The lumberjack boyfriend - Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Chapter 2

Night came slow and heavy, and my anxiety was off the charts.

My parents had gone to bed early. Their soft voices faded, then silence. Just the lake and the occasional creak of wood. I lay there in the dark with my glasses still on scrolling on my phone replaying every filthy TikTok I’d ever liked—masked men, chase scenes, deep voices growling run for me, little rabbit while the pretty boy’s cock dripped down his thigh. Those videos always left me aching and ashamed. Tonight the ache was worse. Because he said he wanna play a game.

I told myself I wasn’t going. I told myself it was fucked up. He was Jenna’s boyfriend. He was twice my size. He had just promised a game. What kind of game?

My feet hit the floor anyway.

I pulled on the same loose shorts and an old t-shirt, left my shoes by the door, and slipped outside barefoot. The boards were cool under my soles. Across the grass the smaller cabin was dark except for a thin yellow line under the door. My heart was slamming so hard I could taste metal in my mouth.

I climbed the two steps. Before I could knock, the door opened.

Morgan filled the doorway.

Shirtless. Jeans hanging low enough to show the thick dark trail of hair disappearing under the waistband. Sweat still glistened on his chest from the heat. But it was the mask that punched the air out of my lungs—white Ghostface, the exact one from every stalker edit I’d ever watched with my hand down my pants.

He tilted his head, black eye-holes studying me. Then that deep Texas voice came out, muffled and rough and already hard.

“Look who crawled over here with his pussy all wet. Gay Potter. Right on fucking time.”

I couldn’t speak. My cock twitched hard against the thin fabric of my shorts, a wet spot already forming.

Morgan stepped out, closing the door behind him. The mask stayed on. He was close enough that the heat of his bare chest hit me like a wall. The smell of beer, sweat, and that thick male scent wrapped around my face.

Morgan didn’t say anything at first. He just held up his phone, screen bright in the dark, and turned it toward me. My own TikTok profile stared back at me—every single video I had liked in the last three months. Masked men in the woods. Ghostface. Stalkers who whispered run for me while the camera followed some pretty boy’s trembling legs. Dark-romance edits with deep voices growling about claiming, hunting, using. Hundreds of red hearts. All mine.

“Look at that,” he said, voice low and rough behind the Scream mask. “Little brother-in-law’s private spank bank. Every dirty little video of masked cock about to ruin some shy boy’s throat. You sat in that cabin jerking off to this shit while I was right next door, didn’t you? Thinking about me. Wishing it was me under the mask. Well… wish granted, Gay Potter.”

I was speechless.

“You’ve been watching those dirty little videos, haven’t you?” he said, voice low and mean. “The ones with the masked guys who make the shy boys run and then fuck them raw. I saw every single like. You’re not shy. You’re a cock-hungry little slut who just needed the right man to make him admit it.”

My face burned. “I… I don’t—”

“Run.”

The word was soft. Almost gentle.

Then he said it again, harder, like a command.

“Run into the woods, boy. You’ve got a ten-second head start. After that I’m coming for you, and when I catch you I’m gonna use that pretty mouth like a fucking toy.”

My legs moved before my brain could stop them.

I turned and bolted off the porch, across the grass, straight into the dark line of trees. Branches whipped my arms. Pine needles stabbed my bare feet. Behind me the cabin door slammed and heavy boots hit the ground.

I ran harder, glasses bouncing, cock bouncing, every filthy TikTok scene flashing behind my eyes. I could hear him now—not sprinting, just following with steady, deliberate steps, like a predator who already knew the ending.

“You can run faster than that, Gay Potter,” his voice carried through the trees, still muffled by the mask. “Come on. Make me work for that throat.”

I stumbled over a root and almost went down. A branch cracked right behind me.

Then a big hand closed around the back of my neck like a collar.

Morgan yanked me backward against his bare chest. Solid. Burning hot. Sweaty. His thick cock—still trapped in his jeans—pressed hard against the small of my back. One arm locked across my stomach, pinning me in place while the other stayed on my nape, thumb digging in.

He rubbed against me deliberately—slow, filthy rolls of his hips—so I could feel every heavy inch of him.

“Feel that?” he growled against my ear through the mask. The plastic was cool against my cheek. “That’s the cock you’ve been staring at all day. The one that was half-hard in the lake while you sat there with your mouth open like a hungry little whore.”

I made a broken sound. Not a protest. Not really.

Morgan’s free hand slid down the back of my shorts and closed around my ass. He squeezed hard enough to make my knees buckle, then dragged his thumb through my hole.

