5 comments/ 37767 views/ 4 favorites Bigfoot By: barbarianqueen She slowly regained consciousness. The heat from the burning wreckage roused her. She tried to stand and barely managed to get to her feet. She was dizzy and weak. And she hurt. She staggered away from the wreck. Then she fell. She lay gasping, too dizzy and weak to try again. The shaggy figure watched her. A storm was coming soon. She would surely die if left where she had fallen. The figure moved carefully out of the shelter of the trees and crouched over her. Her eyes were open but not focusing well. She was picked up and carried deep into the woods. She pushed weakly against the strong arms that carried her, then sighed and lay quietly. The snow was falling and the wind beginning to howl through the trees. She moaned and moved closer to the shaggy form carrying her. The strong arms tightened. She was carried to a hidden cave, through the twisting passages to a large open chamber. She was laid gently on a low cot covered with furs. Gentle hands loosened her clothes and covered her with some of the furs for warmth. She was watched over until she recovered enough to wake completely. Her first sight when she awoke was the shaggy form that had carried her into the cave. Startlement gave way to resignation. She had been kidnapped by Bigfoot. It motioned for her to follow. She was shown a bathing chamber and privy. Then she was left alone. She gratefully stripped out of her torn clothes and eased into the pool. The water was wonderfully warm. A sound made her look around. The creature had a bundle of cloth in its hands. It put the bundle down at the edge of the pool and watched her for a few minutes. Then it left. She had not been able to tell if it was male or female. The bundle held towels and soap and clothing of sorts. She gratefully scrubbed her battered body. There was some sort of current in the pool. She watched the soap bubbles disappear under a rock wall. She soaked until her muscles felt loose and the pain eased. She got out of the pool, dried off, and wrapped herself in the robe. The creature appeared and again motioned for her to follow. She was led back to the large chamber and given water and food. She looked up at it. “Thank you,” she said softly. The creature watched her for a moment. Then it straightened up to its full height, nearly seven feet. Its hands suddenly went to its head and lifted off the shaggy head. “Oh!” she exclaimed softly. The rest of the shaggy suit followed. She was looking up into deep blue eyes. Long black hair swirled around muscular shoulders. He was breathtakingly handsome and completely nude. “Why?” she asked, gesturing at the costume he had shed. He smiled slightly. “Protection,” he said softly. His deep voice held a subtle accent she could not identify. He held up the head. “I am myth,” he said. And smiled. She forgot to breathe. He sat down near her. “You do not fear me,” he said. She gave in to her impulse and stroked his hair. “No,” she said. He leaned toward her and kissed her. A light touch of the lips that deepened and expanded until he held her tight to his chest, kissing her hungrily. She yielded to his embrace, feeling his strength holding her. Suddenly, he pulled back and let go of her. “I apologize,” he said. Then he left her alone. She sighed. His kiss had been arousing. And confusing. Who was he? She sighed again. A sudden stab of pain in her head reminded her how she had gotten here. She lay down among the furs and drifted off to sleep as the pain in her head eased. He stood in the shadows, watching over her, struggling with his almost overwhelming desire to possess her. When he was certain that she slept, he moved closer to her and sat on some furs nearby. During the night, she became very restless, tossing, turning, moaning. He moved to kneel next to her. He softly stroked her hair, murmuring softly. She moaned. And wept in her sleep. He softly gathered her into his arms. She turned to him and settled against him. He kept stroking her hair, comforting her, feeling her tears on his skin. She sighed in her sleep. Her tears slowed and stopped. He started to lay her down again. A small sound of protest. Her arms went around him and she clung to him. He smiled slightly and eased down with her, her head on his shoulder. He held her through the night. She awoke in his arms to see his deep blue eyes watching her. She remembered her nightmare. She sighed and kissed him. His arms tightened around her. She felt him beginning to swell against her. She caressed his lips with her fingertips. Her nipples hardened. She kissed him again. He rolled over onto her, pinning her under his heavy body. She stretched against him, holding him tight. He eased her robe off her body. His hands on her bare skin made her tingle. He caressed her breasts, feeling her nipples harden under his hands. He stroked her, aroused her, kissed her hungrily. She felt his erection grow hard and hot against her. She moved under him to open herself to him. She felt him begin to enter her. She arched up against him. He was huge! He eased into her, stretching her, filling her. The hot friction of his long, slow movements sent waves of pleasure through her. She was soon writhing under him, grinding her hips against him. A sudden, hard thrust deep into her. She gasped, arched, and climaxed, throbbing hard around the massive erection thrusting into her. His thrusts became harder, faster, deeper. She moaned and thrashed. The friction of his huge erection moving in her increased, became hotter, more intense. She quivered and throbbed, her body becoming more and more tender as he kept plunging hard and deep into her. Another hard, long orgasm. He kept thrusting into her. Another climax. Another. Then he pulsed his hot, burning climax deep into her throbbing body. She lay panting under him. And she smiled into his eyes. He was still hugely hard in her. He started to ease out of her. She clutched his hips. “Please,” she whispered, “again.” He kissed her gently. “If I do not stop now,” he said softly, “I will not be able to stop for a long time.” She felt him pulsing in her, hard, hot, enormous, filling her. “Please,” she said, “again.” He pushed hard into her. She arched up to him, throbbing in sudden climax. Again, a hard, deep thrust. She writhed under him, clutching his hips, urging him into her. His movements became harder, deeper. She moaned, writhing under him, feeling his immensely hard, thick, long erection rasp in her, making her quiver as rivers of pleasure poured through her. A sudden, savage, twisting thrust. The ripping motion made her thrash and scream. Another excruciating, twisting, savagely deep thrust. She arched and screamed again. He kept on as she thrashed and screamed. And climaxed again and again. Long hours, he thrust hard into her writhing, throbbing body as she screamed and screamed. And climaxed. His climaxes burned hot and deep into her again and again. He took her until she was unable to scream. She trembled, quivered, throbbed, and