Whispers of the Wild Glade

In the heart of Thornskull Woods, where ancient oaks whispered secrets and moonlight wove through twisted branches, Brak, the stout dwarf, wandered alone. His smooth, oiled skin gleamed under the silvery glow, his black beard, braided with iron rings, swaying with each heavy step. His broad chest strained against a leather tunic, his thick legs bare beneath a kilt. As he pushed through a fern-choked glade, his boot nudged a peculiar find—a thick, rolled cigar, its dark wrapper pulsing with faintly glowing runes, its scent rich with honeyed peat and something otherworldly.

What’s this? Some enchanted trinket? Brak thought, picking it up. The cigar thrummed warmly in his hand, almost alive. He struck a flint from his pouch, lit it, and inhaled deeply. The smoke curled in his lungs, spiced and heady, laced with a wild, forbidden magic. His head spun, the forest warping—leaves pulsing with vibrant greens, purples, and blues, the air shimmering like a mirage. Gods, this is no mortal smoke, he thought, his heart racing, a primal heat surging through his veins.

The warmth pooled in his groin, his cock—thick as a forge-wrought iron rod, its head broad as his calloused palm—stirring beneath his kilt. Fuck, what’s this magic doin’ to me? he wondered, his thoughts fogging with lust. He stumbled to a mossy log, tugging his kilt aside, his massive shaft springing free, already glistening with precum. Instead of gripping it fully, Brak’s rough fingers, calloused from years of forge work, traced the sensitive urethra opening at the tip of his cockhead. The touch sent a sharp jolt through him, his abs clenching, his thighs twitching as if lightning had struck. Gods, that’s sharp… just the tip, slow now, he thought, his breath catching.

His fingertip circled the urethra, teasing the slick opening, coaxing a bead of precum to well up and drip down the shaft. Each stroke sent tremors through his core, his pecs flexing, sweat beading on his oily skin as the forest’s cool air kissed his flesh. His other hand slid lower, fingers rubbing the tight, sensitive frenulum beneath his cockhead with slow, deliberate presses. The dual stimulation made his hips buck, his beard’s iron rings clinking as he groaned, the forest humming in sync with his rising desire. This is alive… like the woods are watchin’, he thought, his mind swimming in the cigar’s enchanted haze.

As his arousal deepened, the glade came alive. From the moss where his precum dripped, colorful mushrooms—radiant reds, blues, and purples—sprouted swiftly, their caps pulsing like heartbeats. They released clouds of glittering spores, shimmering in the moonlight, and Brak inhaled them, his eyes widening as the haze intensified. What in the hells… these are no ordinary shrooms, he thought, his cock throbbing harder, the urge to rut overwhelming. But the forest wasn’t done. Tiny, ethereal creatures—spritelings, no taller than a handspan, with translucent wings and bodies glowing like fireflies—emerged from the undergrowth, drawn to the spores. Their laughter tinkled like chimes, their eyes gleaming with mischievous delight as they darted around Brak.

The spritelings’ wings brushed his skin, their touch like sparks of static, sending shivers through his already trembling body. One hovered near his cock, its tiny hands grazing his frenulum, amplifying the sensation. Fuck, they’re joinin’ in! he thought, his mind reeling. The spritelings giggled, their wings scattering more spores, each breath driving Brak’s lust to a fever pitch. His fingers worked faster, teasing the urethra and rubbing the frenulum, his body reacting with violent tremors, his heart pounding like a war drum. The mushrooms pulsed faster, releasing thicker clouds of spores, and the spritelings danced in the haze, their touches urging him on.

His body tensed, every muscle taut, and with a guttural moan, he climaxed, thick ropes of cum erupting, splattering the mushrooms and moss, the musky scent blending with the forest’s magic. Gods, so much… too much, he thought, dazed, but the spritelings’ giggles and the spores’ pull kept his fingers moving. His frenulum burned under his rough touch, his urethra hypersensitive as he teased it relentlessly. The overstimulation gripped him, his thighs shaking, his abs clenching painfully, and a sudden stream of piss arced like a geyser, spraying across the glade, glistening in the moonlight as it fed the mushrooms, their caps swelling larger.

