Pat is a greenhorn, and he’s not fitting in too well. That’s cuz he’s too small, too weak, and not macho enough… But he’s perfect for servicing the cowboys and ranchhands all around him, giving him plenty of opportunities to handle some dusty, throbbing manmeat!
Read the whole thing here!
Though small, Pat Gaumfrey intended to be a cowboy. That plan had not gone well. He hadn’t given up yet.
His first day as a cowboy-in-training was so arduous he wasn’t sure he could make it. His legs felt like jelly, and his feet burned like fire. He couldn’t believe he felt like this and the other cowboys hadn’t even let him do a normal full day’s work.
He stumbled through the prairie with two full buckets of water. They had set up camp near a watering hole, but the cows took up all the space closest to it. The cowboys were camping a few yards away, so they had made Pat go fetch water.
“You put some makeup on or what?” asked one of the cowboys, Curly. He was the biggest, the oldest and the meanest man there, and he scowled at Pat as though he hated him. His dark skin — he was half-Mexican on his mother’s side — flashed in the campfire light. “Cuz you lookin’ good, sweetheart.”
They had been making fun of his petite size. Pat blushed. He wished he wasn’t so skinny and feminine in shape. He couldn’t hold a candle to the cowboys of the Goodman Ranch. They were tall, broadly muscled and powerful as a steam engine.
As he came into the firelight, Pat saw that the cowboys were all standing in a circle. It almost looked like they were about to piss into the fire, but they hadn’t taken their pants off yet.
“What’re you doing?” Pat asked.
“We’s playin’ a game,” Curly said, “A game that’s got a role just for you, if you want it.” The other cowboys all snickered. He undid his trousers and let his cock flop out. The other cowboys did likewise, all so suddenly that Pat ain’t even realize what was happening until it was all over. Curly stroked his dick a few times. “You look like a girl. That-“
“No, I don’t! I look young, like a young man!”
“You look like a pretty but tomboy girl,” Curly said. “We’s gonna have a circlejerk, Pat. You can either join in and prove you’s a real man, or you can put on that lacy underthing over there and dance around to make us horny.”
“Those are… my only two choices?”
“Well, no….,” Curly said. “You can go sleep with the cows, if you’d rather be less than a real man. If you is gonna hang out with us, you have to do what we do.”
“Fine…” Pat said. He hung his head in shame as he stood up. He trembled with anxiety as he dropped his pants.
He was nervous about his size. Not his cock size, which was ample, but his overall body shape. He was lean and long-limbed, as opposed to the burly cowboys who dripped with muscles that were too large for their body. Curly was also especially tall, with that squarish jaw and boorish face that women always fell in love with, and the dark, grizzled look of his Mexican heritage. He had a baritone voice that was so deep it was hard to understand, like the rumble of a far-off thunderstorm.
To his left in the circle was Hawthorn Spooner, Curly’s friend and a Texan of uncertain heritage — he had an Anglo name and looked like a gringo, but claimed to be Mexican, which Pat suspected meant Hawthorn was a fugitive of some sort and was using a fake name.
Hawthorn’s fingers touched Pat’s bare cock, and Hawthorn cackled when Pat responded with shock. He was exquisitely sensitive and couldn’t think about anything else but Hawthorn’s rope-coarsened fingers stroking his manhood.
His own fingers trembled as he wrapped them around Curly’s cock, which was enormous and thick with veins. It throbbed in Pat’s grip, hot and powerful and meaty. It felt very unlike Pat’s own cock. Not just in size, but in solidity and masculinity. Curly twitched and moaned as soon as Pat touched his cock. Pat felt a rising surge of disgust, as well as arousal. He had never experienced anything like this.
“You got sweet little hands, li’l un,” Curly said. He sounded threatening yet like he hoped the answer was yes, and his tone sent a chill up Pat’s spine.
“He’s the closest thing to a female we got around here,” Hawthorn said, his Texan drawl so thick it had to be either an affectation or deeply ingrained, Pat couldn’t decide which. Hawthorn’s grizzled face sneered at Pat. “Reckon he’s as close as we gonna get, and my balls is fixin’ to explode. I gots to get my nut off. Can we treat ‘im like a lady, boss?”
