Date: Fri, 14 Jul 2017 12:57:56 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Ashes and Dust 2

See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/rural/ashes-and-dust/) for
warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between related young-adult men. Go away if any of
that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

Cookie sighed through his smile. "I was worried I'd find jeans that'd stay
up on your scrawny frame, Jesse. Well, at least now I know you got sumpin
ta hang 'em on so's they don't droop none. Then again, I may have to let
'em out a fair bit in the manly areas or your voice'll end up higher'n it
is already." I just stood there in speechless, horrified shock. Cookie paid
me no more attention than he paid Pete. He heaved a bundle up onto the bunk
closest to the door. "You'll kip here, across from Pete. Danny's under ya
and don't snore as much as the others. You snore, Jesse?" He looked at me
as if it was natural as rain to have a conversation with a nekkid cowboy
still dripping spunk from another man's handjob. "Well, do ya?"

*****

Ashes and Dust 2: Helping Hands

by Bear Pup

*****

"I. I, uh. I don't think so?"

Pete turned to me holding a towel and frowned. "You ain't never slept in
the same room as someone, have ya?" I hung my head, feeling more stupid and
ignorant each moment, and still mortified by my dripping cock. I just shook
my head. "Hmmph," was Pete's only response and he started to dry me, then
pulled me out of the tub so he could get my legs. When he was well down in
front of me, I couldn't help but look at him as he entered my field of
view. He winked and I flushed even more.

Cookie had taken no nevermind and set a bundle of clothes off to the
side. "Pete, get measurements afore ya get him dressed, okay, and lemme
know? I want to get a couple pairs sewed up tonight. These'll do for
now. Well, welcome to The Star, Jesse. If'n ya get that tongue untied
someday, come and chat. Comp'nies rare in the chuck-house of a summer, and
I lahk ta get ta know the guys." Pete snorted and Cookie sent him a dirty
look afore heading out.

"He' durned sure like ta get ta know at least one parta ya, cowboy. Aw,
relax. You gonna take some ribbing and no mistake. Let's get you measured
up and dressed so's you can stop the blush. You look bout to bleed to death
through yore pores, kid."

It took Pete about ten seconds to get me all measured, top to bottom. Neck,
shoulders, arms, chest, waist, hips, leg inside and out, feet, even. The
one that made me squeak was when he ran the tape from my belly to above the
crack of my ass, making sure to get my cock and balls right in the way. He
did whistle that time which did nothing for my mental state.

He got me in drawers -- a strange kind. Every pair I'd ever seen was
flannel and tight. These were cotton and loose and I durned near purred at
how cool they seemed. Same with the undershirt. The jeans were, like ever
pair I had, too loose at the waist and too tight on my ass, but I just
cinched up the belt in a way I'd'a never done to Gypsy. The shirt was, I
thought, way too big but Pete said to be thankful; I'd need the air in the
Texas heat.

He installed me at the big table and sat next to me, seriousness clear on
his face. "Fore the guys start coming back in, we need to talk, Jesse. I
never thought earlier and I'm a-sorry bout that. You the only boy child in
your family?" I nodded. "I thought as much, and you never room with guys?
Then you need some catching up and quick." I looked at him, half mortified
and half desperate for the info.

"This is a bunkhouse, Jesse. Ain't no women. That means men walk round in
drawers or butt nekkid all the time. They scratch whatever parts itch and
fart and tell dirty jokes and tug what feels good whenever it suits
em. They gets hard and make fun of each other, and that means you. You got
a pecker that's built to draw a crowd, Jesse, and they's gonna make a lot
of jokes about it. You need to get that blush under control or's they gonna
eat you alive. You with me?" I nodded frantically, enough to make it clear
I was anything but 'with him'.

Sigh. "Okay, let's start simple. Bout the first week gonna be about pecker
size. It is with most hands anyway and with you, well, the subject's hard
ta overlook. One'a the hand's gonna make a comment like 'you even got one
at all' or some such, specially since yore a bit scrawny. You go all blushy
and stuttering and they'll smell blood. Dish it back and they'll love
it. Now, I gotta run and get Cookie settled or he'll be all over me, and
not in no good way neither. Go get your saddlebags or bindle or whatever
you brought and get settled. The footlocker to the right's yours, and
whatever space Danny ain't taken in the wardrobe."

