Date: Wed, 4 May 2016 00:04:39 +0000 From: TCHASE MCPHEE Subject: ?JoLLy RaNCHeRs? 09 % This work of fiction is set in the format of reality. Any resemblances to real people, alive or in the hereafter, is entirely coincidental in nature. It is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons of habitats, governmental or non-governmental areas, farmhouses, nor barns. % If sexual scenes involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then why are you here? Seriously, if dude-to-dude sex stuff makes you wanna barf or is gonna screw up your mind, you should not read this story. % States and countries have various rules regarding reading or viewing `adult material'. It is up to you, the reader, to research this subject, abiding by their own laws and conscience. The pages of this story contain `adult material', intended for an `adult audience.' Bypass this warning at your own risk! % Sexual safety matters. Guys, this is fiction. In real life, use protection and I don't mean going out and hiring a security guard...unless he gives your nuts and bolt a jolt. Hey dudes, if you have enjoyed reading NiFTy stories as much as I have over the years, consider adding some $upport for `internet $pace' or else I will have to start cutting handsome, hairy or steamy characters out of my stories. Do you dare imagine a story without any tops? http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Nifty Stories Archive Donation donate.nifty.org Donation information for the Nifty Stories Archive % "JoLLy RaNCHeRs" 09 WriTten by T. Chase McPhee ^ 0 ^ % "Sorry, I can't do this with you." Chris understands, "that's good." "Come again?" Like a computerized robot from the future would say, in a dictated tone, Chris mimics, "Better...now...later, too late." "What are you talking about?" Neal backs his bare ass out of the tent. He watches Chris flip over, drag his balls out out of the tent, "You're new to town. You'll find out." "But you just got here yourself?" Chris made it sound simple, using the excuse, coming home from college on holidays. For Deputy Jack, where else could a guy step out of the normalcy of daily living and pretend to be another person, than San Francisco. Gifting Chris with an all-expense paid vacation, the two would meet up and then every night or any hour of the day, take in the pleasures of a dungeon club atmosphere. Spring break gave both a time to play out their fantasies in a way which imitated real life situations. Thinking of this, Chris would have liked the same for Neal, but then he had `Marco' to think about. It's a shame it was a set up, Chris pretending to draw Neal into his lair. Neal did apologize, adjusting his crotch, after putting on his jeans, "sorry `bout that." No one could be sorrier, than Chris, right in the middle of a growing hard-on! "It can happen to the any of us." Grabbing his shirt, tucking it in, Neal tightens his belt, "Right, but what I didn't suspect, when I met Rusty, that it wasn't going to get serious." Chris could have rubbed hands together in a cunning manner, thinking how, reporting back to Marco, two things; Neal, a suitable partner for Rusty and, he can only smile, thinking of payback for his deeds! Totally not making any connections, more feeling guilty, Neal realizes, "Uh-oh." "What? Chris dresses himself for the fourth time today! "Rusty, he must've grabbed a ride off Deputy Jack. Like, I'm stranded?" Chris had already seen the statistics, Neal about 6' tall, wide, muscular pecs, 6-pack abs, other definition resulting from apparently working out religiously, not to mention what made up his fuzzy pubes. Already he was regretting not enticing Neal any further. However, if things had gone farther, he might be out of the funds to refinance the trading post, with `free' legal intervention. He mentally cursed, `dammit, Marco!' Making conversation, as he clothed himself, Chris says, "I don't mind giving you a ride, if you can wait till I get dressed?" "Sure," Neal was admiring the view, "but don't hurry on my account!" Contrary to thought, Chris wanted to stay naked, get Neal naked and drag him back into the tent. Conflict of interest, not only would he lose financial backing, but it didn't go well with Marco, when things didn't swing his way, there was always a price to pay! % When they entered the ranch house, Neal was already on it, hustling to find the necessary makings of a pot of coffee. "Tim still prefers the old way, I guess before the machine was invented." Looking about the place, to Jack, it looked homey. Feeling so much like his own pad, he asks, "mind if I loosened up a few buttons?" Already in the process, Rusty glancing over, nervously jokes, "loosen up whatever you want!" He laughs. Jack smiles, thinking of taking the comment virtually, jokes, "whatever I want, Rusty?" With a can in one hand, coffee scooper in the other, he half crocks a smile and in embarrassment, says, "if I sounded like that, sorry." All he had to do is walk around the corner of the butcher block island, Jack's hairy divide staring the lad in the face, "Never be sorry," he headed for the fridge. "I don't think you'll find much to eat in there," Rusty says, filling the tin coffee pot with water. "I think I can scrape something together," Jack pulls out a dozen eggs, minus 4. Rusty confesses, "I don't know much about cooking, but I can fry an egg?" "Fry?" Jack replies. "Anyone can fry an egg, but it takes a master chef to whip up an omelet!" Whether it was construed as coming on to Jack, or a friendly gesture, Rusty says, "Maybe you can show me how to throw one together...you know, for future reference?" Even though only a half of Jack's day had passed, he asks, "You got an apron hanging around here? I just put on a clean uniform this morning." Knowing where a few of them were, Rusty quips, "you're already half-naked?" Well, Jack might just think it a turn on to wait 3 days before digging in his drawer at home, for a clean pair of undies, but again, didn't want to throw a scare into Rusty, "oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to turn you on?" It did occur to Rusty, "Turn me on? Really, Jack, an old man like you?!" He laughed. Jack went along with the joke, but his senses recall the last time he stopped a young, out-of-town college jock, on his way to college, lost, usual story, "don't knock it till you try it!" Rusty just gives Jack one raised brow. Remembering Marco's last words, `be nice', without crossing borders, Jack says, "of course I am. Got that apron?" . Rusty, holds the apron from a fingertip, says, "like, it's not the first time I'm looking, Jack, but you sure are..nice." "Thanks," Jack holds out his hand. Placing the apron on the pallet of Jack's hand, Rusty, not sure how to put it, "um, are you like, usually hairier than that?" Answering, Jack says, "I trimmed this morning." Loving his guys hairy, Rusty quizzes, "why do you do that?" "Trust me," Jack places the apron over his broad shoulders, "you don't want to see me after not trimming for a week!" On the contrary, Rusty suddenly daydreams, thinking of nuzzling his nose into the hairy crevice of Jack's melon-sized pecs. Turning around, Jack asks, "want to tie me?" Obliging, Rusty accidentally-on-purpose massages Jack's lower back, while tying the two apron strings together. It didn't go unnoticed with Jack, wondering it if were intentional, or accidental, the feeling of Rusty doing something behind his back. He let it slide, without comment, though