A long silence filled the campsite. Pat’s heart dropped as he wondered if this circlejerk was meant to go much farther than that. He didn’t know if he wanted to do anything with these men. His father had raised him better than that.
“Nah,” Curly said. He snorted, and his dick got hard beneath Pat’s fingers. “We ain’t doin’ that. He’ll get smashed when he’s ready. Today we circlejerk. Tomorrow… we’ll see how the li’l guy feels.”
“He gonna enjoy that…!”
Hawthorn chuckled. “Your dick got hard awful easy,” he said. He was right, Pat’s cock pulsated in his fingers. Pat hadn’t even noticed himself getting hard because he was still so focused on Hawthorn’s hand on his dick.
One of the other cowboys, on the other side of the fire, suddenly moaned. He let out a blood-curdling sound and leaned back so the man stroking his dick could get a good angle on it. He blushed as he spewed his load right into the sizzling campfire.
“Boo-yah, Zeke!” Curly said.
“Direct hit….” A couple snickers and whoops came from the other cowboys, as the one who was cumming let out a groan that turned into an embarrassed laugh. His last load of creamy jizz spurted over his dust-coated chest, which was still matted with sweat from the day’s ride. The cum and the sweat mixed and formed a sheen that matted his body hair to his skin.
Another great jet of cum spurted out. This one longer and more continuous than Pat had thought possible. It was like Zeke was pissing a continuous stream of creamy jism right into the campfire. The smell of it filled the air.
The man who had cum, Zeke, blushed. He protested over the hooting and hollering of all the others. Pat couldn’t hear what they were saying since everyone spoke at once, until Curly put his hand up.
“Zeke knows the rules. He can welch if he wants to be known as a welcher,” Curly said. “Or he can follow through.”
Pat let out a quiet groan when he saw what was happening. Apparently these cowboys had a tradition — whoever came first in a circlejerk had to kiss every cock in the circle. It seemed gross, and unsanitary even, but Pat wasn’t about to complain. He was just glad he hadn’t lost.
On his knees next to the fire, Zeke shuffled his big, hairy body to the man who had stroked him off. Zeke had a round face, scruffy and unshaved, which turned red. He quickly pecked his lips on the shaft, and gagged as the others laughed.
Then he kissed the next man’s cock, then Curly’s, then he briefly paused to pick pubic hairs out of his mouth. At last he came to Pat, whose dick pulsated — Hawthorn let go of it for a few seconds — as Zeke glared at Pat, as though this was his fault. Then he kissed it right on the shaft.
It ain’t feel especially good. It was barely noticeable, Pat thought, the others must be exaggerated — they each moaned and humped as though Zeke’s quick, chaste kiss genuinely felt good, like it was a replacement for a female’s attention.
Then he was done, and the circlejerk returned. After that, the men came quickly. It seemed they had been forcing themselves to slow down in order to avoid being in Zeke’s position.
The smell of cum filled the campsite, even though most of the semen went straight into the fire. The few drops that landed on the ground outside of the flames sizzled slowly, sending up an odd, acrid and slightly cottony scent that stuck to Pat’s nostrils.
Then it was down to just him, Curly and Hawthorn. Pat was self-conscious of the attention paid to him as the new guy. Everyone wanted him to be unable to get himself off, it seemed, and they started chanting at him. Pat was more worried that he would look too aroused.
“Weakling can’t do it! Weakling can’t do it!”
That made Pat blush, but it also made him determined to shoot his load. He ain’t want to go last either.
But then when Pat was on the verge of cumming, Hawthorn came instead. He shot his load over the fire, and momentarily stopped stroking Pat off, which was enough to set Pat back a few minutes.
Now that it was down to just Pat and Curly, they faced each other. Curly was much taller and wider than Pat, with a more strapping body, shoulders that went on for miles, and rippling, hair-crusted muscles. They faced each other now, and stroked each other’s meat, meaning Curly’s much-taller torso was right in front of Pat’s face. He could taste the sweat clinging to Curly’s chest hair.
