The Cowboy Bottoms

Juniper enjoys the physiques of the cowboys and farmworkers of the Goodman Ranch in Wyoming Territory, but when he’s interrupted by the strongest cowboy around, he’s in for a wild ride… in which this tiny twink just might climb on top! Can the legendary cowboy Hawthorn Spooner endure the vigor and joy of a twink on top?!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

Juniper Nightsky hurried out the back door of the farmhouse. The sun was shining but nearing the horizon, and it was hot, humid, the air as thick as a woolen blanket. Juniper made sure Mister Goodman ain’t seen him, but he been sneaking out like this nearly every evening for some time, so he was confident he could get out there surreptitiously. He had an hour while the cook finished the cowboys’s dinner.
The barn — the one everyone called the Green Barn even though the green had faded — was a dingy wooden structure. Many of the slats had separated from each other enough that Juniper could hunker down behind the barn. There, he could peer into the barn where the farmhands bathed.
He got there just in time to watch them strip their sweat-soaked clothes off, talking and laughing and shooting the shit. He couldn’t quite hear their words today, but he saw one grab his bare manhood and wag it at the others as though threatening to beat them with it.
There was a large copper of warm, soapy water, next to an old rickety hot water heater, fueled by coal. Juniper had filled the coal hopper a few hours ago, so the water was good and warm, steaming hot. The cowboys filled the copper tub with water, already naked, their tautly muscled bodies arcing and flexing as they roughhoused. Juniper stayed well back and avoided making any noise, so he could peep on their handsomeness. Juniper greatly appreciated the male physique, and he enjoyed watching the well-formed cowboys bathe.
His dick stiffened in his pants, even though Juniper now saw that his favorite cowboy, Hawthorn, wasn’t there. He was disappointed, but the half-dozen other men were handsome enough — Hawthorn often had extra duties to attend to, so he sometimes ain’t bathe with the others. Juniper felt a twinge of desire as he rubbed his dick with first one, then both, hands, peering closely at the naked men and their soap-drenched bodies.
“I knew it, boy,” Hawthorn said, his deep voice booming behind Juniper. “I knew you’d be back here, touching yerself…”
Juniper jumped out of his skin — they all knew that he watched, but knowing it was different than seeing it. Juniper blushed and looked down. His heart sank as he turned around, cock pulsating in his fingers. Hawthorn stood there shirtless, wearing just his denim and thick boots, carrying his ten-gallon hat. His broad shoulders dripped with sweat, and the dark hair on his chest was matted to his muscles. He was a great big bear of a man, with biceps as thick as Juniper’s head — that was why he often had special duties to attend to, because he was the strongest man on the farm (and probably the whole county).
He loomed ahead of and above Juniper like a mountain of a man, and he clucked his tongue. He shook his head. It was hard to tell, though, if he was really upset or not. He was very religious, so he might have considered it unchristian behavior. Juniper was a Christian though, he went to church weekly. Not all of the cowboys did.
“Tarnations! Hawthorn! I — I — I was j’est watchin’, tha’ss all,” Juniper said. “It ain’t, ah…-“
He put one of his heavy hands on Juniper’s shoulder and squeezed. Juniper fell silent. As always when he was touched by Hawthorn, Juniper felt a surge of desire. Hawthorn’s hand was firm and confident, and the smell of leather and sweat and trail dust clung to Hawthorn. Juniper licked his lips and moved slightly closer to Hawthorn, the better to feel the body heat emanating off him and sense the firmness of his musculature. He was leanly muscled, sharp-jawed and eagle-nosed, and the way his chest rippled stirred the fire in Juniper’s loins. Juniper shuddered, embarrassed at how Hawthorn looked at him like a disobedient child. His manhood stirred in his pants at sight of Hawthorn’s body and the feel of his touch on Juniper’s thin shoulder.
“I ain’t nevuh say nothin’ on account of Mistah Goodman hired you. I got great respect fo’ him and his authority on this ranch. I’d never tell him his worker was abscondin’ from work to come peep on the hands.” He clucked his tongue again. His voice had the sharp-eged twang of a cowboy, which sent a chill up Juniper’s spine.
Juniper blushed. “I don’t know about that-“
“You’s an adult, boy. You must know if’n you can hold off on ya urges ‘till ya find a female,” Hawthorn said. “A beast don’t resist it’s urges, son. Is you a beast? Or is you a godly man? Cuz if you a beast, then I j’est might treat you like one.”
“I ain’t a beast,” Juniper said. “I’m not. I wouldn’t peep on women, if that’s what you mean. I nevuh would, suh!”
“Hmm-hmm… I believes you on that front,” Hawthorn said.
“I wouldn’t! I j’est likes to watch, I does.” Juniper lowered his eyes from the intense gaze Hawthorn put out in his direction.
“I sometimes feel rightly in a similuh fashion, muh manhood be rumblin’,” Hawthorn said. He leaned in, so his deep voice was loud in Juniper’s ears. Hawthorn’s voice was moist. “Sometimes, e’en whores feel too far away. Sometimes a man just gotta get a load off. Sometimes a man gotta do what he gotta do fo’ a bigger man by gettin’ that bigger man off.” Hawthorn sunk to his knees, which put his head just below Juniper’s — Hawthorn was more than six and a half feet tall, so he towered over Juniper normally. Then, much to Juniper’s shock, Hawthorn leaned in and kissed him.
