Page 1 of Massive Size Lumberjack

1

Braden

Thunk!goes my axe on the log.Thunk, thunk, thunk!

The wood splinters into two with a satisfying crack, and I put my tool down before wiping the sweat from my brow. It’s a gorgeous day in the El Dorado Forest, and I blink in the afternoon sunshine. The smell of pine wafts through the air, and birds chirp in the trees. I can hear the skitter of animal feet in the underbrush, but yes, the underbrush is lacking, as are the trees. These aren’t old-growth monsters that have been here for decades with thick trunks and branches reaching up to the sky. Instead, the area south of Lake Tahoe was ravaged by a fire a couple years ago, and the re-growth is new. The trees are actually saplings with puny branches that resemble twigs. The bushes are still somewhat sparse, and the shrubs that used to form a thicket are bare and spindly.

But at least thereisre-growth. After the fire, this place looked like the fucking apocalypse. Everything was incinerated by thefire, and the land was charred and smoldering, smoke drifting in grey wisps through the air. Hell, the air itself was toxic and it was weeks before you could walk this area without goggles and protective covering. But in the years since, the greenery and wildlife have recovered. What can I say? Mother Nature is powerful and resilient, and the forest is starting to look the way it once did.

Of course, I took advantage of the situation. My ability to manipulate bad set-ups to my benefit has made me into a billionaire, and this was no exception because I started buying land like there was no tomorrow. I got shit at the rock-bottom prices because no one wanted to be here after the catastrophe. There was no water, no gas, no heat, and no sewage for ages as city government tried to sort itself out. Hell, even bare land was going for next to nothing because there was simply no infrastructure, not to mention the lack of community.

But things worked out because they had to. The Lake Tahoe area is too beautiful for the nation to ignore, and has a storied history as a wealthy recreation area for summer and winter guests. It’s gorgeous and the El Dorado is a part of a protected reserve, worthy of investment and intention. As a result, the government eventually got its shit together, and reconstruction began.

So yeah, I swooped in like a fucking vulture and purchased multiple tracts of land. The crown jewel of my new portfolio is an expansive piece of property on the south shore of the lake. I didn’t even bother to visit, to be honest, because the photos were enough. There were acres of charred, smoking rubble, with one small shack that had curiously been left untouched at the edge of the property. I put in an offer, and surprise, surprise, it was the only one the sellers received given the recent catastrophe. Afterthe deed changed hands, I immediately began to formulate my plan.

My new house is going to be big, and by ‘big’ I mean fuckinghuge. I’m building a ten thousand square foot mansion complete with an indoor gym, a pool in the basement, a sauna, a billiards room, and even a small movie theater with layback seats. There will be six bedrooms and seven baths, and a palatial living room with floor to ceiling views of the lake outside. Of course, the lake is surrounded by a forest that’s still puny at the moment, but it’ll re-grow. It just takes time and patience.

But constructing a house from scratch is a bitch, and the only way to do it is to stay on top of the project. I have a great guy in charge, but I find that being here myself makes a difference. So I try to find the time to come out from Vegas to keep an eye on things. It’s fucking sad, but sometimes the boss has to be present. Hell, I don’t even supervise. I just show up, and my mere presence seems to make the workers move a little faster. They’re more energetic, and shit actually gets done. Human nature fucking sucks sometimes, but there you go.

Fortunately, I’m able to live in the small cabin when I’m on premises. It’s fine. It’s not luxury, but then again, I enjoy the rustic life on occasion. The one bedroom is secluded away from the main house, with just one bath and a utility kitchen, but again, it’s fine for a single dude. I don’t need much, and I certainly don’t need glitter and glamor 24/7.

After all, I’m rich as fuck. Not the “m-word” as in “millionaire” or even “multi-millionaire,” but the “b-word” as in “billionaire.” My brother Mason and I started a business back when the tech industry was in its infancy. Duality Technologies is a platform where users can share short text messages, images, and videos in short posts limited to about two hundred and eighty characters.The platform also includes direct messaging, video and audio calling, bookmarks, lists, communities, a chatbot, job search, and a social audio feature. About ten percent of our users account for ninety percent of our activity, but that’s the reality of social media. Riches and reward accrue to the few, and in my case, it’s certainly been true. Duality has made Mason and I wealthy men, and when you get to my level of success, money frankly loses its meaning.