Fuck, I’m losin’ it… but I need more, he thought, his mind a whirl of lust and color. The spritelings, undeterred, flitted closer, their tiny hands brushing his cockhead, intensifying the chaos. His fingers pressed harder, the frenulum’s sensitivity igniting a second wave of cum, thicker and more forceful, shooting out in heavy spurts that mixed with the piss, coating the log, his thighs, and the glowing spritelings, who laughed and spun in the mess. The spores and creatures drove him wilder, his body shuddering, his bellows echoing through the trees as he surrendered to the relentless, enchanted ecstasy.

The glade pulsed with life, the mushrooms glowing, the spritelings dancing, the air thick with their intoxicating haze, and Brak, lost in the magical frenzy, craved only more.

Fern-Flecked Frenzy

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Backyard Heat

The late afternoon sun drenched Brak’s backyard in Ironvale, casting a golden sheen over the rough stone fence and the patchy grass dotted with wildflowers. The air hummed with the sizzle of meat on the grill, the smoky aroma of charring beef blending with the sharp tang of ale and the earthy scent of sun-warmed soil. Brak, a fat, stocky dwarf with a broad chest and a thick gut, stood at the grill, his black beard braided with iron rings, sweat beading on his deeply tanned, smooth skin that glistened with an oily, shiny finish, reflecting the sunlight like polished bronze. He wore only a stained canvas apron, the ties loosely knotted around his chubby waist, leaving his stocky legs and juicy, smooth ass bare to the warm breeze. His thick arms, lightly dusted with fine hair, flipped steaks with tongs, the fire crackling beneath the grate, while a dozen other dwarves laughed and clinked tankards nearby, their voices a boisterous rumble.

Brak’s thick, short penis, hidden beneath the apron, stirred against the coarse fabric, the grill’s heat and the party’s rowdy energy sparking a throb in his groin. “Fuckin’ fine spread,” he growled, his gravelly voice cutting through the chatter, tossing another slab of meat onto the flames, the juices hissing. The apron swayed, revealing glimpses of his plump, tanned ass cheeks, their smooth, oily surface shining, sweat accentuating their curves, catching the sun’s rays like a beacon.

Torf, a fat, stocky dwarf with a blond beard and a chubby gut, lounged on a wooden bench, his hairy chest bare under an open vest, sweat slicking his ruddy skin. His thick, short penis, slightly curved with a pink tip, bulged against his trousers, precum dampening the fabric as his eyes fixed on Brak’s juicy ass, the apron barely concealing its jiggle. “Fuck, that’s a sight,” Torf muttered, gulping his ale, his cock throbbing with each sway of Brak’s hips. Unable to resist, he stood, weaving through the crowd, and sidled up behind Brak at the grill, the smoky heat enveloping them.

“Grillin’ like a master, Brak,” Torf said, voice low and teasing, his big hand brushing Brak’s ass, fingers gliding over the smooth, oily skin, the sweat-slick surface warm and inviting. Brak smirked, not turning, “Aye, keep yer paws off the prize, ye randy fuck.” But his cock twitched under the apron, the touch igniting heat, and he leaned back slightly, encouraging more. Torf grinned, sliding his hand fully under the apron, cupping Brak’s plump cheek, squeezing the shiny, tanned flesh, the oily texture slippery under his palm. “Juicy as the fuckin’ steaks,” Torf growled, his fingers tracing the crease, brushing Brak’s tight asshole, the sweat easing his touch.

“Ye’re courtin’ trouble,” Brak rasped, flipping a steak, the grill’s heat rising, but he spread his thick legs wider, the apron lifting, his smooth ass gleaming. Torf’s fingers probed deeper, one slipping into Brak’s asshole, the tight heat gripping his knuckle, the musky scent of sweat mingling with the smoky air. “Trouble’s my aim,” Torf whispered, freeing his curved cock, trousers dropped, the pink tip leaking precum, veins pulsing along the girthy shaft, nestled in blond pubic hair. He spat on his cock, slicking it, and pressed the head against Brak’s asshole, the apron pushed aside, Brak’s shiny, tanned gut quivering as he braced against the grill.