climaxed, thrashing, writhing under him until his final climax burned deep into her with her own climax throbbing hard around him. She lay limp, sated, exhausted under him. Her body was aching, quivering in pleasure. She stroked his face as he finally, slowly withdrew from her. He held her warm body tight against him. “Oh, you have given me such pleasure,” he murmured, stroking her hair. She kissed him gently. “And you have pleasured me magnificently,” she whispered. Sadness touched his eyes. “Now I must give you back,” he said. “Why?” she asked. “There is nothing waiting for me out there.” “But I must leave soon,” he replied as he rolled over. He lay on his back, not looking at her. She moved over him, pressing her breasts on his chest. “Who are you?” He sighed, his hand stroking her back. Long silence. He finally looked at her gravely. His hand still stroked her. His touch was gentle on her. “I am an observer,” he said quietly. “I must return.” He gestured upwards. “Out there.” Her eyes were round. And she smiled. “Must you return alone?” she whispered. Blue fire lit his eyes then died. “Yes.” Sadness touched her eyes. “Will you ever come back?” she whispered. “I do not know,” he replied. “Then…” she said and kissed him with desperate hunger. He rolled over onto her, thrusting hard and deep into her. She arched up and screamed at the excruciating friction of his sudden ripping penetration. He took her hard and long. She thrashed and screamed and climaxed as he thrust hard and deep into her for hours until she was limp, whimpering, sated. He took her again and again until he knew there was no time left. She put her torn clothes back on. He held her tight one last time. Then he put on his shaggy costume and led her out of the caves. He kissed her hard and hungry. Then he assumed the shaggy persona and led her to within site of a busy highway. He stroked her hair one last time. “Remember me,” she whispered as he faded back into the trees. She was found by a passing highway patrolman. She went back to her life. And each night, she spent hours looking at the stars, a sad smile on her face. Each time she saw a shooting star, she wondered and sighed. She was sitting on her patio one evening, star-gazing, when a soft, deep voice behind her said, “What do you look for in the stars?” Her heart lurched and her breath caught. “I once knew joy,” she whispered, “and the stars lured him away.” A hand stroked her hair. “If the stars gave him back,” said the voice softly, “what would you wish?” She sighed and leaned back into the hand stroking her hair. “I would wish to stay with him forever,” she whispered. “Even back to the stars?” “Anywhere,” she said, “even to a cave in the woods.” She turned to look at him. His black hair was pulled back into a tail. He was dressed in a closefitting black jumpsuit and high boots. A small silver emblem glittered at his throat. He smiled down at her. “I can offer better than a cave,” he said. “Will you come with me?” She stood up and went to him. “Yes,” was all she said. He took her hand and led her to a deserted spot. A small plane waited. It looked so normal. He helped her inside and then got into the pilot’s seat. None of the instruments made sense to her, but she did not care. The little craft took off almost silently and arced above the earth and out past the moon. There he flew into the hangar in a much larger ship. He took her to the bridge and let her watch as he set the course for where ever he was going. He smiled at her again. “The ship is automated,” he explained. “Come.” He took her to his quarters. And gently removed her clothes. And then his own. She unfastened the clip that held his hair so she could run her fingers through it. He was beginning to swell and harden. He laid her on his bed and moved over her. He entered her swiftly, completely. She arched and screamed. And he thrust into her again and again, as she thrashed and screamed and climaxed. Long hours, he took his pleasure and gave her pleasure. And she was content. Bigfoot (A special thanks to Duchess Naoko Smith for editing and flogging when needed. Any errors, omissions, unsafe sex, or my incorrigible run-on sentences are mine alone.) * "Fuck... me," I manage to get out. And not in a good hot and bothered way either. Loose rock and pebbles continue to fall around me, a few unlucky ones making contact as I lie in an unorganized heap. Earthy fresh smells, crushed plant matter, but luckily no sewage odor. At least I had managed not to soil myself during the fall. "Just brilliant, Rose..." wonderful. I am giving myself yet another self 'pep' talk after again putting my big foot in my mouth, blabbing to all my friends: "I'll meet you and everyone else up at Alpine Lake in two days. I want to hike up this time instead of drive." "I'm a self-sufficient gal, I can take care of myself." "Look everyone, I'll be fine. See? Compass, advanced first aid kit, GPS, cell phone with back-up battery stick, an emergency locator beacon, bear spray... even mace for those pesky bears needing more persuasion." All that wonderful planning and equipment is nowhere in sight. Hell, nothing is in sight. It's freaking dark. I'm nervous about starting to move. What seemed like moments ago, I was nearing the end of my first day's hike. I put a lot of miles behind me, moving swiftly along the trail, getting well beyond the few casual hikers I'd met going the other way. The elevation rising along with my spirits, I was getting deeper and deeper into the forest. I'd hit the water falls at the end of the first day with evening rapidly approaching. Then I made the fateful choice to reward myself. Standing at the top of the falls looking out over the valley below, the beauty ripping through my soul, freeing me of civilized life. I stripped off my top, shed my jeans and panties, meaning to rinse off that notorious trail grime that always powders your body in the most un-dainty areas. I hadn't even bothered to pitch the tent, I intended to experience the universe under the stars. My pack lay just up the bank holding my inhibitions and clothes. Poets, who don't know anything, talk about the magical quiet of water rushing through nature. Bullshit. Nothing obscures noise better than moving water. I was happily at one with nature, drip drying in the nude, looking out over the valley again, when out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of red plaid back up near the trail. I hadn't heard anyone approach, only the sounds of the water etching through volcanic rock and basalt. Just because I'm willing to share myself with Mother Nature doesn't mean I'm willing to share my shaved glory with some random knuckle dragger. I scrambled for my clothes; grabbing, twisting, cursing the 'smart' decision to put my hiking boots back on when I chose to balance my way out across the rocks into the water. Here's where things get fuzzy. I know I didn't scream, because that would've made whomever initiated this mad scramble look. I was still completely bare, trying to