Manhandled (3 page)

Suddenly, his body jerked and thrashed around. Inside my mouth, his dick swelled and started propelling load after load of
cum down my gut. The sweet stink of his seed mingled with the clean scent of the deodorant soap and the smell of the musty,
water-soaked walls of the shower shed.

I reached up and plowed my fingers through the wet coating of thick hair that covered Rowdy’s front—and back—and thighs and
butt. The mat was thick enough to grab hold of. My hands ran across his stubby nipples, and that was what I hung on to as
my throat gobbled down his erupting dick milk. I pinched and squeezed them, which only seemed to prolong his being able to
squirt jizz down my gullet. Finally, ’bout the time I thought I was gonna pinch his tits off, he finished emptying his nuts
with a big, contented sigh.

I needed some air, but Rowdy’s arm-sized pole was taking its own sweet time shrinking back to normal size, and I sure as hell
couldn’t stretch my jaw any wider to breathe around it. Reluctantly, I pulled my mouth off of him.

Sweet oxygen, moisture-laden and thick but fresh and clean to my parched lungs, flooded in. I felt a huge emptiness in my
mouth and throat, and once I had sucked in more air, I started to gobble down Rowdy’s dick again. He pushed my head back with
the butt of his hands, though, then caught me under the chin and tilted my head up, grinning down at me.

“You’re the first who’s been able to take it all, honey mouth. I reckon that’s gonna make you and me special partners.”

“Fine with me.” I returned his grin, licking my lips and craning my neck toward his semihard again. He still held me back.
He frowned.

“That might be a problem.”

“Like what?”

“Like me!” It was the angry voice of the other young cowhand, Jake—who was a couple of years older’n me— standing in the doorway
of the shower room in his boots and underdrawers.

I had thought Rowdy and me might not be the last ones out of the shower shed, but thinking about Rowdy’s butt had clouded
my head.

Jake was good-looking and hot, but a stubborn and hardheaded cowpoke. We’d tried to be civil, ’cause I thought he was straight
like everybody else, but somehow it just hadn’t clicked. Now I knew why: we were two horny, closeted ranch queers after the
same piece of ass.

“Damn you, Rowdy, I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off fresh meat.” Jake stomped into the room, his boots sending
up mean sprays of water from the rough concrete floor, which was beginning to steam from the cool evening air settling in.

“Now, Jakey baby, you know sometimes Daddy just—”

“Daddy’s just gonna get his ass whupped, is what,” Jake hollered, storming over as he shoved down his Jockeys and pulled out
his dick. He jerked Rowdy’s head back and jammed his meat down Rowdy’s throat. “That’ll shut you up, you two-timin’ bitch,”
he snarled, throwing his leg over Rowdy’s shoulder to hold him down.

Now it’s true that Jake was in damn good shape—sure as hell tougher’n me—but I know full well Rowdy could’ve pitched him off;
Rowdy was one powerful mess of muscles. Instead, Rowdy just happily guzzled that kid’s dick and started munching away like
it was his evening meal.

Jake leaned down and shoved his face next to mine. His smooth cheeks smelled piney-fresh. He must’ve hung back to shave while
all the other cowhands had hurried on to supper.

“Is his dick up your ass?” he demanded.

“What?”

“Is my man’s penis stuck up your rectum, shithead?! I can’t tell from here, and I’m not about to move away to take a look.”

Rowdy closed his eyes and sucked away at Jake’s dick like a hungry calf at his mama’s udder.
Udderly
contented. I snickered.

“What the fuck are you laughing at, shitface? If I had another dick I’d shove it down
your
throat.” His good-looking face got red, even as the water was starting to cool off.

“If you had another dick, I sure wouldn’t mind sucking it,” I said. “From what I just saw, that was one fine-looking example
of young cowpoke’s poker.” Rowdy’s eyes flew open.

Jake got flustered for a second, but then started yelling again, ignoring my offer. “He
has
got his dick up your butt.” He turned toward Rowdy’s contented face. “I never could get you to fuck me and now you’re fucking
him.
” He turned on me again. “Fuck you and that stump of yours,” he yelled, waving at where Rowdy was sitting on me. “I told him
I bet you had a honker that would gut a bronc.”

Rowdy just continued sucking like mad. That kid must have had a dick of iron. I sure would have already blown my wad.