“Fuck me while I cook, ye horny bastard,” Brak growled, tongs in hand, the steaks sizzling, the crowd’s chatter masking their grunts. Torf thrust in, his thick penis stretching Brak’s hole, the hot, tight grip making him groan, “Fuck—ye’re snug.” Each thrust rocked Brak’s stocky frame, his smooth ass jiggling, sweat dripping down his tanned thighs, their oily sheen catching the sun, the grill’s heat blending with the afternoon’s warmth, the air thick with smoke, musk, and the raw scent of their lust. Brak’s cock, broad-headed and veiny, throbbed under the apron, precum soaking the fabric, the coarse material rubbing his shaft with each of Torf’s pumps.

Torf’s hands gripped Brak’s hips, fingers slipping on the oily, shiny skin, his curved cock slamming Brak’s prostate, the bench creaking beneath them, the grill’s flames flaring as a steak charred. “Fuck—gonna cum!” Torf roared, pulling out, his cock spurting thick, white ropes, some splashing Brak’s smooth, tanned ass, others arcing onto the grill, streaking the sizzling steaks, the cum’s musky scent melding with the charred meat. Brak groaned, “Ye filthy fuck,” jerking his own cock under the apron, his broad head unloading, cum mixing with Torf’s on the meat, the grill hissing as the fluids dripped, the smoky aroma now laced with their raw essence.

Brak plated the cum-streaked steaks, his apron resettled, his shiny ass still tingling from Torf’s cock, the oily skin gleaming in the fading light. Torf rejoined the crowd, trousers up, smirking as dwarves bit into the meat, their grunts of approval tinged with the faint, musky tang of cum. “Best damn BBQ,” one muttered, licking his lips, oblivious to the secret sauce. Brak caught Torf’s eye, grinning, “Aye, fuckin’ flavorful.” The backyard party roared on, the sun dipping low, the smoky air guarding their lustful secret.

Sun-Soaked Strokes

 The Brinefang Sea glittered under a fierce midday sun, its azure waves lapping softly against the Iron Net, Brak’s weathered fishing boat, its oak planks creaking with each gentle roll. Brak, a fat, stocky dwarf with a broad, hairy chest and a thick gut that spilled over his beltline, sprawled naked across a frayed wool blanket on the deck, his short, muscular legs splayed, his black beard, braided with bone beads, damp with sea spray. His thick arms, matted with coarse black hair, rested limp at his sides, his ruddy skin soaking up the sun’s relentless glow. The boat drifted alone in the vast sea, the horizon a shimmering line pierced only by the sharp cries of gulls, the air heavy with the briny sting of salt, the fishy musk of drying nets piled in the stern, and the warm, woody scent of sun-baked planks.

Brak had stripped nude soon after setting out, craving the sun’s unfiltered touch on his stocky frame. “Fuckin’ perfect day,” he growled, his gravelly voice lost to the waves, the sun’s warmth wrapping him like a molten cloak. The sunlight was a living caress, its golden rays sinking into his hairy skin, heating his chubby gut with a radiant glow, prickling the coarse curls on his chest, and bathing his thick thighs in a sultry embrace. Each bead of sweat bloomed like a tiny prism, the sweat’s scent sharp and musky, a raw, masculine aroma blending with the sea’s salt, filling his nostrils with a heady, primal tang. His fingers brushed his gut, the sweat’s slippery texture slick and warm, sliding under his touch, the dampness amplifying the sun’s sensual burn, his skin glistening like polished bronze in the light.

His thick, short penis rested against his hairy thigh, the broad head flushed a deep pink, thick veins snaking along the girthy shaft, nestled in a dense thicket of black pubic hair. The sun’s heat teased his cock, the warmth pooling in his groin, stirring a slow, insistent throb that hardened his shaft, precum beading at the slit, catching the sunlight like a glistening dew drop. “Damn sun’s got me riled,” Brak muttered, his hand drifting down, calloused fingers wrapping around his cock, the velvety skin hot and taut under his grip. He stroked slow, savoring the sensual drag, the precum slicking his palm, warm and slippery, his cock pulsing, veins bulging
as he worked, the sun’s rays glinting off the wet head, his hairy gut quivering with each pull.

