III
The Woodsman along the Way
“I know you’re there, boy,” said the woodsman, his massive cock pissing on the trunk of a large tree, “Could smell ya comin’ a mile away.”
Redd froze behind the copse of trees he was hiding behind. He knew he shouldn’t have travelled so far off the beaten path. Grandfather’s sweat and cum-stained letter was clear about that much if nothing else. The Hundred Bator Woods were a place of magic. Of ravenous beasts and rapacious bandits.
It was also a profoundly lonely place, the woods. Dark and cold. A place where Redd thought he heard voices calling his name. Or felt eyes watching him from the shadows.
Naturally, the boy in the little red riding hood went to investigate when he heard a man taking a leak nearby. The prospect of finding another living, breathing person too tempting to resist . . . even if it was a bandit what just wanted to take Redd’s body as his own. What’s more was that Redd wasn’t sure he’d resist, that he wouldn’t just give his naked boy body over to a stranger willingly. Since stepping into the woods, that familiar need in Redd’s loins was almost overwhelming, all-consuming. How he longed to feel that delicious stretch again deep inside him.
What he found in the woods was a mountain of a man. Unruly blond hair what kissed his broad shoulders. Thick beard and stashe. Skin baked a golden brown over steely muscles sculpted from a life chopping down trees in the woods. One giant hand was planted against the trunk of the tree he was watering, the other holding that impressive dick. Long as Redd’s forearm and nigh as thick. A pair of heavy tanks the size of fat lemons what hung underneath, bloated and full.
Does everyone in the woods have such large dongs? wondered the boy in the little red riding hood remembering the dwarven woodsman what delivered his grandfather’s letter.
“You can come out now,” said the woodsman, his icy blue eyes ticking to the big wood axe lying nearby. Not that he expected trouble from the boy in the little red riding hood. But a lifetime in the woods had made him cautious. And one could never be too careful in the woods.
The boy what stepped into the clearing was naked save the little red riding cloak he wore. A cloak, the woodsman saw, what did little and less to hide the voluptuous form underneath. All pale skin and fiery ginger pubes, and sporting a boycunt where his dong should be.
The woodsman looked away, back down at his cock. A cock what had plumped considerably even mid-piss. He’d never seen a cuntboy before. Though the woodsman had heard about them plenty. Boys born with a vagina where their cocks belonged. Some said it was nature. Others claimed it was just more of the mad king’s wicked magic turning boys into abominations like the manimals what stalk the realm like mindless breeding stock.
“Sorry to, uhm, interrupt you, I know it’s, uhm, bad manners to watch a man when he’s, uh, you know,” Redd stammered, his green eyes ticking to the powerful stream still arcing from the woodsman’s fat tip. His pussy clenched behind the baker’s basket Redd held in front of him like a shield, fresh boy slick forming on his slit. His fingers tightened around the cock-crux hanging from the cord around his neck. The damn thing hadn’t stopped pulsing since Redd stepped foot in the woods.
“Yet here you are,” said the woodsman, those sharp blue eyes watching the boy in the little red riding hood with a mix of suspicion and arousal.
Redd swallowed hard, trying to ignore the growing need in the depths of his belly, the trickle of slick escaping down his inner thigh. “Right, uh, sorry,” he apologized again, “It’s just, uhm, I’m on my way to my grandfather’s house, you see. He lives somewhere in these woods. He’s taken to his bed with a fever and sent for me and, well, I was just wondering if you might be able to point me in the right direction.”
The woodsman returned his attention to his dick, his piss stream finally beginning to slow. “Back the way ya came, if ya know what’s good for ya,” he offered the boy gruffly, “Ain’t safe for boys like you out here in the woods.”
Redd felt a flash of hot anger what replaced the carnal need between his legs. He clutched the baker’s basket tighter and stamped his bare foot, scowling at the back of the woodsman’s shaggy blond head.
“Why does everyone keep telling me that, to stay out of the woods,” he demanded, “Like I’m a little boy or something. Like I can’t take care of myself. Like I haven’t been doing just fine all on my own all this time, thank you very much. No thanks to you lot of lunkheads what can’t see past your own throbbing pricks to the boy behind the cunt. Now, I’m off on my own and you all wanna play white knight. Suddenly men everywhere have an opinion about what I do and where I go. Well, no thank you and never you mind. I’ll find my way to Grandfather’s house all on my own.”
And with that, Redd stormed off into the trees.
The woodsman watched him go, shaking the last few droplets of piss from his dick before stuffing his fat hog back in his trousers. The kid had spunk if nothing else. And spunk could go a long way in the woods. It could also get a boy captured or worse. The woodsman had seen it happen too many times. The peril a boy poses not just to himself but to the whole of the realm when that boy is left to his own devices in the woods.
The woodman groaned and snatched up his wood axe. “Heya kid, hold up a minute, will ya?” he called after the boy in the little red riding hood.
He wasn’t hard to track. Not with the smell of boy cunt and cum what clung to the boy like a bad cologne. And when the woodsman caught up, he found Redd standing there amongst the trees looking confused and muttering to himself as he studied what appeared to be a crude map of the woods.
“. . . was right here, I know it was,” Redd was saying. He scanned the dark woods. Looked back at Grandfather’s map. And searched the shadowy trees again, “Surely I didn’t stray so far from the path that I lost my way.”
He never heard the woodsman come up behind him, the big guy’s footfalls feather soft. “It’s the magic of the woods,” said the woodsman, startling Redd out of his map and causing the boy to whip around to face the woodsman eye-to-eye. His little red riding cloak swirled around him, exposing the naked boy flesh underneath. The woodsman’s gaze ticked to that soft, pliant mound between Redd’s legs, his face heating slightly before tearing his eyes away from the redhead’s vulnerable cleft. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“The path, I mean,” the woodsman started over, “It tends to disappear if ya step off it. I think it’s meant to mix boys like you up in the head. It’s why I always tell boys what go traipsin’ through the woods to hold fast to the beaten path else they’re like to go and get themselves lost.”
