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The forest floor is soft under your bare feet as you move between the trees, the low-slung fur pelt skirt brushing your thighs with every step.
The hide barely covers your pussy and the lower curve of your ass, leaving most of your skin exposed to the cool air and dappled sunlight.
You round a bend and spot him—Jethro —slumped against the base of a thick pine, one hand pressed to his chest.
A deep gash slices across his pectoral, blood seeping between his fingers.
His shirt hangs open, torn and stained.
His breathing is labored, but his eyes are sharp, tracking you as you approach.
Without hesitation you kneel beside him.
“Come on, big guy. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
You slide an arm under his shoulders and help him stand.
He’s heavy, solid muscle, but he leans into you, letting you guide him through the underbrush to the small cabin tucked among the trees.
Inside, you ease him onto the bed.
You fetch clean water, strips of cloth, and a salve you keep for cuts.
Jethro watches you move, his gaze drifting down the length of your body.
The fur pelt rides low on your hips, the edge barely concealing the soft mound between your legs.
When you lean over him to clean the wound, the skirt shifts, flashing the curve of one ass cheek.
His jaw tightens.
“You’re not exactly dressed for first aid babe,” he rasps, voice low.
You glance down at yourself, then meet his eyes.
“It works for me out here.”
His hand lifts, fingers brushing the edge of the fur where it skims your hip.
“It’s working on me too.”
The words are rough, honest.
Heat flares in his gaze as he takes in the way the pelt clings to your curves, how little it hides.
You finish tying off the bandage, but neither of you moves away.
His uninjured hand slides up your thigh, palm warm against bare skin.
“Babe,” he murmurs, the word slipping out like he’s been holding it back, “you’re making it real hard to stay still babe.”
You straddle his hips carefully, mindful of the wound.
The fur skirt rides up, exposing your pussy completely as you settle over the hard ridge straining against his jeans.
Jethro groans, hips lifting to grind against you.
His hands grip your ass, squeezing, pulling you down harder.
You yank his belt open, shove his jeans down just enough to free his thick cock.
It springs up, heavy and flushed.
You wrap your fingers around the shaft, stroking once, twice, before lining him up.
The head nudges your entrance, slick already gathering.
You sink down in one slow motion, taking every inch until your ass meets his thighs.
“Fuck, babe,” he growls, head tipping back against the pillow.
His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts.
You start to ride him, hips rolling, the fur skirt bunched around your waist.
Each downward stroke drags your clit against his pubic bone, sending sparks through your core.
Jethro thrusts up to meet you, cock driving deep.
The bed creaks beneath you.
Sweat beads on his chest around the bandage, mixing with the faint metallic scent of blood and the earthy smell of the forest.
Your pussy clenches around him, wet sounds filling the small cabin as you fuck harder, faster.
He sits up suddenly, careful of the wound, and buries his face between your breasts.
His mouth finds a nipple, sucking hard while his hands grip your hips, guiding you down onto his cock again and again.
“So fucking tight, babe. Taking me so good.”
You come first, pussy pulsing and gushing around his shaft, slick running down his balls.
Jethro groans loud, thrusts turning erratic.
“Gonna fill you up, babe—fuck—”
He buries himself deep and comes hard, hot cum flooding your pussy in thick pulses, spilling out around his cock as he keeps rocking through it.
You stay seated on him, both of you breathing hard.
His hands stroke your back now, gentler, thumbs tracing lazy circles.
He presses a kiss to your collarbone, voice rough but warm. “Damn, babe. You saved more than just my life today babe.”