Curly flexed his pecs, which bounced in front of Pat’s face. Pat blushed and looked away, then moaned as he felt the first wad of cum hit his stomach. It dripped into his pubic hair and coated his cock.
“Direct hit!” Curly shouted. The other cowboys laughed along with him.
Pat winced and stood there, feeling so dirty he wanted to throw up as the cum dripped through his crotch. He was humiliated, and the most humiliating part was that he was aroused.
But then before he could say anything, Curly got behind him. He had to bend his knees a little so he could grab Pat’s dick from behind, so Curly’s own cock pressed limply, stickily, oozingly, into the crack of Pat’s ass. His body hair pressed against the back of Pat’s head.
And he used both hands on Pat’s cock. Despite the intense scent of masculine sweat and the flexing of Curly’s strapping muscles, his full attention on Pat’s member made the handjob feel especially good. Curly’s cum stuck to Pat’s back.
“You are nasty! You’re about to nut with me all hugging up on you, like a girl,” Curly said. He smiled cruelly as Pat reached orgasm against his will. Cum flew into the fire, and Curly kissed Pat on the cheek.
That made Pat writhe as pleasure coursed through his veins. The awkwardity and humiliation of it all made the experience even more intense, and Pat’s limbs all tensed at once. The orgasm was painful despite the intensity of the feelings and the palpable sense of relief that washed over him when it was finally done.
Then he took a deep breath. Curly let him go so suddenly that Pat nearly collapsed into the fire, but then Curly’s strong arms gripped him tight.
“Well, despite looking like a girl who foolishly traded her tits for a small cock,” Curly said with a laugh, “you are apparently a real man. Congratulations. You can come into town with me tomorrow.”
Pat was annoyed that he came into town with Curly. Each man was given a chance to spend a night in town when they were near enough to one for it to work, but since most of the cowboys needed to stay near the cows, they rotated through the roster.
Unfortunately for Pat, he was given a night out with Curly. He ain’t like Curly, ain’t have anything in common with him, and it was apparent that Curly ain’t like him.
Pat knew what the problem was too. Curly ain’t like Pat because he wasn’t a “man’s man”. He ain’t spit or smoke or drink whiskey. He ain’t talk about whores and sluts all the time. He ain’t have an enormous cock, and he was embarrassed to show it off. He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a tough guy, and Curly evaluated every man he met on toughness. Pat was found wanting.
But still, Pat ain’t even think about declining a night out. He had been working too hard to skip it.
He followed Curly to the tiny town where Curly had said the “women begged you for it”. Pat ain’t need to ask what it was, and he couldn’t admit that he ain’t want to give anything at all to any women.
When they came to the tavern called Lipsweet, however, it looked dead inside. Curly frowned and pushed open the door, revealing a small bar with a dozen or so chairs. There were two men sitting there, looking at an empty stage in front of them.
“What happened? Where’s Charlotte?” Curly asked.
The bartender, a young man who looked forlornly on the empty tavern, said, “Dead. Consumption. Last month.” He wrinkled his nose. “Buncha them dead.”
Curly sighed as he ordered a whiskey. Pat wanted wine, but he ain’t want to stand out that much, so he asked for a whiskey just like Curly did. Neither of them drank it yet. Curly hoped he could share it with a woman — though he ain’t see any — and Pat ain’t drink it because Curly hadn’t.
The two cowboys who were already there — at the bar Lipsweet — but they were drinking water because their jefe had forbidden them from getting drunk tonight, on account of a cattle-ride to begin early in the morning — watched Curly suspiciously; they were both Mexican, it looked like, and they were even dirtier and meaner looking than Curly. Pat was glad he hadn’t ended up on a Mexican cowboy team, as he had heard the vaqueros were even worse than Anglo cowboys.
“Got a new dancer?” Curly asked.
The bartender Teddy shook his head. “Ain’t a single woman in town, not no kind, any age, nothin’. Ain’t even any eligible women in Casper right now.” He chuckled. “Hope you enjoy the company of men, cuz you gonna be lonely if not.”
