Waking up with Carl next to me in the tent, the early morning air was cold, but his body was warm against my side. At some point in the night, he’d drifted closer, head tucked near my shoulder, the quiet rhythm of his breath syncing with mine. It wasn’t part of the plan. This trip was supposed to be about building grit—sweat, discipline, solitude. But the line between control and connection had started to blur.
I sat up, careful not to wake him fully. His arm slid off my chest slowly, like it didn’t want to let go. He stirred, eyelids flickering open. I could see the look in his eyes—something between desire and devotion. He was still just a trainee, but the way he looked at me said more. Said he needed something I hadn’t meant to offer.
“You sleep alright?” I asked, voice rough from the cold and a long night.
“Yes, sir,” he said, voice quiet. “I liked… being close.”
I sat up and crawled out of the sleeping bag, my cock still semi-hard from last night’s activities. The air was crisp, but the heat in me hadn’t cooled. I gave myself a few slow strokes, coaxing it fully back to life. I wasn’t done with him yet. Time to teach him another lesson before sunrise.
I shifted over to where he was still sleeping—face calm, lips slightly parted. He looked young, peaceful. But I didn’t want peace.
I guided my cock to his mouth, brushing the swollen head across his lips. His eyes fluttered, barely open, when I pushed forward—forcing my cock past his lips and straight into his throat.
He gasped, shocked awake, but I was already buried deep.
“Wake up, trainee,” I growled. “Time we get moving. But first—you're going to finish what you started last night.”
He blinked up at me, eyes watering from the force of the intrusion, but he didn’t hesitate. He knew his place.
His lips wrapped tight around my shaft, and he began to suck—slow at first, then with more hunger, more purpose. Drool spilled from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin, coating my cock. I grabbed his head with both hands and started to thrust, hard and fast, face-fucking him deep.
The trainee took it like he was made for this.
His hands gripped my ass, pulling me in tighter, encouraging me to go harder. He sucked with desperation, like he needed my cock to breathe. I could feel him working his throat around me, eager to prove himself, to earn his place. He didn’t miss a beat.
I could feel the tension building in my balls, the pressure rising. I gritted my teeth, looking down at him—his eyes glassy, tears streaking his face as he sucked me like a man who craved approval.
Seconds later, I exploded, thick ropes of cum shooting down his throat. He swallowed without hesitation, gulping every drop. A few streaks dripped out the sides, sliding down his chin, mixing with the drool already covering his face.
He looked wrecked—and completely satisfied.
I slowly pulled out, letting my cock slap against his lips as I stood.
“Good work, trainee,” I said, voice rough. “Now clean yourself up and get dressed. We’ve got more work to do today.
I reached for my boots, the silence doing the talking. He had to know this wasn’t about love or comfort. This was about becoming a man. About pushing through what he wanted and focusing on what he needed.
Still, I couldn’t deny the pride I felt watching him stretch, shirtless, the early sun catching the line of his back. The boy had filled out. There was strength there now. Confidence. A swagger that hadn’t been there before.
We packed camp in silence. No need for words. Just that heavy, charged energy hanging between us like smoke from the last fire. And when he fell into step beside me on the trail—sweaty, shirtless, his pack riding low—I felt it again. That pull. That question in his eyes.
The trainee was quiet, still turning things over in his head. I could feel it. He hadn’t quite settled into the rhythm of this new dynamic, not fully. That uncertainty lingered in the air.
I didn’t sugarcoat it.
“I’m a single man, trainee. Not the kind to be tied down. This is the life I live—I take what I want, when I want it. Right now, that means your convenient ass and a good mouth to satisfy my needs.”
He looked up at me, a flicker of something in his eyes—uncertainty, maybe even hope. I couldn’t tell if the idea of being my sex toy thrilled him… or if he was starting to crave something more.
I leaned in slightly. “You understand what that means, don’t you?”
He hesitated. Never gave a clear reply.
