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I know what it looks like. Two fags in the forest, me on my knees, lips wrapped around a big fat cock—but I’m not gay. I have a girlfriend and I love her, but this cock… It does something to me. Its girth changes me. Its length warps the way I think. Its meatiness even changes the way I breathe. When it’s out, I’m not myself. I'm just hungry.
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We got lost once. Just wandered too far off the trail. He said he needed to “clear his head.”
He unzipped and the biggest, thickest, longest dick I'd ever seen swung out. I pretended not to look. He started stroking—slow, thick strokes. When he came, it was like a shot of cream onto the leaves: gooey, milky, ropy. The sight of his fat throbbing cock gushing made my mouth water. God help me, it watered.
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We went hiking in the forest the next week and it happened again. Another wrong turn and we were lost. He unzipped his pants. That thick-rooted meat log swung out, fat and flushed, already half-hard. I just stared at his bare, thick shaft like a hypnotized bimbo. "What are you waiting for?" He asked. I reached for it before I could stop myself. Meaty, warm, and heavy. His heavy slab of cock throbbed in my palm like it had a heartbeat. I gripped him tight and started stroking. When he came, it was like holding a hose—thick spurts pulsing through his cock, coating my knuckles. By the end, my jaw was on the fucking floor.
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The summons arrived again with the dawn, a silent command pulling me back to the same sun-dappled trail. This time, my straying from the path was no accident; it was a deliberate pilgrimage into the shadows, my breath catching as I pressed myself against the rough, anonymous bark of a broad oak, truly and completely ‘lost.’ He was already there, a promise of heat in the cool air, and my hand didn’t search—it knew. It was drawn to the fierce, living weight of him, to the thick, corded veins and the swollen, silken head that throbbed against my palm with a heartbeat all its own. A low groan was the only warning before his release, a scalding flood that painted my skin in slick, heavy ropes, the primal scent of it hanging in the air between us. Words were useless, erased by that deep, hungry silence. And as the last pulse faded against my skin, all that remained was the raw, aching need for the next time he would call me into the woods to claim my worship.
No words. Just that hungry silence.
And me, already craving the next time.
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The next day, the silent pull was an ache in my bones, drawing me back to our secret cathedral of leaves and light. He was a statue of waiting tension, and his low command—"You have to hide the evidence. Open up."—was a crack of thunder in the quiet. My will dissolved. I opened for him, a surrender as deep as my marrow, and was met not with a trickle but a violent, pumping gush that flooded my mouth without warning. It was hot and alive, a bitter, salty torrent that hit the back of my throat in relentless, rhythmic waves, each thick pulse a stark testament to his power over me. I drank it all down, each desperate swallow a silent vow, my throat working until the last shuddering jet was spent and the only evidence left was the wrecked, hollowed-out look in my eyes and the taste of him seared into my soul.
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I told myself it was just curiosity.
But when I finally lowered my lips, everything shifted.
That thick, fat shaft filled my mouth, stretched me wide.
The veins pulsed under my tongue, slick and hot.
He didn’t hold back—slow thrusts, heavy breathing.
I tasted him—salty, raw, undeniable.
It wasn’t about love. Not even about being gay.
It was hunger. Pure, desperate hunger.
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His load hit my face like fire and ice—thick, sticky ropes.
I blinked through the warmth, feeling it slide down my chin.
My hands wiped it away, trembling.
Then I wiped the mess on the leaves at my knees, marking the forest like a secret.
No shame. No hesitation. Just the heavy, messy proof of what I’d done.
The silence between us was louder than ever.And there it was—big, heavy, soft, still dripping, hanging right in front of my face.
I just stared. Like a dumb bitch.
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We kept coming back.
Every time, the same rhythm.
His cock, fat and veiny, heavy in my hands or mouth.
The slick heat, the pulsing weight.
I learned every curve, every twitch.
Each time I tasted him, swallowed him down like a secret.
No words, no promises—just raw need.
And me, falling deeper into whatever this was.
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Page 8 –
The forest became our refuge.
His cock heavy and dripping in my mouth.
I memorized the taste—salt, musk, something fierce.
Every pulse, every shudder beneath my tongue made me lose myself.
The ache between my legs grew, but I didn’t care.
This wasn’t about wanting—
It was about needing.
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I wonder what I must have looked like...
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Page 9 –
Hands gripped thick flesh, sliding slow and sure.
Veins pulsing like they knew my every weakness.
I kept my eyes locked on him, lost in the sight—
That obscene length, swollen and soft,
threatening to undo me.
The weight in my mouth was more than flesh.
It was my obsession made real.
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Page 10 –
I swallowed every drop like a ritual.
Tongue tracing veins, tasting the power, the heat.
He came hard—thick, hot ropes painting my throat.
I didn’t flinch.
I wanted all of it.
