You just want a quiet weekend in your grandpa’s creepy old mountain hut, right? Hot tea, fresh air, maybe some porn on your phone when the signal behaves. Instead the whole damn forest wraps itself in this thick, dirty looking fog that feels like it wants to crawl into your lungs. The trees are half visible, the sky is gone, and every time the wind moves you get this quick glimpse of something moving wrong between the shadows. Not a fun kind of wrong. The kind that makes your balls shrink a bit even while you’re trying to get turned on.

Then she shows up. Bare feet, torn clothes, breathing like she ran for her life, eyes big as hell. She practically crashes into your hut and just clings to you, shaking, and all you can feel is warm skin and hard nipples through thin fabric while she whispers that “they” are out there. Monsters in the fog. Things that only really show when they attack. There’s this weird mix of fear and “holy shit, she’s cute” in your brain, and you kind of hate yourself for getting half hard while she’s talking about people being dragged away screaming. Later that night, when the fog presses against the windows and something sc*** at the door, you end up hiding under the same blanket with her, trying to keep quiet while her tits rub your arm every time she shivers. You know that feeling when your cock is rock solid but you’re also pretty sure something outside wants to eat your face? That.

The whole survival thing is pretty rough. You go out for supplies, watch the fog, check the woods, listen for that wet, distant growl that means “go the fuck back inside.” There’s this moment where you’re searching around the hut and walk into the bathroom, and she’s there, half undressed, washing off the dirt with a bucket, steam rising, hair stuck to her skin. For a second she freezes, then her eyes drop to your crotch, you both pretend you didn’t see, and nothing is said. But it sticks in your head all the time after. The more days you sc*** by, the more the tension builds. Sharing food, sharing the same cramped bed when the monsters are too close, her shifting her hips, her ass brushing you, trying to “sleep” while your cock is pressed between her thighs and she pretends not to notice. When more girls start showing up from the fog, each with their own way of dealing with the fear, the whole hut turns into this weird mix of bunker and horny pressure cooker. You’re trying to keep everyone alive, figure out what the hell that fog is, while at the same time getting dragged into long, breathless nights where someone ends up riding you to shut up their own terror, whimpering your name so loud you’re sure the monsters can hear.