Bastien kept my hand in his as we walked back through the woods, the lantern swinging softly beside his leg. The darkness had settled fully now, a deep darkness spreading between the trees, and the cabin lights glowed warm through the branches ahead of us.
For the first time since arriving here, I caught myself thinking of it not as his cabin.
But ours.
This thought alone made my chest ache and smile in anticipation.
Bastien pushed the door open with his shoulder and immediately headed for the little kitchen corner without ceremony, tossing the lantern onto the counter.
“Sit hon’,” he grunted. “Must got legs like a baby deer after today.”
I laughed softly and dropped onto the wooden chair beside the table. The cabin smelled like pine, his old coffee recipes and his strong body odor too. Warmth still lingered from the heat trapped in the timber walls.
The day had been very hot.
Bastien moved around the kitchen with the kind of confidence that was fascinating to me. He opened cupboards without looking, grabbed a heavy cast-iron pot, lit the gas stove in one fluid motion. His strong arms were working, glistening with sweat, his sleeves of his black tank top were stretched loose around his shoulders, exposing them so well. I couldn’t stop staring at them.
God.
Even exhausted, even sweaty and half-covered in sawdust, he looked devastating to me.
He caught me looking once while rinsing potatoes in the sink :
“What?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting.
“Nothing.”
“That face says otherwise.”
I smiled into my hand. “You’re very handsome when you cook.”
He snorted immediately :
“Yeah? Wait till you see me working your hole tomorrow, princess.”
Still, there was a smile pulling faintly at the corner of his mouth as he cut thick slices of smoked sausage with practiced movements. Every gesture felt calm. Grounded. He wasn’t trying to impress me. That was probably why it affected me so much.
He cooked like he cut wood: steady hands, patience, attention. Steam slowly filled the cabin as he started preparing the dish: onions sizzling in butter, garlic, white wine to, potatoes softening in the pan. Then came the cheese: a huge wheel of reblochon sliced open and laid over everything until it melted into bubbling gold.
Fuck me, that’s the most beautiful peace of cheese I’ve put my eyes on lol.
“Home made grattin,” he announced simply. “How about that?”
The smell coming from it alone nearly killed me.
I had to nod. I knew Bastien was about to treat me right with this.
He grabbed two bowls from the shelf and shook his head when he noticed me still watching him instead of resting.
“Hope you like cheese?”
“Would be hard to live in this country if I didn’t.”
That made him laugh:
“True”
He smiled, but I felt he was really surprised by something in my reaction.
- - -
He brought the steaming plates to the table and sat heavily across from me, one thick thigh brushing mine under the small wooden table.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. “The smell alone legit got me even more hungry.”
Bastien barked a laugh:
“Aha thanks baby, guess I’ll take the compliment.”
“Can’t wait to taste it.”
“Careful,” he muttered. “Hot.”
The tartiflette was unbelievable, perhaps the best I had ever seen. Rich, smoky, creamy: the potatoes soft beneath the melted cheese, the onions sweet, the bacon salty enough to make me close my eyes after the first bite.
It took me time to finish my plate, Bastien had been very generous with the portions, but it was so good. The perfect mix of flavors and textures, overwhelming my senses with each bite. Pure heaven.
He finished earlier than me but kept staring at me, and the way he was looking at me was a bit strange at first. He looked almost… fascinated.
I eventually understood.
He was… testing.
Testing his new Amanda.
So I had to eat to prove him that I really like his cooking (which was true obviously).
In Paris, love had always felt performative somehow. Careful and almost negotiated. My ex used to complain when I asked him to cool something (cause I was the one doing most of the job at home), but he didn’t seem to care about any of my needs. He just didn’t like doing stuff for me.
When I was asking him a bit more, like small affection gestures, it became pressure after enough time for him and he would end up telling it was too much. Dinners together had mostly meant delivery apps and phones on the table and passive-aggressive silence when one of us came home late, because yet again, he had done no efforts.
But Bastien...
Bastien noticed when my glass was empty before I did. Bastien was asking me constantly how I liked the potatoes, or the cheese, or if I needed more salt or pepper. Bastien grumbled while caring for people so naturally he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.
And the way he was smiling while looking at me eating his food.
This was new to me.
I looked at him over the steam curling between us. The firelight from the stove painted warm gold along the rough edges of his face, softening him in a way daylight never did.
And suddenly the words slipped out before I could overthink them:
“Thank you for the food, husband.”
Silence.
Bastien froze halfway through reaching for his glass of wine.
Then slowly a warm smile appeared on his face, something so true and grounded I was about to melt.
“Yeah?” he murmured. “Well… thanks to you Amanda. For sharing this with me. It seems…”
This got him to finally say what he had in his mind, watching me:
“Seems like you ended up liking melted cheese. Thought you didn’t appreciate it.”
I nodded, cheeks burning.