figure the fastest way to get everything covered. I remember one of my feet strangely starting to dangle and give way, just decided on its own to leave our little panic party. The rest of me followed, the ground slid away below me as I frantically grabbed at my pack, somehow managing to snag the strap. I distinctly remember seeing my dark green button-up shirt flutter away into the dusky evening sky. Funny how the last clear thought you had turns out to be completely worthless when you wake lying in a heap partially covered by dirt... in the dark. It's cold. I'm tired. So very tired. I twist, feeling for my pack. I had it in my hand, I'm sure. I feel rock, moist dirt, colder rock... nothing. I freeze. A moment of clarity putting everything together: I'm stuck out on a ledge of unknown size in the middle of nowhere. I very slowly twist back around to my heap of dirt and rocks. When you're cold, starting to shiver, trying to keep awake because that's what you're supposed to do, and about ready to potentially die, you make all sorts of dumb conversation with yourself. "It's a warm heap of dirt." "I think I'll stay here until it gets lighter." "I'm cold, but the dirt's warm." I'm fading in and out. I think I see a sliver of the new moon. I don't think I'm cold any more. In fact, I'm happy I don't have clothes on, because, really, it's quite warm. Maybe I'm not awake. It's a nice dream - this warm arm gently wrapping around my waist. I'm free. I float. I sleep... ... I wake. I wake to one hell-of-an aching body. It's still dark, but I see a little glow in the sky through breaks in the trees. I seem to be looking through a silhouetted opening: a tent or shelter of some sort. I'm enveloped in warmth, snuggled with my back against a warm body. I've regained enough sense to not stir, remembering the old adage about hypothermia and using body-to-body contact for safe re-warming. I push my naked body more firmly into the life-saving heat and am rewarded with a protective arm wrapped around me. ... I wake again to much better light, but the shelter must have been a quick survival construction, because I just seem to be in a natural hollow, loose moss hanging down from the entrance. The warm arm has remained wrapped around me, firm calloused hand on my shoulder, forearm tenderly bowing across my chest, firm elbow pushed just oh-so-right across my bare mound with the boney tip just above my... now hold on, there, Rose. Sexy thoughts? Yes! Suddenly I feel needs and wants percolating up through me. I had a brush with death, I have the gift of life. I'm a torrent of emotion. I need to celebrate. The gamey, yet somewhat musky smell is enticing. My ass is pushed against a soft, furry patch. There is a not-so-subtle bulge from behind pressed to my thighs. An involuntary hip rocking on my part brings it into, ahem, firmer evidence. Angling my bottom higher and gently spreading my thighs, I manage to get that pleasant bulge to cross my opening, aiming for a head-to-head meet. I get pressure from my ass to clit, a throbbing soft pulse providing tingling sensations and coursing up through me. The hand slides down from my arm, cupping the side of my breast, fingers gently squeeze into my armpit. Doesn't sound sexy, but it was. The lower position put that elbow in the perfect spot for downward pressure to the bare kitty, sensitive clitoral tip now mashed exquisitely into that still growing firmness below. He's now awake or awakening. I can feel his purring breath through his chest into my back. He's still getting bigger, almost lifting my thigh on his own accord. I'll worry about that later, because the pressure across my needs from below, the musky, sexy scents, his purring vibration, soft furry head nuzzling my neck, snuffing deeply my own sexy scent of need... Purring? Snuffing? Furry fucking head? A penis that feels like my forearm? (Well, that last one maybe isn't a bad thing.) I twist around in his one arm embrace, my head lifting off his other arm which I'd been using as a pillow... and I'm promptly three feet away, banging my head painfully on the low ceiling staring at... at... what the fuck? His eyes are as wide as my own, a surprised look on his face, he seems almost as alarmed about me as I am of him. Long arms, wide upper torso, patchy mountain-man scruff and fur on most of the body, somewhat squat legs, ending in feet just too big for the legs, and between the legs was a third leg... no, wait, that was his... Oh. My. God. I'm in love. No I'm not! Fuck! It's a human orang-utang. Somewhat larger than the orangs I'd seen in the zoo, and that... thing, well, that was certainly much larger than anything seen in the zoo, except maybe the elephant. I'm still too freaked out to scream. His mouth is open, making a breathy noise, but I don't hear anything from him either. I'm hyperventilating. He still has that: "I almost slept with that?" look on his face... Fuck! What am I, chopped ham? Bigger problems - a new smell; a "not good" smell. I mean, he and I are having that musky, sexy scent between us with just a bit of gaminess, but this stench was bad. I recognized that snort-huff far too well from the only time I'd ever actually used my pepper-spray while hiking. You don't forget a bear encounter. The hair on the back of my neck is so stiff, maybe I'll be able to use a porcupine defense, because my protective spray is still clipped to a belt loop on my missing pants. Our new dance partner seems to fill the entrance to our little shallow cavern. Now this warrants an involuntary scream, followed by my attempt to rise up and yell "Bad Bear!" which comes out more as "Bah Bah-ah!" My head hits the top once again, flashing streaks filling my vision. Bear responds with a convincing bellow that says I've gone out of the frying pan and firmly hit the coals. He stands to his full eight foot height, somehow even larger than before, the light blocked by his hulking body. The dim light makes events difficult to see, but long arms reach up toward the cavern lip and with an odd whistle/hoot, both my bed buddy's feet shoot forward disappearing into bear body with a resounding oomph. And let there be light. An arm shoots back into our hollow as he pushes himself out toward the bear, a chunk of tree limb follows gripped in his large hand. I go to the entrance and there is a bear leaping toward me from the grip of my partner. Another scream and I shrink back, cornered again. Only to see the bear flip sideways after one of those big hairy arms rips around his body, flinging him away. Crunching and crashing sounds through the forest marks the bear's retreat away from us. Two girly screams had been all I had managed, and now insult to injury, the emotion is too much and I cry like a, well, a girl. Not a confident I-can-hike-by-myself woman. I am a scared little girl. I am heartbroken; to be driven down to this level, it's unbearable. I just sob uncontrollably. Those massive arms wrap around me. He protectively envelopes me in his grasp and I just melt into his hard