Right on the lips. Both men’s hands were down by their sides, and Juniper stood on his toes in exhilaration as the taste of Hawthorn’s masculine mouth flooded his own. Juniper reeled.
His tongue planted itself in Juniper’s mouth, crowding out his own tongue. Juniper gripped Hawthorn’s biceps for support, and again felt a surge of desire at how thick and rock-hard they were. His body was slick with sweat and trail dust, which Juniper tasted on his scruffy lips as well.
“The vaqueros get each othuh off,” Hawthorn said when he pulled off Juniper for a moment. “Was they the ones who showed you how to do it?”
“Mister Goodman doesn’t allow me to speak to the Mexicans,” Juniper said. He blushed. The Mexican vaqueros who came through the farm a few times a year were rough-and-tumble men who often brought with them their own prostitutes. Juniper also snuck down to watch them by the fire, sticking their dicks in the same cum-oozing snatch over and over. It was both disgusting and erotic for Juniper. Mister Goodman ain’t allow Juniper to talk to them because he thought they were a bad moral influence and Mister Goodman believed it was part of his job as a boss to prevent his workers from moral corruption.
They were Catholic anyway, or maybe pagan, some men did say. Some men didn’t see a difference between a Catholic and a pagan. Juniper didn’t distolerate a man for his religion. He was scared of the vaqueros though.
“They do that,” Hawthorn said. “I seen it on the trail plenty. Vaqueros do use a man’s bottom. You unduhstand? His rear.” He leaned closer to Juniper. “His ass.” He chuckled and undid the fly of his worktrousers and took out his thick, veiny cockshaft. He gave it a few strokes.
Juniper blushed. Before he could do anything else, Hawthorn kissed him again, and wrapped his ropy-muscled arms around Juniper’s body. The warmth of his body heat was alluring, and Hawthorn’s massive cock pressed against Juniper’s side. It was even hotter than the rest of Hawthorn, and it pulsated where it pressed against his flesh.
Despite to feel it without clothes in the way, Juniper wanted to undress. But more than that, he wanted to taste Hawthorn again. He had been surprised by the kiss a few moments ago, and he wanted to do it again without being surprised.
So, flush with desire, Juniper kissed back. He rammed his tongue into Hawthorn’s mouth this time, and Hawthorn was the one who was surprised. He paused, naked, as Juniper’s hands desperately roamed over his muscular body.
Juniper’s dick strained against its fabric prison until Hawthorn pulled his pants down. Juniper ain’t know what was coming as Hawthorn’s kisses lowered from his head to his neck, then licked down his smooth chest. He pulled away just long enough to glance over at the green barn, to see if anybody might have spied them. The other cowboys were in the large tub now, just sitting there and marinating in the bathwater.
It probably smelled rank in there. Rank in a good way. Juniper kind of liked that smell, though he would never admit it, the smell of both clean men and dirty men mixing together with soap and water and leather and filthy denim. Hawthorn kind of liked it too.
“You taste like a girl,” Hawthorn said with a light groan. He suckled on each of Juniper’s nipples in turn. They grew hard, and Juniper shuddered with anticipation. Hawthorn’s strong hands kneaded the flesh of Juniper’s body.
Juniper cried out for more, and he too explored Hawthorn’s body with his hands. Hawthorn’s cock was rock-hard and throbbing, and Juniper liked the way it felt in his hands. All of Hawthorn was a delight to touch though, and Juniper did not stick to Hawthorn’s cock. He groped his muscled back and his ass, and he kissed him again and again.
“Hmmm… Hawthorn…” Juniper couldn’t think of anything to say, but this all felt too good to remain quiet, so all he did was cry out Hawthorn’s name. “Hawthorn!”
“Hmm-hmmm…” Hawthorn was flush with desire as well, but he remained stone-facing, in control as always. He kissed Juniper on the neck and on the nape.
Through the slats in the barn wall, Juniper could see the other cowboys and ranchhands clearly. They were done bathing now, but they sat in a circle, naked, flopping their uncut cocks between their fingers. A few of them even playfully groped each other. Juniper felt hungry at the sight of them.
Juniper gasped when Hawthorn put his cock in his mouth — he hadn’t thought that was coming. Hawthorn was so much taller and bigger he had to move from kneeling to crouching, and even that got awkward soon, so he laid on his back on the ground. Juniper mounted his face and angled his dick down, allowing him to plant his head in the meat of Hawthorn’s belly.
“Yeah, lemme taste that,” Hawthorn said, licking his lips. “It do taste just like a pussy.” He devoured Juniper’s dick, and Juniper threw his head back as he stifled a moan. He bit his tongue to stop himself from making noise, not wanting to attract attention from the men inside the barn.
He had never felt anything like the mouth encircling his dick. Juniper’s whole body undulated as pleasure wracked his sweet, smooth frame. His back arched and covered with goosebumps as Hawthorn’s fingers clutched it, pulling his body down so he could better deep-throat Juniper’s dick. He swallowed it to the root, until his nose was nuzzling Juniper’s crotch.
