Page 12 of Bigfoot Threw Rocks at Me

Stripe straightens up, his eyes meeting mine with a gentle warmth.

Kruk would like to speak with you, he says.

I blush again, remembering my swim with Kruk. My cheeks burn, and my stomach flips.

"Oh, okay," I manage to say, trying to sound casual again, but failing miserably.

Stripe gives me an encouraging nod.

He is waiting for you in his chamber.

As I follow Stripe down the glowing tunnels, my thoughts race. What does Kruk want to talk about? Is it to perform more rituals with me? More rituals involving his cock? The last one was over before I could even get involved…

Stripe and I pass through a large open chamber where a group of Eldruk are gathered. Some are weaving fabrics from spider silk, their large hands deftly handling the delicate threads. Others are tending to a garden of bioluminescent plants, their gentle glow lighting up the room. I count the individuals as we walk through. There can only be six to ten Bigfoot in total. This doesn’t seem very many to me. But, to be fair, ten is way more than I thought existed until a few hours ago.

“How long have you lived here?" I ask Stripe, trying to absorb every detail.

For many generations, he replies, his voice reverberating in my mind. We have learned to live in harmony with the earth.

As we move deeper into the caverns, I notice how each area has its own purpose. There are chambers for sleeping, working, and even a communal space where the Bigfoot gather. The air is filled with a sense of calm and purpose, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. I can’t help but feel a deep respect for these beings. They have created a sanctuary here, hidden from the eyes of humanity, living in peace and unity.

We reach the entrance to a cavern that looks different from the others. Around the edges of the entrance are intricate carvings that tell stories I can’t yet understand. I see a crude etching of a Bigfoot — its enormous phallus decorated in what I can only assume are veins. This must be Kruk's personal chamber.

Stripe pauses at the entrance and calls out, using his grunts and growls.

Deep inside my mind, a voice resonates, Enter.

The deep, sensual tone of Kruk’s voice sends a jolt from my chest to between my legs. I look up at Stripe, a flutter of nervousness in my stomach. His smile is reassuring.

I will wait outside for you, he says, gesturing for me to go ahead.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the chamber. The walls are lined with more intricate carvings and glowing moss. The air feels heavy with history and power.

As I move deeper into the chamber, Kruk comes into view. Standing before me, he is even more imposing than I remembered from the pool. Taller, broader, his cock thicker and hanging almost to his knees. His fur is a deep shade of brown that glimmers slightly in the light of the moss. His eyes, thoughtful and intense, hold a wisdom that seems as old as the earth itself. He doesn’t have striped patterns on his arms like Stripe. Instead, he is covered with larger splodges, like a calico cat. He’s actually quite attractive, as crazy as that sounds. There’s a strength in his features that is captivating.

"Kruk," I say softly, my voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room. He nods slightly, a welcoming gesture that makes my heart skip a beat.

I trust you slept well and your accommodation is to your liking?

"Yes, the room is wonderful, and the dress..." I pause, glancing down at the shimmering fabric, "it's beautiful. Thank you."

I’m not just being polite. I really am grateful.

Please, sit.

Kruk gestures to a seating area formed from smoothed stone, covered with layers of soft moss. I take a seat, feeling the cool moss beneath me. Kruk sits opposite, his large form gracefully lowering onto the mossy bench. I find myself studying him — the way the dim light plays across his fur, highlighting the muscular contours of his arms and chest. He looks so masculine, so inherently wild. And yet, his voice and manner possess a gentlemanly quality that intrigues me. How can a beast so terrifying, be so measured and polite?

Kruk studies me for a moment, his gaze thoughtful.

Do you have any questions?

"Actually, yes," I start, seizing the opportunity. "Stripe mentioned the word ‘Eldruk’. What is that?"

Eldruk, Kruk begins, his eyes lighting up as if the story itself pleases him, is what we call ourselves. It is the name we have used since our ancient ancestors.

I nod, absorbing his words.

"How ancient are the Eldruk? Where do your species come from?” I ask, my curiosity deepening.

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