Chapter 3: Hands-On Research
His massive hands continued to explore May's small, tight breasts as he stroked himself with a slow, thoughtful rhythm. With a low, possessive grunt, he reached out and pulled June firmly against May's side, crushing them together in a breathless, skin-warm sandwich. Pressed flush against each other, they could feel every nervous shiver as he began to take turns, his huge hands groping June's full curves one moment and cupping May's pert mounds the next, all while his other fist worked his thick shaft. "See how he's comparing the tissue density and nipple structure?" June panted, her scientific analysis strained as his thumb brushed her peaked flesh. "The methodological switching... it proves advanced cognitive processing."
“So he's a smart pervert? Got it,” May squeaked, her voice muffled against June’s shoulder as the creature’s huge thumb scraped over her nipple. His rhythmic stroking of his own length became more purposeful, the slick sound unmistakable in the cold air. Then, his deep grunts took on a new, insistent tone, punctuated by sharp puffs of warm breath against their hair.
He stopped alternating between their breasts, his massive hands instead settling firmly on their bare shoulders. With a gentle but undeniable pressure, he began to push down. The grunts were clearer now, directed, a series of low, urgent commands. June’s green eyes met May’s wide brown ones in a flash of mutual, dawning comprehension.
Their bodies tensed in unison as the downward pressure continued, forcing each of them into a reluctant crouch. The damp, cold earth of the ridge pressed into their knees as they sank before him. He loomed above, his immense erection now at eye-level, a throbbing, ruddy monument of otherworldly biology. As pointed directly at their faces, they could see a single bead of clear precum leaking and bubbling from its bulbus tip. The musky, primal scent of him, now mixed with a tang of salt, was overwhelming at this proximity.
The musky, primal scent of him, now mixed with a tang of salt, was overwhelming at this proximity. June’s wide, freckled face swiveled slowly toward May’s, their noses almost touching in the cramped, intimate space framed by his massive thighs. They stared at each other, their mouths slightly agape, their eyes mirroring a shared, speechless vortex of shock, horror, and bewildered acceptance.
“We’re topless,” May finally whispered, her voice thin and cracking as her wide, brown eyes remained locked on the glistening tip bobbing before them. “And on our fucking knees.” A hysterical, disbelieving laugh burbled in her throat as she added, “With a massive Sasquatch dick pointing at our faces. A National Geographic contributing photographer has Bigfoot’s dick in front of her fucking face.”
June’s own green eyes were similarly glued to the same spot as May's. Hearing May articulate the sheer, ridiculous tableau of their circumstance—giving voice to the absurd, pants-shittingly real horror of it—felt bizarrely grounding for June, as if stating the ridiculousness of it made it somehow more manageable. “Accurate,” June breathed out, the single word a shaky concession to their new, impossible reality.
Sasquatch gave a low, encouraging chuff above them, his huge hands settling on their heads with a weight that was both possessive and oddly gentle. His thumbs stroked their hair, June’s red ponytail and May’s dark curls, as if petting two strange but fascinating creatures. The bead of fluid finally detached, stretching into a fine string before snapping onto the rocky dirt between them with a soft, wet pat.
The creature’s hands, those vast leather-palmed instruments of gentle force, tightened their grip in their hair. He applied a slow, steady pressure, tilting their faces forward until their noses almost brushed the heated skin of his inner thighs, the coarse dark hair tickling their cheeks. His low, rumbling chuff vibrated through his frame, a sound of clear and unmistakable encouragement that made the very air hum.
“Oh, hell,” June breathed, her scientific detachment finally fracturing into raw astonishment. She stared at the massive, veined flesh laced before her, then up at his expectant, curious face. “I think… I think he wants us to suck it."
May let out a choked sound, part sob, part disbelieving laugh. “No shit, Sherlock,” she whispered, her breath huffing against his skin. “What was your first clue? The polite written invitation?” The pressure from his hands increased incrementally, a firm, unyielding guidance that brooked no argument.
June’s mind raced, her thoughts a frantic scramble of clinical terms warring with base, human shock.
She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. “May,” she whispered, her voice tight but low, the words meant only for her friend huddled beside her in the shadow of his immense form. “Think about it—if we, ah, help him achieve release, his biological drive will be satisfied, at least temporarily.” May’s wide-eyed stare shifted from the throbbing flesh before them to June’s freckled face.