It might have been nice, Juniper thought, to jack Hawthorn off at the same time. If they had been near the same height, it might have been possible. But as it was, Juniper could do little more than reach for Hawthorn’s dick. It was hot and fleshy, limp still, but pulsating with potential power. Juniper wondered what it would taste like.
They sixty-nined — almost, since Juniper could barely reach Hawthorn’s cock — there behind the barn, just a few yards from the other cowboys. Hawthorn’s practiced lips worked up and down on Juniper’s smooth shaft, sending wave after wave of bliss through his body. Juniper didn’t know it could feel like this.
Juniper was engrossed in the feeling of warm pre-orgasmic pleasure emanating from his cock, and he couldn’t quite concentrate on reaching far enough to swallow Hawthorn’s dick at the same time.. Hawthorn was so much bigger than Juniper that he had a huge throat that opened up plenty wide enough for Juniper’s dick. It throbbed as it pulsated in and out of Hawthorn’s mouth, slathered with spit from his thick tongue.
“Oh god, Hawthorn, this feels so good!” Juniper asked. He reached for Hawthorn’s dick, which pulsated in his fingers, its veiny shaft feeling so thick and perfect like it had been made to fit in Juniper’s hand. He stretched forward enough to get the knob in his mouth, and the intense musk of Hawthorn’s manhood flooded Juniper’s senses.
“This is just the beginning. If’n you like this…” He ain’t need to finish his thought, and he was interrupted by an involuntary moan anyway, as a translucent fluid leaked from his cock.
“I told that slut to clean her cootchie off ‘fore I stuck it in, and she try to charge me extra fo’ it! Said I gotta pay fo’ her time and shit…”
“Did you pay?”
“… I try not to, but she got a big Indian fellah collecting money, and he ain’t nice about it. He’s as big as Hawthorn, and if’n you ain’t got the money to pay, he put your ass out on the street, peddling ya bottom until you make up the difference.”
The sound of the cowboys laughing as they talked about women made Juniper moan with desire again. They sounded so arousing, and he liked that story they told about the Indian man Johnny Redcob — Juniper knew who they spoke of, the silent Indian who worked at Lipsweet in town. That was a bar of floozies and cheap whiskey, rotgut stuff the both of them. Juniper didn’t go there.
But what he learned about how they collected payment interested Juniper very much. Maybe Lipsweet was more enjoyable than he had thought. From the way the cowboys talked about it, he assumed women were the only attraction there.
The cowboys kept hiding their conversation, lest Mister Goodman overhear and scold them. They repeatedly checked to make sure no one was near the barn. They only kept an eye on the main entrance though, because that was the direction Mister Goodman would have come from. He would have been furious if he heard his men talking about such disreputable notions as prostitution. He didn’t allow them to do anything that would bring this ranch into disrepute.
Since they looked only towards the main house, they had no idea that Hawthorn and Juniper were close enough to hear every word.
Juniper brought his fingers to his mouth, where he smelled the musty, cottony scent of sour precum. He sucked one finger, and shuddered at first at the potent, acrid flavor. But he decided he loved it, and he wanted more, so he licked the rest off his skin.
“You taste so good,” Juniper said. Hawthorn’s cockjuice tasted like what Juniper always thought it would smell like in the barn while the cowboys bathed. He suspected it would actually smell like hay and rotting wood, but in his mind, he smelled skin and soap and sweat, and the air tasted like those rock-hard biceps of Hawthorn’s that Juniper had licked. Unable to reach Hawthorn’s dick, Juniper continued licking the man’s meaty belly, his barrel-shaped chest and his powerful muscles.
Hawthorn took one of Juniper’s hands and guided it between his legs, through the tangle of hair beneath his low-hanging balls. Then Hawthorn lifted up his legs to give Juniper access to his ass.
A murmured choking sound came from Hawthorn’s throat — he was saying something. Juniper was in such intense throes of bliss he ain’t know what, but when Hawthorn repeated himself around the cock throbbing in his throat, Juniper got the gist of it. He was saying he wanted Juniper’s bottom. With his legs in the air, Juniper’s ass was bare to the world. That position also had the effect of pushing his dick up a bit, now so close to Juniper’s face that he could smell the precum, and when he stuck his tongue out, he garnered a taste of Hawthorn’s manhood, a single tantalizing taste of it.
When Juniper pushed one finger inside that dark, moist ring, Hawthorn’s whole body stiffened. Juniper ain’t know if that was out of pain or shame or eroticism or all three, but his muscles writhed beneath Juniper’s body.
His asshole was warm and tight. Juniper could barely get his index finger all the way in. He felt it clench around his finger as he began pushing it in and pulling it out. There was a sulphury smell, Juniper noticed, but behind that was the scent of manhood, musk and masculinity. He inhaled deeply of it the best he could while keeping his crotch on Hawthorn’s face.
Hawthorn had such a wide ass with plump, trembling cheeks that Juniper was entranced by them, even from his angle where he couldn’t quite see what he was doing. His hand disappeared between those broad cheeks, and every motion of his finger in Hawthorn’s ass made the cheeks jiggle again.
Scooting forward the best he could without removing his dick from Hawthorn’s mouth, Juniper managed to get the tip of Hawthorn’s dick in his own lips. He sucked on and played with the piss-slit with his tongue, while his free hand hefted Hawthorn’s heavy balls. Hawthorn gasped and spat thick precum onto Juniper’s tongue.
