The little needle on the gauge kept dipping into the red area over and over, but Taylor pushed the battered Ford from one truck stop to the next with a sweaty determination. There was just no money to fix the radiator, not yet. He kept the fluids high and took long breaks at noon, and cursed fluently when he saw the thin line of steam rising from under the hood.
His boots hit the dust so hard that clouds followed him as he stomped to the back of the truck to get the water can. His jeans were damp along the seams, and at the backs of his knees, and his thin cotton short was plastered across his body, even though it was open all the way down his chest. The bandanna wrapped around his neck was soaked, and he wasn't sure whether that was helping or hurting -- but he wasn't that interested in taking it off, either.
He popped the hood and cursed again as the steam billowed up and out. As he waited for the radiator to cool down so he could pop the cap and refill it, he walked along the shoulder and stretched out. There was not another car in sight. He was used to that -- it had been two days since he'd been in a town large enough to have two bars. Weeks since he'd been in a town large enough to have a bar where he could get the kind of relief that all the air conditioning and swimming pools and cold beers couldn't rival.
That was the curse of the job. When you wander through the big ranches, taking on seasonal jobs and doing a little breaking on the side, you don't often end up in Dallas. Hell, it's a good year if you can hire on somewhere near San Antonio, and drive sixty or seventy miles to that little dark place where all the cowboys are looking for something a little different to ride...
Taylor scratched his groin comfortably -- the heavy rod that lay coiled against his right thigh had been neglected lately; a little too much solo two-stepping for his tastes. The last one had been in the men's room at a nearly deserted gas station where the pump boy gave him a longing look and Taylor didn't end up paying for his gas. That was always nice. But that had been -- a long time ago. Still, Taylor's hand caressed his dick, coaxing it gently through the soft denim, thinking about that boy's sandy colored hair, his snub nose, and the way he gasped when he saw the cock that was shortly going to fill his world. Hot damn, but that fella was good, sucking it down like a slurpee through a straw, holding onto Taylor's legs like he wasn't ever going to let them go.
Just as the thoughts became a full-fledged reverie, Taylor heard an engine and dropped his hand. Way off in the distance, another truck was approaching. No good to be caught jacking off the old crank when Pastor BigBelly and the whole BigBelly clan came rumbling down. He stuck his thumbs into his belt instead and tipped his hat back to see it as it passed. It wasn't likely anyone would stop.
But this one was clearly pulling over. Taylor coughed the dust out of his throat as the fancy vehicle pulled to a stop along the shoulder, crunching the gravely dust between its fat tires. Taylor snorted out something to express half derision and half longing. It was one of those four-wheel drive modern jeep/truck things, black and tan. It probably had A/C. Nice rig, if you could afford it. And in the next instant, he felt the same way about the driver.
As the driver got out, Taylor saw that his boots were old and comfortable but shiny, protected from the eternal dust by the soft carpeting and no-doubt cushy interior of his Wrangler. His jeans were tight around his ass, and there was just that faint hint of fading around the crotch. A silver roping trophy buckle hit him dead center, as his body rose up tall and strong and broad shouldered. This city cowboy had short hair, too, black as night, a good contrast to the weather-beaten tan colored working hat.
He was a big man, six-four at least, but he walked like he was used to running, and smiled like he was used to pleasing people. Taylor swallowed hard and held out his hand, allowing a smile to break through his usually stern exterior. "Thanks for stopping, buddy," he said. "Can't see how you can help much, but it's awful nice of you." Shit, he thought, kicking himself mentally. That's goddamn talkative!
"Hey, you never know," drawled the newcomer. He shook Taylor's hand firmly and looked at the steaming Ford. "Busted radiator, huh? Bad luck. Want a lift to the next station? I passed one about five miles thataway." He pointed down the road. "There's a real stop about nine, maybe ten miles further. You can get a truck out here, and catch some sleep, too."
"Well," Taylor almost used his standard excuse, that he had a buddy who would be coming by. Ain't no need to take charity, that's for weaker folks. But something in the stranger poked at him, and he tipped his hat forward and brushed one toe against the sand, tossing a little storm against his tire. "Damn. I ain't got the money to fix the damn thing. I guess it's a goner anyway. Yeah, I reckon I'll take that ride. I better figure out what I'm gonna do now."
"I'll help you load up your things," the big man offered.
He made no further comments, except to admire Taylor's rig, and he did treat it gently when they laid it in the cool, dark interior of the Wrangler's storage space. Taylor spotted a custom case for a saddle and tack pushed up against the side. The case confirmed that this guy was more than just a done-up dude, and made him feel better about taking the ride.
As they hit the road, Taylor coughed again and sucked in the frigid air from that chilled his flesh instantly. "I didn't get your name, pal," he said, wondering at the comfort of the bucket seat that caressed his body.
