Bob And Bigfoot

Bob, the hunter, closed the trunk of his car.

He was dressed in the finest of hunter apparel. He wore brand new, camo pants, an orange vest with roomy pockets, and big, shiney boots. Even his vehicle, a polished and gleaming Hummer, spoke of the need, the desire, the lust for the dispatching of little, furry creatures.

The most important item of his manly ensemble, however, was his gun. It was a big gun, with a long barrel, and it fired big, hard bullets.

Bob hoisted his gun in manly fashion and slung it over his shoulder. It was time to go hunting.

Bob strode through the bush, crushing plants with his waffle bottomed boots. He kicked aside lowly branches with his steel tips, and, should the offending limb be too large to crush or push aside, he would stop and pull out the glinting, fourteen inch machete from the back scabbard and begin hacking. Over the shoulder it came, down it whistled, and another bit of mother nature bit the dust.

Bob was in heaven.

Long had he waited for this day. He had polished his boots, knowing that they would just get muddy. He had ironed the brim of his hunter's hat so it flopped on one side just so. He had brassoed every bit of metal he cold find. Even the tips of his custom shoelaces. Even the nails in the bottoms of his big boots.

Now the day was here. At last could his urges be satisfied, finally, he could--

He froze. He was on the edge of the meadow, still in the twilight of the branches, and he had caught sight of motion. Careful not to make a sound, Bob slithered through the underbrush. As he moved, he studied the creature he was staulking. Though it was standing in a hunched manner, it looked awful big to be a bear. This sucker was near ten feet tall. Of course, on hind legs bears stood awful--Oh my God! It was Bigfoot!

Sasquatch himself!

And, oh, was it a beaut!

It was near ten feet tall, and it looked to be over 600 pounds. The coat was brown and thick and luxurious--just fine for a rug--and it moved with a surprisingly light gait.

It stepped over logs, bent to look at something in the grass, then raised its head and sniffed the air.

The neck was thick and the head was small, and it looked a little bit like an ape.

Trembling, sweating, aware that so much hung on the moment, Bob unslung his rifle. He lifted it up and fitted stock to shoulder. He breathed on the varnished wood and sighted down the long, long length of blued metal.

There, in the cross of the hairs, he inspected the Sasquatch as if it was mere feet away from him. It had a low forehead with thick ridges of bone over the eyes. The eyes were dark pupils surrounded by red veins. Under the eyes the nostrils were aimed forward out of a flat nose. It sniffed the air and appeared to be most suspicious.

Stilling himself, ignoring the sweat dripping from his forehead, knowing he only had a moment before the creature detected him, Bob began to squeeze the trigger.

Bigfoot's big, hunkered shape.

Bob's fingers trembling.

A drop of sweat from his forehead moving slowly past his eyes to splash on the polished wood.

The mechanism in the trigger assembly snapping like a high tech mouse trap,

BOOM!

Smoke rose up and momentarily obscured Bob's vision. His ears were near deafened by the tremendous report. He peered through the dissipating smoke only to see...the Sasquatch was charging across the meadow towards him!

Bob tried to reload the rifle, but his fingers were all askew; it was as if somebody had switched his fingers and they were all playing musical chairs.

The creature closed to within feet and this close it towered over him.

Oh, it was a monster most glorious! It loomed over Bob, nearly twice as tall as the cowering hunter, it had huge hands with strong fingernails that looked like they could rip the bark off a tree. This close its hot breath washed over Bob, and he was aware of a putrid, gagging odor emanating from the thing. Standing so tall, its gigantic hands spread out in rage, it roared: "You motherfucker! You son of a cocksucking bitch! You fucking tried to murder me!"

The shadow of the mythical creature, not a myth any longer, occluded all light, and Bob fell to his knees and began babbling.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, the gun just went off, I didn't mean to--"

"Bull fucking shit! You meant to and you know it, and now you have to give me oral sex!"

Bob's mouth dropped open in shock. He raised his hands, palms outwards, as if to try and ward off this terrible thing, but he really had not a chance.

Bigfoot unrolled his mighty flagpole of meat, and Bob helplessly watched as the big, thick, hunk of hairy, veined, rippling with lust meat filled his vision.

Firemen pulling a thick hose off the back of a truck.

A transatlantic cable spooling off the back of a ship.

A Sasquatch standing in front of him.

Bob would have tried to run, would have grabbed for the machete strapped to his back, but he couldn't, and the Sasquatch placed his big-knuckled hands on the sides of Bob's head.

The Sasquatch leaned down, put his hairy head right in front of Bob's head, and Bob gagged on the odor that smelled suspiciously like smegma.

"Now, motherfucker, you feel my strength?"

Bob could feel the rough palms and knuckles engulfing his skinny, little head. His skull felt small and thin, like it could be crushed by a simple flex of the creature's muscles.

"You'd best not bite. Got that, motherfucker?"

Bob gulped, tried to nod, but the hands held him in place. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and the Sasquatch raised up and surged forward.