Redd’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you followed me? To gloat?”
The woodsman’s eyes flashed wide. “What? N-No, o’ course not! I just came cause . . . it’s just you’re all lone ‘n . . . errrgh, seven hells, kid, you’re as dense as the rest o’ them. Dense as that tree I’s just drainin’ me dragon on. Look, why don’tcha just come back to camp with me. We can wait out the path there. Hells, might even see ya through the woods meself, see ya don’t go ‘n get yourself in anymore trouble. How’s that sound, aye?”
A beat of silence passed between them and, for a moment, the woodsman thought he had the kid. That Redd might actually go along with the idea willingly enough. But Redd only folded his hands over the handle of the basket and doubled down.
“No.”
The woodsman blinked at him. “No? What in the hells you mean no?”
“I mean no,” Redd repeated indignantly, ignoring the throbbing pulse of the cock-crux around his neck, “I’ve made it this far by myself, I can make it the rest of the way to Grandfather’s house, too. I’m certainly not going off with some stranger I found pissing out in the wild like some feral beast. And I certainly don’t need some brute helping me find my dear old gran—"
The whispers came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. They flooded his head. Made his mind feel all swimmy. The world seemed to tip sideways, spilling Redd into the nearest tree. His knees suddenly jelly, he grasped at the rough bark, desperate to stay on his feet.
“Look at him . . .”
“So furry . . .”
“Hairy as Father . . .”
“Go to him . . .”
“Obey . . .”
“You, uh . . . you ok there, bub?” the woodsman asked, studying the boy in the little red riding hood with a curious expression.
Instead of answering, Redd staggered up to the bigger man like a drunkard in a pub ready to start a fight. But rather than raising his fists, Redd planted the flat of his hands against the man’s broad, hairy chest, splaying his fingers through all that thick male fur before trailing those same fingers down his furry belly and hooking them down the front of the man’s trousers.
The woodsman took a startled, jerky step back. “Whoa there, kid, whaddya think you’re—”
The words froze in his throat when he looked in Redd’s eyes, into the twin pools of swirling color there. Kaleidoscopes of swirling pinks and purples and greens and yellows what made the woodsman’s mind shatter right then and there, and what made his cock plump and thicken down the leg of his pants.
“Look at it . . .”
“So big . . .”
“Bigger than father . . .”
“Take him . . .”
“Obey . . .”
The woodsman could only watch, paralyzed by the magic in the ginger-haired boy’s swirling eyes as Redd dropped slowly, almost mechanically to his knees in the tall grass in front of him, fingers already working at the laces of his trousers. Already freeing the woodsman’s heavy erection from its prison. Thick and veiny. The fat helmet already drooling underneath a long foreskin.
“Swallow him . . .”
“Every inch . . .”
“To the root . . .”
“Obey . . .”
Redd kept their gaze locked as he stretched his lips around the woodsman’s bloated knob, his mouth flooding with masculine flavor. Salty sweat and musk. The almost honeyed taste of the woodsman’s precum on his tongue. Redd moaned, the sound vibrating through the woodsman’s shaft and into his heavy balls as he stretched his mouth wider to accommodate even more, to swallow more.
“Deeper . . .”
“All the way . . .”
“To the root . . .”
“Down the back of your throat . . .”
“Do it . . .”
“Obey . . .”
“Nnngh . . . s-something’s wrong,” the woodsman managed to grunt out. He knew this magic. Had seen it used before. But where? He couldn’t remember. Not that he could remember much as he gazed into the redhead’s hypnotic eyes, fingers tightening around the haft of the axe. His other hand tightening into a fist as if to fistfight this invisible force holding him in place. It was as if all the woodsman’s considerable strength was being poured into maintaining even a sliver of his sanity.
“S-Somethin’ . . . ain’t right,” warned the woodsman, “Got . . . gotta stop this . . . gotta fight it,” he grunted, but the boy in the little red riding hood didn’t hear. Or else he didn’t listen. Redd’s mind replaced wholly by swirling color. By carnal male need what demanded he take even more of the woodsman in his mouth, down his throat. To taste him. Feel the other man inside him.
His mouth strained wider around the woodsman, the ache in his jaw bordering on painful as he swallowed more of the man’s immense cock. It was getting harder to breathe. Tears mingled with the sweat what lathered his flushed face. The taste of the woodsman all but forgotten as that fat dickhead teased at the back of Redd’s throat, activating his gag reflex even as Redd’s gaze stayed fixed on the bigger man’s lidded eyes.
“Deeper . . .”
“All the way down . . .”
“Choke on it . . .”
“Die on it . . .”
“Obey . . .”
Redd clawed at the woodsman’s tree trunk thighs as if to push the woodsman away, to pull his mouth off the man’s immense cock meat. Instead, the woodsman watched on, hypnotized by the boy in the little red riding hood as Redd throated himself even deeper on the woodsman’s rigid manhood, effectively cutting off whatever was left of Redd’s air supply. The woodsman watched, helpless as those twin pools of colors bulged wide in the ginger-haired boy’s sweaty face. As the boy in the little red riding hood effectively choked himself out on the woodsman’s fat cock. Gagging. Throat muscles straining around that huge dickhead. The size of a crabapple plugging Redd’s throat completely.
Neither of them noticed the huge, slimy snake what had drooled out of one of the trees until it was too late. Diamond-shaped head dancing back and forth in the shadows. Eyes swirling with the same pinks and greens and yellows what swirled in Redd’s eyes. Tongue darting in and out, tasting the pair’s lust on the air, their fear.
Lightning fast, the snake struck. Long, drippy fangs sank into the soft meat around Redd’s shoulder, effectively breaking the hypnotic spell as the boy in the little red riding hood felt himself tossed bodily through the air as if he was nothing more than a child’s plaything, Redd’s body seizing before he ever hit the ground again.