"Oh, shit, sorry! I'm Ken, Ken Lurie. Pleased to meet you!"
"Ken Lurie? Hell, I heard of you!" Taylor said, so surprised he grinned again. "You got that spread out over the other side of the res, don't you?"
"Yep, guilty as charged."
Nice living, Taylor thought. No wonder the guy can afford these wheels and the custom case and nice boots. Shit, his critters are spread out for miles, and his boys do some nice circuit work, too. Damn. You never figure rich guys would be nice, though.
"Don't suppose you're hiring," he said, trying not to sound too hopeful.
"Sorry, Taylor, but we're full up for the season. That's a nice rig you got though -- cuttin' and ropin'?"
"Yeah. General ranch work, too. And I do a little breaking when I can find it."
"Now, that's a lost art," Lurie said fondly. "These days, it's all psychology. Plus, you're raisin' the working horses from foals, they're already gentled when you get them in the ring. Shit, I remember when I was a kid, we'd fetch us some mustangs and you'd really see some breaking!"
Taylor nodded. "Yeah, I've done the scrub ponies. Tried a little bronc showing, but it never sat right with me."
Lurie turned to him and nodded again. "Me too. Doesn't seem right, putting that strap on, does it?"
"No sir, no way. I want an animal that's fighting me, not fighting a strap around its nuts. Beats the hell out of me how they can call that a sport. It ain't winning when the horse is just dyin' from the pain. I mean, I'd be pretty docile if you put a bundle of tacks around my nuts, too!"
Lurie chuckled. "Oh, I don't know about that," he offered. "You seem like a tough guy. Doesn't seem like much would make you docile, nuts or not."
You could, Taylor thought. But he grinned like an idiot again and turned his eyes to the road, hoping that Lurie couldn't see the very noticeable boner that was pressing him so hard it felt like he'd jammed a rope down his pants. He was grateful for the A/C. It kept down the flush that was building around his face and throat.
They passed the gas station and drove on to the truck stop, where Lurie pulled up besides the register. "Let me float you a loan," he said, looking out the window as he took on that difficult topic. "I'll put you up for a few days, OK? You can come out to the ranch, say, in two months, and work it off or pay me back."
"That's right nice of you," Taylor said, also not looking at the other man. "But I can't take charity, and you and me know that's what that would be. You won't have work when the season's over, and I can't find work without m'wheels. I'll sell the rig and get myself back to my kin, and start over next year. But I thank you."
"Well, if you want to work some of it off now, there's a way," Lurie said. "Can't help noticing you're in a situation there."
Taylor looked down and agreed that it was, at least, a situation. But he coughed and kept his gaze away. He could deny it, take umbrage and bristle, or he could just ignore the comment and thank the man for the lift.
"Well, can't say I ever done that before," he lied.
"Yeah, but you'll do it for me, cowboy, won't you?"
Taylor's heart quickened at the ranch owner's tone. Hell, this was a man here! Not some pimply faced, cowboy worshipping city brat with a hunger for denim dick, but a fellow rider, and champion roper, and a man whose self-made riches were the envy for miles around. Hell yes, this was a real man.
Taylor turned his head at last and nodded. "Yessir, I'll do it for you."
"Then stow your rig, and I'll get us a room."
It was that easy. Taylor took the money, feeling ashamed and excited, paid a storage fee for his saddle, and mutely joined Lurie as they stomped down the row of identical doors. The view from behind the rancher was every bit as good as the one from the front. Taylor figured that Lurie had about 2 inches and thirty pounds on him -- and a lifetime of being top dog. It showed in the way he walked.
"Strip down to your boots and keep the bandanna on," were Lurie's first words when they got inside.
Taylor pulled the shirt off first, baring his damp chest, with a streaked mat of light brown hairs that ran between his nipples and down his body. He had to kick off his boots to get the jeans off, but he kept his black hip hugging briefs on in order to keep them for last. It seemed the right thing to do. Lurie was seated on the bed, watching with a gleam in his eye.
"You got a nice body, cowboy," he said. "Real nice. Now show me the rest of it."
I'm a whore, Taylor thought, hooking his thumbs into the sides of his briefs. A fuckin' five dollar whore, taking down my shorts for this man who's got the power, the money, the looks -- hell he's got everything I ain't got. The cotton moved slowly down his legs, and the thick slab of dick meat nearly slapped as it fell from across his thigh to covering his balls. He let the briefs fall and kicked them off.
"Now, there's a piece of tube steak that ain't never had a strap around it," Lurie said appreciatively. "Bring that fucker over here."
