I arrived just after dawn. Cold air, damp soil, and the deep hush of pine all around me. I tossed my bag off the back of the truck and rolled my shoulders. Ached to get to work. My last job had been good, but I needed distance. Space to breathe. To remember how it felt to be alone in my body, not twisted up with someone else's bullshit.

The boys noticed me right away.

They were clustered near the equipment shed, leaning on tools, sipping coffee. They clearly hadn’t seen a new face in months. Thick arms. Scarred knuckles. Grease-stained pants slung low on hips. 

One of them grinned. “Shit. Management sent us a girl.”

Another elbowed him. “You sure she’s not lost?”

A third, taller and broader than the rest, raised an eyebrow. “Place like this don’t need pretty.”

The first one said, "Speak for yourself; I wouldn't mind something nicer to look at than your fuckin' ass crack." Pull your damn jeans up, Luis!"

"Fuck off, Cole," Luis replied

I kept walking. Let them get it out of their systems. I'd heard it all before. More than once, I’d been mistaken for someone’s girlfriend on-site. Never bothered me. I was used to standing out. Long blond hair, thick in a braid. Curve to my hips. Tight jeans and a shirt that showed off my waist. I didn’t try to hide my body to be taken seriously. I just worked harder.

The teasing continued as they showed me around.

“Bridget’s the only woman here, and she doesn’t count.”

Bridget, already crouched under a fuel drum, stood up fast. Wrench in one hand, scowl on her face.

“Just because I prefer cunt to cock doesn’t mean I’m not a woman, you limp-brained twig, Zeke.”

She cracked him across the shoulder with the wrench. He yelped but laughed. The rest joined in. I liked that. No pouting. No defensiveness. Just rough-edged humor and a little blood. My kind of crew.

I smirked. “Don’t worry. I’m not a helpless bimbo. I’m here to cut trees and collect pay. Anything else is a bonus.” I added a wink; I knew how to get men onside.

That got a few low whistles. One of them muttered something about hardwood. I let it slide. I liked it when it was good-natured. I’d been on sites where the jokes turned mean. This wasn’t that.

“You got a name, sweetheart?” Cole asked, cocky and already sweating through his shirt despite the cold.

“Jill,” I said. “Been swinging axes since you were still figuring out which end to piss from.”

“Shit,” Zeke said, nudging Cole. “That means she started yesterday!”

“Fuck you!” Cole chuckled. "Well, a real Lumber Jill, aye. Let's see what you're made of, unless you need to go in and do your makeup."

I rolled my eyes and started unloading gear. I knew what I was doing. By the end of the first day, I was soaked in sweat and pine. My arms ached in the best way. The camp was small, the crew tight-knit. They worked hard. And they looked good doing it.

I hadn’t expected the itch. But watching them grind against heavy machines, hearing their grunts carry across the clearing, I felt a hunger grow within me. Low, hot, coiled between my legs. It started slow, just a dull hum. Then I caught one, Dean, the youngest in the camp, stripping his shirt off, wiping his brow with it, and the hum turned into something sharp.

The first few days were all about finding my rhythm. The work was good. We hauled and stacked, sharpened and split. My body ached in the right places. I slept deeply every night, curled under a thin blanket in the shared bunkhouse.

The bunkhouse was one open space. Eight beds, rough mattresses, no dividers. Bridget had her own corner out near the tool shed, which left me as the only woman inside. I didn’t mind. I’d slept beside plenty of snoring, farting men in other camps. 

Something I always noticed and always found fascinating in these scenarios was morning wood. Every damn one of them woke up rock hard. I’m not sure what filled their dreams every night, but without fail, the inside of the cabin looked like a campsite every morning with the amount of fabric tented over poles. 

I’d roll over in the half-light, and there it was. Cocks straining against elastic waistbands. The occasional glimpse of skin when someone stretched and his blanket slid off. Dean, the youngest, always woke up flustered, palming at his cock through the sheets like he was trying to hide it. Cole, cocky as ever, sat up proud with his tented boxers on full display, scratching his chest and smirking if he caught me looking. Zeke pretended not to care, lying flat with his cock pointing up, reading his trashy poetry like it wasn’t growing with every page. I didn’t need to read the verses. I could tell his dick was hard enough to etch the words into the ceiling.

Luis was always first up. He moved slowly in the mornings, so normally woke before everyone else so he could be ready on time. That had the added benefit of meaning he got to use the one loo without having to wait.

There was only the one toilet for the whole crew. That meant in the morning a whole line of men trying to act casual while their cocks stood at full attention. Some crossed their arms. Some crossed their legs. I heard muttering more than once.

