The lumberjack boyfriend - Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Chapter 3

I woke up already horny.

Sunlight cut through the thin curtains of the cabin. For a few seconds I just lay there, staring at the wooden ceiling, feeling the dull ache in my throat and the phantom weight of Morgan’s cock on my tongue. My shorts were damp. The memory of his cum drying on my face the night before sat heavy and filthy in my mind, I still had some cum dry on my face.

I showered in cold water. It didn’t help much.

When I stepped outside, the July heat was already rising off the lake in thick waves. My parents were on the porch of the bigger cabin with coffee. Morgan was there too — shirtless, jeans low, cap backwards, eating eggs straight from a pan like he owned the place. Sweat already shone on his chest. The dark trail of hair down his stomach disappeared under the waistband of his jeans.

He looked up when the screen door of my cabin slapped shut.

That slow, knowing smirk pulled at his mustache.

“Morning, Gay… I mean Harry Potter,” he said, loud enough for my parents to hear, though they only chuckled like it was a harmless nickname. “Sleep well?”

My face burned. I mumbled something and sat as far from him as the small table allowed. Every time I reached for the toast or the juice, I felt his eyes on me. Heavy. Patient. Like he was already thinking about what he was going to do later.

After breakfast my parents decided to drive into town for supplies and to “give the young people some space.” The moment their car disappeared down the dirt road, the air changed.

Morgan stretched, thick arms flexing, and looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug.

“You’re quiet this morning.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not what I heard last night.” He set the mug down and stepped closer. The smell of him — sleep, sweat, and leftover beer — hit me in the chest. “You made some real pretty noises with my cock in your mouth.”

I glanced toward the empty road even though my parents were long gone. Morgan noticed and laughed, low and mean.

“Relax. They’re gone for hours. Just you and me, Gay Potter.”

He spent the rest of the morning working out around the cabins — lifting firewood, doing push ups. He didn’t put a shirt on. Every time he lifted something heavy the muscles in his back and arms shifted under sun-darkened skin, and the jeans pulled tight across his thick thighs and ass. I tried to read on the porch. I didn’t get past the same page.

Around noon he walked past me on the way to the cooler, grabbed a beer, and stopped.

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He cracked the beer open with one hand and took a long drink, throat working. A drop of condensation fell from the can onto his chest and rolled down through the hair. 

“It’s okay. I like it when you look. Makes my cock hard knowing my girl’s little brother is sitting there with hunger just from watching me sweat. It makes me feel desired like never before.”

I swallowed. My own cock was already pressing against my shorts.

Morgan’s eyes dropped briefly, then came back up, amused.

“Go put on your swim stuff. We’re cooling off.”

I should have said no. Instead I went inside 

and changed into the only pair of swim shorts I had — thin, old, and too revealing once they got wet. When I came back out Morgan was already on the dock in black boxers again. He looked over his shoulder at me and smirked.

“Cute. If you were a girl I would marry you instead of your sister…”

He dove in without waiting. I followed more carefully. The water was cold enough to make me gasp. Morgan surfaced close — too close — water streaming down his face and chest.

“Come here.”

I didn’t move fast enough. He reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me against him in the water. My chest hit his. The thick hair scraped my smooth skin. One of his hands settled on my lower back, fingers spreading just above the curve of my ass.

“Feel that?” he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear. He rolled his hips once under the water. The heavy length of his cock pressed against my stomach through the thin layers of wet fabric. 

“Been like that since breakfast. Every time you look at me with those hungry little eyes behind your glasses it gets worse. You should know the power you have on men, Gay Potter. I guess you’re really a wizard.”

I was breathing too fast. My own cock was fully hard now, trapped between us. Morgan noticed and grinned.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

He held me there for another few seconds, letting me feel every thick inch of him, before he suddenly released me and swam backward with a lazy stroke.

“Later,” he said simply, and climbed out of the water. The black boxers clung to him obscenely. I stayed in the lake until my hands started to prune, trying to get myself under control.

The afternoon was worse.

Morgan found reasons to be near me. When I tried to read on the porch he came and sat on the railing right in front of me, legs spread, drinking beer and scrolling on his phone. Every so often he would shift and the thick outline of his cock would press against the denim. Once, when I dropped my book, he picked it up and held it just out of reach.

“Ask nicely.”

“…Can I have my book?”

“Try again.”

I stared at him. He raised an eyebrow under the cap.

“Can I have my book… please.”

“Please what?”

My face was on fire. “Please, Morgan.”

He handed it over, fingers brushing mine longer than necessary.

“Good boy.”

By the time the sun started dropping, I was a wreck, I couldn’t think about nothing less unless it was Morgan.

My parents still weren’t back. Morgan disappeared into his cabin for a while. When he came out again he was wearing old jeans and a white used wife beater, scream mask on his hand. He looked at me sitting stiffly on the porch steps and gave that same slow, filthy smile from the night before.

“Parents texted. They’re staying in town for dinner. Won’t be back until late. They asked me to cook you some dinner and take care of you. Guess what’s gonna be your dinner? Sausage.”

My stomach flipped.