Taylor walked stiffly forward and gasped as Lurie took his cock firmly in hand. "This belongs to me right now," Lurie said, with a slight grin. "It needs to shoot off, but that ain't in my plan. So --" He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a wide strip of soft leather, coiled into a ball. He let if fall free, and it spilled into a rust-colored ribbon. Two twists, and there was a loop in the end of it. Taylor gasped again as the loop settled around his cock and balls and pulled tight. His hands flew to protect himself and Lurie slapped them down.
"Mine," he said firmly. Unimpeded, he continued wrapping, turning the leather ribbon so that it divided the cock and balls, and pulled them all up tight together. When he tied the package up, Taylor could barely stand to look at it. His family jewels were wrapped tighter than a calf at a 4-H meet. If he ever felt sympathy for a bronc under a bucking strap before, he felt it more keenly now.
"That'll come off when you're finished showing me a good time, cowboy," Lurie said. "So you might as well get to work. I ain't felt a mustache on my nuts in days -- might as well start with my low hangers. And don't let me feel teeth, you hear? If I do, you'll think this little bundle is a cool drink of water under a sweet shade tree. Got that?"
"Yessir," Taylor said. He dropped to his knees and unbuckled the man's belt. Lurie stood to he could shuck his jeans and shorts, and Taylor sighed as the big man's cock and balls came into sight.
Ken Lurie was big, and so was his equipment. Easily as thick as Taylor's meat, Lurie's cock was longer, too. And his balls! Hell, they were huge, matted with sweat and hanging so low, they'd clank if they were chrome. Some stud on Lurie's ranch was surely missing his filly-maker, because God had done a job and mixed two cocks up.
Balls first, Taylor reminded himself. So, carefully, he lowered his face to those twin orbs and began licking, spreading them up and across with the flat of his tongue.
He had a flash, recalling this kid from Denver who was doing the rodeo circuit, who had spent two hours doing nothing but licking and sucking on Taylor's balls while Taylor watched some queer porno on the motel's in-house system. Man, that had been nice, jacking himself off, drinking beer, and pissing it down the kid's back while that licking never stopped.
He imagined Lurie doing the same to him, and shuddered.
"That's right, you bastard, lick my nuts. You're playing with the bossman here, and you better make me happy."
Taylor decided that he didn't really need to answer that, so he kept mouthing the balls, trying to get them both into his mouth. It was an impossibility -- the best he could do was one at a time. But he worked on them steadily, feeling a pounding ache in his own nuts that made him dizzy. He was almost ready to groan out loud when Lurie's hand in his hair pulled him up.
"Nice work, cowboy. I reckon it's time you got plowed, though. Get your ass on this bed."
Taylor had expected to take Lurie's cock while he was on his knees -- that's mostly how men has sucked him off, after all. But he followed the boss' directions, and ended up on his back on the lumpy bed, with his head hanging over the edge. He gulped, seeing what was going to come next.
"Oh yeah, you're gonna take all of me, cowboy," Lurie promised, jacking his cock off over Taylor's face. "Right down your throat. I'm gonna screw your throat like an old whore's pussy, cowboy. And you're gonna take it, aren't you? 'Cause you want it."
Taylor wanted to plead for mercy, wanted to say, no, please, it's been a while, I ain't ever done that! But instead, he said, "Yessir. I do want it."
"Tell me, cowboy."
"Sir, I do want your big, fat dick down my throat!"
"Take it!" Lurie pointed the head down, bent his knees, and slammed the entire length so deep into Taylor's throat that Taylor almost leapt up on the bed. It hurt, bashing into the tightness of Taylor's spasming throat muscles, jerking his head back and stretching him out further. Lurie pulled back.
"Just a few more times," he said softly.
Each time was like getting burned. Taylor tried to relax, tried to anticipate it, but the huge length and width of the fucking machine spread him open and raped him, and he cursed in frustration as involuntary tears dripped from his eyes. Finally, Lurie sighed and slowed down, and said only one word: "Suck".
Thank God, Taylor thought, swiping his tongue around the battering cock that had plundered his throat. He sucked, pulling in the velvety flesh, feeling every ridge of every vein as he worked on that cock like a giant titty. And when Lurie reached down and pulled one of Taylor's nipples, he groaned around the thick cock in his mouth, but didn't pause in his action. Lurie liked that. And showed it by yanking even harder on that mantit.
"Cocksucker," he growled. "Suck my big dick. You've been wantin' it since you laid eyes on me, now suck it down!"
Taylor followed instructions, and let out an involuntary moan as Lurie switched nipples and began working on the other one. It was a distraction, but not nearly enough to take his mind away form the succulent slab of meat that he was adoring, his head thrown back. Lurie's fat, heavy balls slapped into his forehead and eyes, and he could see the edges of the man's asscrack, and wondered if the bossman would have him suck there, as well. The thought shamed him, thrilled him. He shuddered again.