chest. A now gentle hand strokes the back of my head and neck. He makes soothing hoots to me. My hands press softly on his chest, I bury my head into his neck. My hands trace the lines of muscle across his chest, I allow my finger tips to play gently over his nipples and soft skin. I push him backward. A curious expression comes over his face as I assert my will. His body follows my directions, lying back onto the matted moss bedding. I continue to rub his upper body, his neck, jaw line, down his belly. Wow, those abs! I straddle his waist while I tease his torso, moving my bottom back toward his groin, eventually pushing my legs down so I am sitting on his thighs. I pull the foreskin back from his growing interest. My first ever uncut male, go figure. I quickly come to a new problem. With those short legs of his, I run out of room where to sit, so I swing my legs up around him, planting my fanny on his chest. My sex pushes close to his gentle warm breath. I kiss up and down his third leg, and, unbelievable, I put my mouth around his penis. I am giving Sasquatch head. Well, I at least manage to get the tip in my mouth. I run my tongue and lips up and down his shaft, the veins bulging, a slow pulsing throb along it, down to the base. With his growing enthusiasm, I keep working him over. I'm pushing myself further and further up his chest, until I am planted on his chin; my feminine scent and obvious wetness cutting through any questions about my own needs. I feel my moist lips gaping open as I spread across him. Two huge hands cover my gently thrusting bottom, my involuntary rubbing of my swollen lips across his soft, furry chin. The next time I lift my bottom up to get a better angle for my clit, a moist tongue slides along my opening, hitting the sensitive tip. My clitoris throbs and aches; there is wonderful tongue action across it, sliding around the hard tip, back up my own little sheath. Soft suction across the whole area while that marvelous tongue keeps it up. I give a virtual torrent of appreciation. I try to keep up with his pleasure below, but I'm getting lost in my own sensations and just involuntarily hold onto his impressiveness with occasional hand action. Sixty-nine is only good if you can consciously enjoy it, meaning you have to take turns. Fuck it, now is my turn. I lift up to give him better access to me, but I probably didn't have to. With his massive soft hands, he shifts me so he has access to every bit of my sex. I feel myself being entered, spread much wider than ever before for just a tongue, yet the soft, moist, yielding feeling couldn't be anything but... ooo... and, speaking of butt, apparently my wild-man has no qualms about that either, giving everything down below quality attention. Each dip inside me seems to allow him to go deeper. Tantalizing my depths before drawing out to circle my clit, tracing my length to my upper folds, back down the clit to the sensitive nub, partial entrance trip across my wet opening, circle my bottom, back up, exploring everything along the way, before plunging deeper each time back into me. I push back as his massive tongue dances across my sex and between my lips. Now I'm just a hungry pussy eating him as far as he can go. I feel the hardness of his chin across my shaved flat. His lower lip traps my clitoris in the perfect position and the tip of his tongue somehow brushes into my g-spot. Those massive hands holding my ass spread me wider, finger tips playing across my other opening. No mistaking it, that tongue is on That Spot. My ass muscles clench and hips drive forward. Deep spasms spread outward, now his chin is far too firm on my pulsing clit, involuntary thrusts subside as I finish fucking his soft, moist lips and retreating tongue. I collapse back on him, breathing hard. His own needs are still standing tall before me. Amazing... it takes me a misadventure in the woods to find someone who believes in "Ladies First" as a rule to live by. I once again direct my attention back to him, although I know there's no way I'll ever get it into my mouth to completely satisfy him. What the hell, I'm possibly wet enough. Let's see if this boy can rock. I swing my legs back over him, again straddling the monster below. His hands go softly on my hips, tracing my lines and curves while I work his pulsing head around my wet opening. Luckily that tongue has done a good job loosening everything up. Leaning forward, I place my hand on his shaft and I rub that wonderful hard, yet soft tip all up and down my slit. I gently tease my opening with it before working his pulsating wonder back up to give my clit a little love. Each sweep, I rock my hips, pushing him just a bit further into me. My pussy yields to his slow push upward. In exquisite slow motion, I spread around his head, the tip sliding up inside me. The tightness is just on this edge of painful. I feel myself close around his notched head, some of the pressure releases, and it's all pleasure now. The need to be completely filled to the brim pushes me onward. I work my juices up and down his shaft. I'm getting up the courage to put more than just the head of his penis into my hungry depths when a huge surging pulse travels up the body of his penis and into me. His immenseness softens with the flood of release. In his slightly softened state, I slowly get him deeper into me. Stretching. Filling. Fullness. Our combined luscious wetness with just-that-little-off-the-top of his erection and I had him most of the way in me. Hungry for it all, I lean back... and in a quick slide, he gives a slow, deliberate thrust; and I'm rewarded with soft balls pushed tightly against my ass opening. I continue rocking my hips, my pussy pulled tight, lips stretched so far out, my usually concealed clit lays exposed upon his shaft; my little button red and pulsing in the brightening day light coming through the cavern opening. I just miss a second orgasm, but then so does he. It doesn't make it feel any less amazing. Stuffed to the point of leaking, I revel in having him fill me completely up. I lay forward across his chest, my sensitive clit trapped between his body and softening shaft... I can't even wiggle otherwise I'll start climbing back up to climax; and really, all I want to do now is snuggle and remain close. I awake with him still partly inside. With all that lubrication below, everything was slipping around even with little shifts in my body. His hands are still tracing along my lines, exploring my ins and outs. I consider seeing if he's going to be up for another trip into me, when I feel a huge rumbling from below my body. He grabs his sides and looks somehow embarrassed. My own stomach gives an answering growl, and he smiles. Some things are universal: a smile. Involuntarily, I lean up and kiss-bite him on the lip, and I am treated with a quick little surge from below starting to fill me again. "Sorry, big boy, we're both hungry, and to be honest, I have to pee something awful," I say to him. He just turns his head sideways