But then, in a quieter voice, almost reverent, he said, “You’re a lone wolf. Someone who passes in the night. That’s what makes you so... sexy. No one can contain you.”
He glanced away for a second before adding, “But here we are. Out in the woods. Just us. If you need something from me… it’s my pleasure, Sir. Nothing would make me happier than serving you.”
His voice—humble, honest—sent a spark straight through me.
“Yes, Sir,” he said again, with more certainty.
I gave him a small nod, just enough to let him know I approved. “Good man. That’s what I like to hear.”
We kept walking after that, the silence now different—settled, understood. The relationship had been established. He knew who I was, and I knew who he was. And we both knew where this was heading.
He didn’t want this camping trip to end. I could feel it. And I… well, I wasn’t sure I did either.
He’d be on his own soon, but I hoped by then he’d carry something of me with him—a scar, a craving, or maybe just the confidence that came from being broken in by a wolf like me.
We hiked in sync now—his steps matching mine, the awkwardness gone. Shirts came off quicker when we got too hot, both of us aware of how much our bare chests, sweaty and defined, turned the other on. It wasn’t spoken, but the glances said enough. A little flirtation, a little teasing, and a whole lot of need simmering just under the surface.
He stopped complaining about the weight of the pack, didn’t drag his feet anymore. He was getting into the rhythm of it all.
Whenever we paused, it was at the same time. When I pissed, he did too. When I lit up a cigar, he was quick to flick his lighter and follow. I’d even given him his own stash of gars now, and he handled them like he’d been smoking them all his life—lips confident, eyes steady.
He was becoming a man.
The muscles were coming in, skin bronzed from the sun. And that five o’clock shadow starting to darken his jaw? It wasn’t much—but it was enough to show he was growing into himself. Still nowhere near as hairy as I was, but that didn't matter. There was manhood in him now, and I could see it clearly. And fuck, it made my cock twitch with pride—and something a little deeper.
We stopped now and then to practice shooting or fishing—though truth be told, he didn’t need much training anymore. Still, I used the opportunities whenever I could. A guiding hand on his shoulder. A correction that lingered longer than necessary. Little touches, little tests.
And each time, he leaned into it.
As we kept moving, the tension between us became almost tangible. Carl had started to walk differently—shoulders back, chin up, his pace steady and sure. Every mile out here was forging something new in him. The boy who’d arrived at the trailhead was gone. In his place was a man in the making, each step echoing with newfound pride.
But the shift in him stirred something in me, too. Watching him grow stronger, more confident—it was magnetic. That raw sexual energy simmering just under his skin had begun to surface. His glances—quick, uncertain, wanting—only fed the fire. He still looked at me like I held all the answers. Like I was the man he wanted to become. And if only he knew—when he wasn’t looking—he already was.
Almost.
Not quite.
Because I still had the leash.
And he still wanted to be led.
The heat was brutal today. Sweat slicked both our bodies as we pushed through the last hard stretch. Only a day left until we were back at the car, and I knew this was the time to leave a lasting mark. To remind him—no matter how much he’d grown, no matter how much of a man he thought he was—there would always be someone above him. Someone who made him.
Me.
We kept walking. I gave no sign of stopping. He didn’t ask for a break, but I could see it in the way he stumbled slightly, the way his breathing hitched. Hunger, fatigue, heat—he was nearing his limit. Perfect.
When we finally crested the ridge, I found a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley. I motioned for him to sit. He dropped down onto the stone, cap low over his eyes, sweat beading down his neck. He looked up at me, parched and raw. But there was something else in that stare—not just need for food or water.
Something deeper.
I stepped closer, standing over him, letting my presence fill the space. My shadow fell across his face. His eyes rose slowly from the ground to my chest, to my mouth, and then—lower.
“Hungry?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” he said hoarsely. “Starving.”
I let the moment hang. “That’s what I want to hear. Tired. Empty. Hungry for anything.”
His eyes didn’t waver. “More than you know, sir.”
