I Fucked My Host in His Cave

We lived together for months, not by choice. I lived in his home by necessity. We struggled to communicate. I wanted him too, but those weren’t the feelings of a respectful guest. He brought out strong emotions from me. Every time he moved near the fire his broad back caught the light and my stomach tightened with a heat I had no right to feel.

He made plain, abstract marks in the sand sometimes after our meals. They raised a lump in my throat. I recalled the beautiful beaded codes my aunts worked into our shirts and belts before I left. Sometimes those memories crept up and I cried reliving them. There was no going back to that old shelter with its roof covered in deer antlers over its narrow ravine. Not after what I’d done.

He wasn’t totally alone, of course. Not the way I was. Packs of dried mammoth meat strips appeared at the cave mouth from time to time. It was miraculous, since mammoth herds never came this far north in winter. I wondered who brought them without speaking to him. He shared them with me.

Early on a whole group came to the cave, almost all elders. They wore the same moccasins he did and had the same huge barrel chests and strong shoulders. They greeted one another in the language I didn’t understand and stayed absorbed in solemn conversation for a long time. The elders looked gaunt and irritable, some with yellow eyes and swollen bellies. When they finally saw me, some raised their voices as if accusing him. Their heavy brows came together ominously. I bowed my head to show respect.

My host turned his head so his one eye faced them squarely and spoke firmly, making certain gestures. He had lost the other eye. Only a reddish scar remained. I never learned how. That night he indicated I needed to stay in the cave. I heard his drum and one of them playing what sounded like a bone flute. I crept to the mouth. I couldn’t see where they’d gone, but I smelled burning fat. I guessed they were dancing.

Drum Beats in the Snow

The next morning his people were gone, but he remained. He sat on a rock smoking from his pipe. I went to him, nervous but curious. The snow around the fire was churned up and brown from dancing feet. He watched as I tried lining up my foot with a broad print and asked him to show me. I hit my leg in an approximation of the beat I’d heard, stumbling. He stood and demonstrated the rhythmic bow and stamp. I did my best to copy it. His eyes widened. He gestured for me to dance harder and took up his drum again. I picked up my energy, sliding in the scummy snow, breathing hard as I circled the fire pit. He paused and showed a hip-twisting motion, fishlike. As soon as I tried it my feet shot out from under me. I faceplanted. He crowed and laughed, then came and helped me up. He held my arm to steady me and offered the pipe, still grinning. I wiped freezing crumbs from my face. After nervously sipping the bitter smoke I choked and retched, bent double, lips watering. I spat acrid saliva and phlegm onto the ground. His laughter redoubled, hooting and snorting. My head swam. Flushed, I stumbled back into the cave and lay down.

I heard hyenas and tigers outside. Whatever I’d smoked let me dream without sleeping. I dreamed about my old life. In the dream my ears filled with the drone of village elders where I’d grown up and their endless talks of who married whom and who had rights to what land. They finally quieted. One approached me. She told me it was time to prove myself. My cousins muttered in fear. I would kill a lion cub, she said. My terror peaked. The cub ran into the house and I chased it around the room. Horrified, I watched myself strangling it; a bloody spot appeared on one eye and stringy guts sprang from its rectum.

I jolted awake in the middle of the night. My host breathed deeply in his sleep. I scrambled upright to comfort myself.

Before he died, my father told stories about a glen thick with moose and bison in the east. It had been the lands of a cousin of my mother’s. They lived in a mammoth-bone house on two rivers. I needed to find the thorn river and follow it. That was the target of my winter journey. Alone, I had tried to copy the space-eating strides of my relatives and repeated the stories about how to find that house decorated with moose antlers at the river confluence. I walked for an interminable stretch, quickly eating the jerky and dried plants I’d brought. One night a violent blizzard hit. I stumbled around, feet numb in my ill-fitting old shoes full of holes. Even before I left my relatives nobody had wanted to make shoes for me. I found an abandoned den that smelled like tiger urine, but I was desperate and stayed until the snow lessened. I lost my way after that and wandered, singing under my breath to stay alert, lips cracking from thirst I couldn’t quench by eating snow. The storm lasted days. Eventually I located the river and tracked it until I hit a small lake. I sought food there. Familiar tall plants grew by the shores. I fell to my knees when I reached them and gorged on cattails, pulling root after root until I felt sick. It was my first meal bigger than a handful of wrinkled nuts in a long time.