and gives a questioning hoot and a click of the tongue. I force myself to pull off him, that huge hunk of joy slips from my entrance, my opening gaping from use. My usual embarrassment in this situation is nowhere to be found, I again straddle his chest, sitting back on my knees. My used pussy is puffy along the edges, my clit finally back to a safe resting zone out of sight, a lazy drip from me stretches toward his skin. The view is so sexy, I can only stare. He seems mesmerized as well. Those wonderful hands grip my tender ass, pulling me forward, lifting me toward him. Oh, my goodness, even for me that's a little gro... Retake: Oh. My. Holy. Goodness. That's so fucking beyond arousing. I'm back to being taken orally. Completely. Tongue diving into my madly thrusting pussy, it's taken on a mind of its own. The wet sounds should be disgusting, but I'm too busy gettin' busy to notice. Another butt clenching, bite my lower lip from screaming, pussy clamping, heat pulsing, chest flushing, clit throbbing orgasm. When it dissipates, I feel my muscles aching from the huge wracking contractions that seemed to go on forever. I fall back beside him. I swear his 'hoot hoot' is like some high school boy's high five bragging how he's shot her to the moon twice in a couple hours, but I'm smiling at him anyway. Fuck, eat me out like that and I figure you can do whatever victory dance you want. Combine that with a mind blowing, pussy filling penis like his, he can hoot to every one of his friends and I wouldn't give a rat's behind. "Hoot away, my friend," I coo. His goofy smile almost makes me think he understands me. Instead he pantomimes mouth opening-closing while taking his hands to his mouth - international sign for 'eat'? I smile, "Yes, I figure I probably wasn't too filling. We should get some real nutrition." He rises agilely, scooping me up and placing me on my feet before I can even stretch. Oh, not good; bladder big... Big big bladder. Pee very soon! He's pawing around through some recess in the back of the cavern, I grab my crotch and do the potty dance hoping that's also an international sign. He sniffs deeply, turns to see me wide eyed, tears forming from being so full, doing my little dance, and pulls me out into the forest. After a short trip, he grabs a wide stick and throws two digs over exposing a shallow hole for me. I squat over the hole, my lips spread wide as the trickle rapidly goes to Niagra setting. Odd that I don't even think twice that he's squatting in front of me intently watching. I don't think I've ever peed for a guy before, at least not with him just a foot from the action. It still feels natural, like being completely without clothes. Bigfoot I ease back to a slow drip and start to look around. All right then, now what Einstein? Pioneers did this all the time, you use a leaf, dipstick. I reach for the nearest leaf and he grabs my hand with a worried look. Ok then, I'm not gonna wipe if you're that into my bodily functions... Instead he pulls my hand toward a different plant, broader, and softer. Very funny, Charmin of the Forest: don't settle for that grocery store brand! Actually my still swollen lips appreciate the softness. I hadn't paused to think that a rough and raspy visit to an overworked kitty might be a journey I'm not ready to make. I pat gently and he pulls me up and quickly flips the soil back over my personal port-a-pit. He leads me around to several berry bushes. We eat our fill and somewhere along the line, we end up back at the cavern (I thought we had walked nearly a straight line). Along the way, he'd picked up snatches of various greens. The oddest event was when he scaled up a tree near a small creek, coming down with pieces of fish: dried fish. Learned or taught, I don't know - supposedly the first natives to the area knew how to do it, so maybe monkey see, monkey do. Forgive me, that just sounds so wrong to say about him, but I'm trying to be honest with my thoughts. Back and settled outside the hollow, we have a little feast, wrapping the fish bits in the greens; really very good flavor... or maybe I'm starved, possibly both. After eating, he produces a wood stick that had obvious nicks and chew marks on it. Blowing on it, almost audible sounds come out of it, with an occasional high pitched squeak. He sways gently while doing this, eyes closed, an undulating, soft purring just barely present. Music to sooth the savage beast. Or maybe he was playing me a love sonnet (a girl can dream, you know). We crawl back into the bedroom as I've started to think of it, and if you must know: yes... twice more... for each of us (well, don't tell him, but I actually sneak in three). I'm getting pretty darn good at taking him... all of him... in me. That amazing feeling of complete fullness makes me tingle to this day. As we lie there, me spread wide across him because it was too much bother to pull my legs together, also I was enjoying the slow fading pulse slowly coming down and out of me as his erection subsided... he startles. Head kinked to the side, eyes scrunched up, a confused, worried look across his brow. I keep sniffing the air fearing return of bad bear, listening for his huff. Amazing that I've already adapted to a life of freedom from human restraints and patterns, becoming a feral human adopted by the wild. Then I hear it too: a sound like a referee's whistle - three short blasts. My friends had called in a search party. Fear in my eyes, I meet his gaze. He lifts me to my feet (and even put his hand over my head to keep me from damaging my brain on his roof, yet again) and pushes me toward the sound. I turn back to him, wrapping arms tight around his chest, my own breasts smashed against his wonderful, strong chest. He holds up four fingers and huffs in the air, again prying me loose, nodding in the direction of the sound. "Tweet.... tweet... TWEET!" Dammit, no. Huff, three fingers, head nod toward sound. It's getting closer. I can hear voices as well. He hands me his wood reed, the one he played for me. Tears well up in my eyes. He pushes me again toward the sound and this time I go. I take several steps. I falter and pause. I try to look back after only a few more steps, but I can't see him. Deep down I know I have to be found soon, otherwise they're likely to find him too. The next three tweets, I rush toward the sound yelling. My voice comes out raspy and hoarse. Before I know it, there's a thermal blanket around me, so much noise and confusion. They try to talk gently to me, I'm sure I have the look of shock on me, but I'm passing all their quick medical assessments with flying colors. No dehydration, no wounds, no obvious concussion (save for two small bruises atop my head... dumb low ceiling). I can count their fingers, repeat the year, even tell them the president's name. What I don't tell them about is the little piece of wood I'm carrying with me and why I refuse to release it. ... I can't explain to people how I've changed. They blame it on survivor's mentality. Everyone