Jake wasn’t exactly making a lot of sense—I mean, Rowdy was sitting on me, not the other way round—but I did like the sound
of what I was hearing. With my butt still trapped, my “stump”—which by now was repumped and rarin’ to go again—started scraping
its way up Rowdy’s hairy crack, nudging against his tailbone.

“Damn, this man gives great head,” Jake announced. Rowdy’s mouth was working wonders. Jake swung his other leg around so he
could fuck Rowdy’s face full on. Jake’s big chest was heaving, and he was calming down. “Did he blow you?”

I shook my head, noting that Jake had a fine, smooth ass, not inches from my face. It was a beautiful hairless contrast to
his fuck buddy’s dark, older set of saddle-polished butterballs.

Rowdy jerked his head toward me, answering Jake’s question.

“You sucked him off?” Jake snarled derisively at me.

Rowdy took a breather, and gulped some air. “Hank took it all,” he purred smugly. “I told you sooner or later I’d find somebody
who could, tight lips.” He went back to sucking on the kid’s meat tube.

Jake was obviously torn between wanting to instantly end my tenure at the ranch and wanting to congratulate me. Not being
too swift a stud, and having pretty much run out of invectives, he just gawked while his big juicy lips hung open.

I had a vision of what pleasure those juicy lips could bring to my restiffened stump.

“I could fuck you if you want,” I said to his butt. “I bet that fine bottom would suck up this pore li’l pisser of mine in
a flash.”

Rowdy frowned and sucked harder than ever. Distracted as Jake was by Rowdy’s expert blow job, he knew revenge when it was
presented to him.

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Rowdy started to protest, but Jake’s tight grip nailed the older cowhand’s head to his crotch. I slithered out from under
Rowdy, shot over to the wall where my clothes were hanging, grabbed a rubber out of my jeans, and was wrapped and ready before
Jake had a second thought.

“Now, go easy,” he instructed me while smirking down at Rowdy, as I hunkered up behind him. “I’ve been wanting it, but I’ve
never—Aaaggh!! Shit! Fuck! Damn fire!”

I reached around and grabbed his tits while I worked my dick all the way up his rectum.

“Aaaggh!!” He hollered like hell—but he took it.

I leaned my head on the cowhand’s sweat-covered shoulder and gnawed at his earlobe while peeking over and down at Rowdy, who
looked up and smiled at me as best he could while running his mouth up and down Jake’s dick. From where I stood, the kid’s
meat looked like it had growed two or three inches when I punched my fence post up his ass.

“Aw! Fuck, man! Shit!!” Jake’s head whipped back and forth as I whipped my dick in and out of his butthole, and as Rowdy whipped
his mouth up and down Jake’s not inconsiderable length and width. But his hollering was getting less intense, turning more
into moans and groans.

We were three fine figures of western manhood, I mused while concentrating on blasting a hole through Jake’s tight butt… and
we deserved to feel each other’s potential to the fullest.

“OK,” Jake said, hyping himself. “OK, I can take it.” He puffed a little, relaxing his ass as I plowed in and out. “Yeah.
Fucking, yeah… yeah
yeah.
” Jake seemed to have decided he liked what was happening to his middle. He swung an arm around to slap my ass—
hard
—as I crammed his hole.

He used Rowdy’s thick hair to hang on to and pound the guy’s head into his crotch. Rowdy didn’t seem to mind at all.

While I fucked the tar out of his butt, my hands got busy grinding Jake’s tender nips into hard little dicks, and from what
I could tell, down at his crotch Rowdy was busy masticating Jake’s pole into hog slop.

I had to admit, Jake was one fine receptacle. He stood between us, the water cascading over his fat-free, trim bod, his head
thrown back, a contented groan rumbling up from his heaving chest as we worked him over.

I blew first—again, dammit—ramming a load up Jake’s ass that surprised me, considering I had already spewed a cup of cream
over Rowdy’s back. I gushed a condom full enough for some of my syrup to squeeze out the back end and drain down onto the
inside of Jake’s muscular thighs.

Staying implanted up his butt with my body snuggled against his back, I nuzzled my head into the crook of Jake’s neck while
my fingers went from torturing to nurturing his tits. His hand that had been whacking my ass went to cupping my balls.

