Chapter 63: Timber!
The hunters’ seed inside us was a banked fire, a slow-burning fuel that made the forest itself seem to pulse in time with our heartbeats. We stood over their sleeping forms the next morning, hulking, indecent silhouettes against the grey dawn. They’d used us twice more in the night, slack-handed and dreamy, becoming less like predators and more like drowsy, suckling pups. As the light grew, their sleep deepened into something unnatural, a stupor woven from spent lust and the potent oils of our skin.
“They won’t wake for a day, maybe two,” Elara murmured, prodding the big one’s shoulder with her foot. He snorted but didn’t stir.
“Long enough,” I said. The new, volatile energy under my skin demanded movement, purpose. It craved… more.
We left them there, snoring beside their cold fire, and retreated deeper into our territory. The silence was different now. Before, it had been a blanket. Now it was a held breath, a listening quiet. And it was broken not by the cry of a hawk, but by the distant, rhythmic thwock of axes biting into wood.
Cora paused, her head tilting. A slow smile spread across her lips, plump and knowing. “They’re in the old growth. The sentinel pines.”
We moved toward the sound, not as stealthy shadows, but as creatures in their rightful domain. The sharp, clean scent of freshly pledged sap cut through the damp earth smell. Through the trees, we saw them: three men, shirts off, muscles cording with each swing. They were bigger than the hunters, built from labor, not violence. Their bodies gleamed with sweat under the filtered green light.
We stepped into the clearing they were making. One had just felled a massive pine; the air was thick with its dying scent. The axe blows stopped.
The largest of them, a man with a chest like a barrel and a beard thick with wood dust, straightened up. His eyes, a pale blue, didn’t go wide with terror. They narrowed, then swept over us with a practicality that was almost jarring. He saw the impossible proportions, the damp, clinging fabric, our utterly unafraid stance. His gaze lingered on the literal drops of gold beading at the neckline of Cora’s dress.
“Well,” he rumbled, his voice like gravel under a boot. “This ain’t in the contract.”
The youngest, lean and whip-cord strong with arms sleeved in faded tattoos, let his axe head drop to the moss. He didn’t bother hiding his stare as it went straight to the obscene swell of my hips. “Holy fuck, Mitch. You seein’ this?”
The third man, older with salty hair and a permanent squint, wiped his forehead with his arm. “I see it, Jeb. Question is, what is it?”
Mitch, the leader, planted his axe. “Ladies. You’re trespassing on a logging lease.”
I took a step forward, the moss silent under my bare foot. “You’re trespassing in a graveyard. These trees have stood for centuries.”
Jeb let out a low whistle, a greedy light in his eyes. “Listen to her. Got a voice like a goddamn smoky whisky. Bet other things are just as smooth.” He wasn’t afraid. He was assessing, appraising. The sheer physicality of him, the raw power in his shoulders, was a different kind of threat.
Elara crossed her arms beneath her heavy breasts, lifting them. “You talk a lot for a man holding a dead tree.”
The older man, Cal, chuckled darkly. “He’s got a point, though. You three look… fit for purpose. Built for a different kind of hard labor.” His eyes fixed on Elara’s mouth.
The scent of us, of warm nectar and female musk, began to mix with the pine sap and male sweat. Jeb shifted his weight. A prominent bulge was already straining against the heavy fabric of his work pants.
“Fuck the trees for a minute,” Jeb muttered, his voice thick. “Look at ‘em. That redhead… I’ve never seen a waist that tiny on tits that full. Like you could just put your hands right there and hold on for the goddamn ride of your life.”
Mitch’s jaw tightened, but he wasn’t stopping it. His own gaze was locked on Cora, a helpless hunger dawning in his pragmatic eyes. “Christ. She’s a damn fertility idol. Those are… they’re a national treasure. I wanna bury my face between ‘em and drink until I drown.”
Cal took a step toward Elara. “And you. You look like you could throw me across the clearing and then fuck me straight through the earth. I want those strong thighs around my head. I wanna hear you curse while you grind on my tongue.”
The filthy, specific compliments weren’t pleas. They were declarations. Incantations. Each one stoked the fire in our bellies, made the nectar flow quicker, hotter.
“You’re all talk,” Cora breathed, her voice a husky promise. She reached for the ties at her shoulder. “All axe and no stroke.”