The mammoth piece of meat slid forward like it was greased. It rolled down Bob's throat like a truck down an alley--a big truck, a small alley--and tears squeezed out of Bob's eyes.

And the great length of meat came back, sliding, scraping, running the nubble of dick fur all along Bob's throat.

In, out, in, out, the strokes of the massive member taking what seemed like forever to complete.

Somewhere in that eternity of thrusting pole, Bob lost his balance. Quickly, mindful of the massive hands holding his head, he reached out and caught his balance by grabbing the Sasquatch's monster balls.

"ARRRGH!" yelled the Sasquatch, pushed over the edge by Bob's sudden grip.

Bob felt the passion of the beast ripple up the mighty shaft, throb in the baseball-sized glans, and then...flood, in mighty, Bigfoot-sized spurts, down the lower part of his throat and into his belly.

"ARRGH! ARGH! ARRRGH!" The Sasquatch kept shoving its hips forward, and the fantastic length of cock kept surging and rippling, and the Sasquatch juice just kept coming and coming!

Bob cried, was faint from lack of air, and then, mercifully, the creature was done with him.

The Sasquatch shoved Bob's head away, and Bob fell back on his ass. Crying, belly bloated with Sasquatch cum, Bob looked up at the haughty creature.

"And don't you ever try shooting another living creature as long as you live!" And the Sasquatch wheeled around and stomped off.

Bob sat and watched as the creature trundled across the meadow, and his mind was seething. To be used so easily...to be treated so shabbily...Bob wiped the goo off his chin and stared at the monster's back. And his hand crept out to the stock of his rifle.

The Sasquatch was nearly across the meadow now, and it was sniffing around as it started to forage.

Bob raised his rifle and blinked away the tears as he focused on the thing. Mythical or not, the idea that a simple animal, a mere furry creature, could rape his throat so easily and then just walk away was too much.

Bob began to squeeze on the trigger.

BOOM!

Bob blinked and peered through the smoke, and to his horror, he realized that, once again, he had missed!

The Sasquatch charged across the meadow, its sleek fur rippling, his legs pumping furiously, and, in a bare moment, it was once again towering over Bob.

"You stupid shit head! You asshole! You fucking tried to kill me again. You never fucking learn! You are so fucking stupid!"

Once again, Bob blathered. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was doing! I'll never--"

But the Sasquatch was having no more of Bob's silly ass excuses. He grabbed the hapless hunter and threw him over a log.

Bob's butt in the air, the Sasquatch grabbed a hunk of Bob's pants and pulled. The pants ripped away and Bob's white, pimpled ass was fully exposed. Once again, the Sasquatch rolled out its mighty, throbbing, hairy, length of lovepole.

Bob blubbered, begged, cried.

The Sasquatch moved forward and wedged its knees between Bob's skinny, little legs. Bob tried to keep his legs closed, but there was no way he could deny the massive muscle of the creature.

Then the head of the monster cock was at Bob's nether door. Like a battering ram it went forward, crashing on the gates of Bob's precious pit. The head burst past Bob's ring, and Bob, in spite of the monster's weight, arched his back in disbelief.

There are moments of epiphany, and this was one of them. The battering done, the acceptance begun, Bob's anal ring began to sing of pleasure. It was like an electric humming that started at the brown button, and then began to pulse and throb and move outward.

The Sasquatch, perhaps confused by the sudden change of Bob's attitude, perhaps just wiley in the way of Sasquatch dicks and their effects, held still. For a long moment the Sasquatch and the hunter were frozen, a tableau of interspecies revelation, of realization, and, ultimately, of inspiration.

Finally, a large gob of hot Bigfoot drool splattered upon Bob's back, and the moment, erupting in pleasure, required motion to sustain itself.

Gently, ever so gently, the Sasquatch worked its hips side to side, and Bob, unable to help himself, found his butt wagging back and forth. Then Bob moved his hips in a circular motion, rimming around the head of the beast's mighty tool.

The Sasquatch grunted in appreciation and lurched forward a careful inch.

Bob lurched back, and then as if that motion was a signal, the Sasquatch began to really move. Like a freight train starting up, it inched forward. Millimeter after excruciatingly pleasurable millimeter of the monster's dick ground forward. The big veins swirled against Bob's anal walls. The stiff Sasquatch hairs were sharp little ticklers. And the thing was big, oh so, very, very big.

Inch after inch, and Bob gripped the log so tightly his nails dug out little chips of bark. The ring of his anus was stretched larger, and larger, and the slow, delicate ram of the Sasquatch's penis became a moment of exquisite torture.

Was there ever an end to the mighty thing being unspooled in Bob's ass?

Could anything ever feel so good again in his sorry life?

Then, even as the questions formed in Bob's mind, the beast reached the base of its totem. Its large, heavy sacks of fluid slapped up against Bob's ass.

Bob grunted, wiggled backward and, unbelievably, wished for more.

Better than more, however, was the fact that the creature began to draw back.

Now in reverse, the bulging cock veins gave Bob the impression that his asshole was being corkscrewed over and around. The stiff hairs dragged over his sensitive anal walls, causing his breath to be held, held, held.