“Fuck, you’re tight. Already soaked through your shorts for your sister’s boyfriend. What a filthy little bitch you are. It’s a shame your sister’s pussy not around, right? I’m a man with special needs.”

He spun me around and shoved me back against a tree. Bark scraped my shoulders. The Scream mask filled my vision—white, empty eyes, frozen black mouth. Then he ripped it off and tossed it aside. His real face was worse: flushed, eyes black with lust, mustache damp with sweat, that cocky, filthy grin spreading.

“On your knees. Now.”

My legs gave out. I dropped hard. The ground was cool and rough under my knees. Morgan’s hands went to his belt. The sound of the buckle and zipper in the quiet woods was filthy. He shoved his jeans and boxers down just far enough.

His cock sprang free—thick, heavy, already rock-hard, the head flushed dark and shiny with precum. Veins ran along the shaft like ropes. It was bigger up close than it had looked in the wet boxers. A thick bead of clear fluid hung from the slit and then stretched, dripping onto my lower lip.

He wrapped one big hand around the base and slapped the heavy head against my mouth, smearing the precum across my lips.

“Open that shy little mouth, Gay Potter. You’ve been begging for this cock with your eyes all day. Time to choke on it.”

I opened.

The first taste was salt and heat and pure male. Morgan didn’t give me a second to adjust. He shoved forward until the thick head forced past my lips and filled my mouth completely. My jaw stretched wide. My glasses fogged. I gagged hard when he hit the back of my throat, but he only groaned low and filthy and kept going, both hands fisting in my hair to hold me still.

“Fuck—look at you. Gay Potter gagging on dick in the woods. Your sister would lose her goddamn mind if she saw her little brother with a mouthful of her boyfriend’s cock. Unfortunately for her she’s not a big fan of blowjobs. Better for you I guess.”

He started fucking my face—slow at first, then deeper, harder, using my throat like it was made for him. Spit ran down my chin in thick strings. Every time he pulled back I tasted more of him; every time he slammed in I felt the heavy veins drag across my tongue. My own cock throbbed untouched, leaking steadily into my shorts.

Morgan’s breathing turned rough and animal. His hips snapped harder. The wet, filthy sounds of me choking and slurping filled the dark space between the trees.

“That’s it… take it… fucking take every inch… choke on it, you cock-hungry little slut—”

He held my head still and buried himself as deep as he could go. My nose pressed into the dark, sweaty hair at the base of his cock. I couldn’t breathe. Tears streamed down my face and fogged my glasses. Spit bubbled around the corners of my stretched lips. Then he pulled almost all the way out, leaving just the fat head between my lips, and I felt him swell even thicker.

“Gonna paint that pretty gay face and those glasses!’ he growled, voice wrecked. “Open wide. Stick that tongue out. I want to see every drop of my cum on Gay Potter’s face.”

The first pulse hit my tongue—thick, hot, heavy. Then he pulled free completely and started stroking himself hard and fast right in front of my open mouth and face. Rope after rope of dense, white cum striped across my cheeks, my glasses, my open mouth, my chin, my nose. It kept coming—more than I thought possible—hot and sticky, dripping down my face in thick ropes while I knelt there gasping, cock still hard and leaking, tongue out like the desperate slut he had turned me into.

Morgan stood over me, chest heaving, cock still twitching as the last heavy drops landed on my lower lip and chin. He watched for a long moment, that slow, filthy, victorious smile spreading across his face.

“Fucking hell,” he said quietly, voice still rough. “You look even better covered in my cum. My little brother-in-law’s pretty face all painted like a whore.”

He reached down, dragged two thick fingers through the mess on my cheek, and shoved them between my lips. I sucked them clean without thinking, tasting pure salt and him.

Morgan chuckled, low and dark and satisfied.

“Good boy. Swallow every drop. Clean yourself up a little… then get your cum-covered ass back to your cabin before your parents wake up.” He tucked his still-half-hard cock away and zipped his jeans. “And Gay Potter?”

I looked up, face still wet and sticky, glasses smeared white, lips swollen, chest heaving.

He winked, eyes pure filth.

“Same time tomorrow night. We’re gonna play another game. And next time I’m not stopping at your mouth.”

He turned and walked back toward the cabins with that wide, confident stride of a man who had just claimed exactly what he wanted, leaving me on my knees in the dirt, heart still racing, the thick taste of his cum heavy on my tongue, and the July night suddenly so hot it felt like it might burn me alive.

All characters are consenting adults (18+). All acts depicted are consensual between the characters.