Bastien walked a few steps ahead of me on the narrow path that led back toward the cabins, the last light of the evening filtering through the tall pines.
That nice Saturday was already nearing it's end.
Everything went so fast with him around.
The forest had gone quieter now, the students scattered, some already drinking somewhere down by the lake, others resting after the day. I stayed a step behind him, watching the slow, confident rhythm of his stride, the way his black tank top clung to his back, darkened by sweat from the afternoon's sucking session.
I still felt his heavy load sloshing inside my belly.
The guy had fed me so fucking much!
It felt like I had eaten a full meal, my belly lightly bulging under my shirt.
When we reached his wooden cabin, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, motioning for me to follow:
“You can stay here again tonight if you want,” he said simply.
The room still smelled faintly of wood shavings and soap. Bastien turned toward me then, and for the first time since we had met, his usual easy confidence seemed to falter. His expression hardened slightly, as if he were gathering the right words.
Then he stepped closer.
His hands came to rest on my shoulders.
I froze a little under the weight of them.
They were large hands: warm, rough, the skin thick. I could feel the small ridges of old cuts against my bare shoulders, the pressure of his fingers firm but not harsh. My own shoulders must have felt almost fragile under that grip.
Bastien hesitated:
“Listen…” he began, his voice lower than before. “This week… it’s going so well. You work hard. You don’t complain. You've proven to me that you can handle my needs.”
His thumb shifted slightly against my shoulder as if he were unconsciously testing the words.
“I was thinking… when the training ends next week… you could maybe stay a bit longer.”
I blinked, surprised.
“A bit longer?” I asked.
He nodded once, still holding my shoulders:
“Yeah. Longer. Help me around here. There’s always work in the woods. Could use another pair of hands. And a mouth.”
His eyes searched my face for a moment, almost cautiously.
Then, just as suddenly, the seriousness faded from his expression. One corner of his mouth lifted in that crooked, playful smile I was starting to recognize.
“Come on,” he said, giving my shoulder a light squeeze before letting go. "I'll treat your well, wifey."
He grabbed a small lantern from the table and stepped back outside. I followed him again through the darkening forest as he led me along a thinner trail I hadn’t noticed before.
“Let's sit there, I'll make some of my special hot drink your ya,” he said over his shoulder.
He led me to the small bench where he used to sit at night. The air was cooler there, and the sound of insects filled the silence. Bastien stretched his arms slightly, the fabric of his tank top pulling across his hairy chest as he breathed in deeply. He seemed completely relaxed.
Then he glanced at me with a teasing look:
“So,” he said casually, “you'll be happy if I cooked for you everyday, like this Saturday honey?”
The way he said it made my chest tighten: not mocking, not cruel. Just that same playful tone, like it was a game between us now.
"Would love you to taste more of my food."
And standing there beside him in the fading light, I realized something that made my heart beat faster. Bastien might be the one leading the way through these woods, but somehow, he was the one asking me to stay.
- - -
We drank the special concoction Bastien had prepared. I still loved that rich, herbal taste. Despite the hot weather it was so pleasant to drink it with him around. It felt reassuring.
“Listen,” Bastien suddenly said as I was sipping my cup. “I meant what I said earlier.”
My chest tightened.
“I don’t… I don’t say things like that often,” he went on. “But when I do, it’s because I’ve thought about it.”
His eyes didn’t leave mine now:
“I want something steady again. Something long-term. Not just people coming and going every week.” He swallowed, jaw tightening slightly. “I’d want you in that. For real. Not just for a few days. I want you to try to live wit me, here."
Nobody had ever said that to me.
Even my ex, back in the day. When he wanted to live with me, he had said something different, more pushy, more indifferent, less... romantic in a way.
Yes, that's it.
Bastien was the very first truly romantic man I had ever met.
And God, part of me wanted to say yes immediately. To fall into that life, into him, into something solid and simple and warm. But the other part of me (the one that had built a life in the city, with noise and movement and endless possibility) pulled back.
“I…” I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “Bastien, I... I really want that.”
He stilled.
“I would love spending more time here with you,” I added, my voice softer now. “I think I’m… starting to fall for you. I didn’t expect that, but it’s there.”
Saying it out loud made my throat tighten.
“But staying here,” I continued, glancing around at the forest, the silence, the distance from everything I knew, “leaving everything behind like that… it’s a lot. Too much, right now.”
I looked back at him.
“I don’t know if I could do it. Not yet."
Damn, it was painful to say all that to that kind bear...
"I know you understand." I added, unsure how we would react.
For a second, I thought I saw disappointment flicker across his face.
Then it softened:
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that. You've got your life elsewhere.”
Before I could say anything else, his arms came around me.
It wasn’t tentative.
It was solid. Grounding.
He pulled me against him, and I felt it immediately: the difference in our bodies. His chest broad and firm, his arms wrapping easily around me, his hands settling at my back like they belonged there. I barely reached him in return, my face close to his collarbone, the fabric of his tank top still warm from the day.
