With another mighty heave of his bulging chest and shoulders, Oren lifted the axe above his head and swung it down with a stunning display of precision and force, symmetrically splintering the log in two.

His bare, glistening back strained and flexed as he bent down to grab the two pieces of lumber and toss them atop the wood pile he was forming near his back fence. Stressing his upper torso’s limits once again, he rippled and swelled about the chest and arms as he hoisted another giant medallion of the segmented tree trunk onto the stump that served as his chopping block. Extended out of tattered, worn leather gloves that protected his palms, his thick, veined forearms pulsed and tensed with his motion.

I felt my pulse begin to race as I continued to watch him from my upstairs bedroom window. With a deafening, echoing crack, his axe again descended to sever the log’s two halves from another. I thought to myself that my great, strong, handsome bear of a neighbor would have been as at home swinging an axe out on the battlefield a thousand years ago as he was now chopping wood in his back yard.

This wasn’t the first time I’d pleasured myself while watching him. It had almost become a ritual for me, to take my cock in hand while watching Oren mow his lawn… shingle his roof… shovel snow from his driveway… or, as was the case on this unseasonably warm autumn day, chop wood for the winter.

I stood trance-like, every so gently swaying… almost teetering… as I continued to gaze down on Oren. His body was mesmerizing - his thick, bulging muscles padding every contour of his frame; his flesh a light bronzed tone speckled with patterns of like salt-and-pepper colored body hair. His snug jeans hugged his thick, gnarled waist and showed light-colored signs of wear on the front of the thighs and the back where the square blocks of his glutes made their shape into the fabric. He was flawlessly natural, and intoxicating.

My cock was free, and fully engorged in my right hand. My left palm was planted against the wall to the side of the open window, bracing me so that I could lean almost all the way out without falling. I stroked myself freely and readily. I didn’t care if Oren noticed. In fact, I think some part of me, buried deep down inside, desperately wanted him to notice. I wanted him to see me gratifying myself to his graven image. I wanted him to drop that axe to his side, unfastened those tight, sweaty, work jeans, and unfurl that majestic horse-cock I knew was hanging between his thighs.

I wanted him to stroke himself, while watching me – just as I was doing while watching him. I wanted us to share that. I wanted us to share more than that. I wanted him to bend me over and ransack me like a barbarian claiming his mate. I wanted him to abuse and to cradle me; to comfort and to use me; to cause me pain in order to give me pleasure.

As my mind continued to race, my hand swiftened the pace of its jerking to match the speed of my lusty, fantastic, thoughts. With each echoing boom of Oren’s axe driving… plunging… piercing… its way through the lumber he stacked on the chopping block, my whole body jerked and spasmed as if his axe were driving through me rather than the