“Fuckin’ thing won’t go down.”

“Christ, hurry it up; I’m about to burst.”

Bridget didn’t help. She’d walk by and say, “Whole damn camp’s full of standing timber. Somebody better bring an axe.” Which made some of them wince. 

On day four I woke early. Someone was in the loo; I assumed it was Luis, so I went outside to enjoy the morning and wait for him to finish. 

The mist hadn’t cleared yet. My boots crunched softly in the frost. I paused, scanning the tree line, hoping to see some wildlife. Then I saw him.

Luis. Shirtless. Standing just past the edge of camp. One hand braced on the trunk of a pine. His other hand hovered at his fly. He was trying to piss, but his cock wouldn’t settle. It stuck out hard and twitching. Long, thick, proud.

My breath caught.

He adjusted his balls, shifted his grip, and muttered under his breath. Still no stream. Just that cock, pulsing with every frustrated breath. I licked my lips without thinking. My pussy clenched tight. That ache inside me flared hot, soaked through my panties before I could even shift my weight.

I should’ve gone back inside. I didn’t.

I stood there, watching. Heat flushed through me, sharp and immediate. My nipples tightened under my shirt. The pressure between my legs flared, soaking through my panties before I even shifted my weight. I didn’t just want to touch him. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to own that moment. Take it into my mouth and leave him speechless.

His cock deserved better than a cold piss and a frustrated sigh.

I stepped forward. Slowly. Quietly. My fingers drifted to the buttons of my shirt, undoing the top two without a word. My skin was hot despite the cold. I wasn’t trying to tease. I was claiming the moment.

He turned, startled, cock still hard and upright.

“Jill, shit, I didn’t know anyone was out. Someone’s in the bathroom. I was trying to piss, but…” He gestured helplessly at the thick length between his legs. “This thing won’t quit.”

“Lucky for you, I’m a Lumber Jill. I know exactly how to deal with wood.” I chuckled as I dropped to my knees in front of him.

His jaw moved, but nothing came out.

I reached up and took him in hand. His cock was warm and heavy, firm in my grip. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. I leaned in and kissed the head. Then again, slower, letting my tongue drag over the tip. He trembled.

There was something about offering this blow job to a near stranger that flooded me with desire but also grim determination. As if I was showing that I could suck cock better than that redheaded skank I saw gobbling my ex’s cock when I arrived back from a job early. I’d show him what he was fucking missing.

His breath caught as I took more, stroking the base with one hand while the other slipped under the waistband of my pants. The cold air bit at my skin, but I was burning. I needed relief. I couldn’t wait. My fingers slid between soaked folds and pressed in deep.

He groaned, low and unsteady, hips twitching forward. I swallowed him deeper. My tongue worked along the underside as I moaned, letting the sound vibrate against him. I curled two fingers inside myself and pumped, hard and fast. My palm ground against my clit with every thrust. Every suck on him sent a pulse straight through my core.

Luis stood near motionless, clearly shocked by the turn his morning had taken. I sucked him harder, faster. My fingers fucked myself deep, wet sounds mixing with my moans and the soft, breathless curses tumbling from his lips. My body tightened. The pressure built in my gut. My legs trembled.

I bobbed faster. My saliva coated him, dripped down my chin. I worked my mouth up and down, tongue flicking, jaw flexing, my hand wet between my thighs as I fucked myself with my fingers. My moans grew louder, sloppier. I didn’t care if the whole camp heard. I wanted him deep in my throat. I wanted him to lose control.

He gasped.

“Jill, I’m close!”

His cock jerked in my mouth, and I pulled back, lips wet, hand still wrapped tight around him. I stroked him hard and fast, twisting at the top with each motion. His whole body tensed above me, thighs tight, breath caught in his throat.

I rubbed my clit faster, fingers deep inside me, the pressure peaking sharp and hot. My eyes locked on his, my mouth open, breathing hard.

He let out a deep, guttural groan, then spilt over my face.

Thick ropes hit my cheek, my lips, and my chin. Another landed on my neck, then lower, hot against my chest. My hand never stopped pumping, milking every drop from him.

I came hard. My hips bucked against my fingers, my pussy clenched around them, slick and pulsing. I bit back a cry and let the pleasure rip through me, wave after wave, as the last spurt from his cock dripped onto my skin.

I stroked him slower, coaxing the last pulse from his tip, breath ragged, body shaking, every nerve lit up. His cum clung to my face, warm and thick, steaming in the early morning chill.

I looked up at him, still stroking myself, chest rising fast as I came down from my peak.

He stared down at me, wide-eyed, chest heaving.

Neither of us said a word.