With that, my young mentor was gone in a flash. I took perhaps ten minutes
to make the world stop spinning. Too much, too fast -- too much heat, too
much nekkid, too much blushin, to much change, too much fucking Dust. I was
still thrown to hell and back by getting pulled off by Pete and then Cookie
acting like I'd just sneezed or something. I pulled on my boots and headed
out, Gypsy wasn't where I'd left her but the saddlebags were. I grabbed
them and slung em over my shoulder and went in search of my horse.

I found her in the nearer of the barns, eating oats and happy as a clam. I
pulled her into a horse-hug and she gave me an 'aw shucks' toss of her
neck. I loved that horse. I found the tack on the rail and was shocked that
Randy, or someone, had brushed and soaped it as well. I polished of the
saddle soap then spent a good fifteen minutes petting and curry-combing
Gypsy the way she loved and then left her to her oats.

I got everything stored and sorted. Danny was apparently a bit of a
dandy. He had all manner of bright shirts and shiny boots. I only had a
jacket and a coat to hang plus one shirt, so it wasn't a problem. I looked
glumly at the meager goods I put in the locker. A pair of moccasins, some
chaps and gloves. The family Bible that Sally refused to even touch, must
less take. Wax rags, tack kit and horse tools. An old diary, the type that
ties around, with various papers that must'a been important so many years
ago. I read a few pages before bedding down most night the last couple
weeks. Nothing there, really. I closed the lid and tucked the locker under
the bunk.

Just as I did so, I heard spurs clank on the floorboards outside the
door. I frowned. I hated spurs and always had. A man who needed spurs
didn't know how to ride. A man came in beating Dust from his chaps with a
floppy sort of range hat like those I'd seen but never worn. He looked up
at me and there was a gleam.

"Well, what have we here. I'd guess a new ranch hand but I know Randy don't
normally hire kids. Just kidding, pardner. I'm Zeke."

"Jesse." I shook his offered hand, still not over the spurs and not
particularly fond of the kid comment.

"Mosta the crew will be in just afore supper. I was hoping to get some time
with Pete. Danny and I been digging fenceposts and I got Dust in places God
never meant Dust to get."

"I think he's in the kitc-- um, chuck-house. I'll go see. I need to talk to
Cookie anyway."

"Why thank-ee kindly, Jess."

"Jesse."

"Right."

One ranch hand down, five to go and I wasn't terribly impressed. I went
over to the Chuck-house door and heard Cookie's low laugh. I knocked and
went in, the wet heat slapping me but, thanks to the new undies, seeming
less powerful somehow. Pete looked up. He was sitting on a counter next to
where Cookie was chopping something while they chatted and laughed. Pete
noticed me and smiled wider.

"Jesse. Come on in. I was done anyway and needed to get back over. Hands'll
be come back in soon and they'll be a-looking for me."

"Yessir. Zeke's there already. I said I'm mention it."

Cookie chuckled, "Well, ain't no need guessin what'e be wantin, Pete." The
boy sighed deep and scurried off. "So, you a'comin to keep me comp-nee,
Jesse?"

"If'n you don't mind, sir."

"Sir," Cookie rolled the word around in his mouth for a minute, traying the
taste of it. "I ain't nevah been sirred by a white boy with an accent lahk
your'n. What's the story, there?"

Maybe the long run of shocks that day had knocked my tongue (or my senses)
loose. I found I couldn't *not* talk to this big ole black man. "My Da was
a nasty piece of work. Hated, um, well I cain't really use any'a his
words. A man'a your color and all. Funny bit is t'warn't none of those
folks in the Parish, hardly. Hated 'em cuz his pappy tole him to. Fought in
the war not fer pride or country but to keep people in their place -- not
just, well, you, but everbody else as well. And I guess I didn't like the
place he wanted me kept in. He's Ashes & Dust now, or mud at least, and
I'll sir who's I want to. You were polite to me, and I ain't gonna spit
atcha cuz of stuff don't matter none."