The snake’s head whipped back around to face the woodsman. The big man had dropped his axe and had staggered back a few steps, the woodsman holding his shaggy blond head in both hands, the world spinning maddeningly around him while his rigid fuck meat bobbed ridiculously out in front of him.
“Aaat laaassssst, fressshhh meeeeat,” hissed the snake.
The woodsman knew that voice, had squared off against this particular brand of manimal more than once.
“Skaa.”
“Fooood!” hissed Skaa, rearing his ugly head back and striking out again viper fast. But this time, the woodsman was ready. He was also faster. His fingers closed around the man-snake-thing’s throat in a crushing fist before those poisoned fangs got anywhere near him. Skaa’s eyes bulged wide, the color blinking out of them, a choking kof jumping out of him a heartbeat before the woodsman flicked his wrist and cracked the giant snake like a giant whip. And the beast made no other sound other than the sickening cracking crunch of its own spine breaking before Skaa fell limp in the woodsman’s grasp.
The woodsman had no time to celebrate, however, as a choking, gurgling gasp interrupted his would-be victory. The woodsman dropped the manimal and went to where the boy in the little red riding hood lay thrashing against the cold earth in the throes of some sort of seizure. Eyes rolled back in his head. Frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog.
The puncture marks from Skaa’s bite looked bad, already infected. Dark blue veins extended from the holes. The flesh around them a concerning shade of purple. Hot to the touch. The boy already burning with fever.
The woodsman wasted no time tugging off his boots and shucking down his trousers. In no time at all, he stood naked over the boy in the little red riding hood, his cock jutting off his powerful body. Leaky with unspent male need. The shaft still slick with the boy’s throat slime.
He knelt between Redd’s legs, planting one hand on the boy’s smooth chest to keep him still while his other hand parted Redd’s trembling thighs. The woodsman didn’t need to be a man of science to see that the boy in the little red riding hood was in the throes of orgasm as he lay seizing on the ground.
Stroking the large head of his prick against the boy’s drooling snatch, the woodsman could feel the muscles twitchy and spasming against his fleshy knob. His precum leaked against Redd’s lips, his slit, their juices mixing. A light balm for whatever poison currently coursed through the boy’s veins. The woodsman didn’t know how it worked. No more than he knew his way around a boy’s pussy. Only that it did. And that he would have to learn fast if he wanted to save this boy’s life.
With a shuddering breath, the woodsman pushed himself into the boy in the little red riding hood. The boy opened for him at once. Surprising, what with his considerable size. And the woodsman moaned when he felt Redd’s slick walls close around him like a sleeve. The boy had been fucked. Perhaps as recently as this morning. His cunt still gooey with the remnants of their coupling. It was how the woodsman knew he was being watched. The boy’s scent had preceded him on the wind. And if he could smell the boy in the little red riding hood from a woodland mile away . . . well then, small wonder Skaa had tracked the boy the way he did.
The woodsman pushed more of himself into Redd. He looked so small and vulnerable underneath him, shuddering and shaking. Back arched. Hips bucking, trying to sink more of the woodsman’s immense girth inside him. The woodsman’s arms strained to keep himself perched above the boy so as to not crush his smaller body beneath him or tear him in two with his massive dick.
His thrusts were short, measured. Hips slowly rocking. Back and forth. In and out. Gradually growing quicker as the woodsman neared his climax. But the closer he got, the woodsman found himself staring at the cock-crux tied to the leather string around Redd’s throat. He’d noticed it the moment the boy stepped into that clearing. It stood out because he’d seen a group of men a few days past wearing something similar. Some sort of cock-shaped pendant carved from some kind of wood the woodsman had never seen before.
He reached down and traced the intricately carved veins in the shaft, the fat mushroom head at the tip. The thing felt alive. Practically vibrating against the redhead’s smooth, pale chest. When he wrapped his hand around it, swallowing the talisman in his huge fist, it was like catching a bolt of lightning in his hand. His body seized, cock sinking far deeper into the boy in the little red riding hood than the woodsman ever intended to go. That should have been possible. At the same time, he felt his load yanked out of his balls. Weeks’ worth of tainted woodland seed flooding the ginger-haired boy’s body. Redd’s body gave a shuddering jerk underneath him. A moan. And then he collapsed back on the cold hard ground, his body still, his breath even.
The woodsman took another moment to gather himself. His mind was still buzzing. The cock-crux quiet once more in his fist. He looked down at the boy in the little red riding hood. At the place where they were still connected. Redd’s cunt stretched tight around more than half the woodsman’s fat length.
This was no ordinary boy. At least, not like the ones what the woodsman usually came across out here in the woods. Nobody sent for a boy to come into the woods. Not without some ulterior motive.
Or unless it’s a trap.
“What’ve you gotten yourself into, kid,” said the woodsman, and withdrew his softening cock from the boy’s pliant, young cunt.
***
Redd awoke later inside a makeshift tent. The air crisp around him. The promising warmth of a crackling fire outside, along with the fragrant aroma of roasting meat.
Redd’s grumbling belly finished waking him up. He sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes, immediately wincing at the pain in his shoulder. The woodsman had cleaned and dressed his wounds. Wounds what the boy in the little red riding hood had no memory of obtaining. Not that Redd remembered much. Last thing he remembered for sure was arguing with the woodsman. And then his world became swirling color and submission as he floated on wave after wave of euphoric ecstasy.
A shudder ran through him and Redd made to pull his cloak tighter around his shoulders only to find it missing. The baker’s basket and cock-crux were also gone. Pushing the flap of the tent to the side, he saw that it was night. The sky bright with starlight. A pregnant moon suspended high in the night’s sky.
So much for making it to Grandfather’s house before dark, thought Redd, almost scared now to leave the makeshift tent. Terrible things happened to boys like him in the woods at night. At least, that was what Redd always heard. And with the wolf of the woods stalking the trees looking for boys like Redd for what to devour . . .