My shooting my wad up his hole seemed to be the trigger to keep Jake going. He kicked up fucking Rowdy’s face a notch or two.
Rowdy’s big brown eyes drifted closed and he took it like a hungry cowboy at the end of the trail desperately devouring Cook’s
grub.

Then the hungry cowboy came. All I heard was muffled grunts, but I felt his jism streaking hot and heavy over my ass to drizzle
down my legs as I straddled him to fuck Jake.

Finally, it was Jake’s turn. He began to snicker, then his pumping body slowed down, then it froze and stiffened in place,
then he groaned and began to gasp. If I wouldn’t have knowed better, I would have figured it for some kind of seizure, but
whatever it was, it sure gave him pleasure and it went on and on and on, with Rowdy guzzling Jake’s cum like there was nothing
better to nourish him this side of the Mississippi, and damn if I didn’t get a little envious.

Jake’s orgasm was so intense his gripping asshole even squeezed a couple more globs out of my dick.

Finally, having blown our wads, we got out of that damned shower shed, which had cooled off to where I was about to freeze
my balls off. In the barn, in the hayloft, the both of them heated me up right nicely, though.

I had it in my head I wanted to be butt-plugged by Jake’s huge member. So the guys did what they could to help me achieve
my goal and still be able to sit in a saddle. I had a handful of condoms that they dressed over a variety of smooth-handled
farm implements with which they proceeded to puncture my anus.

When we got to something his size, Jake replaced the rake handle up my rectum with his own mighty meat and fucked the living
daylights out of my ass, while Rowdy sucked my nuts up through my dick and down his throat, just like he had done to Jake.

Then, having me spread open, Rowdy mounted me while Jake and I sixty-nined.

Way fucking awesome.

It took them about half an hour to nut me. Then Jake wanted to work on learning to take Rowdy all the way down his throat,
so we had a few practice sessions, and Rowdy obliged by blowing a few more loads down our young gullets. And that’s how we
ended our first time together. The next time, I got to fuck Rowdy’s beautiful ass—the thing that had gotten it all started
in the first place.

Jeb, our foreman, says I’ve gotten a lot easier to deal with. I was too uptight when I first came on board, he told me, but
I seem a lot more mellow now. He reckons it’s because I found a couple of buddies in Rowdy and Jake.

He’s right.

T. Hitman

D
isgusted, pitcher Mike Mitchell slammed his glove on the dugout bench. He knew every camera in the ballpark was likely on
him, but he no longer cared. He was so pissed following the worst of a string of bad outings, he almost couldn’t hear the
boos from the home-team fans anymore.

Almost.

He thought about tipping the sports drink cooler, or taking a few golf swings at a batting helmet with the nearest piece of
lumber—hell, even punching out the guy he blamed most for the shitty performance, the team’s catcher. Instead, he grabbed
his jacket and started toward the dugout stairs, pushing his way through a sea of sweaty uniforms. It wasn’t until he recognized
the number 18 on the back of one of the shirts that he lost it. The short brown hair, arms of concrete, and dirt-stained,
sweatsoaked pinstripes belonged to his battery mate, catcher Jorge Cordero.

The other man stood with one leg arched up on the stairs and was fastening the last of his protective gear, his shin and knee
guards. A jolt of rage as sudden and red-hot as what he’d felt on the mound when Coach Riggs took him out of the game exploded
inside Mike. He aimed an elbow at Cordero’s back and gave a forceful shove on his way past while growling a swear under his
breath.

“Dumb fuck!” he huffed.

He didn’t make it two more steps before Cordero grabbed hold of his pinstripes. Angry Spanish erupted in his ears. Mitchell
pulled free of the hand on his sleeve and heard his uniform tear. The catcher was on him in a flash, and a brief struggle
ensued, with punches and insults flying. Their teammates eventually pulled the two men apart.

“Get the fuck out of here!” center fielder Steve Spencer huffed in Mitchell’s direction.

Mitchell sucked in a deep breath of the dugout’s hot, sour air and aimed a look first at Spencer and then at his restrained
catcher before trudging down the stairs. He knew the fight would replay on sports TV for days, nationally as well as locally,
that he’d be branded baseball’s current overpaid and underachieving villain, burned in effigy by fans, talk radio, and his
own teammates.

He cut through the tunnel, past security, and into the clubhouse, where signs posted at his insistence warned,
No Media!
If he hurried, he could be out of the locker room before the last out and avoid having to deal with the rest of the team.