expects me to avoid the woods, hikes, and especially the deep forest; now I'm drawn to it. Of course, if you ever take off from a trail head and pass a woman hiker with very little supply packed, blowing silently on a little twig... ignore my wide smile and my bowlegged walk. Don't worry about me. I have a date. Bigfoot and the Wood Nymph I know these hills like the back of my hand. I grew up not too far away, and every summer my Dad and I would go up there, into the national forest, by ourselves. I was eleven when we first went up there. He had given me my first hunting bow the Christmas before, and taken me hunting in those woods every summer since then. We'd spend weeks together hunting, without ever seeing another soul. We'd lay out trails and blaze them, far from the tracks that most of the other hunters and hikers used. In a little valley so far off the beaten track that we doubted that any white man had ever been there, we built a small cabin, with two big beds and a small kitchen, although in fair weather we did most of our cooking on an open fire outside. There was a natural spring there, so we only needed to pack in the food and clothing we needed. During the evenings, we'd build up the fire and talk about the day's hunting, and about my schooling, and about his own job as a state trooper. We were as close as a father and son ever were. I still remember the day he died. Two days after my eighteenth birthday, I was called into the principal's office. When I got there, she regarded me gravely, dialed a number, spoke a few words, and handed me the phone. The trooper at the other end told me that my dad had gone after another car in a high-speed pursuit, and lost control of his prowler on a rain-slicked road. It didn't matter to me that the driver of the other car had gone off the road and died, too. He deserved it. My dad didn't. It turned out that Dad had taken out a lot of insurance on us, so that my sister and I could go to college. Considering the line of work he was in, the premiums must have been steep. As for Mom, my Dad's pension, plus the income from her own job with the county, kept her comfortable. After Dad's death, I went into the woods by myself. Nobody could replace my father, so I never even bothered to ask anybody else to join me. I hunted alone, camped alone, for weeks at a time. I rolled up his sleeping bag and stored it in the closet, but I could never bring myself to pack it out; I wanted something of him in the cabin still. I started doing something else, too, something that he would probably never have done with me. I started going practically nude when I was in the woods. As soon as I arrived at my secret campsite, I'd take off my clothes, retaining only my hiking sandals, and I'd put on a breechclout. I was confident that nobody would ever see me. I reveled in the sensation of the warm sun on my skin. Only when the sun went down and the air turned cold would I put on a thick robe. The years went by. I graduated from high school, went to study at a local college, where I took law enforcement classes. I, too, would be a policeman. I always felt that my father had left his job unfinished, and I as his son would take up the baton and keep running with it, carrying on his spirit. And every summer I'd go up into the hills and bow-hunt, taking only enough food to sustain me. My family became used to my habits, and thought nothing of it. Of course, they didn't know that I would be hunting in the nude, with only the breechclout to contain my cock and balls. I hunted mostly small game that was in season all year round, like rabbits and foxes and birds. I'd skin the mammals and save their pelts, which brought a good price. If the bird was large enough, I'd save the wings. I also hunted coyotes, since there was a bounty on them. But even if there weren't, I'd hunt them anyway because they preyed on the deer that the other hunters were sure to want when deer season opened in the fall. I'd also gotten into another habit that my father would not have approved of. I was horny just about all the time, and at least twice during the day I'd pull the breechclout aside and let my cock and balls hang free. I'd give myself a fast and furious rubbing, and let my cum spit out of my cock, arcing high into the brush. Sometimes, if I was near the lake, I'd strip off my breechclout and go swimming, masturbating right into the water. Standing in the water up to my waist, I'd watch in awe as my cum shot out of my cock and just hovered in the clear water, like a little pearly cloud, before the currents washed it away. Then I'd crawl out and let the hot sun dry me. The feeling of the sun on my skin would often arouse me to the point where I had another hard-on, and I'd jack off into the lake water. And then I'd resume the hunt. I went on like that for two summers. That fall, I was in my junior year and was thinking about changing majors from law enforcement to forestry, because I loved my private woods so much. I found somebody else who loved them, too. The discovery came on the day that the local community center hosted an exhibition for local photographers. One photographer had filled a wall with pictures she'd taken of woodland scenes. She was an amazingly talented wildlife photographer who caught a variety of seldom-seen animals in their natural settings. Even I, who spent as much time in the woods as anybody, hadn't seen nearly as many as this woman had. As I examined the photographs, I realized with a shock that they were taken in the parts of the woods that I knew best, the parts where I thought that nobody had gone into but me. The capper was a photograph of the cabin that Dad and I built, a cabin nobody but me was supposed to know about. I stared at it for a long time, wondering if she'd ever seen me there. The photographer herself was standing in a corner, drinking wine and talking with six or seven other people. She was a short woman, a little on the chubby side, with long, straight black hair. I smiled and nodded at her, as if to say "Good work!" and she smiled back and nodded in thanks, but we never exchanged words. I remembered her name: Gretchen Kurtz. I continued my habits of hunting nude the next summer, but now I was more careful than ever not to be seen. I usually dispensed with the breechclout now, letting my cock hang free and usually semi-erect. That's how I was when I saw Gretchen again, in the forest. I'd been tracking a fox. The trail led to a little valley that I seldom visited, and I was actually able to get a glimpse of him now and then, a flash of red in the shadows. I quietly moved down the slope toward a clearing that I knew would be ringed with small boulders behind which I could find cover. As I moved toward the clearing, I saw her. She was laying face down on a blanket, looking into her camera, which was fitted with a telephoto lens and a small tripod. I could just barely see what she was aiming at: a fawn, still with its spots, in a shadowy glen about a tenth of a mile away. She was