the matter as your face is forced directly into the beast's crotch. You feel something hot throb against your cheek, and you try to turn your head away, scrambling to think of a way out of this.

A menacing growl from above silences these thoughts.

You know what he wants. You slowly, reluctantly open your mouth, and it's instantly invaded by the wolf's raging prick. The size and shape are wonderfully suited to piercing deep into your throat, to plundering your fleshy depths, and there's nothing to stop it from doing just that. The Amarok quickly finds his pace, thrusting rapidly against your lips with no care for your own comfort.

It's a struggle to keep your mouth open and in position while the wolf above is being so rough. Your jaw soon starts to ache fiercely, and the repeated jabs at the back of your throat have already left it raw and sore. You find yourself wishing that this would just end, that you could just be free, no matter what will have to happen for that to pass. And judging by the beast's growing fervor, you won't have to wait too long.

With no warning, the wolf slams into you one last time and then erupts, painting the inside of your mouth with his seed. Shot after shot is sent straight down your throat, and it's difficult to avoid choking on his copious fluids. The monster's bulbous knot presses against your lips as he climaxes, forcing them to open wider than before, but not quite cresting the boundary. You gladly accept this small mercy, but it's little comfort when your mouth is still being so painfully abused.

It feels like hours before it's over, but eventually, the spurts die down, and the wolf stills in your mouth. His softening cock slowly pulls out of you, and his front legs slip off of your back, allowing you to flop down on your side and just breathe.

Having regained your access to the biting air of the rift, you can do nothing but heave. The air you suck in stings your lungs, but it feels like blessed ambrosia after what you've just suffered. However, this grateful appreciation has left you temporarily distracted, so you don't notice the wolf's movements until it's far too late.

A leg lifts, and you feel something warm splash against your face. With horror, you realize what the wolf is doing—he's [i: marking] you. Unfortunately, you're still far too weak to escape or defend yourself, so you're unable to do anything but endure the humiliation. It goes on for an eternity; no part of you is spared from the spray. When the Amarok has apparently judged that he's done a thorough job, the leg lowers once again, and he promptly departs.

The liquid quickly cools in the blizzard, and you're left shivering in the snow. Your trip back to camp will be arduous.