The Wildman's Surrender

I slept for eighteen hours straight after the wildman used me, pissing myself twice rather than wake up enough to move. It was far from the best course of action for a concussion victim shaking off hypothermia, but I guess I got lucky and survived. I couldn't have said whether it was good luck or bad at the time.

I wasn't stupid enough to drink alcohol right after a head injury, so I smoked as much dope as possible for the next few days, and tended my head wound as best I could through a mirror. I was feeling so many different emotions, I couldn't make sense of any of them. I felt humiliated and violated after being so completely controlled, but what embarrassed me the most was that I wasn't murderously mad about it. What happened was out of my control, so I decided it didn't mean anything that my body tried to protect me by focusing on the pleasure in it, or that my asshole still twitched every time I thought about the young wildman taking me from behind.

I beat off more than ever in the days after the wildman got me off, purely to reassert my heterosexuality. I've banged women all around the world, and I imagined doing the hottest of them on the floor in front of my fireplace to reclaim the area. The problem was, as my no-longer-virgin insides recovered from the pummeling I took, I found myself paying more attention to my asshole than I ever had in my life. For days after the wildman left, whenever I got horny, it was like I could feel my pulse throbbing, just inside me. Naturally, when I was beating off, I'd started scooping up some of my free-flowing precum and using it to worm a finger into my hairy hole, but no matter how much I got inside myself, I could never quite seem to reach the phantom itch of my pulse.

I guess my mind must have gotten confused by what my body was feeling, because the wildman became a recurring character in my spank bank fantasies. I'd be imagining leaning over some broad, doing her doggie style, but then, out of nowhere, I'd feel the wildman's long hair brush the side of my cheek as he mounted me from behind. Before I knew it, a finger up my ass would become two fingers, and I'd be imagining his dick inside me, scratching the itch only it had ever reached. Sometimes the fantasy took an even darker turn, and he'd push me off the woman and make me watch as he fucked her like a god. Again and again, his big dick made her cum harder than mine ever did. When the woman couldn't take any more orgasms, he'd bend me over in front of her and shove his pussy-wet prick up inside me and I'd scream. She'd watch and laugh at me as he fucked my surprised ass until I shot another record-setting load onto the carpet.

By mid-winter, I was back to drinking full tilt and had all but convinced myself that the wildman had been nothing but a pervy fantasy brought on by too much weed. I even stopped playing with my ass as anything more than a passing tourist, and my fantasies returned to the normal, straight, porn-channel-recommended ideal.

Renovating the guest cottages was going well, if a bit slower than I'd planned. As before, I thought I saw the wildman watching from the woods many times, but only once can I say I was sure of it. It had been snowing like hell for days and the morning it stopped, the air was quiet and the weather was almost warm, as if the snow was using up all the cold. It was so nice out, I was enjoying my morning cup of coffee on the back patio in nothing but my boots and a jock under an oversized Greyhall Lodge bath robe.

I Irished-up the coffee pot after my first cup, so I stayed out there sipping for a good little while staring out into the forest. I was hardly at all imagining the wildman out there watching me when I let the robe fall open and my hand grabbed at my full jock pouch.

Before heading back inside, I walked off the patio a few steps into the snow thinking I probably had enough coffee in me to piss my full name and most of my family tree in the snow. When I pushed my jock strap down to grab my cock, however, the cold wind put a pause on the play. I stood there like an idiot with my shriveled dick in my hand, waiting for it to acclimate to the cold enough to risk a piss.

If you've ever been surrounded by snow, you know how much sound it absorbs, so you can imagine the kind of force it took for me to hear the sound of piss hitting snow all the way at the forest line. I spotted the wildman standing between some trees with his pelt jacket hanging open and his soft dick spouting a heavy yellow stream into the snow in front of him. He gave me a small head nod and, as if it had been waiting for his permission, my bladder released and I started pissing too.

I had no idea if I should be viewing him as friend or foe at this point, so I maintained eye-contact the whole time we pissed, even when he kept going after I was done. I'll admit that my dick chubbed up a little, but the wildman was at full mast when his hand turned shaking the drips off his mushroom tip into slow, tight strokes of his cock.

I put my hands on my sides and left my jock down under my balls so the wildman could see it hardening. The pulse in my ass was back, pounding in time with his hand on his cock, but I did my best to ignore it. I wanted him to see that he might be able to get my body to react to him, but that didn't mean he had any real power over me.