Cookie looked at me, grinning strangely, for the longest time. I started to
shuffle a bit, worried I talked my way wrong way round. "Jesse, you and me
gonna get long right fine. You aint' gotta sir me, but you come to Cookie
if'n the boys give you a time. You're a damn sight older'n yore years, and
you gots the respect down right. I done tanned more'n one'a they's asses
when they was new and cocky, and they knows it, too. You get trouble, you
see Cookie." He reached out and ruffled my hair, a gesture I'd never felt
before and love to this day."

"Um, Cookie, I, uh, can I ask some questions? I mean, private, like?"

Cookie had turned back to the veggies, copping and dumping into a big pot
that smelled of heaven. "Nuthin you say in the chuck-house leave the
chuck-house, boy, less'n you take it wit-cha. I'm'a guessin," I could hear
the smile but he didn't turn, "you's got a worry bout what I see'd when
Pete was doing his washin?"

I nodded then realized he weren't looking. "Yes, sir." Even to me my voice
was quiet and small. "I ain't, well, never done, um, nuthin?"

He did look at me then, open incredulous. "You tellin me you ain't never
pulled that pecker afore? You gots a sickness I needin to be knowin bout?"

"NO! I mean, no! I just, uh, never, never um, never with another person,
like." My voice got smaller and younger with everything I said. By 'like',
I was six and had just stuck my finger in one'a Ma's pies.

"Oh. Ooooooooh. Okay, then. Yepper, yore daddy done left you in a bad place
on the learnin and no mistake. Well, first, what y'all did it right as
rain. Lotta ignorant folk don't see that, but's true. A young'un burn with
fire too long without haulin the ashes away and bad things a'gonna
happen. And it's always best to have a hand to hep wit da haulin, don't'cha
think? I mean, you shore did seem to be getting a bit a joy from Pete's
ministration?"

"Yessir," I mumbled.

"T'were anybody but Pete, I'd ask if'n ya forced him or threatened cuz
that's plumb evil, but with Pete, you'd'a had'a forced him not to." He
laughed, deep in his belly, and I felt knots untying. "Pete's lahk a puppy,
Jesse. He's too durned friendly for 'is own good and... hehe, like a puppy,
Pete's a mite too willin to take vantage of a leg to go a'humpin if'n it's
still long nuff.

"And most men, Jesse, most lahk it plenty. You really don't want to, Pete
won't push. But damned, son, you needed it purt bad. I could tell with'n
you jess standin here afore, and Pete would'a smelt it when he washed ya so
strong I doubt ya couldn't stopped him with a pistol. Honest, Jesse, you
sorry it happened?"

"No, sir. Not sorry, exactly. Just... maybe worried? Like, what it means?"

"Well, it mean that the monster pecker you packin knows how to do the job
God made it for, that's what it mean, boy! The thing's got three uses:
piss, pleasure and p'ocreation. You thinkin He'd be sa's'fied with two
outta three?"

I had to smile. "No, sir. I just wondered about the way He might define the
second?"

"Fair nuff, son. Fair nuff. But the Star Cross ranch is the most stable and
most profitable in this valley, son. You think He would let that be if'n He
couldn't abide how the men here get on?"

"Star Cross? I thought it was just 'The Star' though I saw the 'T' in the
middle."

"Taint a 'T', tis a cross, son. And, well, that ain't my story to tell. You
ask Randy or Gary that someday, not right way, but later. After you's
settled. Now you shoo. I gots pies to pull and bread to bake! Now GIT!"

I wandered out and made sure I knew the routes to the outhouse and the
barn. Gypsy told me quite clearly to stop bothering her and get about my
own business just as two dusty men rode in and started the ritual of puttin
up their horses.

These two were Max and Kincaid, a contrast pair. Where Kincaid was thick
and even a little pudgy in spots, Max looked a lot like I might in twenty
years. Thin, whipcord muscles and leathery skin from a life on the range,
but also with a quick smile and dancing eyes. Kincaid's low, rumbly voice
held a long, one-sided conversation with his mount, a chestnut gelding
named Ranger. Max rode Streak, a stunning grullo mare with pale sides and a
wide, blue-black stripe down her spine that matched her mane and tail. I
helped pour the oats then left them to their work and headed back to the
bunkhouse.