He had been so focused on Hawthorn’s buttcheeks that he ain’t notice right away when Hawthorn smacked Juniper’s ass, to tell him to take his dick out of his mouth. When he did, Hawthorn gasped for air. His face had turned red, and spittle left a trail between his lips and Juniper’s dick, which spasmed as though begging for more.
“I’m sorry, was that too much-?”
“Nah, you taste like woman, boi,” Hawthorn said. “Don’t apologize. Go’n and stick it in me. I wanna feel you in me.”
Juniper raced into action, excited to have this opportunity. He had never thought he would get to smash this cowboy’s tight, meaty ass. Kneeling behind him, Juniper stroked his dick as he wedged it into Hawthorn’s ass. Hawthorn’s great trunk-like thighs were right in front of his face — he still laid there on his back with his legs in the air — so Juniper gripped them for support as he pushed his dick between Hawthorn’s cheeks.
The sweat and the spit lubricated his manhood, and he easily slipped the whole thing in Hawthorn’s cavernous ass, each cheek of which was bigger than Juniper’s head. Despite his great size, his asshole was still tight and it clenched down on Juniper’s cock. Hawthorn grunted in pain and breathed heavily as he focused on opening up.
“Now move it back and forth. Keep it slow,” Hawthorn said through gritted teeth. Juniper had never seen him in pain, not even the one time he had been kicked by a mule in front of Juniper, and responded as though nothing had happened. Juniper hesitated, not wanting to hurt the man, who had been so nice to him, even before all this. Hawthorn grimaced. “No, you’re doing it right. It’s s’posed to hurt a bit. That’s god’s way of reminding us that jackin’ off is a sin, that we gotta seek forgiveness afterwards.”
Overwhelming pleasure coursed through Juniper’s body even before he began gyrating his hips. Soon, however, he got the hang of it, and he pounded that meaty ass as hard as he could. His cheeks jiggled with every thrust of Juniper’s cock deeper and deeper into him.
With Hawthorn’s spit as lube, Juniper had no trouble getting his dick in and out. He had had difficulty with just one finger, but it seemed Hawthorn had become so aroused he was opened up. Juniper felt a surge of desire; he rather wanted to try being on the bottom for Hawthorn’s massive meat too, but Hawthorn had such a huge cock, he was sure it would hurt badly. Still, it just might be worth it, he thought.
“I wonder where Hawthorn’s at.”
“Probly jackin’ off wit’ them vaqueros.”
The cowboys in the barn laughed knowingly, as though this was a common inside joke. Juniper was so distracted by his orgasm that the men’s words ain’t sink in right away — then he realized that they were saying. Hawthorn had a habit of having jacking off with the Mexican men as well. He had a hard time picturing any of the hardscrabble Mexicans submitting to a gringo cowboy like Hawthorn.
But Juniper was too engrossed in Hawthorn’s ass to think about that too much. He rammed his dick in and out now, no longer worried about hurting Hawthorn, who moaned and gasped loudly, as though he had no concern for being caught. Juniper stroked his dick as he smashed his ass, and played with his hairy balls with his other hand.
“Smash me, Juniper, oh tarnations, yes!”
An orgasm built up slowly but inexorably, and Juniper fought it off as long as he could. But it inevitably took over, and he gasped. He had to bite his lip to avoid being heard by the cowboys inside the barn. He shuddered and sprayed cum inside Hawthorn’s ass, while Hawthorn shot his own load all over his chest.
His climax was like nothing he had ever felt before. Juniper had touched his own dick on a number of occasions, alone, in his room, exploring his body, and he had smashed plenty of men through the years. But he had never experienced pleasure like this. It rocketed up his spine and made him moan a tight, pinched sound that felt like it should have been much louder than it was — not that Juniper was trying to make noise, he still wanted to keep this a secret from the naked cowboys in the barn.
He shot a huge load, or at least it felt like he did. It jetted from his cock for a full minute, coating every inch of Hawthorn’s hefty insides. Hawthorn smiled as his belly was covered in cum inside and out, his own massive wad spreading and flowing over his hairy skin.
“Aw, damn, boi,” Hawthorn said. He shook and shuddered with a mixture of pain and post-orgasmic bliss. “Don’t tell Mister Goodman about this. He’d fire us both fer shure.”
Cum dripped from Hawthorn’s ass, while Hawthorn’s own load matted his chest hair to his body. Juniper continued moving his hips back and forth now, but very slowly, marveling at how Hawthorn writhed and contorted every few seconds when the motion reawakened his orgasm.
“I won’t tell him anything,” Juniper said, his voice weak and strained. His orgasm had exhausted him more than any amount of work he had ever done. It made him want to eat a second dinner right now, then crawl into Hawthorn’s arms and sleep, right here behind the barn if he had to.
Juniper pulled out, breathing a sigh of relief. Hawthorn’s great wad of pearly cum sat on his warm chest, in the nooks and crannies created by his muscles. Juniper leaned in and licked it up, savoring the salty taste and creamy texture.
