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THE WILDMAN'S SURRENDER -- Chapter 2 by Neo leFay
I thought I sawthe wildmen plenty of times in the months after that, but I was always too busy restoring the lodge by day and getting wasted by night to seriously track them. I called the county sheriff to make a trespassing report and raise concerns about the possible truant minor, but the idiot who answered the phone laughed at my backwoods survivalists theory and asked if I was high. I screamed a few of my special forces accomplishments at her and hung up.
Out of concern for the teenager, I ordered a few cartons of protein bars and snack cakes and hung them from ropes around the property where wildlife couldn't get to them. Some disappeared faster than others, and every time, the trail cams I'd hidden got smashed to pieces first. At least they had food if they needed it.
Desperate to believe I hadn't imagined the strange pair, I even fell into the habit of beating my meat outside in the morning in hopes of luring them back. The weed was a big help in convincing myself I was doing it out of concern for the teenage wildboy, especially when it was always the herculean wildman I imagined showing off for when I came.
Spring blossomed into beautiful summer and fall rose to kill it all before I saw either of my savage trespassers again. Winter hit hard that year and the property's biggest lake was already iced over by late December. The lodge's Christmas decorations were gathering dust in storage and I hadn't been to town on a supply run since before any of their jingle bell nonsense went up, but the threat of the approaching holiday season still weighed on me. Weed and my dad's whiskey collection turned out to be better than nothing for company.
To save money on heat fuel, I spent most nights getting wasted in front of a roaring fire in the great room, adding or removing clothing as needed to adjust to the temperature. Of course, drinking always made me feel warm, so the more I drank, the more I tended to take off. Most nights I ended up bare-assed on the carpet in nothing but my jock strap, at least on the nights I didn't push that down to work a pre-bed load all over myself.
The night of the first snowfall, I was a dangerous combination of drunk, high, and depressed. My ex had let our sons back out of visiting me for the holidays so they could be with friends they saw every other day of the year, rather than "all alone" with me. I put up a token fight, but if I'm honest, I think I only felt bad because I felt so damn relieved. I love my boys with all my heart, but I'd been away for too much of their youth and I had absolutely nothing in common with the soft, timid little nerds. Adding fatherhood to my list of failures had me feeling low enough that I was thinking about calling one of the hotlines my counselor gave me to talk to someone, but the unexpected snowstorm arrived first with other plans for me.
The sound of the wind outside battered at the fog of my inebriation until I realized with a start that I'd never gotten around to winterizing the guest cabins. If the storm turned out to be half as bad as the forecast said, I'd have frozen pipes and shattered windows all around the property by morning. While I might not have cared enough about myself to shave or even shower lately, the lodge was my family's legacy, and my sense of duty was the one good part of me I still had left to cling to. In just my jock, I stepped into my combat boots, strapped on a headlamp, and buttoned up my stiff wool overcoat. Comforted by the weight of my Glock in one pocket and some emergency scotch in the other, I trudged out into the howling winds.
My flask was empty and two inches of sticky white snow had fallen by the time I was headed to the last house on my rounds. The path down to the lake house was treacherous with new ice, but I was whiskey brave and desperate to be done, so I stomped my way down the hill, digging my boots in to find traction before each step. I was doing fine up until I heard a twig snap in the woods beside the trail.
Old instincts sent my heart rate to red alert and I pulled out my sidearm as I whipped around. When my headlamp lit up something furry a few yards into the forest, I screamed in terror, but not because I thought it was a wolf or even a wildman; I was so drunk and high I thought it was the devil himself come to get me.
I fired a shot before I even realized I was pulling the trigger, and the surprise kickback cost me my balance on the icy path. I slipped and fell so hard, I accidentally fired three more rounds into the woods. The thing was gone by the time I recovered enough to look, but I was sure I hit it at least once.
I was still staring into the forest, trying to get my breathing under control when I heard the sound of glass breaking on the dock. I hurried down, sidearm raised, to finish the ugly job of putting down whatever I'd shot.