The sweat poured now, rivulets tracing the creases of his gut, pooling in his navel, the slick, salty film cooling briefly as the sea breeze whispered across his skin, only to be reheated by the sun’s unyielding glow. The smell of his sweat grew potent, a raw, earthy musk that mingled with the briny air, grounding him in the heat of his body, the scent as intoxicating as the ale he’d downed last night. Brak’s strokes quickened, his thick penis throbbing, the broad head slick with precum, the boat’s bench creaking beneath his stocky frame, the waves’ rhythm syncing with his grunts, his climax building like a storm on the horizon.

Just as his balls tightened, a soft splash broke his focus. A skiff, the Salt Beard, drifted a stone’s throw away, rowed by Torf, a fat, stocky dwarf with a blond

beard and a chubby gut, his hairy chest bare, sweat gleaming on his ruddy skin under the sun. Torf’s thick, short penis, slightly curved with a slick, pink tip, jutted hard from his open trousers, precum dripping onto his skiff’s deck, catching the light. “Oi, Brak—ye’re givin’ the sea a fuckin’ show!” Torf called, his voice a lustful chuckle, eyes locked on Brak’s glistening cock, his own hand already stroking his curved shaft.

Brak paused, hand gripping his precum-slick cock, a grin splitting his black beard. “Caught me, ye salty bastard—wanna make it a game?” Torf’s smirk widened, “Aye—let’s shoot for each other’s boats, ye horny fuck!” They maneuvered their boats closer, the gap narrowing to a few feet, the waves rocking them gently, the sun’s heat a shared furnace stoking their lust. Torf stripped fully, his stocky body glowing, his curved cock throbbing in his hairy hand, precum streaming, the pink tip flushed, veins pulsing along the girthy shaft, his chubby gut jiggling with each stroke.

Brak leaned back on the bench, legs spread wide, his stocky body bathed in sunlight, sweat streaming down his hairy chest, the musky scent rising, sharp and primal, mixing with the salty sea air. The feel of sweat was a slick, hot sheen, sliding down his gut, pooling in the creases of his thick thighs, the dampness tactile and warm, amplifying the sun’s radiant touch, each stroke of his cock electric in the heat. His fingers glided over the veiny shaft, the broad head hot and slick, precum oozing onto the blanket, soaking the wool, the sun’s warmth making his skin tingle, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Fuck—look at ye leakin’,” Brak growled, eyeing Torf’s cock, his own shaft throbbing, sweat dripping from his brow to streak his cheeks, the slickness clinging to his beard.

Torf sprawled on his skiff’s deck, mirroring Brak, his hand pumping his curved cock, the pink tip glistening with precum, sweat dripping from his blond beard to streak his chubby chest, the musky aroma wafting across the water, blending with the sea’s briny tang. The sun’s heat was a golden weight, sinking into his hairy thighs, warming his balls, making his cock throb harder, the sweat’s slickness easing his grip, his skin shimmering under the light. “Aye—ye’re a fuckin’ fountain,” Torf panted, his curved cock leaking, sweat pooling in his navel, the sun’s rays glinting off his slick skin, his stocky frame trembling with each stroke.

The sea’s gentle rock added a rhythm to their strokes, their boats drifting closer, the waves’ splash mixing with their grunts, the air thick with salt, musk, and the raw scent of their arousal. Brak’s climax surged, his thick penis pulsing, veins bulging, precum dripping onto the blanket. “Fuck—now!” he roared, cum erupting in thick, white ropes, arcing through the air, splattering onto Torf’s skiff, hitting the deck and streaking Torf’s hairy leg, the warm, sticky fluid glistening in the sun, its musky scent sharp in the salty air. Torf groaned, “Take it!” his curved cock unloading, cum shooting across the gap, landing on Brak’s blanket, streaking his hairy gut, the hot, musky load mixing with his sweat, the sun’s heat baking the fluids into his skin.

They collapsed, stocky bodies heaving, sweat-soaked and cum-streaked, their thick, short penises softening, leaking final drops, the boats rocking gently. The sun’s warmth lingered, a warm caress on their sweaty skin, the sweat’s musky scent blending with the sea’s salt and the faint tang of cum, the air heavy with their exertion. “Fuckin’ fine shot,” Brak panted, wiping cum from his gut, grinning, his black beard matted with sweat. “Aye, ye hit me good, ye randy bastard,” Torf chuckled, scooping cum from his leg, his blond beard glistening. The Brinefang Sea stretched on, its waves washing the boats, their sunlit show a fleeting mark on the endless blue.