And Bob's eyes bulged.

And the Sasquatch's eyes bulged.

This male bitch was far better, far tighter than any female Sasquatch it had ever had.

And, slobbering foaming from his jaws, the Sasquatch pushed back in, a little harder, a little faster.

Bob gripped the tree trunk he was on tighter, felt the monster's big log sliding over his nerve ends, giving him more pleasure than a man could imagine existed.

And in.

And out.

Picking up speed, the Sasquatch began to growl in excitement. Its slow motions escalated until it was moving faster than a rabbit, slamming, slamming, bouncing his mighty balls against Bob's ass harder than Shaq could dribble basketballs on a hardwood floor.

Now they were more than a picture; now they were a massive, gigantic train humping over a white flower, and the forest filled with gutteral sounds.

And Bob matched the Sasquatch's thrusts, keeping up the frantic tempo, somehow, in his dazed brain, aware that if he could just go faster, faster, there could be that much more pleasure.

Then, as the creature reached full speed, and Bob pushed backwards as hard as he was able, the inevitable climax was reached.

The Sasquatch slapped forward, impaling Bob on his pole and holding him, squashing him against the log, pinning him to the heights of pleasure with his massive love tree.

And Bob arched his back, had no breath, could only marvel as he felt the initial surging of fluid up the monster's love trunk.

Up, up, up, the Sasquatch's length of pine, surging like a wave through a pipe.

And, as the Sasquatch climbed to the pinnacle, and prepared to be dashed into pleasure, Bob felt something unbelievable! The Sasquatch's dick was so big, and so filling, that it was causing Bob's own, white gizm to surge upward. From the prostate inside, through the base of his balls and up his dick, Bob began to experience the ultimate anal orgasm.

Wave upon wave of pleasure crashed upon Bob as his dick began to spit.

Tsunami upon tsunami of pure pleasure engulfed the standing, straining, quivering Sasquatch.

And then, as Bob was dribbling out a couple of teaspoons of sauce, the creature's own thick mix began to spew.

And, as the Sasquatch's dick was so massive, and the sexual apparatus so gigantic, the sperm could not be measured by something so puny as teaspoons, or table spoons, or even cups.

No, if there was any measure to the amount of Bigfoot baby batter it would have to be in gallons.

And Bob felt the gallons of stuff erupting from the pole so deeply impaled in his butt; he felt glob after giant glob spurting against his insides. He felt a bucket of the thick Bigfoot juice working its way back along the Bigfoot pole and sloshing out the edges of his stretched, brown pucker.

And the white stuff surged out, bubbled out, and began to slither down Bob's legs and wash over his feet.

And the Sasquatch grunted and lurched and grunted and lurched.

At last, a mighty force of nature come to rest, the Sasquatch relaxed and slipped back, almost falling down as his sloppy dick emerged from Bob's anal canal.

Bob laid over the log, gasping for breath, trying to focus his eyes.

And, the deed being done, there was still the fact that, in spite of what had happened, it was punishment for a crime that had been committed.

"And don't ever let me catch you shooting your rifle again," the Sasquatch grunted flicking its member against a tree trunk to slap off bits of jewel gruel.

Bob merely moaned, and began to slide off the log.

The Sasquatch turned away and began walking across the meadow. Emptied as it was by its exertions, the Sasquatch felt a calm exhilaration within. The hunter had turned out to be a neat trick. And the tightness of channel between those disgustingly pale, shaved cheeks! Man, now that was a memory to turn over on those long winter nights.

Behind the Sasquatch, Bob lay on the ground. His butt battered, his brown ring bruised, filled to the gills with Bigfoot cum, he attempted to roll over. And, as he flopped, his hand slapped upon the stock of his rifle.

Across the meadow the broad back of the beast could be seen sauntering, moving through the high grass.

The Sasquatch, that had violated him, and used him, and now walked away so carefree and nonchalant.

Bob only had a moment before the Sasquatch disappeared from view, so he forced himself onto one elbow, took careful aim, and...BOOM!

Across the meadow the Sasquatch felt the whiz of a high caliber bee go past his head. It spun. In rage, unbelieving of what had just happened, it sprinted back towards Bob.

Bob peered through the smoke, saw the Sasquatch charging him, and threw away the rifle. He backed away from the coming beast, working himself on heels and elbows.

Within a moment, however, the Sasquatch was once again towering over him. Its outraged eyes were big and round and as blood shot as roadmaps. Its muscles stood out under the rippling fur, thick cords of steel. Its slobber dripped and frothed from the snarling mouth.

The Sasquatch drew itself up to its tallest, raised its massive fists to strike, and then, then, at the height of its rage, as Bob had had epiphany, so did the beast. And the rage seeped out of it and was replaced by wonder and awe.

Bob, waiting for the Sasquatch to pounce upon him, saw the shock of realization. Under the creature's fur and behind its animal eyes, he saw it.

And the Sasquatch lowered its fists and said in the softest and most amazed voice, "You didn't really come out here to hunt, did you?"