He licked it up all the way to Hawthorn’s face, where he kissed. Hawthorn gagged a little at the cummy flavor of his own wad on Juniper’s tongue, but he kissed back, wrapping his arms around Juniper’s back. The salty flavor of cum passed back and forth between their mouths as they both fell limp in each other’s arms — Hawthorn’s great big hulking limbs wrapped around Juniper, whose stick-like body in comparison couldn’t quite reach, so he just grasped at Hawthorn’s broad, sweat-dappled and sun-ruddened shoulders.
“Thank you, Hawthorn.”
“Don’t mention it, Juniper. For real, definitely do not mention it,” he said. “I was serious ‘bout keepin’ this a secret. Don’t mention it to no one, especially Mister Goodman.”
“I won’t. It’ll be our secret. Can I come see you again?”
“Anytime,” he said. He chewed on his lower lip. “You know which barn I sleep in, right?”

The Ranchhand

Pat is a new ranchhand working with the older, more experienced Hawthorn, who shows him a trick or two in the green barn! That’s where Pat learns how to service a man like Hawthorn!

Read it soon as an ebook!

Read the whole thing here!

When Pat and Hawthorn promised they would finish the fence today, they hadn’t realized how long it would take. Pat assumed that Hawthorn was experienced at fence construction, and Hawthorn assumed likewise. Neither wanted to sound like they couldn’t get it done.
So the fence wasn’t complete until the sun had very nearly gone down. Pat breathed a sigh of relief. It was still his first year as a ranchhand at Goodman Ranch in Colorado, and he needed to prove his worth to Mister Goodman.
Hawthorn, on the other hand, had been here for six years. He was tall, broad-shouldered, tan-bodied. He that cocky swagger that all the experienced ranchhands around here had. He was much stronger and bigger than Pat in every way, and he carried himself like everyone knew he was the toughest hand in Colorado. His face was windswept like a much older man, or perhaps his face was preternaturally youthful for his age, since Pat didn’t know how old he truly was. He was grizzled and stubbled, seemingly always shaving. Pat was a great appreciator of the male form, and Hawthorn’s was remarkable.
The other problem Pat ain’t foreseen was that finishing the fence was hard work. It was simple, but it was hard, and his muscles ached by the time they was done. By then, it was getting cold as the sun went down.
They done finished the fence around the outer north pasture. They was almost three miles from the ranchhouse, and they ain’t have a horse. That was boku walking for two men who felt every step was arduous. Pat ain’t never been more tired. He wished he ain’t promise to finish the fence today (it ain’t even really need to be done until next week, so there ain’t no reason to get all rush-like).
By the time they got back to the homestead, it was fully dark. The moon hid behind the clouds in the sky. Pat was drenched in sweat. Hawthorn done took off his shirt, his broad golden-brown chest a silhouette gleaming with sweat. Pat wanted to take his shirt off too, but his deeply ingrained sense of propriety stopped him — Missus Goodman was around somewhere and could see him — and, though he ain’t want to admit it, he knew his skinny body would look weak in comparison to the bronzed blond god Hawthorn. He looked like some Renaissance artist’s impression of Apollo.
The only consolation was that Hawthorn was almost as exhausted as Pat was. He limped as they made it back to the ranchhouse. They could have gone straight to the little barn-cottage shared by Hawthorn, Pat and the other hands, but the bathing barn was closer. They both wanted a bath before a-goin’ to bed, and neither wanted to walk to the barn-cottage then walk back to the bathing-barn, then back to the barn-cottage again for bed. Pat thought his feet gonna fall off if’n he tried that.
By the time they got there, to the green bathing barn, they was both wordless, legs like jelly. Pat first sat down by the well beside the barn, and he took a long sip of cold water — luckily some kind soul done left the bucket upraised and ready. Pat drank til he could drink no more, and it made him feel better. Hawthorn was stingy with it as though he was rationing it, and then he traipsed, heavy-footed but not as exhausted as Pat, into the barn.
After another minute or two of resting his tired bones, Pat stood up and came in too. Water had spilled all down the front of him.
Hawthorn was already naked as could be, and he was using all of those ranchwork-toned muscles to unlock the pipe that connected the hot water heater to the bathtub. He done fill the heater with coal, looked like, which Pat was glad for and impressed by. He’d have been sore tuckered for sure if he had come in here and had to shovel coal before he got any hot water.
But as Hawthorn did all the labor to set it up, his great big shoulders working hard, Pat plopped down and unlaced his boots. He sighed out loud.
“Thank you, Hawthorn,” Pat said. “For… starting the heater.” Hawthorn gave a barely perceptible nod. He stood and watched the water begin flowing, boiling hot but then cooling rapidly, into the copper tub. His bare cock dangled betwene his legs. Pat watched it go, tracing with his eyes a vein that ran up the side of it. His cock was the only part of Hawthorn’s body tanned to the color of a rusty acorn, as the rest of him was more of an unroasted peanut shell color.
It felt so good to take his boots off that Pat weren’t sure he’d ever put them back on. He wiggled his toes in the breeze that blew through the barn. Then, undressed, he headed towards the bathing area. The water that ran over Pat’s body was hot, which felt good in the cold night air.
He had to share the tub with Hawthorn. The ranchhands usually took turns, since the tub was very small, but neither wanted to take the time tonight. That was embarrassing for Pat, who was aroused by the might of Hawthorn’s muscles. He greatly appreciated the majesty and power of the male form, which he painted as a hobby, when he could afford the paints and the canvas.