As I crept incursion-style across the dock, the wind blew open the lake house door and I heard the sound of what I thought was an animal whimpering. When I got the balls to aim my flashlight inside, however, I saw that the devil wolf I feared was actually my long lost wildman. He wasn't covered in mud and I couldn't see his face, but I'd have recognized the position his hairy ass was in anywhere.
The wildman was kneeling on the floor with his layered coat hiked up to expose his bare bottom in the same face-down mooning posture the wildboy had taken months ago. My adrenaline was going off hard, so as usual, I reverted to aggressive alpha-male bullshit and brandished my handgun at the big intruder.
"What the hell are you doing in here?" I demanded.
The wildman hung his head to hide his face. Without the mud weighing it down, his untamed mane of long, wavy hair hung around him like a cloak hood. On the floor next to the couch, I saw that he'd dropped a filthy old backpack before assuming his position. I nudged its broken zipper open with my foot, expecting stolen crap to spill out, but all it held were some wild plants and mushrooms.
"Who said you could forage on my land?" I shouted, like an idiot. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
The wildman's soft crying shifted to the whimpers of a frightened puppy, but he did as he was told and looked back over his shoulder at me. Without the mud camouflage, my suspicions about the state of his marbles seemed sadly confirmed by a pale old surgery scar across the side of his forehead.
"Are you shot?" I asked him. "Did I hit you?"
The wildman was too afraid to answer me, which was as good as a yes to me. With my weapon aimed, I looked his bare hindquarters over with my headlamp and found blood trickling down the outside of his hairy thigh.
"Hey, don't try to move yet, big guy" I slurred. "I need to see how bad you're hit."
The simple wildman was frozen with fear, so I pocketed my gun and grabbed an emergency medical kit from the hall closet. I moved slowly, trying not to spook him, and gently pushed the bottom edge of his coat further up over his bent hips. When I leaned in to inspect his wound, however, I was so drunk and wobbly, I had to put a hand on him to keep from falling over. I was worried he'd bolt, but the instant my palm landed on the small of his bare back, the wildman stopped whimpering.
Without thinking about it, I slid my hand down the side of his ass, gently rubbing his hairy flank like he was one of my horses until he stopped shivering. The wildman's ass was hairy as hell, but I had almost forgotten how warm another human body could feel. I let my hand linger and wasn't shy about squeezing him to steady myself -- he definitely had the cake for it. Being so close to it, I couldn't help but breathe in a chunky dose of his unadulterated scent. He had that rich, natural musk that most guys pretended not to like in each other. It reminded me of roughhousing in a locker room with my buddies.
As I checked him for other injuries, my eyes were drawn to follow the trail of curly fuzz that crept up his inner thigh and past his balls to his spread cheeks. It wasn't the first man's asshole I'd ever seen, but it was the first one I'd ever stared at. Seeing this young giant in what was probably the most vulnerable position a man could be in, I finally realized what was happening. He wasn't mooning me, he was offering his asshole to me in surrender out of fear I'd shoot him again.
I felt terrible for making the wildman feel so scared, but I had to take advantage of whatever kept him compliant long enough for me to check his wound. To be able to kneel down and examine his leg I had to unbutton my stiff overcoat, forgetting that I only had a jock strap on underneath. I shivered as the cold air blew over my body, tightened my balls and sharpened my senses.
To my relief, my bullet had only grazed the outside of the wildman's thigh. It probably hurt like hell, but it looked like it would heal fine if I could get it cleaned up and bandaged properly.
Every medical kit on the property was military medic grade, so I gave his prodigious ass a light slap to distract him and injected his thigh with a single-use morphine syrette. It took a moment for the drug to make its way through his big brute of a body, but when it did, he wasn't shy about showing it. The wildman's whole body relaxed and his whimpers of pain turned into a slow, happy cooing as I cleaned his wound. I was about to ask the big guy to let me wrap the bandage around his hairy thigh, but at the slightest nudge of my hand, he spread his legs wide to give me full access to his undercarriage. One of my fellow marines would have wasted time with a stupid joke about buying him dinner first, but at least he would have lifted his balls out of the way.