Hammered and Stretched: Gorzod’s Tavern Triumph

 The Hammered Anvil Tavern crouched low in Stonegrit Hollow, its stone walls alive with the clatter of tankards and the bellows of dwarven laughter. Gorzod, a stout dwarf with a barrel chest and a wild black beard, was a regular here—a chubby figure with thick arms and legs, his hairy gut spilling over a worn leather belt. Tonight, he’d drowned himself in ale, his cheeks flushed ruddy beneath tangled whiskers, eyes glinting with mischief. The drunker he got, the bolder he grew, and Gorzod loved nothing more than a public romp when the spirits took hold.

“Oi, ye lot—watch this!” Gorzod slurred, staggering atop a wobbly table, ale sloshing from his tankard. The tavern’s din hushed slightly, heads turning as he yanked his tunic up, baring his hairy chest and gut, then fumbled his trousers down to his ankles. His short, thick cock sprang free, already half-hard, bobbing against his hairy thighs as he grinned wide. “Fuckin’ feels good out here!” he roared, gripping his shaft with a big, calloused hand, stroking slow in the flickering torchlight, precum beading at the tip.

The usual patrons—gruff dwarves with beards of every shade, their own guts straining tunics—watched with a mix of amusement and rising heat. “Gorzod’s at it again, the randy bastard,” grunted Bork, a broad-shouldered dwarf with a gray beard, slamming his tankard down. “Aye, look at ‘im—shameless as a forge flame,” chuckled Torm, a stocky redhead, thick fingers drumming the table. Their eyes lingered, the air thickening with more than smoke.

Gorzod laughed, gut jiggling as he pumped faster, the tavern’s warmth kissing his exposed skin. “C’mon, ye lazy fucks—give us a cheer!” he bellowed, precum dripping onto the table, glistening in the light. That broke the dam. Bork stood, grinning, “Ye want a hand, ye drunk pig?” and lumbered over, his big hand joining Gorzod’s, stroking firm, slick with ale and sweat. “Fuck—aye, that’s it!” Gorzod moaned, legs wobbling as Bork jerked him, the crowd hooting and hollering.

Torm wasn’t far behind, hopping up with a leer. “Can’t let Bork have all the fun, ye greedy sod,” he growled, shoving his own hairy hand in, taking over from Gorzod’s grip, stroking the base while Bork worked the tip. “Shit—ye’re leakin’ like a busted barrel!” Torm laughed, precum smearing his fingers as Gorzod thrust into their hands, gut bouncing wild. “Keep goin’, ye horny cunts—make me fuckin’ sing!” Gorzod roared, voice cracking with lust, the tavern a chorus of cheers and crude shouts.

The group tightened around him—Dren, a scarred dwarf with a braided beard, and Korgul, a chubby blond—shedding restraint as they closed in, cocks out, stroking themselves. “Fuck it—let’s give ‘im a proper go,” Dren muttered, his thick cock hardening as he stepped close, one hand still jerking himself. Korgul grinned, “Aye, ye’re a right mess, Gorzod,” his shaft stiffening too. But Dren took it further, spitting on his fingers and sliding them under Gorzod’s hairy ass, probing his tight anus. “Gonna open ye up, ye filthy fuck,” Dren growled, shoving a thick finger in, making Gorzod buck hard.

“Fuck—ye’re a nasty bastard!” Gorzod gasped, gut quivering as Dren’s finger pumped, stretching his hole while Bork and Torm kept jerking his cock. “Aye, take it, ye tavern slut,” Dren smirked, adding a second finger, working deeper, the crowd cheering louder. Korgul stepped in, “My turn, ye scarred cunt,” pulling Dren’s hand aside and sliding his own thick fingers in, stretching Gorzod’s asshole wider, twisting slow. “Shit—ye’re tight, Gorzod!” Korgul grunted, his cock leaking precum as he fingered, Gorzod moaning loud, “Stretch me, ye greedy shits—fuckin’ love it!”