“I ain’t waitin’ fer ya, and I don’t ‘spect you’ll wanna wait fer me,” Hawthorn said as his naked, sweat-gleaming body stepped into the steamy water-filled tub. “So come on in, pardner. We can be bathmates.” He whooped. He had a big dimple-bedecked grin on his trail-wearied face, and he motioned for Pat to join him.
Pat ain’t have the energy to whoop along with him, nor to be self-conscious of his pale and weak body in comparison to Hawthorn’s powerful frame, so he quickly doffed the rest of his clothes and slid into the tub after Hawthorn.
It felt good to wash off the layer of sweat and grime that had built up on his body. He felt like a new man already, and all he had done was enter the water. Two bars of soap lay on a little tray beside the tub, but neither Pat nor Hawthorn made any move to grab them.
“My pa always say not to be scared of a naked man,” Hawthorn said. It sounded like he was trying to reassure hisself as much as Pat. “If’n you ain’t ashamed of yerself, you shouldn’t be worried about seeing a man without clothes on.”
Despite his words, Pat remained uncomfortable with the situation. He was used to bathing by himself. He wasn’t a prisoner, after all, why should he share a bath?
But the main reason he ain’t like it had nothing to do with Hawthorn, or even with nudity really. Pat had worked hard to get a job on Goodman Ranch, which was a nice enough place that the ranchhands got a real place to live. There were ranches in the area who hired anyone, but the hands there lived like hogs, in tents or worse, exposed to the elements, fighting off coyotes and the predations of Mexicans or Indian tribes. Might as well go back to the Old South and be a sharecropper. Pat was better than that, had worked hard to get a job somewhere nicer, and he deserved to have a bath to himself.
Not that he was complaining tonight. He wanted to get clean and flop into bed more than anything.
The sight of Hawthorn’s massive cock made Pat awkward again though — his dickskin was darker than the rest of his flesh, making Pat wonder if’n Hawthorn had been telling the truth about having Mexican blood. It was still dark in the barn, so Pat had to strain his eyes to see Hawthorn’s cock when moonlight flashed upon it. He kept his own crotch outside of the light, hoping Hawthorn wouldn’t look at it.
“So… You scared of naked men?”
“No,” Pat said. He gulped nervously as he caught a shadowy glimpse of Hawthorn stroking his dick. What was he doing?
“That’s good. You think tradition is important, Pat?”
“Yeah. Of course, tradition. Yessir,” Pat said. His heart raced. Was this it? Was he about to finally get to taste Hawthorn’s manhood?
“This ranch has got a tradition,” Hawthorn said. He came closer to Pat, so close his thick cock brushed up against Pat’s thigh. He casually wrapped one of his massive arms over Pat’s shoulders.
“Oh…” Pat held his breath. He felt so small next to Hawthorn’s bulky body, and he wondered if’n he would get that big if he continued to work as a ranchhand for his whole life. It seemed impossible now; Pat had always been skinny, but his time at Goodman Ranch had filled out his body considerably.
“You ain’t gotta join in, but you look like the kinda man who wanna do what’s right. You look like a man who behaves properly towards his elders and his betters. You gots respect, Pat, unlike a lot of them hands Mister Goodman hired this year. You ain’t a welcher.”
“No, sir.” Pat trembled.
“Why don’t you get on your knees and open your mouth, boy?” Hawthorn said. “Don’t worry. What happens between bathmates, stays between bathmates. That’s another tradition we got in these parts.”
“You sure? I don’t want them to know about it,” Pat said, gesturing towards the ranchhand house where their coworkers were no doubt drinking and carousing right now. That was what happened as soon as the sun went down every night, since Mister Goodman strictly left them alone when they were done with their work for the day. What Pat ain’t say was that he also ain’t want Hawthorn to realize that Pat wasn’t reluctant to do this at all — he just had to put on a little show of reluctance so he would seem normal.
“They ain’t nevuh gonna know, boy,” Hawthorn said. He had a cocky grin on his face, chewing on his lower lip and rubbing the scruff on his square jaw.
Pat sunk to his knees and opened his mouth. He winced, heart pounding with anxiety. Hawthorn pushed his dick past Pat’s lips. The taste of cockmeat enveloped Pat’s tongue. He closed his eyes though he ain’t couldn’t really see anything anyway in the dark barn — the only light that filtered through the clouds and the cracks in the barn ceiling illuminated Hawthorn’s cock.
He gagged at first, but it tasted delicious from the moment he first put his lips on it. It tasted like trail dust and saddle-leather Mrs. Goodman’s hog-fat soap. It tasted like sweat, salt and skin, and it made Pat both drool for more and wish he could do this again and again. His hands reached up to Hawthorn’s powerful body, making his muscles ripple beneath Pat’s fingertips.
But the flavor soon turned exciting and savory. Pat felt little pops of sensation as he explored every inch of Hawthorn’s shaft. A part of him wondered if he should do it worse, or at least pretend not to know how — what would Hawthorn think of Pat if he was an expert? But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than taste Hawthorn’s manhood from root to tip.