He found himself in a small clearing. A cozy little makeshift campsite the woodsman must have busied himself with while Redd was out cold. A ring of trees surrounded them on all sides. Tall and dark and ominous. The shadows, thick and heavy, almost palpable, only pushed aside by the small campfire what crackled lazily in the middle of the camp. Some sort of meat spit and sputtered, grease sizzling and popping over the open flames.
Redd’s mouth flooded with saliva, and he swallowed hard as his belly gave another embarrassing rumble. He’d been out for hours. Which meant he hadn’t eaten in hours. He was starving! And that meat, whatever it was, smelled delicious!
The woodsman sat atop a felled log opposite the dancing flames. Powerful thighs man-spread wide. Rugged, bearded face bathed in firelight. Those piercing blue eyes fixed on something in his big hand. Grandfather’s letter. The magic woven into the fibers of the strange, cum-stained parchment causing the woodsman’s cock to pulse maddeningly against his thick, hairy inner-thigh. The dick print in his trousers visible to anyone what had eyes to see.
“Hey, that’s mine,” Redd scolded, his face flushing red as his hair.
“Huh?” The woodsman looked up. He’d all but forgotten about the boy in the red riding hood what he’d saved from Skaa’s deadly poison. The boy he’d fucked his magic load into to counteract the poison. The one he desperately wanted to rape another load into even now as he looked upon the fiery-haired boy, nude and on complete display.
Whatever magic is baked into this letter, thought the woodsman, It be strong. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
He handed the letter over and watched with those spearing blue eyes as Redd exhibited the same visceral response to touching the parchment as he’d exhibited when the woodsman found the letter in the inner pocket of his cloak.
Redd choked down a moan, his cunt clenching greedily between his smooth thighs. Firelight sparked off the fresh boyslick and spent cum glazing his pussy, matting his orange pubes like fresh dewdrops first thing in the morning.
“And that?” Redd asked, his voice husky and raw. Those captivating green eyes ticked to the cock-crux still clutched in the woodsman’s other meaty fist. The pulse within the ancient wood long since gone quiet. The woodsman stroked a thumb over the fat cockhead carved there. How real it felt. Like real flesh and blood.
“Where did you get this?” asked the woodsman, “Who gave it to you?”
“A friend of mine,” Redd admitted sheepishly. Though, Redd doubted he could call Eli his friend. The man was scarce more than another face in a sea of faces Redd had given himself to back in his village, “A baker,” he said, “Said it was meant to break some curse.”
“Hmm,” grunted the woodsman, eyes fixed to the intricately carved wood. No longer believing it was happenstance alone what brought his own path in line with the boy in the little red riding hood.
In the woods, few things were best left to chance.
“Group of fellas came wanderin’ through a few nights back wearin’ somethin’ like this round their throats,” said the woodsman, “Old guys what were all wearin’ the same white robes.”
“That would be the Brotherhood,” said Redd, “They’re the ones what gave my baker friend the cock-crux in the first place. To break his curse. He gave it to me after, well . . . after I broke his curse,” Redd chuckled. It all sounded so absurd admitting out loud. But the woodsman only nodded curtly. Like this was all common place here in the woods.
“Mhm,” the man grunted again, “You be a witch, then.”
Redd’s eyes flashed wide. “W-What? N-no, not at all, I don’t even know if I believe in all that magic stuff. My baker friend did, though. Said it was a witch what cursed him,” he told the woodsman.
“Best start believin’ yourself, kid,” the woodsman said, “Cause out here ‘n the woods, magic sure as the hells believe in you.” He started to hand the cock-crux over to the boy in the little red riding hood but jerked it back at the last minute.
“And there only be one Brotherhood out here ‘n the woods. Only brotherhood what matters, that is,” the woodsman sneered, “And that be me brothers o’ the woods. Men what swear an oath to see boys like you through the woods in one piece . . . or close enough.”
“That’s reassuring,” Redd said, taking the cock-crux back from the man and slipping it back around his neck. The familiar pulse within the ancient wood throbbed against his chest, and Redd found himself stroking the intricate veins and shaft as he spoke.
“It was one of your brothers, I think, who delivered me my grandfather’s letter,” Redd told him, watching the other man’s brow crease deep as the woodsman frowned through his blond beard.
“One of me brothers? A brother o’ the woods? Impossible,” the big man grumbled, half to himself, “Who? It couldn’t be. What did this woodsman look like? Not that I expect treason from one o’ me own brothers, ya see. I’ll kill him meself if I find out—”
“Kill him?” Redd squeaked, eyes wide, “No, don’t kill the poor thing! I’d have never known my grandfather was sick if Torq didn’t come to me with . . . oh no.”
The woodsman’s eyes were two icy daggers pointed directly at Redd. He stood up to his full height. An imposing man when seated. An absolute beast when he was on his feet. The woodsman gazed down at him, fists clenched at his sides.
“Come,” said the woodsman, his voice gathering thunder in his broad, hairy chest, “It would seem you ‘n me have much ‘n more to discuss this night. But not on an empty stomach. And there be plenty. Skaa was a huge beast! Nowhere near as big as his brother. But he’ll do in a fairy’s pinch.”
“Skaa?”
Suddenly, the woodsman couldn’t look the boy in the little red riding hood in the eye, remembering first what Skaa the serpent had made the ginger-haired boy do to him, and then what the woodsman was forced to do to Redd in order to save his life.
“Like I said, kid, you ‘n me . . . we’ve got much ‘n more to discuss,” said the woodsman, “Now, let’s eat. Hope you like snake.”
***
Redd had never tried snake before, but it was good. The meat nice and crunchy. Seasoned as if an actual chef had made the meal. It was the best supper Redd had in longer than he could remember!