The cave was empty when I found it. I’d passed out inside, and he was squatting there with me the next day. I noticed right away he was beautiful, but I had to fight the urge to laugh when he tried to speak. His accent was ridiculous, so thick I couldn’t understand him. He saw me pinching my lips and restraining myself. I knew it would be important to stay respectful and not give him reasons to send me away. I put on my best polite face. He looked resentful and confused, then left the cave to look for my footprints outside, probably to see if I’d come alone. My stomach dropped. I broke into a cold sweat in his absence, regretting my disrespect. I needed him. When he returned I prostrated myself, hoping he’d understand my need for shelter. He huffed. His face and body were covered in thick hair. He was more muscular than anyone I’d seen, enormous and heavyset. He was almost inhuman. He must be a great hunter. Thick curly black hair came down to his armpits. His skin shone, smooth and rubbed with fat. I eyed the healed chunk missing from his hand, the absence of fingers, the ropy scar where his eye had been. Was he alone like me? He spoke again, slower this time. When he stopped I replied. “I don’t understand you, but I’d be so grateful if you’d let me stay. I can’t find the place I’m looking for.” My speech cracked, far from the singing voice my aunts had prized. I stared at his gorgeous form and instinctively squeezed my legs together, feeling a rush of warm desire. I wondered if he noticed. I chided myself for such inappropriate feelings. His face stayed blank. We looked at each other. He added wood to a fire in the corner and left. When he returned he carried two fish, which he cooked. He offered me a whole cooked fish and mashed cattail. When I hesitated he offered again. The kind treatment filled me with gratitude and disdain. Only someone desperate for the strength of a half-starved man would give so quickly and freely. But I was desperate too. I had to bury that prejudice. I burned my mouth and throat on his bony fish.

Time passed from a frenzied autumn into the long dark winter again. I did my best to make myself useful, but he seemed to have figured things out on his own between fish from the lake, pine nuts, and cattails. This was a good place to live. I watched his hair grow longer. I regained some of the weight lost on my wandering. He disappeared for long periods, sometimes days, returning with bundles of herbs, waxes, and powders. He drummed sometimes, picking out polyrhythms, and I danced with him. I assumed he was a healer, but aside from the mammoth jerky nobody else came to be healed by him. Besides, he never demonstrated his knowledge to me even when I tried asking by pointing. I didn’t want to overstep.

Each day I woke before my host. When it wasn’t cloudy, rays of sunlight shone on the back wall before he roused himself from his warmer inner chamber and went out to urinate. Sometimes I followed and caught a glimpse of his large penis emerging from curly fur, urine steaming in the cold air, his brief shiver when he finished. More inappropriateness. I found myself pressing on my own cock as I watched, then hurried back quickly so he wouldn’t notice. Of course he did once or twice. It was never dark in the mouth of his cave. Light from the enormous glacier cast shadows on the walls even at night, and it was easier to sleep deeper inside. I felt exposed. Before resigning myself to the drafty cave mouth I tried a few times to curl up in my deerskin beside him. It wasn’t just because I was tired of waking from the cold. Maybe he knew that. Each time he pushed me off. His heavy hands landed like hammers against my chest or shoulders. He uttered syllables in that hoarse voice I couldn’t understand, the voice of someone alone for years.