“Yeah, rookie, you handle a dick pretty good,” Hawthorn said, and Pat was relieved that that sounded more complimentary than derogatory. His massive muscles rippled as he felt up his own nipples with one hand. His other hand grabbed ahold of Pat’s head, holding onto the thick shock of dirty blond hair on Pat’s scalp. He used that for leverage, holding Pat in place as he worked his dick deeper and deeper.
Precum overwhelmed Pat’s senses. It added a more intense salty flavor, and it made Pat gag all over again. He gripped Hawthorn’s plump asscheeks for support.
Soon Pat’s nose pressed into the meaty part of Hawthorn’s crotch, and the coarse pubic hairs of his groin scratched at Pat’s skin. Though Pat knew he was supposed to be ashamed of this, and there was a measure of shame — he had internalized it from everyone round him — but even more than that, he was overcome with desire and lust for Hawthorn’s body. He ain’t want to look like he enjoyed it, but a part of him did treasure the sensation of Hawthorn’s thick meat sliding down his gullet. He enjoyed the thrill of being used by such a big, superior man.
A loud, spine-rattling moan escaped from Hawthorn’s lips. It sounded like he ain’t expect this to feel as good as it did, and he was trying to hide it just like Pat was. Hawthorn grunted with each thrust of his manhood down Pat’s throat.
“Damn, ya throat is-” Hawthorn’s voice tensely cracked, and he let out a moan. He laughed, making his hips flex and forcing his cock even deeper in Pat’s strained throat. “Ya throat ain’t nothin’ — ah…” He moaned again. “Nothin’ special. Any number of females at Mistah Gregarian’s cathouse can do it even better, boy-” He moaned and his knees buckled, pleasure visibly roiling his body and shooting up his spine. The more incredible it felt, the more Hawthorn tried to pretend he was underwhelmed, that he was only doing this because it was tradition, the same reason Pat was doing it.
Now that he had gotten into it, Pat deep-throated Hawthorn the best he could. He let those heavy balls slap against his face. He guzzled down every drop of salty precum that flowed into his throat. It was creamy and potent, coating his insides and seeping into his flesh.
The flavor was intense and visceral, not bad, but certainly not tasty either. That ain’t stop him from savoring the taste on his tongue though. He kept jacking until he thought Hawthorn was going to cum soon. Not wanting to end this right away, Pat moved onto lick Hawthorn’s broad, well-muscled chest.
Hawthorn allowed it at first — it seemed a little pervy to him, but he ain’t want to cum yet either. He closed his eyes and tried to relax as Pat’s slim body rubbed against his muscles, Pat’s soft hand stroking his manhood, tongue teasing his nipples.
Unable to resist his urges, Hawthorn pushed Pat back to his knees and plopped his cock right back in his throat. He sighed, able to think again — he was never able to really think when he had a hardon and wasn’t doing anything about it.
He wanted to get in that ass.
“Now bend over and grab the floor, boy. Get yer ass up,” Hawthorn said with a growl. He pulled his moist cock out and humped Pat’s face like a dog. He groaned and shuddered, his massive cock pulsating and leaking precum all over Pat’s nose and lips.
Pat winced, and his heart raced as he got in position. He grabbed the rough wooden floor, sticking his ass high in the air. He closed his eyes again, and held his breath in anticipation of what was about to happen. He left his ass as high in the air as he could.
That was a little too high. Hawthorn slapped his cheeks until Pat lowered himself to a correct height. His knees already ached from the tension of crouching in this position.
“Get down a little, boy, I ain’t that tall,” Hawthorn said with a grunt.
Then an eruption of pain in his ass distracted Pat from any soreness in his knees. The feeling exploded within him like a punch to the gut, but behind it all, he could feel a tingling pleasure emanating from his prostate. It grew in waves, from a distant chord to an overwhelming crescendo, mounting with each thrust of Hawthorn’s cock into his body. He grunted and howled, but bit his lip to cover up the sound — the barn where the ranchhands lived wasn’t that far away, so Pat ain’t want to make any noise. If he yelled loud enough here at the bathing-barn, the other ranchhands would be able to hear him.
“Sssh, it’s okay,” Hawthorn said over and over. He grabbed Pat’s upper body and lifted his tense head up, whispering directly in his ear as he worked his dick in deeper and deeper.
The smashing was intense and overwhelming, pleasure spasming up his spine. Pat could do little more than try to submit and to remind himself that when this was over, he would be accepted as a full-fledged ranchhand, not a rookie. Getting Hawthorn on his side would guarantee that Pat got all the best jobs — Hawthorn was Mister Goodman’s favorite.
It felt so good Pat cried out. Luckily his cries of bliss sounded an awful lot like a cry of pain, so Hawthorn ain’t seem to realize that Pat was enjoying this more than any man ought to. Pat had to bite his tongue to avoid begging for more.
His ass was loose enough now that Hawthorn could smash him hard, slamming his dick in and out. Pat roared in pain and bliss, and he grabbed wildly around him, getting a handful of his own trail leathers and Hawthorn’s musty brown boots.
It suddenly occurred to Pat that, if’n Hawthorn was telling the truth about this being ranch tradition, then that meant that Hawthorn must have done it as well, when he was new. That made Pat feel better. He could picture Hawthorn in this position, bent over and moaning as he got his butt smashed in by some bigger ranchhand. Hawthorn had probably been skinny and lanky then, like Pat was now.