it did rustle his balls somewhat. "Okay!" he slapped both humongous palms together, making the sound of a paddle on a dude's ass, "Let's get crackin'" Rusty felt obligated to protect the uniform, picking up Jack's shirt and removing it from the kitchen, "we don't want this getting dirty, do we?" Knowing it for a fact, Jack smelling his, or another dude's clothing, it could get his balls boiling, and likewise, the thought of Rusty carrying his shirt into the other room, fabricated the thinking, shirt being lifted to nostrils... "By the way," Rusty reenters... Having not fully awoken from thoughts of Rusty lifting the pits of his shirt to his nose, Jack says, "I know what you're gonna say." Coming in from the other room, Jack on the other side of the counter, there had been something on Rusty's mind, but the sight of the apron, right below where two straps were attached, he spots a pointy peak on each side, "wait. I have something ask you first." But then Rusty chickens out! "Well, what is it, before you rudely cut me off?" "Sorry," Rusty replies. A question on the spur of the moment is not necessary a well-thought through endeavor, based on the human anatomy, "forget I mentioned it." "Forget you mentioned it. Fine. I've forgotten." "What was it you were going to ask me?" Jack replies, "I dunno. I forget. What were you going to ask me?" Back in Rusty's ball court, he still tries to get out of it, "It was silly." "I like silly!" Really, Rusty could have asked any question under the sun, but something dumb could be just as gnawing at a person, as a question of importance, "about those clamps on your nips, like, are they pointy right now because of it, or are they like that all the time?" It was dumb and silly to Jack, but also, in a way, highly erotic, "so, you're checking me out?" With his back to the counter, elbows sitting on it, Rusty stood on a linear angle, in order to face Jack in conversation, "yeah, I guess I was. Whadya gonna do...arrest me?" Realizing he had taken the shirt off, but not the utility belt, Jack says, "if it turns you on, the cuffs are right at the top of my ass?!" "Uh, no. I wasn't thinking like that," Rusty switches off to, "so, what are you making?" `There it is,' Jack condemns himself, thinking he's `frightened' the lad. He remembers a couple of times, playing the roleplay game with a novice at bdsm. At the mere mention of `whips', a young dude, fastened eagle-spread, started to cry. "And the `other' thing you wanted to ask?" Rusty replies, "it might be too personal." "Try me." "It's really no big deal," Rusty deals with it, "but I was just wondering," asking in a casual, modest way, "uh...no, I can't. Really. Just forget about it." Noisy, Jack slaps the bacon-flipping utensil down onto the pan surface, making a clinking sound. It was enough to show Rusty he was putting the brakes on the cooking, along with adjusting the gas lower. "Um, I might not be a `Top Chef', but I know the eggs aren't going to sizzle on low?" Silence met him, coupled with Jack not budging. "Okay, so it's no big deal. All I wanted to know is, when your nips were snagged-up in the clamps, did you feel it...you know," Rusty feels his own pouch, "down there?" It set Jack off roaring, repeating in jest, "snagged up in the clamps? Ha! Wait till Chris hears that one!" Not angry, but making it sound like it, Rusty says, "Well, what the hell do you call it, Jack?" Rather than the direct route, Jack unloads the whole history of his `nips', `nips' in general and a side route, the greatest nips of his own historical past! "That's a lot to digest," Rusty replies, not to mention the education he was just put through! "Speaking of `digest,' if I don't get busy here, we'll both be fading away to nothing!" Rusty agrees, but as Jack goes about his business, each time the cook's apron twisted this or that way, he stole a glance. Third glance, from questioning building up inside, he couldn't contain himself any longer, "it still looks red." Having gabbed away at his chef-rendering skills, Jack says, "did you at all get anything I've said about preparing fish?" "Uh, yeah," Rusty fudges his way through, "you scale it, fillet it and then cook it." "Well," Jack stands there, lying the prep knife down on its side, "since fish don't bleed like a cow, `what' still looks red?" Totally fixated on the subject, Rusty knew, if he didn't come clean, he would be carrying around his curiosity with him, until he got answers, "um, your nips...again?" All Jack could do is shake his head back and forth. Yet, Rusty wasn't far from the truth, himself being in the same predicament. Reaching behind his own back, Jack loosens up the shoestring knot. The apron falls from his sides, most likely the tightly barreled stomach making it do so. Reaching up, behind the neck, he loops it over his head. It drops in front, revealing those bulbous pecs and `the barrel.' Placing hands on hips, Jack says, "Okay. Go for it." "What do you mean?" "Trust me. It's not like I haven't been in your shoes. You're lucky you have me to find out such things." "What things?" Though, Rusty well knows what Jack's talkin' about, `things', the two brilliant pec spots, prominent on those wide, hair-trimmed pecs. "This is a waste of time," Jack says. Reaching forward, Jack selects both of Rusty's wrists, placing them on his own pecs. "Like, oh-my-god, Jack!" Rusty sweeps hands away. "Mm-m," Jack jokes, "I could go for more of that!" "Just what are you trying to prove?" "Prove? Uh, that you're capable of making a guy hard, just from tweakin' up his nips?" Jack laughs. Rusty, all he can think of is the absurdity of the situation before him. Sure, he was curious to know how long a set of nips tingled, after being trussed up in a pair of biting clamps. Then again, maybe it wasn't that, but an excuse? "So, it's okay if I..." Once again, Jack grabs Rusty's wrists. "No, I can do it on my own?" "Well hurry up, because I gotta get over something before finishing up on our meal!" It was comical to the deputy, watching Rusty raise both hands, twiddle with fingers, trying to grasp some courage, before diving in. Twice he provoked Rusty into reaching out and touching, but like, three strikes, he's out, "Oh come on, would you just..." Almost like Jack touched him, where he had some pulsing already. Rusty gasps, touching both firm pecs. "Oh yeah," Jack says, inhaling a whistle, then exhaling, "work'em, baby." Little does Rusty realize, as he lightly pulverizes Jack's nips, Jack has slipped a hand down yonder. What Rusty does realize, is the flapping, "like, what are you doing?" "Well," Jack says innocently enough, "I might as well take advantage...that is, if you'll allow me to?" In the dark, Rusty inquires, "Allow you, Jack?" In sort of a vocal manner, entwined with a giggle, because it tickled Jack, working with a novice, "Me boy, you master!" "Oh," Rusty got it, "is that how you and Chris get it on?" If he had to compare, Jack would truthfully have to tell Rusty, what they were doing now was about 1/10th of what really went on behind closed doors, with Chris, "you've gotta work me harder than that, `Master Rusty!'" "Oh," Rusty merely says, having let up a little on the nip-crushing. "But don't stop." "Oh," Rusty exclaims, getting more intense on the squishing. It's not like it hadn't gone a blank in Rusty's mind, Jack more aggressive at making the apron flap up, down, up, down, "Uh, like, you're not..." he scoots the tail of the apron out