“He won’t be so occupied with his urges,” June pressed on, her green eyes locked on May’s, “and I could actually observe him, record data. You could get your photos.” A low, questioning grunt from above made them both flinch. “We violated his privacy first, May. We observed him, photographed him… masturbating, without his consent.”
May let out a sharp, disbelieving bark of laughter that echoed off the rocks. “Violated, June? He’s an animal!”
“Look at him!” June snapped back, her own patience fraying. “He communicated through gestures, understood our tools, displayed clear curiosity and now… specific desire.” She took a breath, forcing her tone back to analytical. “A mere animal seeks only mechanical release. He wants to enjoy it. The… aesthetic image of us both, together, would absolutely enhance his pleasure and excitement. That’s complex, sentient cognition.”
May fell silent, her gaze drifting back up the towering, furry body to his patient, intelligent brown eyes. The reality of his quiet, expectant presence was the only argument left. She looked at the camera lying forgotten in the dirt a few feet away, its lens cap still off. She imagined the photograph she couldn’t take from her current position. “You’re a fucking madwoman,” she breathed, but the protest had no heat left. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. The creature above them rumbled, a sound of deep approval that vibrated through the hands still cradling their heads. “But how do we even get started?” May whispered, her voice cracking as she stared at the imposing flesh before her face. “Look at that thing. It’s like trying to suck on a doorknob.”
June, ever the pragmatist, exhaled sharply. “Well, I guess just like sucking any other penis, you start with the tip," she muttered, her own gaze fixed on the glistening crown. With a shuddering resigned exhale, she allowed the pressure on the back of her head to guide her the final, impossible inch forward.
His warm skin touched her lips, a startling contrast to the chill mountain air. She tilted her head back, her green eyes locking onto his. His thoughtful brown eyes watched her with an intelligence that was unmistakable, filled not with brute lust but with a deep, curious anticipation.
She couldn't help but feel a little flattered by his clearly perceivable admiration for her. It was a raw, primal validation that cut through her fear. Holding his gaze, she slowly opened her mouth, her tongue extending outward. With her eyes still focusing on his, The tip of her tongue touched the pearly bubble of precum at his opening. It was warm and salt-tinged. She gently licked it clean, the intimate action performed under the steady pressure of his hand and the weight of his watching eyes.
A deep, shuddering rumble of pleasure vibrated down from his chest, through his shaft, and into her mouth.
May stared, her mouth agape, as her brilliant, freckled friend gently licked up the bubbly bead of precum from the Sasquatch’s dick. “Oh my fucking god,” she breathed, the words a stunned exhale of pure disbelief.
The creature’s other hand tightened slightly in May’s curls, a reminder of her own expected participation. He gave a soft, prompting grunt, shifting his hips to bring his broad tip closer to her lips.
May squeezed her eyes shut for a second, took a sharp breath, and then opened them. "Fine, you big, hairy bastard," she muttered. With a grimace that was half terror, half resolve, she leaned in and placed a single, quick kiss on the tip, like she was greeting a poisonous frog.
The creature rumbled, a sound of deep approval that made his shaft pulse against May’s lips. His large hand, still tangled in her curls, exerted the gentlest pressure, encouraging her to continue.
His large hand, still tangled in her curls, exerted the gentlest pressure, encouraging her to continue. With a shaky hand, May reached up and pushed her glasses firmly against the bridge of her nose, securing them before looking up the immense, furred plane of his body to meet his eyes. In his deep brown gaze, she saw no malice, only a patient, gentle curiosity that felt startlingly human and a flicker of eager hope. She saw the same quiet intelligence that had understood their cameras, the same playful mischief that had toyed with her shirt, now focused entirely on her with an unnerving, vulnerable expectancy. A strange calm settled over her then, smothering the panic, as she understood this was simply the next, inevitable step in the bizarre transaction they’d agreed to.