Bork took a turn next, his big hand slick with ale, shoving three fingers in, widening Gorzod’s hole even more. “Fuck—ye’re givin’ it good!” Gorzod panted, his cock throbbing under Torm’s relentless grip, precum squirting onto the table, dripping to the floor. “Gonna cum—wreck me, ye bastards!” he bellowed, and Dren pushed forward again, “Time fer the real fun,” spitting on his hand and working four fingers in, stretching Gorzod’s asshole to its limit, the tavern roaring with approval.

Near Gorzod’s peak, Bork growled, “Let’s finish ‘im proper,” and shoved his whole fist in, knuckles deep, hitting Gorzod’s prostate hard. “Fuck—fuck—fuck!” Gorzod screamed, gut shaking, legs buckling as Bork’s fist pounded his prostate, the sensation shattering him. “Here it comes!” he roared, cum erupting in thick jets, splattering the table, his hairy body trembling wildly. That triggered the group—Bork yanked his fist free, grunting, “Take it, ye fat perv!” his cock unloading, cum splashing Gorzod’s chest, streaking his beard. Torm followed, “Drown ‘im, lads!” his load hitting Gorzod’s gut, dripping down his thighs. Dren and Korgul joined, Dren’s thick ropes landing on Gorzod’s shoulder, Korgul’s spraying his hairy legs, their seed coating him in a sticky, glistening mess from beard to boots, the tavern erupting in cheers.

Gorzod slumped onto the table, panting, cum-slick and grinning, his stretched asshole twitching, body a canvas of their release. “Fuckin’ best night yet, ye randy shits,” he rasped, wiping a glob from his beard and licking it with a laugh. Bork slapped his gut, “Aye, ye’re a proper tavern whore,” while Torm chuckled, “Till next round, ye leaky bastard.” The patrons dispersed, tankards clinking anew, leaving Gorzod basking in the torchlight, drunk, sated, and dripping—a dwarven king of his own messy throne.

Lust Beneath the Glow

 Beneath the rugged Ironspike Range, where dwarven tunnels snaked through stone like ancient veins, an underground lake shimmered with bioluminescent algae. Its waters cast a soft blue-green glow over the cavern’s slick walls, the air thick with mineral scent and a faint hum of earth magic. Here, in this secluded haven, two dwarves surrendered to their primal urges—Borin and Grotmuk, stout lovers forged in the same burly mold. Both were chubby, their frames packed with muscle beneath layers of fat, thick arms and legs rippling with strength, big hands roughened by toil. Their hairy chests glistened with sweat from the descent, beards tangled and damp.

Borin, the elder by a few years, lay flipped upside down near the lake’s edge, pushed from behind by Grotmuk onto his broad shoulders. His thick legs, stout as tree trunks, jutted high and spread wide in the air, held aloft by his own big hands gripping the ground for balance. His tunic bunched around his hairy gut, leaving his lower half bare. Upside down, his head rested on the smooth stone, beard fanning out beneath him, while his short, thick cock—hard as a forge hammer—pointed downward over his face, already dripping precum that splattered his cheek. “Aye, Grotmuk—ye horny bastard, get to it,” he growled, voice thick with need, his gut quivering as he held his exposed pose, anus winking in the dim glow.

Grotmuk knelt behind Borin, his own chubby frame slick with sweat, thick arms flexing as he gripped Borin’s hairy thighs, pushing them higher to bare the puckered hole fully. His red beard glinted in the lake’s light, a wicked grin splitting his face. “Ye’re a fuckin’ banquet like this, ye fat sod,” he rumbled, voice low and ravenous, eyes fixed on Borin’s anus. The cavern’s glow danced across his broad, hairy back as he leaned in, breath hot against Borin’s skin. He pressed a slow, wet kiss to the tight ring, lips lingering, savoring the musky earthiness of his lover.

Borin moaned loud, the sound echoing off the cavern walls, his thick legs trembling in the air. “Fuck—kiss it proper, ye greedy shit,” he panted, gut jiggling upside down as Grotmuk’s tongue flicked out, tracing the rim with sensual care. Grotmuk hummed, the vibration buzzing against Borin’s anus, and began rimming him in earnest—long, languid licks circling the sensitive flesh, then dipping inside, teasing the tight muscle. “Tastes like ye’re beggin’ for it,” Grotmuk muttered between kisses, his big hands kneading Borin’s thighs, fingers sinking into the chubby flesh.

