Mountain Men: I Was Their Queen

Straight journalist is adopted by six horny mountain men

Maybe it was my fault. I never should have pulled off the highway on that Tuesday afternoon and stayed at that motel. But it was kind of cute, kinda cool, that 1950s log cabin motif. There were six little log cabins spread in a semi circle fanning out from the big log cabin at the front and a circular driveway all the worse for wear.

The front house, where the sign, "Office" hung precariously, was where you went to check in.

An old guy with a cane and a French accent signed me in for a short stay.

"What you doing here Sonny?"

"I'm up here to write an article about logging"

"Well, you come to the right place."

"Cash or charge sonny?"

"Oh, Charge."

"Sorry Sonny, we don't do no charge, cash on the barrel head only."

"Oh, ok, how much is it for a night?"

I passed a $20 bill over the counter and drove off to Cabin #3. It was roomy enough for one or two people but a bit cold. There was an old gas heater with a 25 cent slot and I fed it a few quarters to heat the room up.

I had chosen this area as It was north of Seattle up along the timber belt that runs over a thousand miles deep into Canada. I could see another big house back behind the motel in a clearing that I imagined you could enter by a dirt road.

It was one of my editors, D. Heimlicher, I never knew what the 'D' stood for, at 'Outdoorsman's Magazine' who had the idea that I write a story about logging, how logging was becoming a lost profession, vanishing in the wake of giant scissors cutters that with hydraulic power could cut trees as easy as a cuticle. He suggested this particular area and my Yelp guide only had this one motel in it. The next closest motel was thirty-two miles further down the road. This motel was right on the outskirts of Nobel County, where according to Heimlicher, the loggers were busy weeding out the old trees and the agro guys were just as busy planting new baby fast growing pine that would be ready to cut in 20 years. I figured Heimlicher must have grown up in these parts as he seemed quite knowledgeable. When I pointed that out to him and suggested he write the piece, he demurred saying he wanted an untainted objective article.

Based on my preliminary research I figured this would be a good home base, being so close to the logging area and that idea was confirmed when a truck load of loggers drove into the rear compound later that afternoon.

I was 24 at the time, a budding journalist. I'd dated through my senior year of High School but had never had a complete sexual relationship until my Sophomore year in College, when my land lady offered me free room and board if I'd be nice to her. Her name was Martha and she was a widow. Her husband's artifacts were all over the place and she never stopped talking about him.

But she knew enough about men to sit me down in her parlor across from the old player piano and unzip my fly and introduce me to the charms of fellatio. It didn't take long for me to decide this was a good deal, free room and board and all the sex I could want. She was old but she was far from dead, and even if her tits were wrinkled and her pussy looked like a briar patch, she was ok.

Martha taught me everything there was to know about sex, and also about myself. She never tired of introducing variation into our newly established sex life. It was like a graduate school in sex. She'd blow me with her finger up my ass, she'd make me suck her large tits for the longest time while she'd masturbate before letting me enter her vagina. Of course she never tired of telling me how big her husband's cock was and that my tiny dick looked like an enlarged clitorus. She always said that with a laugh but it was never flattering.

But it was true, my cock was a mini, so I didn't mind her teasing. Sometimes you win the lottery and sometimes it's small potatoes. She broke me into rimming her ass after she'd shower down, but her ass still had a bit of an ass taste, but not so unpleasant that I'd refuse.

She also had a chest of sex toys. She would insert one of them or another into my ass while I was fucking her. I'd feel a whirligigs or a vibrator model she had stuffed up there and I have to admit, having your ass filled while fucking the old bat was fun, it felt nice. In fact I got so used to fucking her with something up my ass that I'd remind her to do so if she forgot. Old people don't remember everything.

Of course she'd administer an enema with one of those old fashioned red rubber enema bags before we'd get started. All in all, the two years I'd spent with Martha made a man out of me. She broadened my sexual experience and desire and even got me relaxed enough to cum as an end result of her anal games. Martha had made sure I knew the difference between a tiny cock and a huge one by her use of dildos. She never let me forget that my dick was hardly capable of satisfying a women on its own. It didn't compare to her late husband Samuel's big organ and he often fucked her twice in one night, even into his late sixties. I never had the courage to ask but I assumed he died trying to satisfy her.