While Pat had started off experiencing incredible pain and a dimly-felt sense of pleasure roaring underneath that, now the situation had reversed. He was in the same position, but now the pleasure roiling deep within his ass was so intense he couldn’t think about anything else, while the tortuous agony in his virgin hole seemed like a distant memory that had happened years ago to someone else.
“Alright, boy, you almost done…” Hawthorn said, his gritty Texan twang resonating in the barn. “Here I go. Close your eyes, try to think ‘bout somethin’ else. Relax yerself.”
Pat pretended to do that, but really he was so overcome by pleasure and curiosity about what was happening to him that he ain’t want to ignore it. He ain’t want to think about something else. He wanted to think about this, the incredible, awe-inspiring thing that was happening to him, a thing he had been craving since the moment he met Hawthorn. It wasn’t even done yet, and Pat already knew this was going to change his life, or at least his time here at Goodman Ranch.
Luckily it was dark, so Hawthorn couldn’t see that Pat’s hand crept into his own crotch. Pat ain’t know how controversial it would be around here that he want to pleasure himself while Hawthorn smashed him, but he wanted that more than anything.
As soon as he touched his own cock, Pat felt an orgasm hit him like a runaway bronco. He twitched and clenched down hard on Hawthorn’s dick, as though he was trying to rip Hawthorn’s meat off with his asshole. He roared and bucked, which looked to Hawthorn like he was resisting the pain of Hawthorn’s climax, but in actuality, Pat experienced the most incredible orgasm of his life. His spurted a puddle of cum onto the floor, where it immediately mixed with water and disappeared through the slats onto the ground below.
Then it was done — Hawthorn groaned and grunted, slamming his dick all the way into Pat’s ass. Pat let out a roar of pain, followed by a low, rolling grunt of pleasure.
“Here I go, boy… Good boy, takin’ my dick just like you should…”
Cum sprayed into him, a hot and thick load that Pat felt seeping into his flesh. He sighed, hoping Hawthorn ain’t notice the pleased rattling sound to his voice. It felt like a comforting internal blanket, warming up his insides and tingling like a kiss.
It seemed to take an impossible amount of time. Cum just kept pouring out of his cock, filling him up until it dripped down his thighs. Even then, Hawthorn remained still, his bulging muscles all tense and hard like iron, his craggy face still and stony. He waited until every drop of his seed had drained into Pat’s ass.
He pumped his hips one more time, and a final jet of jizz filled him up. Hawthorn’s powerful arms remained wrapped around Pat’s body, and his cock throbbed in his ass. A few drops dribbled in, then slipped out and ran down the insides of Pat’s thighs.
At last it was over. Pat ain’t know how long they stayed like that. He hadn’t even been aware of his own hand jacking himself off. He only realized what he had done because he saw his limp cock and his hand dripping with cum.
When Hawthorn pulled out, Pat let out a long, low sigh of relief. More jizz slipped and dribbled down his legs. He had enjoyed it, but still, he was glad that it was all over. Now that his ass was empty, it was exquisitely sensitive, and Pat was so overwhelmed he couldn’t do anything but collapse onto the moist wooden floor of the barn. He laid there in the tub for an eternity.
“There you go, boy,” Hawthorn said. He spat on the ground. “You can tell yer pa you did good. You showed the propuh respect, boy. That’s important ‘round here. You showed respect fer tradition.” He smiled and stretched his limp cock.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Pat said. He blushed. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious that that had been the most enjoyable experience of his life. He looked down at the ground.
“Now that you done taken yer turn on the bottom,” he said. “You can always take a turn on top too, wit’ one of them new men. He gotta be newer and younger than you. That’s a rule.”
“Really?”
“That real young one, the new feller, just barely eighteen. He got ass for days. I r’commend him. You’ll have a wild time on that stallion, guarantee it,” Hawthorn said with a hollow-throated chuckle. “If’n you don’t get up in him, I will, sure as shit shines on a shingle.” He laughed so hard he slapped his thigh.
“I just might do that,” Pat said. He knew he’d be too shy though. He couldn’t come after a cowpoke in the same way Hawthorn had come after him, even if Pat technically had authority over a young pup like that new ranchhand. He was gonna have to ease into it.
Hawthorn nodded. “You gotta keep it a secret too. Mister Goodman knows, but he don’t wanna know, you pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down? That’s a strict rule we got. Don’t tell no one. Even if someone walks in on you, you gotta pretend tomorrow it ain’t happen. Tomorrow that’s what I’s gonna do. Tomorrow, I ain’t nevuh smash you, not even one time, and I’ll strike any man who say I did. You got it?”
Pat nodded. “Sure. Yeah. It’s our secret. I’ll do that-! I mean…” He hadn’t mean to sound so eager. “I’ll… Maybe I’ll do that. Some of those new guys have pretty nice asses.”
“Yes, they do. The new, young ones always do,” Hawthorn said with a grin. “That’s why it’s so fun to wreck ’em. Best part of being a cowboy, reckon.” He smacked Pat’s ass, which jiggled. Hawthorn whistled as though it was impressive to see, though the barn was still dark as night, so he couldn’t have actually seen the cheeks jiggle. “Maybe we can bathe again together sometime, boy. We can be permanent bathmates. We could do all kinda thangs togethuh.”