The sensual onslaught drove Borin wild, lust blazing through his core. “Aye—ye’re fuckin’ killin’ me,” he groaned, head pressed to the stone, beard matted with sweat. His cock throbbed harder, precum leaking uncontrollably—a steady drip turning into wild squirts. A thick rope splashed across his forehead, streaking his beard, another hit his open mouth, the salty taste mixing with his grunts. “Lick it deeper, ye bastard—shit!” he roared, legs quaking as Grotmuk’s tongue plunged in, kissing and sucking the hole with wet, sloppy devotion, the sounds blending with the lake’s gentle lapping.

Grotmuk growled into Borin’s ass, his own thick, stubby cock dripping precum onto the stone below, spurred by Borin’s taste and frantic squirming. “Ye’re squirtin’ like a busted pipe, ye randy fuck,” he taunted, pulling back to kiss the rim tenderly, then diving back in, tongue swirling deep. Borin’s big hands clawed the ground, his upside-down body rocking slightly, anus clenching around Grotmuk’s tongue. “Don’t stop—fuckin’ love it,” he gasped, precum squirting wilder now—a jet splashing his nose, another coating his hairy chest, the sticky mess dripping down his face and body in glistening trails.

The underground lake’s glow reflected off Borin’s slick, upside-down form, his chubby gut shuddering with each squirt, his thick cock pulsing as if it might burst. “Ye’re drownin’ me in it, Grotmuk—keep goin’!” he bellowed, voice cracking with lust, the sight of his own precum-streaked face and hairy torso fueling his frenzy. Grotmuk obliged, big hands gripping Borin’s ass cheeks, spreading them wide as he made love to the hole—kissing it soft, then rimming it hard, tongue fucking deep with sensual rhythm. “Gonna make ye flood yerself, ye greedy cunt,” he rumbled, the cavern amplifying his growl.

Borin’s moans turned ragged, his upside-down body a trembling heap of chub and muscle. “Fuck—now, ye bastard!” he roared, and his climax hit like a rockslide, cum erupting from his thick cock in heavy spurts. A thick jet splashed his face again, dripping into his beard and mouth, another coated his gut, the hairy expanse glistening in the lake’s light. His anus pulsed wildly around Grotmuk’s tongue, each shudder squeezing tight as he rode the peak.

Just as Borin’s final spurt landed, Grotmuk pulled back, his own cock—hard and thick—throbbing with need. “My turn, ye spent fuck,” he growled, rising to his knees, gripping his shaft with a big hand. He pressed the head of his cock against Borin’s pulsing anus, still slick and twitching from the rimming, and rubbed it hard, the thick girth sliding over the sensitive hole. “Feel that, ye leaky bastard,” he grunted, precum mixing with Borin’s sweat as he thrust against the rim, not penetrating but grinding fierce. The friction sent Grotmuk over the edge fast—his cum shot out in hot, thick ropes, splattering Borin’s anus, thighs, and the stone below, the musky scent mingling with the cavern’s damp air.

Still panting, Grotmuk dropped back down, his red beard brushing Borin’s skin as he leaned in. “Gonna taste us both, ye filthy hog,” he muttered, tongue darting out to lick the mess—his own cum mixed with Borin’s sweat and lingering precum. He lapped at Borin’s pulsing anus, sucking the sticky blend, savoring the raw, salty fusion of their fluids. “Fuckin’ delicious,” he growled, big hands spreading Borin’s cheeks wider, tongue delving deep to scoop up every drop, the lake’s glow illuminating the slick sheen on his lips.

Borin groaned, legs sagging as the last tremors faded, his upside-down body a cum-and-precum-soaked wreck. “Aye, ye’re a nasty fuck, Grotmuk,” he rasped, grinning through the mess on his face, tasting his own precum as he licked his lips. Grotmuk pulled back, wiping his beard with a big hand, his own cock still dripping. “And ye’re the horny sod what loves it,” he chuckled, patting Borin’s thigh. The lake glowed on, its light dancing over their chubby, hairy forms, the cavern cradling their lustful union in its ancient embrace.