I reached down and took his cap off, wiping the sweat from his brow with my thumb. His eyes closed for just a second, like he was savoring the touch. When he opened them again, the look he gave me said everything. He was ready—for more than just rations.
But he wouldn't get what he wanted yet.
Not until he’d earned it.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. His mouth opened instinctively, eyes wide with shock—and hunger.
“How thirsty are you, boy?” I growled.
He smirked slightly, lips parting. “Thirsty for anything, Sir.”
Without a word, I leaned over and let a thick line of spit drip from my lips into his waiting mouth. He caught it eagerly and swallowed, never breaking eye contact.
“That’s it, boy. Sometimes you take the juices wherever you can get them.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I gripped his jaw, held it wide, and spit again. He swallowed fast—starving for more. His obedience made my cock twitch.
“You ready to take it to the next level, boy? You ready to be the whore you are?”
“For you, Sir? Anything.”
I pulled my cock out. His eyes locked on it like it was the only thing that mattered. He didn’t beg. He didn’t have to. That mouth was already open, that tongue already ready.
Are you ready to take it to the next level boy. He replied Yes, Sir. I could see the hunger in his eyes. I could see that he wanted more. I then slowly let out a stream of piss. It washed across his face as I peed all over him. Without hesitation, he quickly adjusted his face so he could get the stream straight into his mouth.
I let my stream run into his mouth and down his chest. Slowly running over his body and over his firm pecs. I said, “I wanna make sure you know you're mine, that it was me that controls you. I helped shape you into the man you are today. I need you smelling of me, boy. I continue to pee all over him, his eyes wide as he lapped it up, swallowing as much as he could. As my stream had slowed, he looked at m,e lonely as I brought my cock to his mouth.
He wrapped his lips around the head, slow, savoring, tasting what was left. And I fed it to him—slow strokes growing faster as he sucked greedily, like he needed it just to breathe.
“Good little mouth,” I muttered, fingers curling in his hair. “Take it. You know how to do this.”
He did. God, he did. That mouth worked my shaft like it was the only thing he’d ever trained for—lips sealed tight, tongue swirling under the head, then down, deeper, swallowing more. I started to thrust harder, deeper, using his throat. He took it all.
“Hold on,” I growled. My balls tightened. I gripped his head and shoved deep as the first pulse shot out. He stayed there, moaning as I filled his throat, wave after wave. When I pulled back, he gasped for air—face dripping, throat worked raw, but smiling.
“Thank you, Sir,” he whispered. “I needed that.”
“I know,” I said, lighting my cigar, watching the slick on his lips shine in the morning light. “I always know what you need.
I looked at him, firm and steady. “I want to make something clear, boy—you’ve come a long damn way. I think you’re ready to go back to your dad, walk into that house as a man. But I also want you to remember who marked you. No matter how far you go, no matter how much of a man you become, there are always men in this world who’ll demand your respect. You look at me, and you remember that.”
He nodded, eyes burning low with pride and submission. “Yes, sir. Of course. You’ll always be the one I look up to. My master. The one who broke me in.”
I gave a small nod. “Good. You’ve earned that truth. And you’ve earned this moment.”
He smiled, worn out but proud. “Thank you, sir. I feel different. Like, I finally know who I am. What I want.”
I studied him for a second—sweat-damp skin, dirt-smudged jaw, the edge of manhood fully in his stride now. “Tomorrow,” I said, “we head back. I’ll take you to your dad—a new man. You’ve come through the fire.”
He nodded again, tired but determined. “Yes, sir.”
“But for now,” I added, stepping past him and adjusting my pack, “we’ve got a couple more miles to cover. And one last night out here.”
He exhaled slowly, eyes still on me. “Guess I was hoping it wouldn’t end.”
I gave him a look—one that said everything without needing to be said. “It’s not over yet, boy. Tonight, we finish what we started.”