I felt… small.
So small and fragile against him, like I could disappear into that space and melt.
His hand moved slowly up my back, then rested on my ass, keeping me up.
“Hey,” he murmured, softer than I’d ever heard him.
I closed my eyes.
We stayed like that for a moment, just breathing.
Then Bastien shifted slightly, loosening his hold just enough to reach into the pocket of his cargo shorts. He pulled out a small, worn object—a folded piece of metal, darkened with age.
“Amanda used to like this,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips.
He crouched down, striking it against a stone he picked from the ground. A spark caught, then another, until a small flame bloomed in the little pile of dry twigs he’d already gathered without me noticing.
Of course he had.
Within seconds, a modest fire crackled between us, the light dancing across his face, softening the hard lines of it.
He glanced up at me. Night fell fast around us, stars punching through the black sky.
"My wife," he rumbled, lifting me even higher so that my ass was right over his package. Instinct kicked in hard: I wrapped my legs tight around his waist, ankles locking behind his ass, hugging him fully with arms around his thick neck.
His heat seeped through my clothes, musky body odor mixing with wood smoke, making my stuffed belly grind against his abs. Fuck, there it was: his huge, leaking cockhead poking right up under my ass through my shorts and his khakis.
The fat helmet was curving up and nudged my hole dead-on, denim and cotton no barrier to its insistent pressure. Precum fountain gushed from his piss slit, soaking through instantly: warm, sticky smears drenching our tissues, the wet spot spreading fast as it lubed my crack.
"I'm so glad I can sleep with you every night now, honey." And he kissed me, hard, but without putting his tongue inside my mouth. "Tomorrow is ours. We've got all Sunday to make love."
I gasped, hole clenching around the piercing head, the old cum from this afternoon sloshing inside my belly, threatening to leak.
"Bastien... oh god, it's right there," I whimpered, grinding down instinctively, feeling the veiny ridge throb against my rim. He held me effortless, one huge paw cupping my ass cheek, fingers digging into flesh, the other stroking my back around my bra.
His breath hot on my ear, deep natural voice turning caring and sweet:
"Missed fuckin' my Amanda so much," he whispered, lips brushing my lobe, beard scraping my neck. "Only want one thing now: you takin' me full hon'. Gonna make that pussy ready, even if it takes lotsa time and work. Stretch ya slow, train that tight hole till it takes me back inside."
His cock twitched up, helmet battering my entrance harder, precum squirting in pulses that soaked my shorts crotch, dripping down his pants.
I nodded frantic against his shoulder, inhaling his manly stink: sweat, cum, pine.
"I want to feel it inside of me," I whispered hot into his ear, voice shaky with need, nipping his lobe.
My legs squeezed tighter, the heels digging into his khaki-covered ass, pulling that monster closer till the head dimpled my hole through the layers. He pulled back just enough to lock eyes, his dark gaze softening rare-like, thumb stroking my cheek:
"Inside your tight pussy, Amanda?"*
He reached down and undid my shorts to reveal my thong-covered asshole his, cock grinding slow circles now, smearing more precum lube.
"Yes... fuck, yes," I breathed, trembling in his grip, belly pressing his gut, feeling his heartbeat thunder.
"But I'm afraid... it's so fucking massive. Gonna rip me apart."
Bastien chuckled low, rumbling through his chest into mine, hugging me closer: his arms like steel bands, protective.
"Never be afraid with me around, darlin". I'll protect you. Make sure you won't suffer—not too much, anyway."
He kissed my forehead rough, then my mouth hungry, tongue shoving deep like his cock soon would.
"I'm gonna treat your like wood, honey. Gonna ease you open night after night. Lube that cunt, finger it wide, make you beg for every inch. You're my wife now, Amanda. Mine to breed safe."
His free hand slipped between us, undoing his belt and lowering his pants and boxers in one move, adjusting his monster cock so the head kissed my hole perfect, precum flooding fresh, fabrics turning translucent.
I moaned into his mouth, hips rolling desperate, the pressure was building very fast. The fire crackled nearby, casting shadows on his hairy thighs, his huge balls churning audible below. We were dry humping each-other in the open, everywhere around the camp could see us.
But Bastien kept bouncing me over him, his leaking cockhead sometimes dangerously close to the entrance of my hole.
"Train me... make me take it all Bastien." I begged, nails raking his back, legs vise-tight around his large waste.
He growled approval, grinding harder—no entry yet, just teasing torment, promising the rough stretch to come. His breath hitched, cock leaking nonstop now, a puddle forming on the dirt below us.
"That's my girl. Gonna start tonight: slow at first. Peel these shorts off, tongue that sloppy hole clean, then feed you my fat head."
He bounced me light on his palm like I was his personal fucktoy, his fat helmet prodding insistent, pressed against my hole, ready to pop it open.
But his girth was going to be a challenge.
I had never taken a monster like that. Ever.
But I wanted to.
To please my husband.
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