of the way. "Yep," Jack replies, Rusty having uncovered his secreted stroking. To himself, Rusty claims he must've been so caught up in the rapture of man-nip-ulating Jack, he hadn't realized it, "when did you open your pants?" "When," Jack stops jerking for a minute, "is not the question. The question here is `why'!" "You mean," Rusty gulps, "just this little...man-handling, has made you that hard?" Since getting familiar with each other, Jack hasn't a problem reaching straight out, one hand checking things down below and even though he suspected, Jack says of Rusty, "Oh now, what do we have here?" Rusty hadn't been paying attention. Much like his life has seemed to spin out of recognition, so has the fact that he was getting some kicks out of playing with Jack's pecs. Feeling Jack massage, not some fleshy softness, but rather a hard billy-club, "I can't believe it!" "I can!" Jack laughs his ass off. Then, since he was getting close, Jack evens up the score, once again taking `one' of Rusty's hands and putting it on his cock. The other hand he returns to a pec. "Now can you feel it?" Rusty was bonked! Sure he could feel it, pinching one of Jack's nips, his cock pulsing, ready to spill a load, "wo-o-o-ow!" To even it up, seeing Rusty succumb to his toils, Jack reaches up, under the lad's tee shirt, feeling up the rippled abs, sensing the bottom of a pec and tackles a protruding nub. This time, well aware of Jack's hand on his nip, the other keeping him stoked, Rusty reveals his true feelings, "Feels good." "Only good?" Jack giggles. Sooner than later, Jack jokes, "ready to get the floor wet... you?" So mesmerized by Jack, switching a hand from left to right and back again, evening out the pec-pinching, Rusty was lost in the moment. Suddenly, their space is intruded upon, "Hey, what's this?" Neal had helped himself to walking in on the two. Right behind him was Chris. Jack whines, "not now, guys?!" Chris, in an authoritarian voice, states, "Really, Jack?" However, it was like Jack wasn't listening to Chris, instead, shooting his load, crying out like a wolf! Neal, he was shocked, both by Rusty's hand on Jack's nip, but also, the two exchanging hand-jobs, "yeah, really Rusty?" Backing away, Rusty totally disengages, "It's not how it looks, Neal!" Probably Neal wasn't feeling much different from Chris right now. Left unsaid, what could be construed as a new relationship developing - gone wrong, Neal perceives it as something erotic, "Don't stop on my account, `boyfriend!'" Neal had hit it on the head, reason Rusty has stopped. Through neither had carved their relationship in the side of a tree with a heart and initials. Rusty checked, to make sure he was hearing right, walking over to Neal, "Did you just call us, boyfriends?" Glancing down, Neal notices how much Rusty was enjoying himself, "Need help finishing up, boyfriend?" Acting like it was improper etiquette, Rusty says, "You want me to finish up?" Seems like some of that Chris-moxie has rubbed off on Neal. Balling Rusty's shirt up in a hand, Neal pulls in close for a kiss. Kissing led to something else and before the `boyfriends' knew it, they were jacking each other! For Chris and Jack, it seemed like their sex life revolved around roleplaying. Right now, Jack was `in the dog house', Chris telling him to stop touching himself. Of course, Jack had already shot his load, Chris wanting to tell Jack to get down on the floor and lick it up. >From an etiquette point of view, of their own made up rules, some things were meant for only `behind closed doors'. Much of what would follow, sequestered away, Chris left it to, "you're gonna get it later, boy!" `Boy?' With 16 years difference between the two, Chris younger, it would seem Jack the `adult'. This is the way they both liked doing it. Days when he worked on the time clock, Deputy Jack's image was this macho-cop figure of society. It thrilled him to be degraded downwards, treated like a criminal, whose sentence was being reprimanded, emotionally and physically tortured into sweet surrender. For Chris, he got hard and morphed into fuck-mode, by portraying the mean, evil dominant top, aimed at making his bitch submit. Then, when he got himself fully inserted, he let loose with punishment, unleashing his 8-inch torture tool. For now, Chris was allowing much to slide past him. Though, he wasn't allowing Jack to swim off the hook yet, "Get out of your briefs." "In front of...the boys?" Jack gasped. "Does it look like they are paying any attention to us?" Looking across the way, whereas Rusty and Neal had settled down on the sofa and were necking, "Um, no." "Then do it!" Kicking off untied shoes, Jack and Chris lock eyes, until Jack says, "well, do something!" Sometimes in their roleplaying, they acted like both caught up in a mood swing, Jack taking on the dominant role, always to get what he wanted! There, were Jack's red nips, already lightly worked by a pair of novice fingers and thumbs, afraid to cause damage. With Chris, having worked Jack's nubs dozens of times, know what he can take, "do something, eh?" Holding up two items, Chris asks, "the potato peeler or fly swatter?" Knowing it wasn't a fly swatter, but what Chris meant, "the pancake turner." Mood swing kicking in, "the pancake turner, what?" "Please sir, whack my muscled pecs with the pancake turner?" Part of Chris' turn on, an effort to make Jack's 9-inch nail bloated and stretch out straight from his pubes, could be vocally induced. In a mix of love and pain, he takes Jack's jaw, puckering up, gives him a long, juicy kiss. Unsuspecting though, he lingers, with the flat surface of the pancake turner over Jack's muscled pec. Kiss turning into a wide, open circle, "Ow-w-w-w-w!" What happens when two become one, engaged in what is turning both on, like Rusty and Neal on the sofa, a couple can become oblivious to their surroundings. "What the hell was that?!" Rusty's voice rings out. Neal, who had worked all of Rusty's clothes off, Rusty doing the same to him, had been slowly tonguing the tip of his boyfriend's cock. Jack was nice enough to break out of format, "Oops, sorry guys." Disturbed over being disrupted, Neal says, "Maybe we should get a room." "Yeah, maybe," Rusty agrees. Neal already had a foot on the floor. Rusty was working himself out of being sandwiched between the sofa and Neal and spoken so the `kitchen' heard, "We wouldn't want to disturb anyone!" Like following protocol, Chris blames, "now see what you did?" Jack, all revved up and ready for sweet punishment, "maybe we should get a room too?" Not for Chris. It was more fun watching Jack strip down completely. After, he made Jack strip him. However, it wasn't like, all the clothing coming off at once. Chris liked it with some licking and sucking in between. For instance, he loved to have his tee shirt lifted and Jack lick his furry stripe up to his pecs. "I want it soaked, get it?" "Yes sir," Jack replies, his tongue getting busy, slurping from under Chris' bellyhole, dipping the tip in, then painting a wet path up to mid pecs. Jack always knew when he was doing a good job, Chris rewarding him with some nub-pinching. Even though he had just slimed up the kitchen floor, this would do it, making Jack hard again. Then, it would become too tough for Chris to reach Jack's nips, the cop down on his knees, licking under his balls. However, this was not the case right now, a cinch to beat Jack's pecs with the pancake turner. As it went, the