Desperate Hunger

We hadn’t had much to eat in a few days, so I was grinding tough woody salsify to make it edible. My fingertips were numb from the labor and cold. He came in and I knew he was starving. He had a huge appetite. He sat and watched me working for a long time. The shadows grew long. Eventually he stood and walked over, squatting beside me. We ate some of what I’d made together. He was frowning. There was a piercing look on his face. When he rose I stood and went with him deep into his part of the cave and sat. He reclined against the wall. I knelt, leaning against him with hands balled into fists on his big legs. I cautiously brought my face closer. I got a whiff of smoke and wild onion and the rich smell of his body. It was intoxicating. He gazed into my eyes. His hands came up behind me and held my waist. He was lonely. Knowing what he wanted, I finally landed, burying my mouth and chin in his neck, rubbing my face back and forth. The roughness and heat of his skin and hair was exquisite, all-consuming. I became aware of myself breathing harder and tugged at his buckskin shirt, bringing fistfuls toward me. He removed it. My mouth watered at the sight of his body. His gaze was heavy as he suddenly grabbed my hips and pulled me so I straddled one of his enormous thighs. He crushed my hips in his grip as he pressed my sensitive cock against the rock-hard muscle, flexing it in time with each pass of my body. His eye was partially lidded and fixed on me. I couldn’t stop myself from whimpering. There was a harsh expression on his face, teeth exposed as if in a snarl, but I knew it wasn’t anger. I felt my body preparing for sex. The inside of my pants grew wet and I wanted to remove them but I was trapped in the pleasure he created. I cautiously touched his erection, then pressed harder when he groaned, his hips bucking out of control and disrupting the rhythm he’d made. His cock was thick and firm. I took as much of a handful as I could, unable to stop myself from making a sound of desire. He trapped my arms against me in a squeezing embrace, his body hard against mine. I grew more aroused and felt out of control, struggling to be free. He didn’t notice or care. With my face buried in his hairy neck an orgasm shot through me like an arrow. I gritted my teeth and braced my hands on his broad chest, pushing myself away. Now he let me go. I quickly stood, not certain why, staring down at him. We looked at one another for a moment. He pushed his pants down around his knees. I stepped back. Still aching with the aftershocks, I hastily pulled my own pants down just enough and faced away on all fours. I arched my back as I begged him the way I knew without language to take me. I was begging like a fox, a lion, a hyena. My head swam with a mixture of need for this stranger, the triumph of being free of my old family, and shame imagining how they might react if they could see me. What I was doing violated the vows that bound me when I transitioned, to never lay with a man again. But I hadn’t cared for those vows before either. My wrongdoing hung in the air itself. I could smell my sex in the closed cave air. My hole was puffy, hot and cool, smeared with its liquids in the cold. He pulled me back by the hips and I felt the delicate warm skin of the head of his cock against my opening. I whimpered as he rubbed it back and forth, collecting my juices, carefully making circles around my oversensitive hard cock and easing just the tip inside. I had only lain with a man once before, and when we were caught my whole family humiliated me. He paused in his movements and I agonized. I pressed the broad tip in and out over and over and he let me test us both. My family would know what I’d done in the next life. The size of his huge dick with my tight little hole wasn’t easy because it wasn’t right. The difficulty of accommodating each other felt like the ultimate mark of my perversion. I wasn’t supposed to be here. It should have been another way. I turned my head and we made brief eye contact, resolving myself. I’d left so I could be free from the proscriptions of my community and follow my own desires, but I’d only found myself trapped with someone new. He was all I had now. My host’s big hands squeezed my shoulders, pressing me down and encouraging me. A big warm gob of spit landed on my twitching hole and he started working it into me. He was all I had, and I wanted him. Finally I lowered myself, taking his big thick cock in slowly and with difficulty. I had to push my jaws apart as wide as I could to relax my hole and open myself to him. He groaned with relief as our bodies finally met. His big warm hands pulled me firmly onto him, taking him to the root, his hairy testicles itchy and firm against my tightly stretched lips. I shivered and twirled, eyes closing with pleasure, shifting and stirring it deep within me even though I still hadn’t let go of those thoughts of home. I felt his dick pulsing and twitching throughout my channel from his unconscious movements. He sighed and his hot satisfied breath spread over my neck and shoulders. Tingling heat crawled through my whole body as he began pushing me nearly completely off before sinking back in. I felt the ridges of his cockhead pressing and massaging me with each stroke. It was so right. I was made to do this. I knew I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. Our combined fluids spread and stuck to our legs. His warm hairy body curved loosely around my back and he embraced me as we slowly came together and apart. He took his time with me and I pressed my own hard cock where it met his shaft and testicles, trying to make it easier to adjust to him. I couldn’t resist brushing and grabbing his testicles every few strokes, the skin soft, his big firm eggs held within as his body gradually drew them up tighter. He became more forceful. I felt him laboring against me and he groaned as he pulled me as deep as he could each time. Eventually he pushed me to the ground so I lay on my stomach and he lay on top, pinning me in place with my arms pressed against my stomach. I trembled with the need for him to continue. When he resumed he began pounding into me, splitting me, his weight clapping into my buttocks and the backs of my legs with each landing. The sound echoed in the cave. I felt frantic with his body weight crushing me into the hard floor. I was trapped, dripping with our mingled sweat. His dick was in my heart. With my cheek pressed into the floor I felt choked. I pulled on my own needy cock, rubbing myself. Widening my legs, I tried to take more of him. Waves of urgent arousal went through me as we fucked. It went on and on. I heard my own voice but the sound was distant. The heat and pressure inside me was immense and I was pushing it away. He made the final rapid short strokes deep within me and finally stopped, cock flexing. I had the sensation of his semen pumping into me. It burned. It was thick and there was a lot. I felt him throbbing several times as he climaxed, as if his dick was swelling even bigger and stretching me out more. Knowing he’d bred me sent me over the edge. A new orgasm possessed my hips and thighs to grind and move in that way to pull him deeper, spasming and grinding. My ears roared louder and louder. Suddenly unable to bear the intensity of contracting around his massive dick, I struggled and he got up to let me roll away. I curled up on my side, panting. We both pulled our clothes back on before we lay together and he took me in a tight embrace. He spoke to me, a few low words. His fingers were welcome as he caressed my head. I had no response. I felt like a coal in the fire or trapped beneath the ice on the lake. I felt his warm breath on the top of my head where he rested his chin. I rested my hand on his flank. Behind me his cum pooled down my buttocks and thighs, more than any man should have been able to produce.

The following morning I made sure I had his eyes as I stood at the cave mouth. The wind blew steadily. I started shivering immediately. He laughed and understood. I slept with him in his bed after that.