Zeke was there, fresh-scrubbed and laying back on his bunk nekkid,
apparently to see how I'd react. I tried my best not to look at all,
apparently not the best choice. Pete was there, as was Danny. I'd been
right. Danny was a dandy, complete with melting pomade under his hat and
double-sized kerchief tied all elaborate. I introduced myself as his
bunkmate and we set to chatting as he got undressed. I kicked off my boots
and set to cleaning off the Dust and grime; I'd polish them afore bed. I
hated going barefoot; always had. I stepped into my moccasins and sighed.

Pete got Danny into the tub and started to wash him. I looked away and
heard Zeke snort. I thought over the glimpse (or more) I'd taken. In a way,
I could understand why Danny was such a Beau Brummell; he had a very pretty
face but was otherwise... completely average. Only a couple inches taller
than me, he looked virtually interchangeable with any farm-, ranch- or
store-hand I'd really ever met.

The bath was efficient and thorough, and I could hear Danny and Pete
muttering to each other. Trying desperately not to look, I could still see
that Pete took plenty of time with the dandy's crotch, but no sign of
jacking him off was in evidence, which made me even more embarrassed. 'Just
part of the service' my ass.

Max and Kincaid came in as Danny was finishing, putting on a pair of
drawers with what looked like embroidery. Dandy Danny indeed. Max and
Kincaid both stripped down, and Kincaid helped Pete dump the tub into a
drain at the corner of the room. The three of the worked together to
shuttle the black kettles from the window ledge to the tub, refill them and
replace them. Kincaid was bathed first and then Max, both getting what I
can only called 'fluffed up' but a smiling Pete, but neither blowing all
over the bunkhouse. I could feel myself getting redder.

I jumped as the floorboard sagged and groaned, turning to find a simple
giant of a man behind me. Nearly a foot taller than me, he was easily
Gary's six-six, and broad as a lumberjack. He turned slightly and crouched
as he came in, as his shoulders were literally an inch wider than the
doorframe. He stood and blinked to get used to the light, his stance wide
and open.

He spotted me and smiled, an expression that utterly transformed the man
from walking terror to a big ole happy bear. He stuck out a massive
paw. "I'm Babe." I expected a voice like the echo in a cave, but it was
more of a sweet baritone, only a little gruff. Kincaid's voice was quite a
bit lower. He took my offered hand in a way that made it clear he was used
to making sure not to crush folks; the power I could feel in those hands
and arms was astounding. "And this is Gabby."

Babe stepped aside and a tall (at least were he not standing in Babe's
shadow), thin man was revealed. He was the oldest of the hands I'd met,
probably approaching fifty. Though I'd never say such a thing out loud,
something in the subtle angles of his face and the set of his rich, knowing
eyes made me think of Crow Nation Indians. I shook his hand and he nodded
at me, but never said a word.

While Max put on a pair of plain drawers, Kincaid tied a sort of loincloth
quickly. It was very small and looked incredibly pleasant in the hot,
stagnant air where covering as little as possible seemed prudent. As both
Babe and Gabby stripped (Gabby taking the tub first), I realized just how
overdressed I was. I stripped down to the cottony drawers, sighing as the
air wicked away the sweat that had already formed.

Gabby's bath was quick and clean. Babe's... not so much. The man was simply
huge. Pete literally used a stepstool to get his hair and shoulders, and
about half the water ended up on the floor since most of the man was wider
than the tub. This time I just couldn't keep from looking. The man was
amazing. Everything I could see -- he was turned away toward the wall the
entire time -- was massive. Ass, shoulders, arms, legs. All of them were
heavy with muscle.

I found myself breathless, almost mesmerized. That broke instantly when he
turned around. He was hard as a rail. In a way, his average cock seemed
insultingly-small on his mammoth frame. Part of me chuckled, wondering if
it got hard in an attempt to look big enough to fit the man. A shocking
CLANG-a-lang rang out and I jumped, but apparently that was the call to
supper. I expected the men to dress, but was more than a bit
surprised. Some didn't even pull on boots! They just walked across the
porch-corner tween the two doors, Zeke and Babe nekkid as jaybirds, like
t'was nuthin!