Of course I like it!
Always enjoyed some good me...
And then… I understood.
His old Amanda didn’t like it. Or at least, maybe not as much as I did.
And I was now appreciating his food, in a new (more personal) way.
“You’re getting better and better at cooking honey.” I said, trying to find some way to explain that sudden change of character.
This seemed to please him.
His eyes stayed on me another second before he leaned back in his chair with a low hum:
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” he said gruffly, trying and failing to hide how pleased he looked, “take your time, Amanda.”
- - -
By the time I finished eating, Bastien was finishing his thirst glass of wine.
I leaned back in my chair with a content little sigh:
“That was honestly incredible,” I said. “Bravo chef.”
He blinked, clearly trying not to look too pleased with himself:
“Yeah, yeah.”
I smiled and stood up, gathering the plates automatically:
“Well then, Madame is going to do the dish...”
The reaction was immediate.
Bastien stood so fast the entire table jolted with a loud thud that made me jump. I blinked in surprise as he reached over and took the plates straight out of my hands before I could even protest.
“Let me take care of this’,” he grunted as I tried to take them back. “No.”
He was already stacking the dishes against his broad chest with complete determination, like I’d just attempted something outrageous.
“That’s my job, wifey,” he said firmly as he carried everything toward the sink. “Don’t worry.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“You nearly flipped the table over!”
“Worth it.”
He turned the faucet on and started rinsing the plates with those huge rough hands, completely serious about it. The sight was almost absurdly endearing: this massive, intimidating man, strong legs planted in the ground, aggressively defending his dish-washing duties like a sacred ritual. He almost seemed to enjoy doing it.
I leaned against the counter, smiling helplessly:
“You know,” I said softly, “you’re strangely domestic for someone who looks like he fights bears at night.”
Bastien glanced back over his shoulder:
“Only for you.”
God.
Paris suddenly felt a million kilometers away.
I watched his shoulders move beneath the tank top as he cleaned the dishes, calm and solid.
“So how am I supposed to help then?” I asked eventually.
He dried one plate, set it aside, then jerked his chin toward the old wooden wardrobe near the bed.
“Go look in there,” he said. “Find something you wanna wear tonight.”
I blinked.
“Tonight?”
A small grin appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“Mhm. In bed.”
“Really? Thought we were over that now.”
Bastien shrugged, trying and failing to act casual.
“As you want. But I like my wife wearing some lingerie for me.”
My stomach flipped instantly.
Of course he did.
And maybe… maybe this would help him. Me wearing his ex-wife clothes. Her smell on me, her colors on me and…
Her shape too.
I walked toward the wardrobe slowly while behind me I could still hear the soft clink of dishes.
- - -
I kept pulling old things from his ex wife… until I found a tiny red nightdress that had clearly belonged to his ex
“Ok… strip for me, Amanda,” he said, voice low and warm, eyes locked on my body as he took a long swig. “Slow. Let me watch my wife get ready for bed.”
I peeled off my current top, then hooked my thumbs into the waistband of the torn stockings. My fingers trembled as I rolled them down one thigh, the lace catching on my skin.
Bastien sipped again, his massive frame relaxed but his gaze burning hot.
“That's it, hon. Show me that pretty ass and those night panties. You're gonna look so fuckin' good tonight.”
He set the bottle down sudden and stood, big hands reaching out:
“Here, let me help, wifey.” His palms were warm and rough, sliding down my legs with patient eagerness. He tugged the stockings the rest of the way off, fingers brushing my calves and feet, then squeezed my ass through the lacy panties.
“Fuck, Amanda. These little things make your ass look even better. Can't wait to work on it”.
Then stripped himself: khaki shorts first, then socks, tank top, and finally his boxers. That gigantic soft cock swung free, twelve inches of thick meat dangling heavy between his hairy thighs, the fat head already glistening with leftover precum.
How am I gonna take this tomorrow…
I don’t even know.
The summer heat made everything thick and musky in the small room, his cock seemed to leak constantly now.
“Look at you, Amanda,” he murmured, stepping close while I slipped the nightdress over my head. It barely covered my ass, the thin fabric clinging to my belly.
“So cute. My perfect little wifey, all dressed up and ready for bed, am I right?”
“Yes Bastien.”
He scooped me up easy and laid me on my back on the bed, his strong arms propping him above me. His pelvis pushed between my spread legs, that massive soft cockhead settling right on top of my tiny dick, its weight pressing down hot and heavy, smothering it completely.
I let him do.
It felt so good to have him above me, pinning me down on the sheets. Trapped under this muscles, and his giant rod.
“Feel that, hon?” he rumbled, rocking his hips just enough to grind the thick head over my cock and the front of my panties.
“Your little clit don't stand a chance. That's my Amanda, my good girl who takes everything I give her. Do you like my cock sweetie?”