After we’d had our rest, the boy and I picked up the trail again. We walked in silence—I leading the way with my cigar between my teeth, smoke curling in the hot air. He followed close behind, his boots matching mine, step for step. I let the quiet stretch for nearly an hour. It wasn’t time for conversation. We had miles to cover, and camp wasn’t going to set itself.
When we stopped for a piss break, I caught him looking at me, eager, anxious. Like he had something on his mind, but was waiting for permission to speak. I finished up, knocked the ash off my gar, and gave him a look.
“What’s up, boy?” I asked.
He took a breath. “Sir… I want to ask you something.”
“Then ask,” I said, setting the pace again as we resumed walking. “We’ve still got ground to cover.”
He kept step. “I’m not sure I’m ready to leave yet,” he said. “I know this trip’s been hard, but… I don’t want it to end. I like it out here. No distractions. Just… you and me.”
I let that sit before replying. “Is it the trip you don’t want to end? Or are you scared that once we’re back, this—all of this—disappears?”
He was quiet for a second. Then: “Yes, sir. That’s it.”
He sounded sure. Clearer than he’d ever been.
“I feel a connection to you. Out here… I’ve figured things out. I know what I want, who I am. I know how to take charge of my own life, how to own my desires. I’m confident, sir. I’m not the same guy I was at the start of this. And yet…”
He paused, his voice thick with emotion.
“I long for you, sir. As much as I want to lead… there’s a part of me that wants to serve. To be near you. To do whatever you ask.”
I didn’t stop walking. Just nodded slowly.
“That’s not unusual,” I said. “Men who train under real leaders often feel that. In the army, we saw it all the time. There’s comfort in surrender. In structure. In someone else calling the shots. Sometimes, what a man needs more than anything… is not to be in control.”
He looked at me, stunned—like I’d put words to a feeling he couldn’t explain.
“That’s exactly it, sir,” he said. “I want to take charge of my life… but I also want to be part of something. To belong to someone who gets it. Who gets me.”
I gave him a small, approving look.
“You’ve learned the most important lesson out here,” I said. “That being a man means owning your path—but also knowing when to let go. When to lean on someone stronger.”
We hiked in silence for a moment more.
“When we leave here,” I continued, “you’ll be ready. You’ll take life by the balls, walk back into the world knowing exactly who you are. But if it ever gets too much—if the weight starts pressing down and you need to be reminded of who broke you in—you know where to find me. I’ll always be your commanding officer. I’ll always be the one who gets it.”
He smiled, a little glint in his eye. “Is that why Dad comes to visit you so often?”
I looked at him. “Yeah,” I said simply. “Sometimes your old man needs to be around someone who knows what it means to carry the weight. We smoke, drink, and talk. And sometimes… yeah. Sometimes we take it further. If it’s what’s needed.”
I could see it land. The image of the man who raised him, strong and stoic, also needing release. Permission. Brotherhood.
He looked back at me, understanding dawning.
“You give him that space,” he said. “You let him be something other than just… the man in charge.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And now you get it too.”
He nodded. And in that moment, I saw it. The man he’d become.
After a couple more hours, we finally reached camp.
I told him to set up his tent while I did the same. I could see the flicker of disappointment in his eyes—he didn’t want to spend this last night separated, not now that we were something more than strangers. But I had to draw a line.
“You’re a man now,” I said. “You’re in control of your tent, your own choices, your future.”
He nodded, though it was grudging. He followed orders like he always did—but this time, I could see it hit deeper. This was more than camping.
We cleaned the fish we’d caught, opened a couple beers, and lit our cigars as the sun sank behind the trees. Smoke curled between us, lazy and warm, while we talked about what was coming next—life after this trip. His life. Decisions he’d have to make. The man he was becoming.
I was proud of the man sitting across from me.
As the beers kept flowing, he looked at me again—one of those long, searching looks. Like he was waiting for permission.
“You don’t need my permission anymore,” I said.