The woodsman had also used some of the drippings from the snake to whip up a type of gravy, and even found some wild turnips to roast up and pour it over. In addition, Redd shared some of the cheese from his basket, as well as some of his bread and a honied raspberry jam the baker had snuck into his stash when Redd wasn’t looking.
Naturally, the woodsman waited until the boy in the little red riding hood had eaten his fill before telling him who he’d just eaten.
Redd blinked at the big man like he just made a joke. Then he remembered. The woodsman didn’t have a jocular bone in his body. Redd thought he might be sick.
“Are you telling me you made me eat the thing that nearly killed me?” Redd fumed, “That did this to me?” He gestured to the bandage on his shoulder. The wound itself a little itchy underneath.
“I didn’t make you do anything,” said the woodsman, sopping up gravy from his plate with the rest of his bread, “You looked like to rip my arm off if I didn’t cut you off a piece o’ Skaa’s meaty arse,” he added over his mouthful. When he swallowed, the woodsman said, “Skaa is one o’ the Great Beasts o’ the woods. One o’ the original manimals what were turned by the mad king’s runaway magic. Less man ‘n animal these days. Or . . . was,” the woodsman added with a satisfied sneer.
“Was he . . .” Redd swallowed hard. He could almost feel the snake—Skaa—slithering around the inside of his belly, still alive, “Was he poisonous?”
The woodsman nodded.
“And you saved me? After all those things I said to you?” Redd said, “How? Why?”
“Told ya, woodsmen take an oath,” the woodsman said, setting aside his plate, “It’s the how o’ it all where things get a li’l messy.”
Redd listened with rapt attention, his cunt growing wetter and wetter as the woodsman recounted his tale of killing Skaa, one of the Great Beasts of the woods. How he’d found Redd seizing, flopping around like a fish out of water and coming his fool brains out of his boy twat. And how the woodsman used his giant woodland dong to fuck the poison out of his system.
“So . . . what? Your cum is magic or something?” Redd asked innocently enough.
The woodsman shrugged his brawny shoulders. “Something like that,” he admitted, “Don’t really know how it works. Just that it does.”
“And, uhm, how’d you find out about these, er, powers of yours?” Redd pressed.
The woodsman felt his face go warm and he shifted uncomfortably on his log. “Let’s just say you ain’t be the first lost boy I came across in these woods.”
Redd stood up and moved to the log with the woodsman sitting on it. His little red riding cloak blew behind him. Nice and clean after the woodsman washed it for him and hung it near the fire to dry. He didn’t mind the way the big man’s eyes ticked over his naked body. Somehow, that steely gaze felt safe. Altogether different than the way men look at him back in his village.
“I would hear more of your adventures here in the woods,” Redd told the woodsman, “If and when you are ready to tell them.”
He placed his hand on the woodsman’s thick thigh. The muscle under his trousers like granite under Redd’s fingers. The woodsman shifted uncertainly. “So, you ain’t . . . pissed?” he asked cautiously?”
Redd shook his head. “I just wish I could remember it, sounds like it was hot,” he smirked.
“A thousand lifetimes could come ‘n go, ‘n I’ll still remember,” said the woodsman.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Into each other’s eyes. At the firelight dancing there. Until the woodsman realized his hand had moved to cover Redd’s hand on his thigh. That he was half hard again in his trousers.
The woodsman shot to his feet. “C’mon kid, whaddya say we getcha cleaned up ‘n presentable again for your paps, ay?”
***
He led Redd to a secluded hot spring so they could wash up. The woodsman couldn’t help but let his eyes drink in the sight of the boy in the little red riding hood as he disrobed. The creamy complexion. The tight waist. The round curves of his bouncy boy butt.
The boy was special. There was no doubting that much. Special in a way the woodsman didn’t understand. In a way the boy had yet to understand himself. And not because of what was between his legs. This was something else. Something . . . powerful.
A sigh slipped out of Redd’s lips when he sank into the bubbling soup of the hot spring. How long had it been since he had a nice hot bath? The hot water did wonders to soothe some of his achy muscles, still sore from the poison what had wracked his young body earlier. The heat also helped knock some of the chill of the woods from his bones.
He turned his attention to the strapping woodsman stripping down nearby. My hero, thought Redd as he drank in all those rippling muscles under all that male fur. Redd definitely had a type. Big and strong and hairy. Like Father, he thought, remembering the way his father’s furry pecs and hard belly felt under his touch.
Redd chewed his lip when the woodsman pushed his trousers down and that heavy cock came bounding out from between his legs. Long and thick and already half-hard. The same cock what the woodsman had fucked into him earlier. And Redd felt a familiar heat drool from his core and into his cunt.
It wasn’t until the woodsman bent to retrieve something from his pack and flashed Redd a good long look at the furry blond boulders what made up his butt that Redd finally tore his attention away from the man and back to the woods.
“So, uhm, how long you think before the path returns?” Redd asked.
He tried not to stare as the bigger man stalked over and lowered the bulk of his hairy body into the hot spring with Redd. So much bigger than the boy in the little red riding hood. His large, hairy frame consuming most of the spring all by himself. And when their legs brushed together underwater, Redd felt a jolt of electricity. Something like a flutter of butterflies taking flight in his belly.
“A few hours,” said the woodsman, “Days. Weeks. Hard to tell with the magic o’ the woods up ‘n movin’ the damn thing all the time. But don’t worry that pretty li’l head o’ yours, kid, I got me a good long look at that map o’ yours. I’ll getcha to your pap’s in one piece,” he promised.
“Or close enough,” Redd smirked.
“Heh, right kid, close enough,” said the woodsman, ‘N have me a nice long talk with your gran pap when we get there, he plotted to himself, Startin’ with why he up ‘n fetched this boy outta his life ‘n into the woods, “Now, turn around.”
Redd shot the man a suspicious but coy look and the woodsman felt his face heat all over again. He held up the bar of soap he’d fetched from his pack. A dark rectangle of charcoal gray. Already sudsy in the man’s giant fist.