"That's enough for now, cowboy," Lurie said, withdrawing his dick. "Time for a little ride. Get up and show me your hot fuckin' hole, cowboy. I know you don't need no hobbles to hold you down -- show me where my horsecock's gonna shoot."
Taylor flipped himself over, and drew his body up onto the bed. Dizzy, he turned and presented, and the thought of mares, their sex parts inflamed and eager, and the stallions, their screams cutting through the mornings, heavy cocks sliding out of the sheaths -- the primal, monstrous act of mating, watched by giggling hands and critical breeders -- and again, he felt the flush of shame. When Lurie's hands spread him wide, he gasped.
"I do believe it's been some time since you were serviced," Lurie said. "Too bad your first had to be me. I'm gonna rip you open, cowboy."
"Rip me, sir," Taylor said, grinding his teeth. "Do it!"
It was only right.
Fingers first, slopping something greasy into that hot, twitching hole, spreading it wide for the blunt head of that heavy cock. Taylor groaned and bit his own tongue to keep from yowling like a baby, but he stayed in position, arching his back to make the entry easier, and when Lurie slammed in, Taylor pounded the mattress with his fist and collapsed onto his elbows.
"Slut," Lurie chuckled. "Hot fuckin' cowboy, puttin' your butt in the air for me. Cocksucker, butt-whore, I'm gonna slam you so hard my jism is gonna leak outta your mouth."
"Yeah," Taylor grunted, the words making him ache. His dick throbbed and his nuts felt hot enough to give off steam. "Do me, boss. Do me like a fuckin' stud!"
"I am your stud, cowboy. Ain't nothing you can do but take my cock." With that, Lurie commenced seriously fucking, just like the way he had plowed down Taylor's throat. With a deliberate cruelty, he pulled almost all the way out, and plunged back, ball deep, and sighed with every sinking motion.
"Should have whupped you first," he panted. "Should have made you beg. But there's always time for that, right cowboy? You'll beg me, won't you?"
"Yessir -- whatever you want, sir!"
"And you won't mind if I do hobble you, will you? You'll even hold still like a good mare, just so you can get a taste of my dick."
"Yessir!" Taylor groaned as one particularly slow thrust teased him, and sighed as Lurie kind of squirmed against him.
"Yeah, I like this hole," Lurie said. This time, his words sounded harsher, and Taylor know what was coming. "You wanna work off that debt, you just come on back with me, cowboy. I'll make you my personal brood mare."
"Oh, Jesus!" Taylor cried. "Oh, Jesus, God, my nuts, please, Mr. Lurie, please boss, fuckin' God, I'm gonna explode!"
"Not before I do, cowboy!"
And suddenly, that body splitting load of cock vanished from Taylor's aching rear passage. He yowled at last, both from the pain of the exit and the sudden feeling of loss. But he didn't have time to think -- two hard hands flipped him over onto his back, and the wrappings around his nuts started to come off. He gasped at the sight of Lurie, one hand on that massive cock, the other hand busily unbinding the cock and ball sculpture he had made.
"You'll put your cum right on top of mine, cowboy," Lurie said. "Right over -- mine!" And with a practiced ease, he jacked his thick cock over Taylor's body, and shot out long, thick, strands of manjuice, a heavy, wet load that slapped against Taylor's chest and belly. Taylor cried out again at the unfairness of it all -- that load should have been in him, in his mouth, or up his aching butthole! But even that disappointment couldn't halt the straining in his own dick. And when Lurie pushed his legs up and tilted him backwards, he knew what to do. He grabbed his cock and jacked it, once, twice, and then that explosion he threatened went off, his nuts almost contracted with the speed and force of his shoot. He watched as his own jism arched through the air and landed on his chest, some of it splattering his chin. And when Lurie let him down, he just lay there, weak and wasted.
"You're gonna learn to shoot into your own mouth, cowboy -- that's if you're fixing to follow me."
Taylor looked up, but didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything yet.
Lurie walked into the bathroom and came out wiping his dick off. He tossed the harsh little towel onto Taylor's stomach and bent down to retrieve his jeans. "That was fun, cowboy. I liked giving you a good ride. If you come down to my place, I'll do it again. And again."
He pulled his wallet from his pocket and unfolded a few bills. Taylor blushed and turned away.
"You can always mail 'em back to me if you don't want the loan," Lurie said with another chuckle. "You decide. But if you come over to my place, ready to work this off as my little mare, you better be wearing this."
The rust colored leather strap slipped around Taylor's throat. Lurie tied it off, and pulled the old bandanna away. Then he left, closing the door firmly behind him.
Taylor took a long time in recovering, laying on the lumpy bed and fingering the smooth leather around his neck.