With the big guy on the floor, it was impossible not to graze his package a few times as I wrapped the bandage around his tree-trunk thigh. It was awkward, but the fact that his dick was so big actually made it easier for me to have to touch it. I don't know if all guys are like this, but I only ever feel awkward around other naked bros if they have obviously little dicks. I just feel so bad for them. Another great thing about my cock is that it's still pretty huge when it's soft, so being around men who present as bigger than me is rarely an issue. The barbarian's cold softy was hanging well enough that my men would have made us measure them against each other in the showers to call a winner.
Playfully touching each other's junk once in a while was natural for guys, so wrapping the young stranger's naked thigh didn't get weird for me until I felt a drop of something warm land on my hand. I'd been so focused on the first aid that I didn't notice his cock had grown to full mast. I'd never seen an uncut dick get hard before and watched mesmerized as the foreskin cowled back to expose his leaking tip.
I secured the bandage as fast as I could and pulled my hand away. A line of his clear liquid clung to me like a spiderweb. It smelled like mine. Being inches from another guy's bare, offered asshole while he pre-cums onto my hand was not a place I ever thought I'd be and I had no idea how to react. What pushed me over the top was when I felt something on my own prick. I looked down and was surprised to see that I was so hard my cockhead was sticking out from the waistband of my jock far enough for the wildman to reach back and fondle it. It had been so long since another person touched me, I admit I could have stepped away faster.
Keenly aware of how strong his hand must be, I spoke calmly and gently and moved his gripping hand away from my penis. "Uh... Thanks," I said; " but that's not necessary. I'm not going to hurt you. You can forage whatever you want."
The wildman understood my offer of freedom better than I'd expected him to. As I stood up, he turned around, sat on his heels in front of me, and pulled me into what I thought was a grateful hug. I was almost afraid, but he never stopped his gentle, cooing grunts, and it was obvious he didn't mean me any harm. When he started to nuzzle his face against the pouch of my jock, I should have pulled away, but his hands moved up to hold my bare ass in place and I didn't try to resist. His coos became grunts when he found my exposed dick head and swallowed my cock whole.
It had been literal years since my ex blew me, and she never once took it all like the wildman was so eagerly doing. Mouths were so much wetter than I remembered. Or at least the wildman's was. I put my hands in his hair, thinking I should pull him off, but I didn't last long enough for it to be an issue. I was less than ten strokes in when I dared look down and saw the wildman's eager eyes staring up at me with his stretched mouth smiling around my dick. The fact that he was bigger, stronger, and younger than me, made his desperate need to please me a whole new kind of intoxicating.
Two seconds after he started playing with my balls, I blew in the wildman's mouth like a spastic virgin. It was like he'd sucked out a cork that released the kind of pleasure load I could never access alone. I tried to pull out as I came, but he gripped my ass to keep my cock in place until his throat milked out every last drop of my pent-up seed.
The post-nut clarity hit me hard and fast. I shouted, "Stop!" way too harshly and pushed the wildman off me. He looked confused and pushed me back just hard enough to make me stumble. He wasn't trying to hurt me, but neither of us remembered the coffee table behind me and I fell backwards in the dark.
Blinding pain erupted behind my eyes as the back of my head impacted the corner of an end table on my way to the floor. I screamed in pain and the confused wildman freaked and made a break for the door. I fought not to black out and shouted, "Wait," but the poor spooked bastard ran out into the storm.
After that, I remember running outside shouting, "Come back;" and something about it being too cold, but then things get blurry. My feet must have gone out from under me on the snowy dock, because my last clear memory for a while was falling through the lake ice and expecting to die. After that, as near as I could tell, I woke up in hell.