“I know, Sir.” He exhaled slowly. “I know I’m in control now. And I know you and I are walking different paths. But before we do… I want to do one last thing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that, boy?”
He looked serious. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know a part of you wants this—even if you tell yourself it’s just training, or a favor. I know you don’t want this to end either. So before it does... I want to give myself to you. One more time.”
I let the silence hang as I studied him. My cigar burned low. His eyes didn’t waver.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I said.
He nodded. “I think I do. I know what sex is to you—about power, tension, release. Not softness. I get that. And I still want it. I want you. I want you to take what you need, however you need it.”
That lit something in me.
Without a word, he stood and stepped behind me, hands sliding over my shoulders, fingers tracing the leather of my vest. Then he reached around, caressing my chest, toying with my pierced nipple. I closed my eyes, lips wrapped around the cigar, smoke billowing out as his hands explored.
“You’re playing with fire, boy,” I warned.
“I want to burn, Sir,” he whispered.
I stood slowly, facing him, our bodies inches apart. My eyes locked onto his. He didn’t flinch.
I grabbed the back of his head and kissed him hard—rough, dominant, taking control. He moaned into my mouth, body melting against mine, our chests pressed tight. My hand slid down to grab his ass, yanking him closer so our cocks pressed hard together.
“You sure about this?” I growled.
“Never been more sure, Sir.”
That was all I needed.
I spun him around, grabbing both his wrists and pulling them behind his back. I shoved him forward, bending him down until his ass was perfectly exposed. My hand slipped under his waistband, fingers running between his cheeks, searching for his opening.
He was hot. Slick. Hungry.
He moaned as I teased him with my fingers, slow at first, then firmer—testing him, opening him up. His body writhed, hips rocking back against my touch, inviting more. Begging for it.
I yanked down his pants and stepped in close, gripping both his wrists in one hand while lining up my cock with the other. It was thick, rock-hard, aching from all the teasing and build-up.
Without another word, I slammed into him.
He cried out—loud, raw, but not in protest. It was the cry of a man being taken.
I didn’t give him time to adjust. I pulled out halfway, then drove back in, harder. He shouted again, but didn’t resist. My balls smacked against his ass as I found my rhythm—rough, relentless, using him like he begged for.
“Good boy,” I growled between thrusts. “You wanted this. You asked for this.”
He was gasping, his body rocking back onto my cock with each thrust. Sweat ran down his back, and I gripped his hips tighter, driving in deeper, harder, grunting with each slap of our bodies.
I could feel it building—weeks of tension, control, desire boiling to the surface.
Just when I was about to blow, I yanked out, spun him around, and shoved him to his knees. He stared up at me, mouth open, eyes wide with craving.
I stroked my cock, fast and rough, until I exploded—ropes of cum painting his face, across his cheek, his lips, his tongue. He didn’t flinch. He held still, letting me mark him.
Then he leaned forward, taking my cock back into his mouth, sucking it clean like it was holy.
When he was done, I leaned down, cleaning the mess I made on his face with my tongue, and fed it to him slowly. He took it all, swallowing, not breaking eye contact. I kissed him—deep, hot, claiming him one last time.
I pulled him into my chest, both of us breathing heavy.
“Thank you, boy,” I said, voice low. “I needed that.”
He smiled. “So did I, Sir. So did I.”
Exhausted, I turned to him and said, “Let’s get some sleep. Short hike tomorrow, then we’re headed home.”
He nodded with a soft smile. “I understand, Sir.”
With that, I stepped into my tent and passed out the moment my head hit the groundsheet. The night was still, and for once, my thoughts were quiet.
By morning, we packed up camp in silence. No need for words—the quiet between us said enough. There was understanding now. Mutual respect. Maybe something deeper.
We reached the car within the hour, loaded our gear into the back, and hit the road.
I stretched my arm behind his headrest and leaned back with a sigh, my cigar resting easy between my lips as the wind rolled in through the window.
We drove home refreshed—changed. New men.