“I’ll, er . . . get your back,” the woodsman offered.
Redd couldn’t resist the big guy even if he wanted to. The woodsman looked so innocent. Out of his element. And they call me naïve. The redhead turned around, presenting the woodsman his shoulders and back. Neither Redd nor the woodsman’s feet touched the bottom of the spring. The heat and bubbles the only thing keeping them afloat. Their bodies so close Redd would have sworn he heard the woodsman’s heart thudding in his hairy chest. The beat of his own heart matching the pulse of the cock-crux.
Redd shuddered when the woodsman began lathering soap onto his shoulders. Up his neck and down his back. Not only did the woodsman’s strong fingers kneading at his muscles feel like a slice of paradise. But because the soap made his skin feel funny. All warm and tingly wherever it touched.
“Mmm, feels good,” Redd moaned. He couldn’t help himself, “Feels . . . fizzy,” he said.
“Shade willow,” said the woodsman, “Good for gettin’ all that man stink off o’ ya.”
“Are you saying I stink?” Redd laughed, only slightly affronted.
“After what you ‘n I did back there . . . well, you might not remember it, but I do. And between you ‘n me, kid, we need a bath. Last thing we need when we set out in the mornin’ is for the wolf o’ the woods to track us down just by our scent.”
The woodsman wrapped one strong, muscley arm around Redd’s waist, the younger boy’s smooth body stiffening against his bigger, hairier frame as he brought the bar of soap to the redhead’s smooth chest. Even without touching it, the woodsman could feel the power radiating of the cock-crux.
“May I?”
“O-ok,” Redd agreed.
The woodsman started to lather him up but stopped after a moment. “Without this,” he said, snatching the cock-crux off the boy’s neck and tossing it out of the spring and over by Redd’s cloak, “Don’t trust it,” he said, and Redd nodded. He wasn’t sure he trusted the baker’s cock-crux himself. Nobody seemed to know what the damn thing did other than hum and vibrate. It certainly hadn’t served him the way the baker said it might.
As the woodsman’s big hands, so rough and soft at the same time, began moving again over his body, making his skin buzz and tingle under a layer of fragrant suds, Redd tried to ignore the new heat beginning to build between his legs. That need Redd had long since learned was part of it, part of having a boy cunt.
“So, uhm . . . th-the big bad wolf,” said Redd by way of distraction, “He’s, uhm, real? Another manimal like Skaa?”
“Aye,” said the woodsman, “Another Great Beast o’ the woods. Men’ve been huntin’ him long as I’ve been ali—”
“Oooh . . .”
The woodsman’s hand stopped what it was doing when he felt Redd’s soapy, naked body tense against his powerful body. That was when he felt where his hand was, the bar of soap. At some point he had dipped the bar of soap beneath the bubbling surface of the water and between Redd’s smooth thighs.
“Oh, er, sorry kid, I—” he started to pull his hand away, the bar of soap, but Redd held him in place.
“No, please, it . . . feels amazing,” Redd said, giving himself over to the sensations overloading his young brain right now, his young pussy. The fizzing and buzzing and effervescing on his boy mound, on his stiff little boyclit. The woodsman, sensing he knew where this was headed, doubled down with the shade willow. Stroking gentle little circles with the corner of the soap on Redd’s sensitive nub. Making his body shake and tremble all over.
“I . . . oh my gods, I think . . . I think you’re gonna make me . . . uuuuhhhyyyuuuuhnnh!” Redd practically came apart at the seams when he came. His body thrashing about until the woodsman’s strong arm wrapped tighter around him, squeezing his back to the bigger man’s hairy front. The soap still teasing at Redd’s convulsing cunt as he rode out his pleasure on the woodsman’s strange soap.
“That . . . was . . . nngh . . . d-different,” Redd puffed in the woodsman’s strong arms, various muscles still twitching with aftershocks of pleasure.
“Yeah, should’ve told ya the shade willow be a might powerful aphrodisiac before we started,” admitted the woodsman, “But it does the job,” he said, “Gets all that man stink off your—”
Redd whipped around so fast even Skaa might have been jealous. His lips cut the woodsman short mid-sentence. The woodsman’s eyes blowing wide before sinking shut, falling into the kiss . . . into the touch of another boy. It had been too long since he’d left his brothers. Too long since he’d known this type of male intimacy.
Redd’s hand fell underwater with a heavy plunk. He wasn’t surprised to find the woodsman hard as a rock. His manhood rigid and so hot in Redd’s hands he thought that cock alone supplied the heat to the springs. His legs floated up and hooked around the woodsman’s hips as Redd guided that impossibly fat head to his opening.
Gods, how on earth did we ever do this the first time, thought Redd pensively, The man his huge!
“You, errr, sure ‘bout this, kid?” asked the woodsman. Those blue eyes spearing into Redd’s innocent green ones, into the depths of the boy’s very soul.
“I don’t even know your name,” said Redd, shy for the first time perhaps ever in his life.
My name, thought the woodsman, Fates be kind, when was the last time someone asked me name in the woods?
“Trentyn,” said the woodsman, “But you can call me Trent.”
Redd dropped the shy act, letting an eager grin drool onto his sweaty face, his green eyes bright and hungry. A hunger what might have even rivaled that of the big bad wolf of the woods.
“Then yeah, Trent, I’m sure about this,” Redd said, his voice so low it was nearly a growl, “I’m sure I want you to fuck me full of that giant cock of yours. And this time . . .” He leaned in and stole another kiss from the woodsman’s bearded lips, “I’m gonna be awake for every lurid minute of it.”
Redd rolled his hips forward, kissing the man’s lips even as that flared helmet kissed his eager young cunt. For a moment, Redd thought he wouldn’t fit. That the woodsman was just too big. His opening far too small to accommodate the mammoth hog the woodsman sported between his legs.