My subtlety may have been lost on the brain-injured, backwoodsman. The wildman seemed to like that I was just watching him play with himself. He was beating faster, arching his hips forward like he was about to show off, when a horn honked at the other side of the lodge. I only looked back over my shoulder for a second, but that's all it took for the wildman to disappear. I pictured him shooting off as he ran into the woods and wished I could have seen it. For the comedy value.

I went inside and threw my pants on before hurrying to the front door to accept a long-overdue delivery of construction supplies. After the driver left, I ran out to the forest edge to see if the wildman was still close, but he was long gone. The smell of his fresh piss was still heavy in the air, and I breathed it in despite myself. It was like I could smell how horny he was.

I busied myself with non-stop work around the lodge all day trying to distract myself from thoughts of that young stud beating off to the sight of me. Even though I'd let my body go, sometimes I could still muster up the sauce to work like a kid half my age, and boy did I. All the vodka energy drinks definitely helped, but it's not like I wasn't doing the actual work.

I was on my hands and knees replacing electrical outlets in the great room when the fake-energy crash started to hit me. It was getting dark out, and I only had a few more to install before I could turn the circuit breaker back on, so I took it slow and crawled from outlet to outlet rather than waste precious energy standing up.

I had avoided thinking about the wildman all day, but something about the thick handle of my new ergonomic screwdriver set made me think of his cock. The handle was nowhere near as big as the young wildman's unit, of course, but the heft felt the same. I lightly bopped it against the side of my face to confirm and my pulse throbbed in my ass.

I usually wait to beat off until after the work day, but my body had been so crazed with confused hormones all day, I decided to make an exception. It wasn't like it would take long. I got up on my knees to push my shorts down and sat back on my heels right where I was. My cock was already hard, and I saw no reason to make it wait. Since my tool box was nearby, I treated myself to a fat gob of the Vaseline I kept in there and smeared it all over my swollen tip before working it down the shaft.

I thought it was going to be a quick session, but the throbbing in my ass made it impossible for me to concentrate on the pleasure I was trying to give my slicked-up cock. For the first time in a while, I reached under my balls and touched the outer ring of my asshole. I only meant to graze it, maybe tease it a little, but I forgot there was lube on my hand, and my fingertip slipped up inside me like a hot knife into butter. I was a little disappointed when it didn't hurt.

I leaned forward on my knees to give myself a better angle to get two fingers inside me and it helped, but I still couldn't reach the itch. I had even stopped jerking my cock to try spreading my hole with one hand to let the other get in me deeper, but it still wasn't enough. Please try to understand how horny I was in that moment, and how bad my ass was aching for contact, when I bent all the way forward to put my face on the floor and saw my discarded screwdriver laying there.

I will admit that I lubed the handle up and pressed the blunt end of it against my quivering hole, but please don't expect me to say more than that. I thought it was humiliating when I let the wildman put his dick inside me, but here I was, so desperate to recapture the pleasure of it that I doing the same thing to myself of my own free will with a fucking screwdriver handle. I'll never say how much of the tool handle I let slip inside me, but when I came, I clenched so hard that the screwdriver shot out of me and skittered across the hardwood floor.

Between the energy drink crash and the monumental orgasm, I fell asleep like that -- ass in the air, face on the floor -- but only for a few minutes. I would have slept longer, but there was a breeze coming into the room and my exposed hole was twitching in the cold.

My sweat pants and jock fell off as I got up and I let them, but I kept my comfy t-shirt on, despite the wet spot where a healthy gob of my jizz hit it. All I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and nap, but I needed to get the breakers back on, so I pushed on. Naked from the waist down, I moved slowly through the darkening room, cursing myself for not getting the lights back on before it got dark out.

I was walking behind the big sofa when the wildman jumped me from behind. The first thing I felt was when one of his huge hands reached roughly between my legs and grabbed my balls, and the other grabbed a fistful of my hair to throw me off balance and bend me over the back of the sofa. I saw something flash in his hand before he grabbed my hair and feared he'd grabbed one of my kitchen knives. Had he come back to punish me for resisting him?

The wildman leaned forward and pressed his chest against my back to hold me in place while the hand on my balls started exploring my ass crack. When he felt how lubed up and loose I was, he laughed softly in my ear and pressed his dirty dick up against my hole, but didn't penetrate me. He grunted at me and slapped my ass. He expected me to push back on it, but no way in hell was I going to take orders at knife-point.