That evening there in the wilderness I was thinking fondly about Martha and wondering if I'd ever find a wife as sexually competent as she was although I could do without the tiny penis jokes. It had been two years maybe two and a half since I'd had such good sex. The only sex I'd had since then was some months ago with a horny Korean massage woman, also in her fifties who made me eat her pussy before jerking me off into oblivion. Believe me, that Kimchi taints every place it touches.

I was unprepared for the heavy knock on the door, when someone named Olaf almost rocked the door off its hinges and shouted in,

"You da guy whats writt'en about us guys?"

I began to instantly regret I'd shared that tidbit of information with the old guy at the desk when I'd checked in.

I opened the door slowly and there in front of me, his head nearly too tall to pass under the door sill, was a giant of a mountain man.

"Yes, sir, can I help you?"

"Oh you are a little guy, no bigger than my ... Dais," and then he let out a long laugh.

"Well, if-in you got questions, just come on over to the big cabin behind the log cabin motel. We gots' us plenty a' answers."

With that he turned on his heels and was gone. I closed the door, the cool crisp air had already filled the room. It was October but it might as well have been Christmas in Alaska for all the cold.

It was getting late and I was getting hungry so I dressed warmly and walked outside and there I saw the big guy was shelling snow,

"Mr. Olaf, it's me, the writer."

He turned slowly as if he was being disturbed, looked down at me, spit some chewing tobacco that colored the snow brown.

"Yes,— Sir?"

"I was wondering Mr. Olaf if you might recommend a place to eat." I was careful to be polite.

He stared at me, he was standing bare chested in the cold wind, wearing some faded grey underwear. He was covered with enough hair that it made me question if he was human

"Sure," he grunted, "give me a few minutes and I'll take ya there."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"No trouble," he turned his back and continued shoveling.

I retreated back to my cabin and sat down to wait.

About a half hour later I heard a heavy knock that sounded like it would have broken down the door. It was Olaf.

"There's a farmhouse back behind here. Come on, we'll get you some grub. No charge, treats on me. Let's go."

I wasn't about to argue, I grabbed my Parka and followed this Satchasawan figure as he walked back behind the motel.

"Wa'd say your name was?"

"I didn't but it Louis."

"Louie, lets go."

It was dark already but the moon was a waxing crescent that provided just enough light for me to see where we were headed. We followed a well worn path through the partly melted snow to the back of the property and there in the distance was a farmhouse with smoke coming out of the chimney and sounds of voices and some country music coming from it.

When we arrived an extra chair was set for me, and I found myself surrounded by six huge mountain men, covered with hair and beards of all shapes that nature had hued out for them. Some wore caps, some did not. In a way I felt like I was Snow White and rather than being surrounded by Dwarfs I was I the middle of a group what turned out to be loving but very horny Mountain Men.I was totally out of place.

At some point one of them who seemed to be the leader, said Grace and they all joined in, in the little prayer included a touching mention of Daisy, who had lived with them, and how they all were seeking a new day. At least that's what I thought he said.

"Can I meet her?" I asked.

One of the big guys looked sad and said,

"We lost Daisy to a brown grizzly, fault of Eton who left her alone."

They all seemed to give Eton a dirty look after that comment.

One huge guy got up from the long table and when he returned he was carrying a large iron pot of stew, venison and rabbit they said. I thought I should just get up and leave but when I put a spoon of the hot stew to my mouth it smelled and tasted quite good. I ended up asking for seconds.

That was when they made a point of introducing themselves to me. There was Olaf, Enon, Jeremy, Noah, Wolfgang and Muzzy. For some reason they had trouble pronouncing my name and they all seemed to call me days or Daz, but I didn't care what the called me, a name is just a name. And they seemed genuinely happy to have me with them

I guess I drank too much moonshine that night. Muzzy said he brewed it for the folks around the area and I'll admit it was real strong, probably over 100 proof. He said he brewed it from a bag of what they used to feed the horses, oats and barley and whatever. You could cut it with cherry juice or apple cider which they had on the table in abundance.The big guys seemed to drink it straight. I had fun talking to them and answering their question and they answered mine, giving me enough raw material for my article in Outdoorsman Magazine in just the first night there.