“Yes… I love it so much hon’.”
His breath was hot on my neck, beard scratching my skin as he whispered more.
“You're my wife now. From then on, I wanna sleep with you every night. Here or at you cabin, all right?”
The pressure of his cockhead on me made my own dick twitch uselessly, trapped and leaking into the panties.
“I want it too…” I answered, the excitation building inside of me. “Since the first time we slept together, I’m getting addicted to your presence.”
“Good girl.”
Bastien's landed a soft kiss on my neck, almost shy, then he flipped us gentle but firm, pulling me onto his broad bare chest so my face rested against his furry pecs, his massive arms wrapping around me tight.
That soft monster cock pressed up against my ass through the thin nightdress, still half-hard and promising more.
“Right there… sleep on me, Amanda,” he said softly, one hand stroking my back. “Safe in my arms. Tomorrow we start training that pussy proper.”
His heartbeat thudded steady under my ear, his giant cockhead twitching occasionally against my hole as the night settled around us. I was so good in that position, not crushed but perfectly captured by his arms and his strong manly smell.
“I love you.” I whispered, as I felt the warmth of this moment starting to put me to sleep.
“Love you Amanda.”
- - -
I woke before the sun fully reached the cabin windows.
For a few seconds, I didn’t move. I just lay there beneath the thin sheet, listening to the quiet creaks of the wood around us and the distant birds outside. My body still felt warm, heavy with sleep and with the memory of the night before.
And then I remembered where I was.
Bastien’s cabin. A smile spread across my face. This was my new life now. Sleeping with this giant lumberjack and waking up right next to his massive dick, already leaking.
Bastien slept sprawled on his back (as if he didn’t even move during the whole night), covers kicked almost entirely off at some point during the heat of the night, his cock spotting a proud morning erection.
God.
Morning light softened him. One powerful arm rested over his chest while the other hung lazily off the side of the mattress, rough fingers inches from the floor.
His mouth was slightly open. The sight was so unfairly tender I could have taken a picture, just for the bad days.
Well… One small picture won’t hurt, right?
So I did it. I took my phone out, silently, and captured this wonderful man sleeping, my new husband, my summer love, peacefully dreaming. This enormous, rough-handed man who split logs and barked orders to students all day somehow looked so cute now.
I slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him. The wooden floor creaked traitorously beneath my feet, but Bastien only grunted softly and shifted onto his side.
I showered quickly, keeping the water low and the bathroom door nearly shut. Making sure I was clean back there, I also stated fingering me a bit, some pre-training stretching couldn’t hurt.
By the time I came back into the main room wrapped in a towel, steam still clinging to my skin, Bastien hadn’t moved much. I went for the wardrobe and fetched some more of his ex-wife clothes, trying to select the ones that would fit me the best.
I stood there for a moment just trying on some of her dresses, until I found the right one.
It struck me suddenly how domestic this all felt. And since he had done so much for me so far, I decided to do something for him.
The kitchen corner was small, but Bastien had surprisingly decent ingredients: farm eggs, thick country bread, some butter, a weird local brand of coffee and some fruits.
Since I didn’t know exactly what he liked for breakfast, I found peaches in a bowl near the window and sliced them carefully while the coffee brewed and I starting making an omelette.
And finally, from the bedroom area, a low sleepy groan.
I looked up just as Bastien pushed himself upright, hair completely wrecked, beard flattened strangely on one side from the pillow.
He blinked toward me, and for a second, he just stared.
“…What’s all this?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.
“Breakfast,” I answered softly.
Bastien rubbed a hand over his face, then looked back at me standing by the stove.
The surprise in his expression slowly melted into something softer. Warmer.
Almost boyish.
“Well, fuck,” he muttered quietly. “That’s a hell of a thing to wake up to.”
Heat rushed immediately to my cheeks.
“You didn’t have to sweetie.”
“Well… after that grattin yesterday, I had to make a move.”
He stood, stretching slowly, every muscle in his back and arms moving in a delicious ballet. Then he crossed the room toward me without hesitation and wrapped one heavy arm around my waist, completely naked.
I laughed softly as he pulled me against him, still half-asleep and warm from bed.
“You spoil all your husbands like this?” he murmured against my hair.
“Only you.”
A sleepy laugh rumbled in his chest.
Then Bastien leaned down, pressed a slow kiss to my temple, and stayed there for a second longer than necessary, holding me close while the morning sun spilled gold across the cabin floor.
“Thank you for this Amanda. How about we eat all that, before we go for a walk.”
“I’ll love that hon’.”
“Perfect.” He caressed my butt, smiling. “This suits you so well. Can’t wait to train your hole for me.”
“Can’t wait either.”
“My beloved wife.”
I turned to him and grabbed his waist before pulling him even closer:
“Thanks for tonight. Thanks for everything.”
Without a word, he hugged me back.
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