The Mexican cowboys murmured something to each other, then burst into laughter. They both looked Pat in the eye, and he was sure they were talking about him. They seemed to have realized how feminine he was without even hearing him speak. One of them was a burly man named Gofredo; the other was leaner and ropy-muscled, Octavio. Neither one looked nice.
It was Octavio who stood up and approached Pat. He handed over a few dollar bills and gave Pat a silky red dress. “You are like girl, yes? You dance, señor. Dance like señorita.”
Pat blushed and looked down. He ain’t want to embarrass himself like this, but a part of him did want to put the dress on. He liked the idea of these macho cowboys thinking he was girlish. Pat could do it and leave town if his reputation got ruined. When the vaquero put down a wrinkly old greenback, Pat began to get excited — he had rarely had the opportunity to earn an entire dollar so easily.
Pat caught Curly’s eye. Curly nodded and motioned for him to do what the Mexican cowboys told him to. Pat sighed. He stood and began taking off his clothes, ignoring the scoff of the bartender and the humiliating hooting of the vaqueros. Curly just watched with those deep-set, dark eyes drilling into Pat’s consciousness.
“No narsty shit, guys. This ain’t that kind of bar.” The bartender was nervous and self-conscious, and no one paid any attention to him.
“So smooth,” said the bigger vaquero, Gofredo, who then repeated himself in Spanish, and added something that made Octavio chuckle. He had a dry, throaty laugh that made Pat shiver with anticipation and desire.
As he slipped the dress on, Pat moaned and jutted his ass out. He caressed Gofredo’s powerful chest. He wanted more than anything to feel manhood pulsating beneath his fingers again, or even something more extreme than that.
He first shook his ass for Curly, who whistled and added “¡Caliente!” in thickly-accented Spanish. The vaqueros laughed. He smacked Pat’s asscheek beneath the crimson fabric, which clung to his skin. The dress was very short, revealing almost all of Pat’s legs.
His thighs were not smooth. The Mexicans kept remarking on it, asking how he shaved it so perfectly, but they were just teasing him — he was not very hairy, and his body hair was light blond, so it was not noticeable. But the vaqueros caressed his skin, and surely noticed that there was real hair there.
When Pat turned around — flinging his head as though he had enough hair for that to be an arousing gesture — he saw Octavio’s cock out. He had lowered his pants just enough for a thick, barbaric uncut cock to stick out of his hairy bush.
“Come along, get me off, little girl,” said Octavio.
Pat blushed. He saw that Gofredo was removing his pants, and Curly too. Pat realized he was past the point of no return — there was nothing to do now but enjoy every moment of this encounter. That was fine with him.
He loved how they argued over who would go first. He got on his knees in the center of the circle and opened his mouth, though his heart trembled as he realized the Mexicans were arguing over who got to smash him in the ass first. His asshole puckered at the thought — they had big, uncut cocks like barbarians.
“No, man, it’s my turn to do it, last time we had a virgin ass, you smashed it first,” said Octavio.
“I’m bigger,” Gofredo said as though that justified everything. He pushed Octavio out of the way and got behind Pat. He wedged his cock between Pat’s cheeks. His powerful body loomed above Pat. “You’re gonna be my puta, yanqui.”
Pat squealed out of either fear or delight, not even he could tell which. His heart climbed into his chest at the thought of taking cock in both directions. But Curly pushed Gofredo out of the way.
“No,” Curly said. “Lemme in him first. I’ve got a bigger dick, I deserve to do it first.”
“Her,” Gofredo said, correcting him, grumbling. He stepped towards Curly, both men standing there with hardons so close their precum intermingled. “She will like it.”
Curly frowned. “Pat, I’d like to get inside you. I’ll be gentle… and I’ll give a reacharound.”
“Yes!” Pat said. Then he blushed as Curly laughed at his eagerness. Pat had enjoyed being stroked off before, and he thought being smashed by Curly would be a lot easier to handle than Gofredo. Gofredo grumbled but let Curly take his place behind Pat’s ass.
He knew it would hurt, but he was surprised by how quickly the utter agony began to build. As soon as Curly’s meat pushed into his ass, Pat threw his hand back and grunted. The vaqueros laughed as they approached his face. Intense sensations overwhelmed him, great jets and sparks of pain assaulting his senses.