as naked as I was. Her nude back had a deep, even tan without the slightest trace of tan lines. I watched her, my cock hardening, as she snapped picture after picture. At some point, she must have become aware of me, but it didn't break her concentration. At last she had the shots she needed, and when the fawn strayed off, she rolled over and looked at me. She had plump, soft breasts with areolas the size of half dollars, standing out in cones and capped with grape-sized nipples. I was wrong about her being chubby. Her hips were wide, but she had a well-defined waist. Her crotch was covered with dark curly hair, so profuse that I couldn't make out her slit. As she raised her arm to shade her face from the sun, I noticed that her armpits were also unshaven. She must have seen my erect cock, but gave it the merest of glances. She wore no jewelry, no make-up, no fingernail polish. Utterly self-confident in her nudity, she looked like a total creature of nature, a creature of the woods, just like me. "I'm glad you didn't ruin the shot," she said. "I waited all day for that." "You're the photographer... Gretchen." "And you're Bigfoot." "I'm sorry?" She laughed. "That's what I've been calling you. I didn't recognize you at first, but kept spotting you briefly all last summer. This summer, too. I call you Bigfoot because you're so elusive, and hard to shoot." "What? You know me? You've taken pictures of me?" "I sure have. Come and see." She pulled a small laptop computer from her camera bag, and we moved into the shade. She clicked on a folder labeled "Bigfoot." "These are pictures I took of you over the last year," she said as the slides flashed by on the screen. As I saw picture after picture of me, my face started to burn. There I was moving through the woods, bow drawn. And again, basking in the sun by the lake, my cock hard. And then another one, showing me in profile, standing on the lakeshore, jerking off into the water, the arc of my cum glistening in the light. "I like that last one best," she said. "It's so hot, I put it on my screen when I'm wanking." "You do?" She nodded. "Oh, yeah. If you weren't here, I'd be wanking right now. Is that wrong? Do you mind?" "Actually, I'm flattered. How did you find me?" "I first saw you last summer. Just a glimpse. So I started tracking you, and that's when I found your cabin. And I also tracked you to the lake, and saw you jerking off. I watched you do that for days, and figured out the best place to be when you did it, so I could get that wonderful shot. In a way, tracking you was pretty much like tracking any other big, shy animal. Now do you see why I call you Bigfoot?" You can still call me that, but my name's Gavin." "I knew that. We went to high school together, but not in the same class. You played football, right? I'm pleased to meet you, Gavin. You've been a real inspiration to me." "I have? How?" "You can see how. I used to wear clothes when I did my field work. But when I saw you in the woods naked, I wanted to go naked, too. It all made so much sense, all of a sudden. I wanted to feel the sun on my naked skin, feel the breezes. I wanted to feel my tits swing. That's real freedom. I get horny a lot, and like to wank myself right there on the spot, the way you do it, without having to fumble with clothes. That's what I wanted to be, a creature of the forest, like you." "That's exactly what I thought when I saw you. I thought you were some sort of wood nymph. A wood nymph with a camera." "How did you come across me?" she asked. "I was tracking a fox." "Oh, I saw him. He passed in front of me ... I have some pictures ... and then he went up the hill, past where the deer was. You know, you should be shooting things with this..." she picked up her camera... "and not that... " gesturing toward my bow. "Well, the pelts bring in a lot of money." "Hell, my photos bring in a lot of money. I'll bet I can sell that one fawn picture for ... well, more money than you've made for all the pelts you've ever sold." "If I had your talent, maybe. But I also hunt coyotes. If I didn't do that, little Bambi over there might be dead now." "Well, maybe. I can't argue that point. Anyway, I'm done here. Why don't we go for a swim?" She got up, put her camera into a bag, picked up the blanket, and slipped on a pair of sandals. She took the lead, and my cock stayed hard as I watched her ass ... big, but muscular and utterly feminine. I was amazed that she took the way I would take, even though it went through some of the densest parts of the woods. She seemed to be able to read the blazes I'd made as easily as I could, or maybe she just knew about this trail anyway. I followed her to the lake to my not-so-secret spot, and she knew the tracks as well as I did. When we got there, spread the blanket out. Then she went into the water up to her waist and faced me, holding her breasts up. "I have a favor to ask you. Remember that picture of you standing on the shore and cumming? Would you do that on my tits? Just stand there on the bank like you did before, and I'll stand here and catch it." She smiled. "Can you make my fantasy come true?" Wow, talk about a fantasy come true! I was rock-hard in a flash, and it took only fifteen or sixteen strokes before my cum gushed from my cock and flew through the air. I aimed poorly, and the stream of cum shot out too far to her left, but she nimbly moved sideways and caught the cum on her left breast. Then she giggled and rubbed it into her breasts as I watched her, panting. Finally, she slipped into the water and washed it off her. I slipped into the water, still half hard, and hugged her. She melted in my arms and we embraced for what seemed like minutes. Once, long ago, I came across a stunned bird and held it in my hand, felt its warmth and its heartbeat, and it seemed like the most precious thing in the world to me. That's how I felt when I embraced Gretchen for the first time. Then she slipped out of my arms with a giggle and began swimming across the lake. She was a better swimmer than I was, but as soon as she realized that, she slowed down for me, just out of reach. She led me in a long circle back to the beach. As I reached the shore, she was already sprawled out on the blanket, her legs open, masturbating. I surprised her by moving her hands aside and putting my mouth to her pussy. She tensed, but she didn't close her legs, and I took it as a sign that she was at least willing to let me try to give her oral. I separated her outer labia and there, underneath the hair, were the most gorgeous inner lips I had ever seen, folded like petals. I unfolded them and sucked them gently into my mouth. The tip of my tongue stroked them, then teased the bottom of her clit as it came out of its hood. "Don't stop," she breathed. "Keep going. Put your finger in." I obeyed, slipping my middle finger into her vagina, palm up. I searched for her G-spot, and knew I'd found it when I felt her body twitch slightly. "Yeah," she said. "Right there." Her hands were on her