I just couldn't wait anymore.
I turned away from Bastien, slowly dropped my pants down to my ankles, teasing him, and leaned against the tree, arching my back so that my hole was as exposed to him as possible, ready to be claimed and used as he saw fit.
It was getting dark. The dark green of the treetops clashed with the yellowing sky as birds flew south, fleeing the nearing Winter with a sense of hurry that Bastien didn't seem to have.
He stood still at first, balancing his heavy ax on his broad shoulder as lust flickered in his eyes. Even from this far, I could see droplets of sweat on his forehead, making his black hair look wet, and his strong, bulky chest heaving up and down under his red flannel shirt, exhausted from the hard day's work that had just ended. But I too was tired, and some comfort was all I was asking from my friend.
Then I heard his boots crushing dead leaves as he began walking toward me, staring at my bare ass very hard, making me twitch in anticipation and almost beg for him to hurry up and touch me already. The cool breeze of late Fall kissed my ass cheeks, making me feel lonely as I waited for him to come and finally warm me up.
I could hear the rest of the boys in the distance, heading back to camp and getting ready to drink enough whiskey to drown a bear in, alcohol and songs around the campfire being the only fun we had being so far into the woods. I and Bastien had to be quick, otherwise they could worry and come looking for us.
But my Canadian friend didn't seem too bothered by that possibility, and when he finally reached me he just slowly ran his calloused, heavy hand over my ass, making me shiver as he looked me in the eyes with an expression of excitement mixed with something else I couldn't quite figure out.
It was a shame he spoke so little English, and I, no French at all. But sometimes I felt like I could read his thoughts on his big amber eyes, and when he began gently running the tip of his fingers over my asshole, I could see they were silently asking: "Is this what you want?"
"Yes," I whispered, but the word escaped my lips in an incomprehensible sigh of pent-up lust.
Bastien lifted his ax from his shoulder, never breaking eye contact, then reclined it against the tree I was hugging, and moved to my back, out of my sight, where I could only guess what he was doing by the sounds he made and by what part of his body was touching mine. I tried turning my head to keep looking at him, intoxicated by the flirty, confident smile he gave me whenever our eyes met, but he grabbed my head and forcefully pushed it back against the tree, making it clear that I shouldn't move.
This was the exact position he wanted me in, and so I complied, arching my back a little more, and closed my eyes to picture his face, remembering the way his eyes closed whenever he gave me a cocky smile, and his big nose, always red whenever he got too drunk and began laughing, throwing his head back and showing off his thick, manly neck, lightly covered in the stubble he didn't seem eager to turn into a fully grown beard, or disciplined enough to shave every morning.
I began breathing hard as I heard the sound of him undoing his pants, pulling them down just enough to free his hard member.
My mind ran wild. I wanted to see it, I wanted to find out if it was as big as everything else on that man. But I wouldn't dare move after he had made his orders so clear, and was left wondering if his dick was just as thick as his strong arms, powerful enough to cut through the hardest timber in the forest like it was nothing but a bunch of twigs.
Fortunately, the sound of him spitting on his hand made it clear it wouldn't be long before I felt how hung he was.
And in a considerate gesture, Bastien began smearing his spit all over my hole, applying more and more of it as he felt it needed even more lubricant to take him in, and gently massaging my asshole without any rush, until I was almost dripping, excited by the firm way he used his other hand to grab one of my cheeks and push it aside, displaying my hole as much as possible while he slid his pinkie inside of me.
I moaned, glad to finally be touched that way. It had been so long, so long since I had first laid eyes on the Canuck, and I had spent so many days staring at him as he swung his ax with all his strength against the trees, hitting them in a rhythmic, powerful, precise way, making me dream of being subjected to a similar display of his raw power.
And now it was about to happen.
And as it became clear his finger was sliding inside of me with ease, Bastien began using his surprisingly thick middle finger instead, forcing me to relax my hole a little more in order to let it in, making me moan as each articulation forced its way through, until I felt his knuckles pushing against my ass as he caressed my smooth insides, grazing my prostate and making me drip precum like a leaky faucet. Then he took his finger away slowly, all the way out, until I was again feeling empty and lonely, and proceeded to slide it back in once more. I was feeling particularly receptive that evening, but nevertheless struggled to let him back inside every time he took it all the way out, and I shuddered at the thought of what was going to happen next, if this guy could get me so worked up with just a finger.
But after a few moments, he had worked me so loose that it wasn't hard anymore, and decided to increase the challenge, and my pleasure, by sticking two fingers up my ass. And he moved them inside of me, sometimes stimulating my prostate, others just bending them like a hook and pulling me up, forcing me to keep arching my back, making me feel like nothing but a hole for him to play with.
Then he chuckled, realizing I was now relaxed enough to handle something meatier. He slapped my ass a few times, not worrying about all the noise he was making in the woods, and then shook it a little, satisfied by the way my bubble butt jiggled while he waited for the redness from his strikes to develop, and then slapped it again, always letting out and interrogative sound, as if asking if I wanted more, which I replied with gasps and moans that he took for permission to be as rough as he wanted.
But I forgot all about how sore my ass felt when he began rubbing the tip of his dick against my asshole.
I was still wet from his spit, but I could feel how covered in precum his dickhead was. We were ready for each other. And so he began applying pressure, pushing the tip of his cock against my hole, making me painfully aware of how much meatier than a couple of finger that thing was, and as soon as I had relaxed enough to let it in, feeling it stretching me and rubbing against my insides, he took it out and began rubbing it over my poor asshole again, then forced it in once more, then out again, making me so excited, so eager for his manhood, that I became looser and looser, until he was able to get inside of me in a single movement with no effort, which he began doing repeatedly, using just his dickhead to fuck me.
I was in heaven, but it was hell. I was breathing hard, feeling like a bitch in heat, begging for him to fuck me with all he got already, but his cock head alone was hard and big enough to make me crazy. I couldn't believe how open I was feeling, it was like he had worked me loose enough to fuck me with a doorknob, which couldn't be much different from what he was doing right now.
The Canadian laughed, seeing the state he had put me into, and then passed his unbelievably strong arm around my neck, bending me backwards, almost choking me, then he stood still, his dickhead inside of me as I tried to keep my ass as high as I could get it. And I could feel his other hand firmly grabbing my hip when he began breathing down my neck, then slowly moving up, rubbing his stubble against my skin and making me shiver with the rough, sturdy way he was manhandling me.