better the cocksucking, the more Jack became aroused from stinging nips! Upstairs, both lads, in their own right proclaiming to be tops, they hadn't worried about labels. Like Chris and Jack's mood swings, when both felt like it, they would switch, Rusty doing the popsicle thing, Neal lying out and enjoying it. It had been the first time Rusty tongue-touched a dude's shaft, but he wasn't finding it strange. Instead, Rusty was rather enjoying it. What came with the territory, he had this insatiable desire to run hands over Neal's taut stomach, feeling each groove of worked abs. Instead of saying he was coming close, Neal sat up, depriving Rusty of the tasty meal. Like it was a game, Rusty says, "time to switch-off!" Neal saw this as his boyfriend being nervous. The ability to sense things like this come from experience, which being older, brings on being wiser, "let's do it." It was of no imposition for Neal, to do a sit up. Part of his workout regimen, it came in the grouping of pushups and some isometric conditioning. He even added a twist to it, grabbing onto Rusty's shoulders and kissing. The kissing lasted long enough for them to change positions on the bed, Rusty lying down now. Rusty thought it awesome, having stuff done to him, which Neal seemed ordinary, like having his legs lifted, Neal physically holding up his shaft to lick his balls, underneath! Getting a few thrills out of it, Neal loved to hear Rusty, a novice, adding exhilarating tonal sounds, with each lick of the tongue. He almost giggled, hearing Rusty exclaim the first time of having each of sacks rolled around in his mouth! "Like that, do you?" Neal asks, after spitting out a sac. "I guess. Never had it done before!" Neal had already guessed it, "boy, you've got a lot of catching up to do!" "`Boy'? Like in what Chris and Jack are into, `boy?'" Not thinking it that way, Neal replies, "No. `Boy' as in boyfriends." "Oh right," Rusty erases it from his mind, starts over, "that's what I thought you meant." Neal wouldn't put it past them, getting into some light bondage. He remembers a time, being eagle-spread, tied to the bed and some hot bottom thoroughly licking every inch of his skin, below the neck. The only regret, he couldn't stroke himself. Later, he found out how, all that buildup could really flood a dude, until he almost drowned! % Meanwhile, back in town, Ricky had taken Jordan on a motorcyclist for a tour of the town, winding up at the apartment he had yet to fully vacate. No one was around, which signaled in Ricky's mind, might be a nice time to get to know each other! He had to laugh, when sorting through Kira's stash for a bottle of wine, Ricky turns around, upon hearing, "So, how do I look as a cowboy?" Jordan had traded in his Boston Red Sox cap for a cowboy hat! "Okay. Not quite the look I picture you of, as `the type'?" Finding a bottle of red, Ricky takes it to the kitchen. "Oh," Jordan takes it off, replacing it with his Sox cap. "But, if you don't want to look like an out-of-towner, it's better than nothin'?" After taking the cowboy hat off, putting his baseball cap back on, Jordan remarks, "why don't you make up your mind?" Taking off his cap, putting the hat back on, by the time he does it, Ricky is standing there with two wine glasses, half full. "Half empty?" "Just drink it," Ricky clinks his glass. Already sensing `whateva', Jordan says, "to us!" Half-cracked smile, Ricky agrees, "to us it tis!" Before Ricky can sip, Jordan has crooked his arm around, portraying two lovers, romantically involved at a fine feast. When Ricky accidentally spills Jordan's wine down the middle of his shirt, "so much for your fancy idea!" Jordan does take a belated sip, saying, "Right, but what shall I ever do about the wet shirt?" Though, Ricky was not at all disturbed over having to set his glass down and help Jordan unbutton his shirt. Glass still in his hand, Jordan takes a sip and tilting it, pours it over Ricky's left shoulder, "oops!" "Tell me you didn't do that on purpose?" "I didn't do it on purpose," Jordan wears a toothy smile! Each about even with the unbuttoning, Ricky one button ahead of the game, thought they matched with rippled abs, "Mm-mm, love a hairy beast!" Overall, Jordan was loving it up, drawing Ricky in for some kissing action, even though shirts were parted down the middle. Ricky took the first initiative, peeling Jordan's shirt off, back over the shoulders. In doing so, the cowboy hat falls off as well. Jordan remarks, "I feel so naked without the hat?" "Guess I'll have to change your mind!" With saying so, Ricky's hands are already fidgeting with Jordan's belt buckle. He does stop to admire, "nice buckle." Sucking in his gut, crunching abs to look, Jordan says, "Yeah, used to my dad's." Ricky loves this part, hearing in a sweet, demanding tone, "and oh, after you get my dick naked, start with the tip and work your way down." Ricky did love it. Not the friendly order, but the fact `a man who knows what he wants.' A smile he could feel, not see, Ricky knew what he not only wanted, but craved. Probably the reason he didn't care if the belt buckle was worn by Hans Berlin, he was driven now, an insatiable desire lingering on his tongue, stoking up his balls. When Jordan finally did feel a mouth on his semi-hard condition, he uprights his chest in a crunch position, poking elbows into the bed, "you catch on fast!" Indeed. If it happened, Ricky not entirely satisfied by the looks of a man, especially when it didn't seem like he was packin', he would make it into a quick, one-night stand, which lasted less than a half-hour. However, with intent, to keep Jordan there for hours, Ricky follows instructions to the T. Slowly, the visual connects with the oral sensation, Jordan relaxing his elbows, sinking down in the bed, like a baby in his crib, falling asleep. After lubricating the tip, Ricky lifts his chin, swallows spit, "how am I doing, your royal worship?" "Adequate. Get back on it. I'll tell you when to stop." However Ricky was under the impression he would be able to figure that out himself. He pulled some tricks Jordan had never experienced, in roughly the 15 years he's been engaged in some form of gay sex, "Oh damn, Ricky!" "What'd I do?" He knew very well, lying his right ear on Jordan's hairy pubes, cupping his mouth over the side of the 28-year old's 8c and running lips up and down, up and down, up, down, up, down the slick side, it would drive him wild! This time Jordan didn't crunch fast enough, to see Ricky's head angled for the lip and tongue massaging of his shaft. He knew how hard he could get, which brought about length and width proportions and according to his own opinion, he was massive! He only hoped-to-god, "Uh, you have a condom?" Upon the sound of the meaning, Ricky's ass-ring flinches, "Uh, yeah," he surveys the piles of boxes in the room, "somewhere...uh,you don't have one handy?" Both at once, Jordan shrugs shoulder, moving his head side to, signaling negatively. Overall, it hadn't taken Ricky much time to figure out, madly in love with Jordan, whether it was the physique, muscled like himself, hairy chest, stripe and...well every guy had his faults. He would have loved Jordan had a deep innie, instead of a `button' bellyhole. A pet fetish, Ricky's tongue and teeth could make a man discover the joy in having his navel worked. So what though, putting it second, just glad to have a hardy erection to chomp on! With this is mind, "like, how many guys