I guess I should give you some insight into the physical nature of these men. The average person would probably have been afraid of them. They were extremely large hairy men who worked as lumberjacks. This meant they'd return home after a day's work covered with sweat, wood chips and mud. But after all is said and done I would have to describe them as the proverbial pussycats.

Muzzy was dark haired, probably forty years old, he wasn't very tall compared to the rest of the crew, yet he stood about six feet, which made him the shortest of the mountain men. He was as wide as an Oak tree with hands twice as large as the average person. Wielding an ax or tree saw for years does that to you.

Olaf was an easy six foot eight inches tall. A little scary to look at but his eyes were a beautiful sky blue and showed he had a tender streak. His hair was always frizzled and he'd run his hands through it as if his fingers were the teeth of some giant comb.Like all of these men, they only bathed in the winter once a week. But you got used to the smell of the outdoors and a heady dose of testosterone.

Enon , whose ancestors came to the Northwest from Enon, Ohio, was about six foot four . He tended to be more severe than the other men and he appeared to be the most religious one in the group. It was Enon who was the first to bow his head and to say grace that first night. That was when he welcomed me as "a new day." Of course I was a little tipsy at the time and what he was saying was "I welcome the new Dais," which was what they called their previous love interest, Daisy. I should have picked up on that but I didn't.

Noah was about six foot three and appropriately named. Like Noah in the Bible, after he finished building an arc and saving the animals from God's flood, Noah became a vintner growing grapes and making wine. He also became a drunkard. I kind of recall there was also some story about a drunken Noah falling asleep nude and being covered by his son, who may have jerked the old guy off.

My Noah, like his namesake in the Bible, liked to drink and never left a filled glass of moonshine on the table without draining its contents in one long gulp, often followed by a belch. He did have a sense of humor that would arise at the most inopportune times, like when they would heat up a giant tub of water on a Saturday night and we were showering together, and he'd say with a straight face, something like,

"Whatever you do, don't drop the soap."

Wolfgang was the best singer, his voice could start as a basso profound and somehow move easily into the middle ranges, his skin was blistered from childhood disease, it looked like smallpox but might have been a severe acne. When he was nervous he'd try to hide his face in his huge hands.He stood about 6'3 and carried a bit of extra weight on his lower chest and looked more like a middle aged man but from his conversations I gauged him to be in his early thirties.

I worried that the extra weight might foretell heart problems as he aged, but he said his father was known to be extra strong as a young man and that his father had sired him when he was 72 years old with the young wife he had taken after Noah's mother had passed. His new wife, Noah said proudly was half Eskimo and American Indian.

"He is still alive and fucking nightly, and has had eight children by his new wife," said Noah with admiration.

When the evening meal was over, for their own entertainment each man would sing a short song, maybe an old folk song or a Bible verse set to music. 'America the Beautiful' was a common standard. After each recital was done only myself remained. They all started clapping and shouting, "Your next."

As I was the only one who had not sung, I knew I could not resist. They cleared the table and hoisted me up on it as if I was a fifty pounds. Not knowing what to do and being a bit drunk, I launched into some snatches of 'Gilbert and Sullivan,' which I'd enacted in High School.

I ended my rendition with "I'm Poor Little Buttercup" and that brought the house down with cheers and catcalls. Another glass of moonshine was put into my hand and I drank it down and sadly that's about all I remember.

I woke up very early the next morning with a terrible headache and what I've heard described as "cotton mouth," that sticky dry feeling when you can hardly flex your tongue and you need water badly. I realized quickly that I was in the middle of a pile of men, evidently they dealt with the cold by sleeping all together in close proximity, much like a pack of wolves.

I was a little removed from the pack and was being embraced by Muzzy whose huge hairy arms held me tightly. I was nude below the waist and my shirt was unbuttoned but still on my shoulders. I could feel something warm and moist against my thighs that I realized was Muzzy's cock that was still leaking cum. Little by little I began to recall bits and pieces of the night before. I began to feel a tenderness in my buttocks that I realized was caused by something other than a rubber sex toy.Muzzy's cock must have been inside me last night but I was so drunk I couldn't remember.