breasts, pinching them and pulling on them, twisting them roughly. I then thrust two fingers into her, then three, pushing hard. That's when she came, with a sharp cry and a gush of fluid. Her legs pressed together, crushing my hand between them. She bucked, and my fingers slipped out. "No!" she gasped. "Back in!" But she was writhing too much, and by now I was far too agitated myself. I had to put my rock-hard cock inside her, right now. So I lay on top of her and forced myself between her legs. She caught on immediately and reached for my cock, guiding it into her hairy cunt. Her arms were around me, crushing her tits into my chest, and her tongue was in my mouth. I smelled her pussy on my mouth, and her sweat. I'm usually a polite lover, the kind who makes sure that my partner has some protection before he proceeds. Not this time. My cock felt like it was on fire as I plunged in and out of her. It was pure lust. I want her, all of her, now and forever. I wanted to put my seed into her, plant a baby in her, a baby she would feed from her beautiful breasts, a baby we would raise together. I wanted her, heart, body and soul, as I had just given her mine. We were swept away in our passion, moaning and gasping, feeling nothing but our slippery bodies and the fire of our coupling. I can't remember whether she came first, or I came first, but when I finally spat my semen into her, pulse upon pulse, I felt those pulses echoing in the spasming of her own vagina, milking me as she screamed her passion. There was none of the elegant dance I'd had with other lovers, where we were teasing and responding to each other. It was all lust, pure lust, nothing but lust. We stared wildly into each other's eyes, astonished by the storm of our mating. Our panting gradually subsided, and we held each other and kissed tenderly. I licked the sweat off her neck as I felt my cock slip out of her sheath. "I was right," I finally said. "You are a wood nymph." "And you're an animal. I watched some bears mating last year. It was impressive, but nothing like what we did just now! Oh, Gavin! That was great, I wanted it so much, I wanted it all. I want it again and again. I thought I'd had sex before, but not like this!" "Me, too. You are amazing! No woman has ever given me a screwing like that. You were just wild. Gretchen, I could never get enough of you." She smiled at me dreamily, and we held each other for a while longer. Finally, her mind turned to practical things. "Let's make some dinner. Come to my place, it'll be more comfortable." She got up, and then, to my surprise, she went a little way into the lake, squatted and, without a shred of modesty, she peed right into the water. Then she rinsed her vulva, washing away the stray drops of pee and the cum -- my cum -- that was welling from her cunt. She did this as naturally as a wild animal might, with no trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. I followed suit, my own pee streaming onto the ground, as she regarded me with interest. "Should I wash myself, too?" I asked. "No, I want to smell my pussy on your cock. My pussy smell has always made me horny. Does the smell of your cum affect you the same way?" "Come to think of it, yeah. I like the smell of my sleeping bag after I cum in it. Sort of musty and sweetish." "I'd like to smell it. One thing about running naked through the woods ... all my senses seem to sharpen. I notice new smells, I look for them. I even love the smell of the hair in my armpits. Why use perfume when I smell like that just the way I am?" "God, woman! Everything you say makes me love you more!" We picked up our things and I followed her to her camp. It was just outside the forest, on some private land that the owners had forgotten even existed. She had parked a small Winnebago there and covered it with camouflage netting. It was so well done that I didn't even see it until we'd gotten within fifty yards or so of it. She had some canned food and some wine, and made us dinner. We talked about high school. I remembered her only as the first violinist of the high school orchestra, who could tear your heart out when she played Bach. She remembered me more clearly, recalling that I was on the football team, playing cornerback during my junior and senior years. I wasn't really big enough to be good at it, although I was generally fast enough to keep up with the receivers and smart enough to figure out how to be where they wanted to be, so I did all right. My moment of glory came when a wild pass fell into my hands, and I returned it for the one and only touchdown of my high-school career. It turned out that she was at that game, and remembered that play. She got a crush on me then, but I was one of those unattainable upperclassmen, so I never learned about it. She also told me that she had seen me at that photo exhibition and recognized me as "Bigfoot." She wanted to talk to me, but I was gone before she had shaken free of her admirers. She told me about her own interests, the primary one being photography although she was also musically inclined, as I've said. Even though she wasn't yet twenty, her camera work was getting around, and her photographs had been on the covers of a couple of prominent hunting and wildlife magazines. She'd dropped out of college to devote her full time to photography, and was already earning a comfortable living. Except for her cameras and her violin and her Winnebago, she owned nothing of value, and needed nothing. As darkness fell, it started to get chilly, so I persuaded her to take a robe with her and come to my camp, where I could build a fire. This time it was her following me, the two of us padding naked through the forest. We arrived after a fifteen-minute hike, and I got the campfire going. I went into the cabin to put on my own robe and get some lamps lit. She was singing softly as she stoked the fire, and the sound lifted my heart beyond words. I found my Dad's sleeping bag, identical to mine, and zipped them together to form a double-size sleeping bag. Then I uncorked a bottle of wine. When I got back outside, she had slipped her own robe on and was sitting by the fire, which was now blazing merrily. "Here's some wine. I don't have any glasses. Would you mind drinking it straight from the bottle?" She laughed, grabbed the bottle and took a swig, and handed it back to me. We stayed in front of the fire for a while, kissing and fondling each other and passing the bottle back and forth. I ran my fingers through the lush hair at her crotch, and savored the smell of her hairy armpits. I sucked at her nipples as she stroked my cock into hardness. Then her hands left my crotch and went to her own, and she masturbated herself to a climax in my arms as we kissed, my hand reaching around her to cradle and lift her right breast. What a woman she was, so in touch with her body that she could play it like her violin! By this time, the fire in front of us was feeble compared to the one blazing in my loins. I had to have her again, and I said so.