Morgan walked over until he was standing right above me. The smell of him — clean sweat, soap, and that deep male scent — wrapped around me.

“You know what that means, Gay Potter.”

I did.

“Same game as last night,” he said, voice dropping. “You run. I hunt. Difference is… tonight when I catch you, I’m not stopping at your mouth. I’m taking that tight little hole you’ve been teasing me with all day.”

He leaned down, mustache almost brushing my ear, before putting on the scary movie mask.

“You’ve got ten seconds. Starting now.”

I ran. This time I had my sneakers on so I could run faster.

Branches whipped my arms and legs. The woods were already half-dark, the air thick with heat and the smell of pine and earth. Behind me I heard the cabin door shut and the heavy, deliberate sound of boots. He wasn’t rushing. He never needed to.

“Faster,” his voice carried through the trees, low and mocking. “I can already tell how wet that hole is for me.”

I stumbled. A branch cracked close behind. Then a big hand closed around the back of my neck like a collar and yanked me backward hard.

I slammed into his sweaty chest. Solid. Burning hot. His arm locked across my stomach, pinning me against him while the thick bulge in his jeans ground slowly against the small of my back.

“Got you.”

He spun me around and shoved me back against a wide pine. Bark scraped my shoulders. For a second the white Ghostface mask filled my vision — empty black eyes, frozen mouth — and then he reached up and pulled it off in one motion. He took of his wifebeater too. His rough body was definitely like the ones I desired while I scroll on Tik Tok.

His real face was flushed, eyes dark, mustache damp. That filthy, victorious grin spread as he looked down at me.

“There he is.”

Before I could speak, Morgan grabbed my jaw, tilted my head up, and kissed me.

It was deep, aggressive, and completely claiming. His mouth opened mine without asking. His tongue pushed in, thick and demanding, tasting like beer and heat. The mustache scraped my skin raw. He kissed me like he was trying to crawl inside me, pressing the full weight of his body against mine until I could barely breathe. One hand stayed locked on my jaw; the other gripped my hip hard enough to leave marks.

I made a broken sound against his mouth. My hands ended up splayed on his chest, fingers curling into the thick hair. He kissed me harder, tilting his head, sucking on my tongue, biting my lower lip. The kiss went on until my knees started to give.

When he finally pulled back, a thin string of spit connected our mouths. His eyes were almost black.

“You’ve been wanting that all day too,” he muttered. “Don’t lie.”

His hand dropped to my shorts and shoved them down in one rough motion. Cool air hit my skin. He spat into his palm, rubbed it between my cheeks, and pushed two thick fingers inside me. I cried out and clenched around him.

“Still so fucking tight, I guess you were waiting for a real men like me all of your life: This little hole is gonna take my cock so well.”

He pulled his fingers out, freed his cock from his jeans, and turned me around so that I was facing the tree, with my back to him.. The thick head pressed against me. He looked me dead in the eyes.

“Take it.”

He pushed in with one long, relentless thrust.

I saw stars. I gasped and dug my fingers into the tree as he forced every thick inch inside me until his hips were flush against my ass. He stayed buried for a second, breathing hard against my neck, then started fucking me in deep, powerful strokes that drove me back into the tree with every thrust.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Take your sister’s boyfriend’s cock. This is what you’ve been begging for with those puppy eyes all day.”

He fucked me hard and steady. Bark scraped my chest and stomach. His chest hair rubbed against my smooth skin. Every thrust forced broken sounds out of me that he swallowed with another rough, open-mouthed kiss. He kept kissing me between strokes — deep, messy, possessive — while his cock rearranged my insides.

“Fucking love this tight little hole,” he snarled against my mouth. “Gonna use it every night until your sister comes back. And I guess even he felt asleep I will visit you too, Gay Potter.”

He turned me around and hooked legs up so I was completely off the ground, pinned against the tree by his strength alone, and drove into me even harder. The new angle made me cry out. My little cock leaking steadily between us.

Morgan’s rhythm started to break. His breathing turned harsh. He buried his face in my neck, mustache scraping, and bit down as he fucked me through the last brutal strokes.

“Gonna fill this ass. Gonna pump my load so deep you’ll feel me when you sit down tomorrow. I wish I could make you pregnant and runaway with you.”

He slammed in one final time and came hard, cock pulsing thick and heavy inside me. I felt every spurt flooding me. He kept grinding through it, forcing every drop deeper, while his mouth found mine again in a messy, breathless kiss.

For a long moment we stayed like that — me pinned against the tree, legs wrapped around him, his cock still buried and twitching, both of us breathing hard into each other’s mouths.

Then Morgan slowly pulled out. Cum immediately began to leak down my thighs. He set me back on my feet, but my legs were shaking so badly I had to lean against the tree.

He looked down at me — shorts around my thighs, hole dripping, lips swollen, glasses crooked — and that slow, filthy smile spread across his face again.

“Same time tomorrow, Gay Potter,” he said, voice still rough. “And next time I might even let you cum.”

He tucked himself away, picked up the discarded mask and his wife beater, and walked back toward the cabins without looking back, leaving me against the tree with his cum running down my legs and the taste of his mouth still on my tongue.

And I made a bold decision and followed him…

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