Of course, that doesn’t mean my brother and I retired. After twenty years of wheeling and dealing, the machine doesn’t just turn off. Instead, we’ve branched out. We founded Club Duality a couple years ago, which is a private club for the billionaire class. Yes, our membership is mostly male; it’s just the way this shit works. We provide food, drink, and entertainment, all in the hushed exclusivity of the Duality compound. Not only is everything discreet and under wraps, but we skirt the edges of the law too. There are debauched parties featuring beautiful young things that are auctioned to our male members. Quite a few of the girls are true quality specimens, and our members pay through the nose for their beauty and innocence, but also for the opportunity to teach. After all, what’s better than being with a young woman who’s tasting her first dick and loving it? Yeah, we’re a bunch of fucked-up assholes, and there’s no one and no way to stop us.

But the scene gets tiresome after a while. The men are jaded, and the women too. Not only that, but it’s tough to find a virgin in Vegas these days. The girls are hardened and sun-baked before they turn eighteen, and my brother and I aren’t willing to go any younger. It’s too fucked up, even if it doesn’t technically flout the law. After all, the age of consent in Nevada is sixteen, and not only that, but prostitution is legal in certain areas, under very specific conditions. My attorneys know the ins and outs, and I’mcertain Club Duality plays within the lines ... even if it’s by a hair’s breadth.

But now, I’m here to get away while also overseeing the build of my new mansion. I wipe the sweat from my brow before lifting my axe again. The temps in this area are generally cool mornings and evenings, but mid-afternoon can be hot and today is no exception. With a grunt, I position another block of wood on the stand, and then swing my axe down with a satisfyingthunk.

Then I pause. Was there a gasp coming from the woods? But from what? I’m miles away from civilization and there are no roads here. There are a few paths for intrepid hikers, but even those give wide berth to this particular location. After all, I chose this location for its lack of access. The only way to get here is to cut through the underbrush, and I can’t see anyone doing that of their own free will.

Shaking my head, I get on with my work. My muscles are now broiling in the hot sun, and with quick fingers, I undo my shirt so that I can work without the fabric clinging to my skin. Then I raise the axe again and thwack it down as my biceps strain.

The gasp comes again. I know it wasn’t my imagination and my eyes narrow a bit as I try to determine its location. I don’t want to give myself away, so my gaze remains fixed on the stump as I heft the axe once more.

Thwack!

This time, the gasp is very audible to my left, and my guess is that my mystery stalker has crept closer. Why are they hiding? Is it because they know they’re trespassing? Fuck, I hate people who barge in when they shouldn’t. I’m a beast who values his privacy, and some fucker better not be staking out my property.

As a result, a plan forms in my mind. My blue eyes squint as I survey the stump again. Kindling surrounds it on both sides, and I’ve made a fucking mess. But I position another log on the stump, and make as if to raise my axe. I even loft it above my head, like I’m about to strike, but instead of the metal tool coming down with another resounding thwack, I twist at the last moment and hurl it at my stalker.

Phhhssst!

The axe flies through the air, a fifteen pound weapon of untold destruction. The blade is keen and sharp, and the handle is made of solid oak. The axe somersaults into the woods, glinting in the sunlight, only to land with a resounding crack in a nearby tree. Meanwhile, there’s the scramble of small feet, as well as the tell-tale shiver of brush. Fuck, the intruder’s on the run. He’s looking to get away now that it’s clear he’s been outed.

But it’s too late. My massive form springs into motion, and within seconds, I’ve dived into the bushes and grabbed hold of the nosy motherfucker. But instead of dragging a homeless person out, or some hermit who lives on the slopes, I emerge with a young woman screaming and struggling in my grip. She’s curvy and gorgeous, albeit fighting like a wildcat like at the moment.

“Let me go!” she screams. “Let me go, you brute! Hey, owww!”

I stare down at the woman in my arms. She’s maybe five four, shaped like an hourglass, with the bloom of youth on her cheeks. Fuck, she’syoungyoung, with that narrow waist, big hips, and thick thighs. Her blonde hair’s tied back in a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing casual clothes, but nothing can mask the lushness of her body. Yet there’s no doubt that this woman was spying on me ... and I intend to find out why.

2

Grace

“Hey, let me go!” I howl at the top of my lungs. “Ouch, you’re hurting me!”

Of course, the lumberjack doesn’t let go at all. But hedoesloosen his grip so that it’s not an iron vise around my upper arm.

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