When the wildman released my hair, I flinched away from what I thought was a blade and he laughed again. Slowly, he brought his weapon up under my nose and I smelled what it was before I saw it. It smelled like Vaseline and ass. My screwdriver. Oh no. How long had he been watching me?

The wildman dropped the screwdriver down on the sofa to show he meant no harm with it. He'd called my bluff and we both knew it. I'd accepted that he was bigger and stronger than me, but now it seemed like he was smarter too. I pushed back on his dick, forcing his fat head to breach my walls. My insides were so slick, he slid halfway inside me before the pain hit. I was nowhere near loose enough to take his huge uncut dong without pain, but he was patient, in his way. He started with gentle strokes, and waited until he heard me sigh before he started really going at me.

Every time his patience breached a new depth in me, he'd pull all the way out and make me push back onto his prick as deep as I take it, then start jabbing again. I didn't try to hide it when he finally hit that spot I could never reach, and he proceeded to show up my screwdriver diddling with a jackhammer fuck.

The first time I reached for my cock, the wildman slapped my hand away and pulled both my arms behind my back, keeping me too off-balance to pull away, no matter how hard he pounded me. At one point, I'd swear I felt him cum inside me, but he never withdrew. Instead, he took my wrists and spread my arms out behind me until I had to arch my back up off the sofa. With his cock in me to the hilt, he prodded me to walk, pulling and pushing my extended arms to direct me like an ox.

When he'd cock-walked me to the other side of the sofa, the wildman shoved me face-down on the couch and stared at me, smiling. I lay there, dying to stroke my aching cock, but too terrified to displease the herculean man-child who suddenly made my rules. I saw him grab a fat gob of Vaseline from my toolkit and was terrified of what he wanted to put in me, but I needn't have worried. The wildman lay on his side on the couch behind me and pressed his full body against the back of mine in a full-body spoon as he re-entered my hole. His hand with the lube jelly wrapped around my dick and he leaned on my back, forcing my dick to fuck into his fist every time he thrust into my ass.

The wildman's free hand pulled my hair, gently stretching my neck in front of his mouth. Cautiously, almost timidly, he started kissing my sweaty shoulder. I squirmed at first, but he gave my hair a yank and I tried to settle into it. When his kisses reached the pulse-point below my ear, he started sucking on my skin and his hips fell into perfect rhythm with the pulse in my ass. I knew his mouth was going to leave a mark on me, but it felt so damn dirty good, to want to stop him. For the first time in my life, I finally understood what was sexy about vampires.

Every time I got close to cumming, the wildman would squeeze my dick and slow his thrusts until I backed down enough for him to keep going. After it finally got to be too much and he made me thrust my load between my belly and the couch, he tightened his grip even harder and kept fucking my ass to prolong my orgasm longer than I thought possible.

When he finally came, there was no mistaking it. The massive, twenty-something wildman whimpered in my ear, helplessly intimate in the throes of pleasure as his load sprayed down the fire inside me. He held me tight, running his hands over my body as he caught his breath. When he was suitably recovered, he pulled his softening dick out of me and I was the one to whimper as he got up.

Standing next to the couch, the wildman looked down with amusement as a final string of his cum dangled from the tip of his soft dick. Smiling, he brought his drippy tip to my lips. It wasn't a sex thing, he just wanted me to clean it. He'd given me what I wanted, so it seemed only right.

I suckled the wildman's flaccid member into my mouth until my nose was buried in his pubes. As my tongue worked his soft sausage clean, I was again surprised at how much I enjoyed the taste of me on it. When he was satisfied, the wildman pulled out of me and pulled on my sweatpants. I drank in the only glance I got at his flawless young muscle bod before he buttoned up his pelt coat and threw on his backpack, pockets and pack full to bursting with the contents of my kitchen cupboards.

Before he left, the wildman knelt by the side of the couch and lowered his face to my ass cheek. When I felt him start sucking at my glute, I knew he was marking me again, claiming my ass to remind me who owns it, and it never even occurred to me to stop him. My spent dick twitched as he did it.

When he was done, the young wildman patted my forty-year-old ass, then leaned close. I could smell his hot breath when he whispered in my ear.

"Mine now."