have you fucked in the past week?" "What-the-fuck, you're asking me this, right in the middle of a raging hard-on?" Seemed like, back at the belt buckle incident, Jordan was in charge, but Ricky, the medical pro, didn't take chances. "Much as I'd like to feel your eel swimming around in the channel..." "What does reptiles have to do with..." "Cocks aren't reptiles... But, anyway, I'd rather we get tested, before we have any `pressure' applied?" Elbows still digging in, Jordan says, "you ask every guy you have sex with, to take an aids-test?" Likewise, even though he protested, only because he was hard now and wanted his tall spike massaged more than a pair of lips grasped around the side, Jordan was feeling more than a blooming friendship here. It wasn't only right here, now, but his call last night, to Rusty. They had talked up old times, back at the boarding school, but then progressed to the present. By the time Rusty had finished up their chat, Jordan knew about every single man in town! Rusty, having lived with Jordan, back while he attended boarding school in Mass., knew his so-called `nanny', teasing his mentor many times about it, had his eyes set on a single-man relationship. Back then, Jordan was in charge of 4 sex-charged boys in a dorm. Smart, with degrees in psychology, health management, nutrition, it was easy to single out the gay lads. All Jordan had to do is parade his nude figure through the canyon of bunks and using peripheral vision, catch eyes stalking him. Though, it took more than one parade to come to conclusions. No-fail system, first time he caught all of them looking! First time he paraded through the valley, with toweled waist, any guy would check him out, with sleek sidelines, the `v' defining stomach and toweled pubes, nips set on solid pecs, bulging biceps. Second time, towel slung over-the-shoulder, it brought out the more intent viewer! With cock sloshing side to side, more elasticity to it than rock hard, balls bobbling, he didn't keep it hid when spotting the first set of intruding eyes. Smart about it, the other boys engaged in sleeping, Jordan didn't call out Rusty's name, or make a big deal of it, arousing anyone else's suspicions. With time passing, Rusty had became more of Jordan's `teachers pet,' with a person he could go to, confide in, someone who keep a secret and not turn right around, get stabbed in the back. A lot of people were like that at the boarding school. Jordan, he would take any question, if about himself, answer it truthfully, knowing the answer would not get around campus. Now, because of Rusty's situation, Jordan could not deny they had developed a friendship, by which, when the student graduated, he was not going to miss him deeply. Rusty had known, through casual conversation, having slipped out of his bunk around midnight and into Jordan's room, lying there next to him, found out how unhappy his mentor was at playing housemaid. Really fond of Rusty, he understood the lad had not enjoyed a good life of camaraderie with mother or father, his best friend being a horse. `Hoot' became a pivot of conversation, Jordan treating the horse as a real person, as if the animal were a fellow doctor, Rusty his patient. Not in the sense of being sex-mates, but a clear understanding of his ward, Jordan went on confidence and faith he was headed towards a better life. More a friend than house-sitting, Jordan sensed, Rusty setting him up with a job, he could finally break free of the life which was giving himself stress. Being a mental health professional, Jordan knew the constraints anxiety can hold a person back. Rusty was giving him an out, Jordan taking it. Tying up loose ends, Jordan sold off most of his stuff and on his motorcycle, made a clean break. While lying there in bed, Jordan's wires had gotten crossed, like a time machine ticking away in his brain, taking him from back then, to now. Ricky disturbs his train of thought, "yo," he snaps a finger in Jordan's face! Shaking his head, like coming out of a buzz, Jordan says, "what?" Contrarily, Ricky says, "I was giving the speech about aids-testing and you lost focus?" "Oh. Right. I was thinking of something else." "Or, someone else?" Ricky sits there, caved legs resting between Jordan's kneecaps. Not as pumped up as he was, with the stimulation gone, Jordan can see he's not going to get ass. Regardless, he knew Ricky was going somewhere, where he hoped to avoid. In all, he gives in, "Alright, I'll give you your aids test. In the meantime, trust me enough to lay next to me?" "I can do that," Ricky took `something' better than `nothing!' "Uh, after you let the pig out of the pen?" Okay, so hopping off the bed, standing there, Ricky makes haste, disrobing. Jordan couldn't help but smile. The whole time, Ricky intently kept his eyes on his pubes, which finally made Jordan warn, "don't worry. It's not like I'm going to deflate any time soon!" What was keeping Jordan on edge, Ricky's cocoa tan, which seemed to bring out his bronze 6-pack, as if makeup was used to define each rib, tiny nips on each rounded pec. When Ricky dropped his drawers, Jordan thought he was adequately equipped, complimenting, "nice!" Jumping into bed, next to Jordan, Ricky says, "not as nice as this!" What was supposed to be quiet time for each, kissing, shooting the bull, talking about where each came from and what brought them together here, didn't materialize. From force of habit, Ricky did lay next to Jordan, but the urge was too overwhelming to just `lay there.' Not that the score had been evened up, Jordan could touch Ricky's 6c and not worry about, "this is better. Hate to see a grown man cry, when his cock gets scratched by the zipper!" Ricky, having passed over the head, was now working both lips up and down the tube. He `told' Jordan he agreed, by waving a hand about. Then he pulled off, perhaps for a breather, "right," but went right back at it. Used to lying there, Jordan suddenly got the urge to share. "Here, lie down," he says to Ricky. In doing so, Ricky pulls his legs back, ready to get fucked. "No condom, remember?" "Right," Ricky replies, in a grumpy tone. He relaxed both legs, falling by Jordan's sides. Ricky wasn't disappointed that his ass wasn't going to get busted wide open, not with the way Jordan was working his cock over. Using his balls as a handle, Ricky could tell, "I can see you've got plenty of practice at that!" Jordan has, but he wasn't about to allow Ricky to sit there and chew the fat. Still engaging his jaw muscles, Jordan still sucks Ricky's stick, while turning about. What Ricky did with Jordan's balls, hanging over his face, was his business. Well that's the impression Ricky was getting, after Jordan turned his bod like a clock, positioning his head between the legs. Before Ricky could think, he sees a hand pass between their chest. It was rough, Ricky thought, Jordan using the bulb of his shaft like a door knocker, right before pulling off, "suck it!" Only problem being the guy lying down, having a cock dropped onto his palate, when the man on top starts picking up the pace of fucking action, his balls tend to block off the nostrils. Ricky hoped he would not get a bloody nose, from all that `ball-punching'! Trying to read the signs, Ricky thought they would be sucking until both had the urge to shoot their loads. Not like he pictured it. Faster than a jack rabbit, Jordan pulls his mouth off Ricky and turning about, slaps his ass down on Ricky's