But then he felt the woodsman’s big, calloused hands on his bare ass. Pushing Redd onto his fat meat. Redd’s pussy flowering around him. His walls stretching. Already slick with a mix of his arousal and the orgasm that just shattered Redd’s world.
Redd’s back arched, the moan what was ripped from his lungs nigh a scream. The orgasm what was torn from him nigh imperceptible for that delicious stretch inside his body. Like nothing he ever felt before. Even the woodsman from last night—Torq—didn’t compare to the big, hairy woodsman. Redd felt like he was tearing in half. His body juttering and jerking against the woodsman until the man bottomed out inside him. Even then, the woodsman only held him. Redd’s head resting against his hairy chest. That fat cock nigh hilted in the boy’s impossibly tight cunt. Those strong arms wrapped tight and protective around the boy in the little red riding hood.
“I . . . it’s intense,” Redd admitted as his body adjusted to the manhood what felt as if it was rearranging his insides.
“Whenever you’re ready, kid,” the woodsman growled in his ear.
It wasn’t long. Another minute or two. And Redd felt like he could take it. He lifted his head off the woodsman’s shoulder, meeting the other man’s desperate blue eyes. They didn’t need words. Not in that moment. The woodsman—Trent—could feel Redd’s need as the boy melted around his length, pliant and ready for everything the man gave him.
The woods filled with the sound of their fuck. Animal grunts and heady moans of pleasure as Trent drove himself in and out of Redd’s eager cunt. The slap of wet flesh as Redd rode his own pleasure out on the woodsman’s rigid tool over and over again. In the hot spring. Outside of it. In the grass. Against a tree. Trent even pulled out once at the last minute just to watch the redhead’s overactive cunt squirt all over him only to push his face between Redd’s smooth thighs and dragging rough, scratchy kisses over his puffy pink mound. His nose nudging against Redd’s tortured clit. Tongue darting in and out of Redd’s opening . . . tasting his ginger cunt, tasting himself.
“Uuhhngh,” Redd grunted, startled and more than a little turned on by the act. No one had ever kissed Redd down there before. At least, not since Father, “W-what are you d-doing?” he asked, but Trent only met his eyes, a twinkle in them that hadn’t been there before. And Redd thought he could feel the man smiling around his cunt as he drove Redd over the edge all over again.
And on and on and on it went. So long they lost track of time. The woodsman fucked like a feral beast. Long, punishing thrusts what slammed against Redd’s cervix. Balls slapping. Edging that rigid, underused fuck tool of his in Redd’s pussy. Relishing the squeeze of the boy’s walls around him with each load he fucked out of Redd’s orgasmic little pussy. The moans what bordered on screams what tore from the boy’s throat. So much Trent was sure the boy would be hoarse on the morrow.
He fucked Redd on his knees. On his side. On his back. He allowed the boy to ride him. Something none of his brothers of the woods did for him. Then again, none of them were as eager to take his monster dong up their shitters, either.
And when he tasted the boy. The sweet boy nectar what drooled from his fucked out cunt. Trent thought he might lose his load right then and there. The same load he’d fought desperately to edge out long as he could, to hold onto until Trent could hold it no longer.
“Oh gods!” Redd cried as another orgasm tore through him. His cunt clenched tight around the woodsman as if to hold that mammoth cock in his pussy, “Uuhhgh . . . ahhhh . . . fuuuuck!”
Trent felt himself teetering on the edge. His hips stopped thrusting in the hot spring. Redd was pushed out over the lip of the spring. Trent taking him from behind. As if sensing that he was close, the ginger-haired boy cast him a look over one pale shoulder. His green eyes were lidded, content. His face flush and sweaty. For the first time, the woodsman saw the freckles sprinkling his cute button nose, and something in his chest burst wide open.
“It’s ok,” Redd said, breathless as he gazed back at the woodsman, but Trent only gave a terse shake of his head.
“Not like this,” he told Redd, “I, er . . . kinda wanna look at you when I do it,” Trent confessed, hating the way he blushed like a bloody schoolgirl when he said it, “Like face to face. Like real . . . errrgh, gods never mind, I sound like I’ve been hit by one o’ cupid’s bloody arrows.”
The woodsman moved to pull out and slam himself back in, deep. To finish this and be done with this flutter inside his chest. But Redd put a hand on his hip, stopping him with one of the warmest smiles Trent had ever seen this side of the woods.
“No, I like it,” Redd assured him, “I . . . it sounds nice.”
The woodsman dragged his cock free of the boy’s pussy before pulling himself out of the hot spring. He reached a hand down to help Redd out, too. But when Redd made for the tuft of displaced grass where they’d rolled around together earlier, Trent said, “Wait,” and he went to his pack and pulled out a blanket. He laid the blanket out on the matted grass and weeds before helping Redd onto his back. The woodsman took his place between Redd’s legs. It should be a crime. How easily those thick, creamy thighs opened for him.
Trent gazed into Redd’s eyes and saw the stars reflected in those deep green pools. “You sure ‘bout this, kid?”
Redd nodded; he’d never been more certain of anything in his life. He was trembling like a leaf. Not from the cold. But from his own need. Desperate for more even after the pounding the woodsman gave him all over this little corner of the woods.
“And don’t pull out,” Redd pleaded, his voice long since screamed raw and husky, “I want to feel your release inside me. Every drop. I want you to breed me full of your seed, Trent, will you do that for me?”
The woodsman’s Adam’s apple jumped up and down in his throat. A bead of sweat traced the well of his cheekbone before getting lost in his thick blond beard. Trent offered a terse nod of his head, heart soaring at the smile what ticked onto the boy in the little red riding hood’s pouty red lips.
Redd moaned when he felt himself filled again, Trent’s massive cock sinking halfway to the hilt before bottoming out in Redd’s cunt. So warm. Wetter than anything the woodsman ever felt before. None of his brothers were this soft or got this wet for him.