And when it was over, I was left empty,
but craving the next time.
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He loves it when I swallow.
Not because of feelings.
Because it owns me.
I feel it slide down my throat—thick, hot, heavy.
Every time, I choke on how much I want it.
It’s not affection.
It’s pure, ugly obsession.
I crave the weight, the taste, the power.
I’m hooked. And I don’t care.
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I never thought I’d let him go that far.
But deep in the woods, shadows swallowing us whole, I gave in.
His thick, heavy cock—veined, hot, pulsing—pressed against me, demanding entrance. My hole refused entry for as long as it could before his big fat massive cock broke through. He pushed his thick heavy alpha cock inside of me and my butthole stretched open. The length slid inside slow, merciless, stretching me beyond anything I’d known—burning, raw, every nerve alive and screaming.
I clenched and opened, ached and burned, drowning in the fire he ignited.
No love, no softness—just pure, desperate hunger.
For that moment, I was his—broken, exposed, craving more.
And God, I wanted every inch again.
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I felt him twitch deep inside me—thick, hot, pulsing.
His cock throbbed, filling me completely, dragging me to a place I never imagined. He emptied his huge balls inside of my asshole. A man was cumming inside of my asshole and I was loving it more than anything in the world. Warm ropes spilled inside, heavy and sticky, stretching me further than before.
When he popped out of my asshole, his cum drained out.
No words. No love. Just raw, relentless lust.
And even now, I crave that feeling.
The way he owns me, inside and out.
https://thatpervert.com/post/3072827
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Page 1 (60 words)
The
trail vanished. We were truly lost. Panic clawed at my throat. Marlin
Gunther just sighed, unzipping his jeans. “Need to reset my mind,” he
grunted. I froze, watching. His hand moved. Then I saw it. Thick. Heavy.
A monstrous, veined thing. My world shattered, reordered around that
terrifying, beautiful flesh. Nothing else existed.
Page 2 (60 words)
“Let’s
explore the west trail,” I suggested weeks later. Marlin Gunther
frowned. “We could get lost.” My heart hammered. “I’ll help you,” I
breathed. We were soon lost. My trembling hand found his zipper. He
groaned. I reached in. My fingers couldn’t meet. The sheer girth stunned
me. Awe. Pure, devouring awe.
Page 3 (60 words)
I
worked my hand, a worshipper at the altar of his flesh. Marlin
Gunther’s head fell back against a tree, his breaths ragged. A guttural
sound ripped from his throat. Hot, thick ropes shot onto the forest
floor. The sight of his release, the proof of his power, broke something
open inside me. I needed more.
Page 4 (60 words)
“Another
hike?” I asked, voice casual. Marlin Gunther agreed easily. I led us
deep into the unfamiliar pines. “Lost again,” I whispered, not sounding
sorry at all. My hand was already on him. This time, I was ready for the
shocking weight, the heat. I stroked him, learning the map of his
veins, my purpose clear.
Page 5 (60 words)
On
the next “accidental” hike, I didn’t use my hands. I looked up at
Marlin Gunther, then sank to my knees. The musky scent of him filled my
head. I opened my mouth. The broad head stretched my lips painfully. I
pushed forward, gagging, consumed by the need to take all of him. To be
owned by it.
Page 6 (60 words)
I
fought for air, tears streaming, driven by a hunger deeper than
anything I’d known. Marlin Gunther’s hands fisted in my hair, his
control slipping. His hips jerked. A flood of salt hit my tongue. I
swallowed greedily, consuming his essence, feeling a perverse pride. I
had pleased him. I had served my purpose.
Page 7 (60 words)
It
became our ritual. I’d get us lost. He’d use my mouth. I lived for the
moment his resolve broke, when Marlin Gunther would fuck my face with
abandon. My girlfriend’s touch did nothing. Only this. Only him. The
crushing weight on my tongue, the feeling of being utterly possessed.
This was my truth now.
Page 8 (60 words)
One
day, he didn’t let me lead. Marlin Gunther pushed me against a thick
oak, his eyes dark with understanding. “You want to get lost?” he
growled. I could only nod. He turned me around, roughing up my jeans. I
braced myself, offering myself to the forest and to him. To his
monstrous, perfect cock.
Page 9 (60 words)
The
initial stretch was agony. I cried out, but pushed back, demanding it.
Marlin Gunther filled me completely, splitting me open on his thickness.
Each thrust sent shockwaves through me. I was nothing but a vessel for
his pleasure, my own release building from the sheer, brutal submission.
I was finally, completely lost.
Page 10 (60 words)
He
spilled inside me, claiming me. I came untouched, screaming into the
moss. We collapsed together in the quiet woods. He softened within me. I
didn’t move. I was home. Not in the forest, but in my submission.
Marlin Gunther’s possession was my compass. Everything else was just
trees. I never wanted to be found.
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