A strange calm settled over her then, smothering the panic, as she understood this was simply the next, inevitable step in the bizarre transaction they’d agreed to. She parted her lips, opening her mouth as wide as it would go, and leaned forward to take the thick, domed tip into her mouth. It was immediately too much, a straining, salty pressure that stretched her jaw joints with a dull ache as she struggled to fit even the broad crown past her teeth. Seeing May’s obvious difficulty, June took her cue, lowering her head to first run her tongue slowly along the heated, vein-tracked length of his shaft before planting her lips against its girthy side and sucking firmly on the skin. A deep, rolling groan of pleasure echoed above them, his hands tightening appreciatively in their hair.
A deep, rolling groan of pleasure echoed above them, his hands tightening appreciatively in their hair. May worked her jaw in a slow, grinding circle, her cheeks hollowing as she tried valiantly to accommodate the impossible girth stretching her lips thin. Her eyes watered with the strain, a tear tracing a clean path through the dirt on her cheek as she forced her head to bob forward another inch, then back, a pathetic, trembling approximation of rhythm. June watched her, the massive shaft a obscene barrier between their faces, her own mouth busy suckling at the veined skin, her tongue painting wet stripes along its length.
She saw the cords stand out in May’s slender neck, the frantic flutter of her pulse at her temple, the absolute physical defiance in her scrunched-up face. May’s throat convulsed violently, a wet, ragged sound escaping her as she finally pulled back, the broad tip popping from her mouth with a soft, sucking noise. She gasped, a string of saliva and precum connecting her bottom lip to his glistening crown for a shuddering second before it snapped. “Fuck,” she rasped, her voice raw, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Just… just can’t.”
Her small, ink-adorned hand, shaking slightly, reached out and wrapped around the base of him, her fingers barely meeting. She guided the hefty weight of him, tilting the glistening tip away from her own overwhelmed face and directly towards June’s. Her brown eyes, bright with unshed tears and a wild, defiant humor, locked onto her friend’s. “Your turn, Doc,” May croaked, a shaky grin twisting her features. “You did say you wanted a DNA sample.”
June stared at the offered, glistening tip, then at May’s tear-streaked, defiant face. “Right,” she breathed, her own pragmatic resolve solidifying in her gut. She leaned in, opened her mouth as wide as she could, and took him in.
The stretch was immediate and punishing, a burning strain in her jaw as she fought to accommodate his girth. Her tongue flattened against the underside, tasting salt and musk and something profoundly wild. A low, approving groan rumbled from above, vibrating through the flesh filling her mouth.
May watched, her own hand still wrapped around the base, feeling the throb of his pulse against her palm. “That’s it, show him how it’s done,” she whispered, her voice a mix of awe and grim encouragement.
June’s eyes watered as she pushed forward, taking another impossible inch. Her mind, habitually analytical, dissected the sensations: the surprising heat, the texture of prominent veins, the way his low sounds translated into physical tremors. She began a slow, straining rhythm, her hands braced on his powerful thighs for leverage.
The Sasquatch’s breaths grew heavier, his grip in her hair tightening from guidance to something more urgent. His other hand released May’s curls and began to stroke her shoulder, a gesture of rough appreciation. His hips gave a subtle, instinctive thrust.
June gagged, pulling back with a wet cough, saliva coating her chin. “Easy, big fella,” she rasped, wiping her mouth. May’s eyes locked onto hers, bright with unshed tears and a dark, shared understanding. “Hangin’ in there, Junebug?” she asked, her voice raspy but softened at the edges with a weary, genuine care.
June spat into the dirt, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and managed a tight, breathless grin. “Just taking some metnal notes,” she croaked. “His precum has a surprisingly high viscosity.”
A snort of shocked laughter escaped May. “I have to admit,” she said, her gaze drifting down to the thick, ruddy flesh standing proudly between them, "his dick is a fucking work of art.” Her photographer’s eye traced the prominent veins, the impressive symmetry, the way the last of the sunset caught the slick crown. “The vasculature alone is a masterpiece.”
“Yeah, it is truly impressive,” June agreed, her own analytical gaze sweeping over the same terrain. They shared a look that was equal parts terror, absurdity, and a dawning, professional respect for the subject.
Without another word, they moved in unison. May leaned in first, her smaller mouth opening to gently suckle at one side of the broad, domed tip. June followed, her lips meeting the other side, their mouths separated only by the heated width of him.
Their lips brushed lightly against each other’s with each slight adjustment, a fleeting, intimate contact made bizarre by the context. They worked in silent coordination, their tongues lapping and sucking at their respective territories, their cheeks hollowing with the effort. The creature above them let out a long, shuddering groan that vibrated through his shaft and into their mouths.