chest. Next thing he knows, Jordan's balls are slapping, repeatedly, against his chin! Jordan wasn't without `mercy'. After he howls with release of pent up sexual energy, he slides down Ricky's abs, saying, "time to get you off, big boy!" Still with plenty of energy, unfazed with sending his load down Ricky's throat, Jordan gets just as much a kick out of hand-jobbing. "I'm close," Ricky mutters. Hands behind his head, he mashes the pillow with clenched fists. "I hope so," Jordan jokes, as he pumps furiously. He knew just how far away from blowing his load, Jordan seeing Ricky buck his hips a little. "Here it comes!" "Really?" Jordan thought himself funny. Though, just like when he came, Jordan coaxes, "yeah, c'mon Ricky, give it to me!" Ricky `gave,' goo shooting out, 3 or 4 streams of white and against his dark, island tan, it looked even brighter. Ricky thought that was it, panting heavily after bucking his hips and having Jordan help squeeze out every drop. However, just when a guy thinks the getting is better than the best, Ricky feels Jordan go down again on him! "Oo-o-oh-shit!" "Relax, Ricky, I'm not finished!" "Apparently," Ricky says, watching Jordan lick, swallow, lick, swallow... The amount which landed on his abs, Jordan was washing his stomach with the stuff! "Oh my," Ricky says, feeling hands skate over his abs. Feeling, watching what Jordan is up to next, Ricky gasps, "oh wow!" Not only had Jordan spread the goo out over Ricky's stomach, but massaged the slimy milk into his nips! Then, without warning, Jordan falls, chest to chest, lip to lip. Ricky had to admit, it was kind of weird, tasting his own cum, passed on from Jordan's mouth, but also erotic. Who was he to judge, the man who just gave him a fantastic blast! % When Chris and Neal walked in the door, upon seeing Deputy Jack, playing with Rusty's nips, according to Chris, he had crossed the line. They had intended on taking up room on the sofa, while Rusty and Neal hightailed it upstairs. "I see you've gotten yourself wound up?" Chris looks down at Jack's apron. "A little," Jack smiles. Truthfully, for any man to have an erection, coiled up inside their pants, putting that much pressure of the seams, something's gotta give. Lifting the apron, Chris says, "I don't think that's a little. Oh and by the way, what were trying to prove with Rusty?" "Nuttin'," Jack replies. He didn't mind getting henpecked by Chris. Honestly, he hoped he would go further and to accomplish this, sometimes it took leading him on, "well, maybe I was trying to get him, `interested!'" "I thought so. C'mon," Chris walks towards the door. "Where are we going?" "To the barn. I'm not going to allow you to get away with cheating behind my back, Jack!" "Oh goody," Jack smiles, feeling his loins tingle with excitement. "Like, what did you have in mind?" "I don't know yet," Chris says, "I gotta see what they've got." % Meanwhile, up in Rusty's room, he had gotten a call from Jordan, who had escaped for a minute to the men's room. "What's he saying?" Neal tried hearing, leaning half on Rusty's chest. "Sh-hh," Rusty told him. Bored, he worked his hand down to Rusty's pubes. Touching, he got his wrist slapped, "What tha?" Rusty's mouths the words, `not yet!' He kept saying, `uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, until finally hanging up. Neal snaps, "what did he say?" "Looks like half our plan worked." "Cool," Neal says, "now, all we have to do is set Alex up!" One of the things they had discussed, are two guys who watched out for their interests, while Neal was back home in Texas, Rusty at boarding school. They were certain Ricky and Jordan would hit it off, but of the matchmakers finding a suitable mate for Neal's companion, "Alex is kind of picky about who he meets." "Fortunately, since you say Alex isn't due in town for a week, we have time," Rusty says. Lying there, in their clothing, Neal says, "By the way, did Jack ever pull anything together in the kitchen. I'm kind of...starved!" They were cautious descending the stairs, but not hearing any moans, groans, or movement in the living room, hastened their steps. "I guess they went back to Chris' place," Rusty says. "Just where is it Chris lives?" Forced smile, upside down, Rusty replies, "I dunno." "One of these days, I guess we'll find out." "Right," Rusty replies. "So," Neal picks up a box of macaroni, "how do we make this?" Rusty rolls his eyes, saying, "I'm glad you know how to make love, at least!" "That," Neal stops, then starts, "I'm really good at!" "Like, I noticed?" They laughed, but then like a team, put together a pot of water on the stove. Waiting for it to boil, there came a knock at the door. "You expecting someone?" Neal asks. "Not really, but with the turn around at the ranch, I suppose we can expect anyone, at any time!" Before even stepping inside, "The name's Pete. Marco said I should come introduce myself. I'm the janitor at the high school. He said he mentioned me to you?" Before Rusty could get to it, Neal is standing there, "Hi there. I'm Neal. He's Rusty. Oh, but I guess you knew that already, eh?" When it was mentioned to him, the janitor at the high school, Rusty was expecting Sam, who was ready to retire, not some younger dude. Neal, being from out of town, didn't know the difference. Rusty invites him in, but hearing a hissing sound, asks Neal to attend to the boiling water on the stove. "I'm not taking you away from your dinner, am I?" "Dinner, if you want to call it that, is a box of macaroni," Rusty laughs, possibly out of being nervous, Pete kind of on the cute side! "Been there myself. Trust me, you don't need to stick to the instructions. There's a lot you can add to it, to dress it up." Rusty smiles, Pete laughing it off. Getting down to business, Rusty was at first stumped, wanting to say `my father,' but chooses, "Uh, Marco, he didn't tell me much, only you were interested in quitting your day job, to get away from the school. Trust me, I know how `we' can be." It made Pete smile, thinking if every male student in school were like Rusty, or Neal, the job would be much, much less of a hassle. Though, he didn't want to seem like a wimp, "Oh, I just let it all go right over my head," his hand acts like a plane taking off. Neal comes back, "I dumped the box in. The mac's on its way." Then, being cute, "you didn't miss me, did ya?" Pete smiles, thinking he did...miss Neal. Around school there were many handsome lads, which is one of the reasons he felt he needed a career change. It was getting tough, hiding the woodie! However, it's Rusty who has to throw a downer in Neal's gay appeal, "Uh, I'm trying to conduct an interview here, Neal?" Saving the day, Pete jumps in with, "I know a lot about horses. Grew up around them. Recently my mom passed away and the farm was left to me. Only, I don't have the money to start it up again..." Rusty listened intently to Pete's story, which was not too much unlike his own situation, except a `mother', instead of a `father,' "I'm sure you'll be a big help to us." Neal says, "Oh good, we're hiring him?" Rolling his eyes, even though Rusty has known Neal for about a day, "how's the macaroni, done yet, Neal?" He excuses himself, but walking away, Pete follows, sharing, "I was the same. Living on my own, a person learns to fend for themselves real quick!" Neal explains, "the directions say to bring to a rolling boil. It was rolling, but since it was boiling over, I poured some out and added