Then I felt something cold and stiff around my neck, it was an iron collar riveted so it could not be removed without force and it was attached to a long handmade metal chain of many small links. On one hand its presence frightened me but on the other it felt strangely comforting. Maybe I thought, I'm entering into the Stockholm syndrome.

It must have been 6:30 in the morning and the light from the Sun was slowly creeping into the cabin. I lay there trying to figure out what was going on. When he stopped snoring and finally woke up, Muzzy explained to me that they had adopted me. Muzzy, who was the oldest and whose cock was the smallest, that's why the called him little Muzzy, was chosen to explain my new situation and to initiate me into what my function was to be.

In brief I understood that I was caught in a twisted version of the Snow White story and these huge men, far from being dwarfs, had chosen me as their Queen, in every sense of the word. I knew there exist some humorous pornographic cartoons with the Dwarfs fucking Snow White, but this was no cartoon, it was reality and my legs were wide open and my ass cheeks had ben well spread.

Muzzy explained that my chores were minor, just to tidy up the cabin and that I shouldn't hesitate to ask for help if I needed it. But my true worth to the brothers and only real chore was to spend each night in rotation with one of the mountain men. Since there were six of them, I would still have one night a week to sleep alone and rest up for the week ahead.

Strangely I didn't feel imprisoned, I felt adored, even though they were huge men they were each tender with me. I was to wear the collar for one week. Muzzy said I should consider it not as a slave shackle but as a sort of wedding band. If I was not happy with the arrangement after the first week I would be free to go and I could signify this by asking them to help me remove it. But, said Muzzy, all six had requested that I give this arrangement a try and they hoped I would stay. And yes, I would not be called Louis anymore but instead I would take the name of their beloved Daisy or Daiz for now.

I was flattered by their demands and fearful of the repercussions if I decided to leave after the week was up. I didn't quite trust them at that point. But they all assured me that they would not hinder my desire if it was my choice to leave.

So began the first week of my 'captivity.' That first night I had obviously spent with Muzzy. He was surprisingly warm and kissed me repeatedly before he left in the morning with his 'brothers'. I remained alone in the cabin, and as the hours passed I became cognizant of my real situation. My chain was attached to a metal ring in a concrete block in the floor at the center of the room. The chain was quite long and I was able to exit the cabin and use the outhouse only a few feet away from the back door . I realized that if I'd wished to escape I could easily have broken the light chain with the extra axe heads they kept oiled on a shelf behind the house.

The road to freedom was hardly a quarter a mile away. My car was now parked behind the big house. I wanted to check if the keys were inside but my chain was a little too short to get that far from the house. That was when I realized that the chain was symbolic of their desire to possess me, they had given me free choice if I wanted to flee. I decided that I had nothing to fear from the Mountain Men and was now determined to give this new arrangement a chance,

Maybe it was the wood fires, but all the men had a smoky smell, which I didn't mind. I guess I'd gotten used to it. It was a very masculine smell and homey. At that point I didn't know the order of rotation, who I was to sleep with until after dinner. Wolfgang took hold of my chain and without saying a word led me to the sleeping room. I'd had a few shots of what must have been 100 proof moonshine to prepare myself but this time I was far from drunk. Earlier I'd excused myself out near the water pump and done my best to cleanse myself with an enema I'd fashioned from a plastic bottle I'd found on a shelf in the kitchen area. I wasn't gay but I knew I had to find some way to satisfy each man and perhaps find my own pleasure as well.

Wolfgang undressed and I did the same, then he grabbed me by the head and pulled me into his lap. I had to move my head quickly or his big cock might have put out my eye. I knew what was expected of me and I greedily sucked his large penis, giving the underside a bit of tongue work. That extra tongue, something Martha used to do on me, was the straw that broke his resistance. He came so fast that I choked on the unexpected torrent of cum shot deep down my throat. I lay afterwards in his arms and I recall thinking ,