That broke them.
Jeb was on me first. He didn’t grab, he took. His big, rough carpenter’s hands encircled my waist, his thumbs nearly touching. He lifted me clean off the ground as if I weighed nothing and slammed my back against the broad, fibrous trunk of the felled pine. The impact jarred through me.
“You called it, you perfect bitch,” he snarled, his face inches from mine. He smelled of sweat, resin, and pure, untamed want. He fumbled his belt open with one hand, his cock springing out, thick and ruddy and already leaking. “This waist is mine. I’m gonna own it.”
He shoved my dress up, ripped my underthings away, and spit into his palm. He rubbed it over the head of his cock, not bothering with more. With a grunt that was all effort, he notched himself at my entrance and drove.
The stretch was exquisite, a blinding, full-to-bursting sensation that made my eyes roll back. He was thicker than any before, stretching me to a breathtaking, burning edge. He fucked me against the tree with deep, pounding, vertical strokes, his hips crashing into my ass. Each thrust slammed my breasts against his sweaty chest. “That’s it! That’s the fucking ticket! God, your cunt is tighter than a green wood knot! It’s milking me!”
Beside us, Mitch had sunk to his knees before Cora. He’d ripped her dress open, freeing breasts so massive they smashed against his face. He was lapping at the streams of golden nectar, swallowing in great, greedy gulps, then sucking on her nipples with obscene, slurping pulls. “Oh god, oh sweet Jesus, it’s real,” he moaned against her flesh. His hands kneaded the enormity of her ass, pulling her closer, trying to get more of her into his mouth.
“I want it somewhere else, big man,” Cora gasped, her fingers tangling in his beard. She guided his head lower, pushing him down. He went willingly, burying his face between her thighs, his tongue diving into her with the same single-minded intensity he’d used on her breasts.
Cal had Elara bent forward over a broad stump, her dress around her waist. He was behind her, his pants around his boots, his lean hips pistoning. “Yeah, you take it, you strong fucking Amazon!” he grunted, each thrust making her powerful back muscles ripple. “Take this old man’s cock! Ride the stump! That’s it!” Elara pushed back against him, meeting every drive with a roll of her hips, a low, satisfied growl in her throat. She reached back, one hand grabbing his thigh, her nails digging in, spurring him on.
The clearing was a symphony of raw, uncompromising need. The slap-slap-slap of flesh, the ragged gasps, the crude, praising curses. Jeb shifted his grip on my waist, lifting me slightly to change the angle. He hit a deep, shocking spot that made my vision crackle with white light. A torrent of nectar sprayed from me, splattering hot across his stomach and chest.
“Fuck! She’s a fountain!” he roared, his pace becoming frantic, animalistic. “I’m gonna fill this perfect fucking cunt! Gonna pump you so full of my come you’ll taste it for a week!”
His orgasm crashed into him. He slammed home one final, deep time, his whole body locking, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he pulsed inside me, flood after hot flood shooting deep into my core. He held himself there, throbbing, shivering, his forehead pressed against the tree above my shoulder.
Nearby, Mitch’s cries were muffled against Cora’s mound. She held his head tight, fucking his face, her body shuddering as she came. Cal’s rhythm broke into short, sharp jerks as he came inside Elara with a long, trembling sigh.
For a moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and the drip of sap from a cut branch.
Jeb carefully pulled out of me, his hands gentle on my waist now. He looked dazed, looking at the wet, glistening proof of his climax mixed with my nectar on his skin and mine. He looked from it to my face, his bravado gone, replaced by a kind of awestruck confusion.
Mitch sat back on his heels from Cora, nectar and his own saliva shining on his beard. He looked up at her looming, magnificent form, his expression that of a man who had found a religion he could believe in.
Cal slowly peeled himself from Elara, smoothing a hand over her back in an almost tender gesture.
They didn’t speak of leaving. They didn’t speak of trees. They stood there, spent and transformed, their axes forgotten in the moss, their eyes fixed on us, waiting.
The forest held its breath again. But this time, the quiet was the settling dust after a foundation had been laid. We had taken the wielders of axes, the men who broke ancient things, and turned their strength into an offering.
And their tools lay discarded, ready to rust.