It didn’t take long. A few strokes. Long and slow. And Trent felt himself at that precipice. His huge balls tightened in his hairy sack, ready to churn out the load the woodsman had been edging up in the young wanderer’s cunt for hours at this point. He said nothing at all. Only took himself over the edge. Sinking one last time in Redd’s juicy pussy before releasing himself deep inside the boy.
Redd felt the liquid heat filling him up with each spurt of the woodsman’s fat cock, each pulse dragging him closer and closer to another orgasm of his own. Other than that delicious heat and a few stuttering breaths, Redd might not have known the woodsman was coming at all. A few muscles in his steely arms twitched. His blue eyes started to flutter shut but Redd said, “Look at me,” and Trent’s eyes ticked once more back to Redd’s, the fire Redd saw there pushing him over the edge of his own bliss.
They laid there a moment more, catching their breath and gathering their senses. They were exhausted, sweaty, and covered in one another’s cum. Neither moved. Neither wanted to move. It was the most comfortable either of them felt with another person in a very long time. Not that either the woodsman or the boy in the little red riding hood dared to put voice to the emotion.
“Promise me,” Trent said instead, “Promise me you’ll let me guide your way through these woods. Thatcha won’t run off ahead o’ me or nothin’ stupid like that. No matter whatcha see or hear in them trees. You’ll wait for me to set off.”
It was the earnestness in the woodsman’s deep, rumbling voice what made Redd agree. Though he hated the thought of waiting even longer to set off for Grandfather’s house. He supposed he didn’t have much of a choice. Not with the trail leading to his grandfather’s mysteriously missing.
“And thank you, Trent,” Redd added.
The woodman blinked at him. “For what?”
“For letting me properly thank you,” Redd winked, and Trent felt his cheeks flush again under his beard.
There I go again, the woodsman complained to himself. To Redd he said, “Now let’s jump back in that spring o’er there. Point o’ comin’ out here in the first place was to get cleaned up. ‘N not just to get dirty again,” and Redd laughed.
Mayhap he was wrong about the guy.
Mayhap the woodsman had a sense of humor after all.
***
They spent the rest of the night lounging by the fire and listening to the crackling flames in contented silence. Trent didn’t protest when Redd posted up between his legs. No more than the boy in the little red riding hood complained when the woodsman tree trunk arms folded protectively around him.
Redd started to protest when the woodsman said he would take the first watch, but a yawn cut his protestations short and gave him away. His first day in the woods and he was exhausted, totally wiped.
“I’ll wake ya when it’s your turn,” Trent said, intending to do nothing of the sort. The boy needed his rest. Especially after the way Trent just tore into him.
“Fine,” the redhead conceded, “But—yaaaawn—wake me when it’s my turn.”
***
It wasn’t the woodsman what woke him that night.
It was the singing.
A man’s voice. Deep and melodic. The haunting lyrics drifting on the quiet of the night like a dark lullaby:
A place for all your fantasies.
You’ll seek relief, you’ll find release
The woods are all you need now.
Redd pushed the flap of the tent aside to find the small clearing blanketed in a dense, gray fog, the woods quiet as a crypt. The only sound a strange, rhythmic stroking sound. Wet and squelchy.
Schlick . . . Schlick . . . Schlick . . .
“Uhm, h-hello? Trent?” Redd called. The sound of his own voice on the eerie quiet of the night chilled him to his bones.
Schlick . . . Schlick . . . Schlick . . . Schlick . . .
Redd tore a scrap off the towel covering his basket and tied it round a thick branch he found lying nearby. Setting it aflame in the dwindling campfire, Redd walked the perimeter looking for the woodsman, looking for Trent. He nearly tripped over the big man’s booted feet when he happened upon him. The woodsman was still sitting on the log where he’d been when Redd left him. Trousers pushed down to his boots. That rigid mammoth cock jutting from its dense nest of pubes.
The woodsman’s greasy fist pump mindlessly up and down the pulsing, veined shaft, masturbating himself with a strange expression on his face. Those icy blue eyes fixed and distant. His jaw slack. A line of drool trailing from his open mouth and disappearing in that wild blond beard.
“What in the—” Redd started, but that man’s voice—his singing—cut him off.
Come with me and you will see
A place for all your fantasies.
You’ll seek relief, you’ll find release
The woods are all you need now.
Redd whipped around, raising his makeshift torch in his hands as if to use it as a weapon, certain the singing had come from behind him. But what he found was even more terrifying . . . dark and lonely, winding its way through the fog.
The beaten path.
The way to Grandfather’s house.
“T-Trent, it’s b-back,” Redd stuttered, scarce believing his eyes, “The path is revealed again. We can set off. Quick! Before it disappears again!”
Schlick . . . Schlick . . . Schlick . . . Schlick . . .
Redd’s shoulders slumped. He had a choice to make here. Stay with the woodsman until morning as he’d promised. Mayhap even break the strange spell the man was under the way he’d done for the baker. Not that Redd knew how he managed to break that spell. Only that Eli believed it could be done.
Or risk losing Grandfather to the strange virus plaguing him, the whole reason Redd ventured out into the woods to begin with.
And so, Redd gathered his cloak and basket, kissed the woodsman on his bearded cheek, and placed the cock-crux around the man’s thick neck with a whispered, “I think you need this more than I do. Find me when this is all over,” and he kissed him again.
Trent stiffened and made a series of indecipherable noises. “Duuuuhhh Gaaaaah,” groaned the woodsman.
Redd splayed his smaller hand on the bigger man’s hairy chest, directly over his heart. Over the cock-crux. He felt the thing pulse once . . . twice . . .
“I’m sorry,” Redd whispered.
. . . and the cock-crux was quiet.
Redd rose, small but defiant, the baker’s basket clutched in his hands. His cloak whipped around him with a snap when he set off into the night, when the boy in the little red riding hood set off into the woods.
Into the woods to Grandfather’s house.
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