some colder water, so it wouldn't boil over again. Smart, eh?" Not surprised to see Pete has followed him into the kitchen, Rusty asks, "smart thing to do, or not?" "Who me?" Neal asks. "I think he's talking about me," Pete says, walking over and looking over Neal's shoulder. "You should put some salt in the water and some olive oil, if you have it?" Rusty watches, Neal putting the stirrer in Pete's hand, "here, hold this." Rushing over to the refrigerator, Neal whips it open, "oh shit!" They all watch as Neal haphazardly tries catching the fridge door, after falling off the hinge. Pete reacts a fraction of a second before Rusty, running over there. Having `caught' the door, Neal is straining to keep it on it's last hinge, "thanks, guys," he says, Pete taking the brunt of the weight and holding it up. Rusty relieves Neal of his end. "Sorry `bout all this," Neal says. Any stranger could tell, as Rusty feels, "Not your fault, dude. Like, the whole place is falling apart!" They walk the door over to a safe place to set it down. About what Rusty said, anyone could see how downhill the ranch had become, the years taking its toll. Human neglect at fault. Certain areas of the ranch, left unattended, were an accident ready to happen. Squatting down, Pete examines the top hinge, "My best guess is, it's rusted out." Standing, he addresses Rusty with his find, "I could repair it, but it's likely, once one part goes bad, another thing is around the corner, ready to bust." Neal comes over, placing an elbow on Rusty's left shoulder, his other elbow on Pete's right, "so, what do you think we should do about it, doctor?" Pete had turned his head towards Neal. Neal, he was looking down at the fridge door. Rusty says of the doomed refrigerator, "Well, boys, I know what I'm going to be spending Rosa's check on!" "It's not going to cost `that' much, Rusty." Walking forwards, reaching for an item on the inside of the fridge door, Rusty says, "I know that Neal!" Stepping out from under the arch of Neal's elbow, causes Neal to go a little tipsy, Pete catching him, "I gotcha!" Turning his head, Rusty smiles, saying, "good catch, Pete!" Hugging Neal's whole arm, Pete jokes, "I know. Now all we have to figure out, is how Neal is going to show his gratitude!" "Really, Pete?" Rusty lifts himself up from a squat, both arms full of food items. Seeing the truth of the situation, Pete unleashes his grip, "uh, no...I mean, the thought didn't even cross my mind!" Before either of them could react to Pete's unprecedented blurb, their three-way conversation is stifled by the door swinging open, a suited dude, briefcase in hand, busting through. Looking about, the shaggy-haired `suit' asks, "Is this the main office?" There was a check-in, but all the official paperwork was done at Tim's desk, in the main house. "Depends on what your business is," Rusty says, walking over to him. Hastily transferring his briefcase from right, to left hand, he extends it, "I'm Alex Packard. Your attorney sent me over." A little confused, if not dazed, over Alex's bearded face, topped off with a coiffed mass of scraggily hair and deep blue eyes, Rusty acknowledges with a return shake, "Attorney? Would you be Marco, or Maurice?" Shaking, they didn't break eye contact, Alex supplying, "Marco, but he says from now on I'll be reporting to Maurice." Audience to the conversation, Neal and Pete gravitate towards the cabin entrance. Having been served up information on Rusty, by Marco, Alex's got it mixed up, saying to Neal and Pete, "you make a cute couple." Indeed, Alex's had it all wrong! When he had met with Marco, right off the plane from Texas, the jet-lag might have made Alex's perception a little clouded. Marco had mentioned Rusty had a boyfriend, which made Alex sense his gaydar was on and working without a hitch! When Alex did say to Marco, having not said he was `gay', Marco indeed did outright say he had `the gift.' It's not that Marco did not like Alex, but didn't want things to get confusing for his son. After all, Rusty was in between his surrogate father passing away, news of the ranch in the red, only to be bailed out by an investor and then having to face it all, after arriving back from boarding school out east. What Marco did not say anything about, that Rusty's true father was himself! "Oh, we're not a couple," Neal says, moving away from hairy forearms touching each other. "No," Pete jumps in, "you got it all wrong." Though, deep down inside, Pete was thinking things were not `all wrong!' Even though at the moment, Rusty wanted to refute it, he reveals, "no, it's me and Neal," he swishes a finger back and forth. "Oh," Alex says, "I didn't know why I thought..." Then to cover himself, "Hi. I'm Alex Packard." Pete had been in and out of relationships, literally drawn into instant sex, with promises of life-long love interest ambitions. He knew the type, but sometimes made mistakes, thinking a guy was only in it for a quick fuck. Assuming Alex no different, Pete was always on his guard, "nice to meet you." Though, with the handshake Pete didn't feel any connection. The looks, puffy hairdo, the face, too tall for him, the intro was quick, Pete more thinking about Neal. Alex, feeling Pete's hand cold as a dead fish, shakes and withdraws, with a simple, "same here." "Well," Alex clears his throat, turning back to Rusty, "I guess we should get down to business, if you have the time?" Looking to the other two, Rusty says, "we've been trying to pull together some lunch..." Neal steps in, "me'n'Pete, we can take care of lunch, if you need to take care of business, Rusty?" Flipping his head from Neal, to Pete, Rusty says, "if it's okay with Pete?" Pete replies, "Fine with me. I need to see if we can reattach the door, if we want to keep what's fresh, fresh!" It was settled, Rusty leading Alex off to the ranch office, next room ajacent to the kitchen. "Oh wow," Alex says, in an unenthusiastic tone, standing in the doorway, peering inside. Having opened the door, walking in, Rusty is overwhelmed himself by the unorganized decor, "I'll say." Thumbing through a stack of folders, which should have been filed, Alex laments, "I suppose this is why Marco wanted me to start right away." Much mystery surrounded Alex and Marco, Rusty very curious to hear the tale, spun around their lives. However, being things were moving rapidly, some word would remain unspoken, "well, should we get down to business?" With bachelors and masters degrees in business management, graduating with high honors, keeping the books for a high profile attorney, Alex says, "this doesn't look like something I can't handle," though he wasn't saying he could tackle the mountains of paperwork on his own! "Oh," Rusty replies, "then maybe I should go help Neal and Pete with..." Acting out on his emotions, Alex jumps the gun, "No!" Realizing the personal reply, he backs down, "I mean, maybe you should stay," he fabricates, "in case I come across something I don't understand." Right now, Rusty was in turmoil, not understanding, why every time he lay eyes on Alex's adorable face, a bolt of lightning shot down from head to soul, "well sure, if you need me?" Locked eyes, they were both thinking the same thing, which had nothing to do with the stacks of folders piled to their pecs! It seemed like the only thing which could break off them being affixed like magic was an avalanche. It came, in the form of hearing roaring laughter from the kitchen. "Uh, I think