Cookie was there, still stripped to the waist, but the stoves and ovens
were banked and settling so the air was quickly cooling now that the sun as
set to the west. It was hot, but no longer oppressive as the high
eave-windows did their work, sucking in the cooler evening air and pumping
out the steam. Cookie handed each man a wide bowl/plate with a generous
helping of stew next to mash. Big loaves of steaming bread and tubs of real
butter waited at the long table with spoons, knives, cups and pitchers of
beer and water. I settled in next to Danny and Zeke sat next to me.

The stew was better than any I'd had in weeks. Thick and stuffed with meat
and root veggies as well as (oddly, to me) corn and black-eyes peas. The
bread soaked up all the broth the mashed potatoes missed. I was stuffed by
the end, and several of the guys had gotten seconds to Cookie's beaming
approval.

Gary and Randy were there as well, and I watched the dynamics. Gary was, no
doubt, the ranch boss and Randy the foreman, but they guys acted far more
like a team than anything else. When Babe let loose with a long fart, Randy
was one of several who threw bread at him until Cookie threatened to take
the bread away and not bring out the pies, which instantly quashed the
attack.

The pies were heaven. Wild apples of some sort, so tart that it'a make ya
pucker and blink, in a thick, delicate, flaky crust that made me moan with
delight. That got me a genuine smile from Cookie's deep-black face; it plum
lit up the room.

Zeke's running stream of commentary, most of it ribald and aimed largely at
me, had peppered the meal. At first, it worried me until I saw the rolling
eyes and sighs of the other guys. Finally, as we finished the pies, he
turned with one foot either side of the bench and groped himself. "So, boy,
you ever seen anything like this?" Silence fell as the guys waited to see
how I'd play that.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, ho! And where did you ever see meat like that, huh?"

"Oh, when I was nine or ten, I guess?"

"What, you got a hung uncle? Or you foolin around with the livestock?" That
was apparently a bit too far for the guys and I saw frowns and even a scowl
or two appear. Perfect.

"Oh, no sir! Every day in the mirror." That got a gasp. "But don't you
worry none. I grew quite a bit later when my voice changed and I'm sure you
will too." To roar of laughter shook the chuck-house and Babe looked like
he was about to hurt himself his was doubled over so. Zeke, though, was far
less pleased.

"You got money on that, partner?"

Gary spoke up, "Son, be careful betting with Zeke. He don't bluff."

"I got five bucks," Zeke came back, "Says you cain't come close to me."

I reddened. "I only got three."

"I'll stake you the other two, Jesse." Now, that was Pete. The same Pete
who bathed all the hands in right intimate ways. That shoulda been a
caution, but Zeke just smirked.

"Thank you, Pete. Yes, sir. I'll bet that five."

Zeke stood up and fluffed himself out. I had to say, through my intense
blush, that he had the goods and no mistake. I sighed mournfully and he
crowed, "Show the cards, cowBOY."

I dropped my drawers and used my hand to pry the coiled thing away from my
sweaty balls and the guys surged to look round. "Damn, Zeke. I think you're
out five."

"Yeah, but he's already het up. Ain't getting no bigger hard!"

I smiled and said softly, "But that wasn't the bet, Zeke."

"Well then let's make it the bet, cowBOY."

Gary's low voice rolled out, "That sounded like double-or nuthin. Sound
like that to you, Randy?"

"Yup."

Zeke was trapped now and blustered, "Damn straight!"

I looked up and saw Pete's smile. "Fine." Now, I'd been fighting all day
not to go rock hard and embarrass myself, so while Zeke started tugging I
just closed my eyes and replayed Babe's bath and Pete's handjob.

I heard a soft, "Day-am. Lookee there..." I opened my eyes and looked
down. I wasn't quite at full mast, but there were a good nine, thick inches
standing out and up. Zeke was big, probably close to eight, but nothing
close to me. It was the first time in my entire life that I was proud to
have a monster pecker. Zeke's eyes were wide and his jaw a little slack.

"So's if you'll be kind enough to pay two -- sorry, *four*, since y'all
doubled -- dollars to Pete who staked me, I'd be much obliged, Zeke. I
ain't in no hurry for the rest." I turned but after a day of him razzing
and teasing me, I couldn't resist. "In fact, if'n you want to wait for your
balls to drop and get your growth, you can hold my six 'til then and we can
have a rematch?" I walked out to the hootin, hollerin, screaming mirth of
all but Zeke, and even he had to laugh.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
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