But there was pleasure too. The potent waves of bliss that flew up his nerves made his toes curl and his hands form claws that dug first at the sandy ground and then at the powerful trail-dusted muscles of Curly’s broad body. The watching Mexicans laughed and pointed like they had never seen anything as funny as Garret’s body awrithe with pleasure.
Despite the humiliation overwhelming him — which grew worse now that it had begun, and the barkeep looked on in disgust — Pat opened his mouth. He couldn’t wait to taste those Mexican cocks.
Much to his surprise, Gofredo and Octavio pushed their dicks in his mouth together. They ain’t seem to mind touching cocktips in his face. Pat ain’t mind mouthing them both at once, tasting their spicy Latin flavors melding together on his tongue. They even kissed each other, eyes closed — you could see them both attempting to ignore the dense beards on each other’s chins.
His focus on their cocks in his mouth helped him avoid thinking about the pain growing in his ass. But his focus shifted a few minutes later, as Curly’s cock squeezed the rest of its way inside him, and Pat felt a burst of pleasure from deep in his ass.
The Mexicans laughed and called him a girl, but they sounded less and less mean about it. They seemed to have a growing sense of begrudging respect for Pat, since he was swallowing their cock better than any girl. That was because girls had to be talked into it, paid even, or at least promised to marry, but Pat craved more and more dicks and wanted to taste them down to the root. No convincement needed.
When Curly’s hand finally reached around to Pat’s cock, he thought he might bust right then and there. But he managed to hold himself back as Curly’s trail-callused hand worked Pat’s member into an excited froth of precum and Curly’s spit, which he used as lube.
It was actually Gofredo who shot his load first. He exclaimed and shouted, and pumped his powerful muscles in a show of force. Creamy cum sprayed over Pat’s face and tongue.
The flavor was salty and sweet, but with an acrid bitterness that brought tears to Pat’s face. Even though it wasn’t exactly pleasant, Pat found it enormously satisfying, and he savored the creamy thickness of it.
His desire was enhanced moments later, when Octavio shot his load. The taste of Gofredo’s cum hadn’t even faded yet when Octavio’s spicier load flooded Pat’s mouth.
Their semen mixed in his mouth. Pat’s mind raced with disgust even as his body, and especially his tongue, savored the satisfying flavor. He had always assumed it would be gross, but it wasn’t at all, and for a few seconds at least, Pat wished he could taste nothing else for the rest of his life.
The Mexicans kept their limp cocks there, talking to each other in rapid-fire Spanish as though they ain’t notice that their dicks were streaked with each other’s cum. Pat licked their shafts clean until he couldn’t stand it anymore. The sour and salty flavor was intense and potent and the most delicious thing Pat had ever eaten.
His own dick burst into an awe-inspiring orgasm, and he shot his load all over the floor. At the same time, Curly shouted yee-haw! as he sprayed his own load deep into Pat’s ass.
The cum sprayed to every corner of his body. Pat shuddered from his own orgasm at the same time, which made him wince with a mixture of pain, humiliation and incredible bliss. The vaqueros watched, and the bartender looked away, while Pat endured the most potent orgasm of his life.
Then it was all over. Pat tried to take a deep breath, but now that it was over, the cock in his ass was eye-wateringly painful. He wanted to beg Curly to take it out, but he was in too much agony, and in any case, it would be embarrassing to beg for anything, especially that.
When Curly finally pulled his limp dick out of Pat’s ass, the world came back into focus; Pat was able to hear again, and he could pay attention to the grumbling macho voices of the vaqueros, who demanded more tequila as they stuffed their cocks back in their pants.
Pat stretched his legs and stood up. He blushed when he saw the bartender look at him with dismay. Curly clasped Pat close, and their sweaty bodies touched. Pat’s hands explored Curly’s muscles, which Curly ignored.
“Barkeep, get this man anything he wants,” Curly said. “He’s a very special kind of cowboy, and if there ain’t gonna be no women here, he’s a valuable man to have around.”