we should get to work then," Alex sets his briefcase on the floor, the only visible place and then takes off his suit jacket. Standing there, Rusty wished more than his jacket were coming off, unintentionally saying, "loosen your tie, why don't you?" Realizing his over-speaking and the tone of deliverance, Rusty turns his attention to a folder, "oh, look at this. Lucky me, the first file I open is full of bills!" If they were on the subject of where the money was going, perhaps Rusty would be more downcast, rather than wishing he knew what was under Alex's shirt! "Let me see," Alex indeed had loosened the tie and standing next to Rusty, was undoing the top button of his shirt. Sensing Alex right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, his bicep touching a shirted arm, Rusty did glance up. Maybe hoping for more, he was faced with Alex's cropped chops. Swallowing, out of the anxious moment upon him, he looks down, following Alex's finger along lines of narration. Because he wasn't following what Alex was saying, Rusty asks, "So, what does it all mean?" Flipping through all the bills underneath, Alex had been given a job to do, but not without direction, "what it means is, I have to compile a list of all the bills and present it to Marco...I mean, Maurice and then he'll deal with it." "Deal with it?" Rusty questions, picking a figure out of the sky, "what happens if it totals a million dollars?" `Damn,' Alex thought, Rusty looking so cute, that it caused a disturbance in the force, "Marco says that should not concern you." There again, it had happened, the two face to face. The full frontal assault of the goatee rounding Alex's mouth, lusted Rusty into kissing him, even if a quick-paced peck on the lips. "Oh my!" Alex exclaims. "Sorry," Rusty replies, stepping back, "I guess I just lost control!" Plain-faced, Alex breaks into a grin, saying, "What do you say...the bills can wait?" The door to the office was open. They could hear periodically joking and laughter. It didn't phase the two though, as the pair allowed their lust to run rampant! Alex very well knew why Marco brought up the fact, his son engaged in a friendly relationship with `this boy', not wanting to mix business and pleasure. Though, nothing was said about it, only hinted, which is why, later on, things not bound in official agreement, one might not get any impression at all! Turn of the table, Alex says, after planting a kiss on Rusty's lips, "I guess I shouldn't have done that." Drawing off Alex's explanation, "it's definitely not a bad thing!" They were both feeling it and it wasn't only that second kiss, nor the third! Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Neal and Pete's escapade of clearing out the fridge, they came up with two cans of whipped cream. As a result of the `war,' their clothes were doused with puffs of white, soaked to the bone. "Oops!" Neal says in blaming himself, having tore Pete's shirt right down the middle. "Yeah, right. Like that was not on purpose!" It wasn't on purpose, Pete stripping off Neal's tank top either? Once the shirts came off, they pressed their messy, creamed up bods together and gave each other sloppy kisses! Back in the office, more than Alex's tie came off. Rusty in his tank, it was a snap for Alex to strip it off overhead. Only, he had to stop kissing for an instant. Turning on Alex, with lips glued together, Rusty could only go on feel and touch, finding the center of a shirt and splitting it down the middle, button by button. They didn't even break the kiss, Rusty feeling inside Alex's shirt. His affection for working out, that did it for Rusty, "oh man you're hot!" It made them separate, Alex saying in a joking tone, "oh really? That's all I am to you, is a sixpack and tough titties?!" It made them both laugh! What seemed humorous to both, what really would satisfy their building hunger was to more than touch with hands, though it started out that way. "Oops!" The two stood there frozen, when Rusty's arm sweeps away 5 stacks of file folders. Meaning sex, Alex says of the whole lot cast to the floor, "Now I really have my work cut out for me!" Hands on Alex's belt buckle, Rusty says, "It's only right I should help out!" "By all means," Alex reciprocates. Kissing was the prime activity, while both worked feverishly at unbuckling, pants dropping, each stepping out, then goes the briefs... "Mm-m, mm-m, mm," the 24-year old office administrator coos, sucking in one of Rusty's pecs, making a meal of his nub. Rusty gets a flashback, to how Deputy Jack must've felt! More interested in the growing size of Alex's crotch, Rusty massages cock and stirs up the tennis game. Like a hint, Alex does the same for Rusty. Though, he was quickly losing his taste for nip! As happens with the ignition put to an engine, the scene falls into place, Alex bending over, Rusty rubbing shoulder blades. Bare butt forced up to the side of the table, Rusty leans on both hands. This gave the 19-year old leverage to jerk hips forward, each time Alex took him in or slipped down the pipe. It wasn't working well for Alex, bent in half, licking the hard shaft. It wouldn't be the first time buckling knees sent his caps to the floor, though a knee slips on a file folder, which made him impale himself! He came off, coughing. Rusty's hand already there, patted Alex on the back, "You okay?" After clearing his throat, Alex says, "Only a minor setback," and he was on with it! Fully sucking Rusty's cock, to the back of the throat, this time under his own control, Alex's hand compensated for a hand or mouth on his own thick tube. Not only to keep Rusty hard, which his mouth and tongue were doing the job, it also provided liquor for his own swizzle stick! Not thinking about it, it just happening, Rusty wanted to go deeper. It meant either filling Alex's stomach, or forcing his stomach up, over the edge of the table. A guy can tell if the flow is ready to exit the tip, or time to pull out and sink deep in. Judging no time, Rusty gives one last jolt of his hips, "I'm gonna come!" Poor Alex, he hadn't gotten the gist of it, until Rusty started to flood his mouth. He choked, but the grip on his head kept him from backing off. Though, loving the feel of Rusty's tip at the back of his throat, Alex bear the brunt of the `hell or high water' flooding. Now a total loss, he knew his load was shooting out of his own shaft, probably puddling on the floor. Though, he couldn't look, not with his tonsils impaled! Totally bonked, Alex falls backwards, against a cabinet, goo seeping out, dripping down the hair of his chinny-chin-chin. Taking a hand, he napkins it off. More goo excretes onto his palm. With lost consciousness, his hand glides down the middle of his lightly fuzzy chest, landing in the folds of his stomach, "Oh man, that was just great!" Rusty, in his own world of euphoria, lay down, across the table, legs hanging over the edge. Naturally, his shaft didn't stand straight to the ceiling, but soft, lay there on hairy pubes, in a pile of rubble. He ads his own recollection, "sure was." If knees weren't bent over the edge of the table, he'd be lying there, perfectly eagle-spread, trying to regain consciousness. In the kitchen, Neal and Pete had 69-ed it and were busy cleaning up the cream. % Copyright 2016 T. Chase McPhee "JoLLy RaNCHeRs" and developing segments of this story, may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author, or you will be forced to your knees.