His hands, still tangled in their hair, gentled into something almost caressing. He shifted his weight, a soft grunt of profound pleasure escaping him as they found a rhythm.
The twin pressures of their mouths working in tandem drew a continuous, gravelly purr from his chest. Their lips moved in a wet, syncopated rhythm around the broad crown, their tongues flicking and pressing against the sensitive seam beneath the head. May’s smaller mouth suctioned noisily at one side while June’s wider pulls created a deeper pressure on the other, their efforts merging into a single, slippery sensation that made his thighs tremble.
June broke the seal of her mouth with a soft, wet pop, a string of saliva briefly connecting her lower lip to his glistening skin. She lowered her head, her red ponytail brushing against May’s arm as she ducked beneath her friend’s working mouth. “Scientific inquiry,” June murmured, more to herself than anyone, her voice husky from strain.
Her fingers, calloused from years of handling field gear, pushed through the dense, wiry pelt at the base of his shaft. The hair here was thicker, a tangled forest of dark curls damp with musk and the earthy scent of the ridge. She parted it with both hands, her green eyes sharp with focus as she peered into the shadowed, warm space between his powerful thighs.
Her probing fingers found a heavy, dense warmth nestled within the coarse fur. “There we are,” she breathed, the triumph of discovery clear in her tone. His testicles were large, each roughly the size and weight of a ripe plum, resting in a loose, wrinkled sac of surprisingly soft, leathery skin.
They hung with a profound, natural weight, covered in a fine down rather than the coarse hair higher up, and radiated a heat that was animal and intense. Shifting closer on her knees, June let her warm breath ghost over the revealed skin, watching the sac twitch in response. With a curiosity that overrode every other instinct, she leaned in and slowly, deliberately, took one full, heavy orb into her mouth.
The warm, dense weight filled her mouth, the skin surprisingly smooth against her tongue. He shuddered above her, a deep, guttural sound of shock and pleasure rumbling through the quiet forest. May, still working the tip, squeaked around her mouthful, “What the actual fuck are you doing down there?”
June released him with a soft pop, her voice matter-of-fact despite her position. “Comparative anatomy, May,” she said, her breath warm against his sensitive skin. “The scrotal texture is fascinatingly different from a human’s—less wrinkled, more like supple leather.” Her fingers gently cupped the other weight, rolling it in her palm with a researcher’s detached appreciation. “Testicular mass appears consistent with his overall robust skeletal structure, likely supporting a extraordinary sperm count.”
“Testicular mass appears consistent with his overall robust skeletal structure, likely supporting an extraordinary sperm count.” A deep, shuddering groan rolled down from above, his massive thighs tensing around her. May pulled off the tip with a wet gasp, her eyes wide. “Great,” she croaked, wiping her mouth, “so he’s gonna drown us in cum.” She said it as she went back to sucking the tip, her words slightly muffled by the full, salty weight on her tongue.
June watched her for a beat, then lowered her head back to his heat. She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the other testicle, her tongue tracing its full, heavy curve before taking it into her mouth. The skin was startlingly soft against her lips, yielding to the pressure of her tongue as she explored its dense, warm shape.
He trembled, a cascade of guttural, approving sounds tumbling from his chest. His hands, which had been gently guiding them, now simply rested heavily on their heads, fingers twitching in their hair. June released him with a soft pop, her own breath coming faster now. “His Vasculature… has to be extremely powerful otherwise his penis would never be able to stay so hard,” she panted, her scientific commentary fraying at the edges.
More thick pearly precum trickled out of the engorged tip and into May's mouth making her flinch a bit. “Oh, christ, he’s leakin’ like a tapped keg,” she muttered, not stopping her rhythmic bobbing. June leaned up, her mouth finding a spot just below the frenulum, sucking hard as her hand worked the base in a tight, twisting motion she remembered an old boyfriend liking.
The Sasquatch’s breathing hitched, becoming ragged, staccato bursts. His hips stuttered forward in tiny, involuntary thrusts, bumping against May’s face. She gagged, pulling back, her lips slick and swollen. “Easy, buddy,” she rasped, patting his thigh. “We’re not going anywhere.”