Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2024 19:37:47 -0400
From: patrick@mudcub.com
Subject: The West (Parts 1-3)

The West

by Mudcub

patrick@mudcub.com

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Warning: This story contains a lot of raunch and man sex. If you aren't
interested, consider this to be a warning. This story should only be
interpreted as one man's fantasy, not as a clearance to actually try any
of the unsafe practices here.

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The West (Part 1)

They said you could smell the Duncan boys before you could see `um. And
it wuz a joke, but not rilly a joke. They lived on their own, and I never
known either of them to ever date a woman. Nor ever bathe. That's just
how they were.

Billy, the youngest, owned a "transport business' which pretty much
just meant he had uh wagon and some horses. The oldest was named Ernest,
but everybody called him Pooter, and he was a pig farmer. Together they
were "The Dirty Duncan Brothers", and while they were made some fun of,
they didn't seem to mind and they kept to themselves.

On Monday, I would see Billy come into town in the early morning. He
would pick up food scraps from the various bars and restaurants in town.
Not only did Billy get all the garbage for free, but the restaurants paid
HIM to cart it away, and Billy would load up the wagon with all the
rotting food that hadn't been eaten.

Billy would hit all the places on Monday, because that's when the
garbage piles behind Main Street were full of all the slop from the
tourists and locals that had unfinished dinners over the weekend. The
food had been fermenting since the PREVIOUS Monday when Billy stopped by.
But between a shovel and a lot of elbow grease, Billy wuld fill that
wagon completely up to the edges, and bring it back to the pig farm for
Pooter.

That's why Billy came in the early morning, `cause it stank to high
heaven since he wuz done. But that doesn't compare to TUESDAY, when
Billy *and* Pooter would come into town in the mornin, even earlier than
the day before. That's becuze they worked Tuesday as "night soil men".

That's a term you don't hear much anymore, but it's the men who would
empty out the outhouses that ran next to Main Street along both sides of
the parallel street that ran behind all the stores and shops and whatnot.
Every bar, saloon, hotel, house, or whatever had a privy out back, and
they all needed to be emptied on a regular basis, or they really start to
reek.


Billy's wagon was well-built, and had tight sides you couldn't even put
a quarter into. Plus, the inside of the wagon was all patched with tar...
totally back and waterproof. Enuf to hold barrels and barrels of shit and
piss that the two brothers would haul out from the pits and holes that
were dug behind all those houses and such.

I should have known when I was a boy that I was kinky. I would wake up in
the early morning, even before paw, who used to pride himself on being
ready to work before the sun rose. But I would slip a pair of jeans  and
boots on over my long-handle underwear and go out back to see the Duncan
boys come into town. I would see them take turns: one of them sitting on
the wagon, quieting the horses, while the other one dropped a bucket on a
rope into the hole of each outhouse, scooping out the contents.

I liked the sound of it: the horses whinnying in the cold, and the splash
at the bucket dropped into our outhouse hole -- the same hole that
yesterday I had dropped a load in myself. Billy would slosh the bucket
around, and haul it out, dripping, and then slosh it into the wagon with
one beefy arm liftin it over his head.

Of course, this work was messy, and by the end of the morning Billy (or
Pooter) were both drenched head to toe with the town's effluence. But
neither of them seems to mind. It took several hours for them to hit all
the outhouses, and sometimes people in town complained about the stink
they raised. But I think all the townsfolk were happy for the service
they provided.

See, this is why I think the Duncan boys were smart: they got paid by the
city to haul all the shit and piss away, but they also charged local
farmers to fertilize their crops. I know, things were different back
then, but people didn't think twice that their own shit what being sold
back to them to grow the crop they would eventually eat. That's just the
way things were.

Wednesdays, Billy would come back into town for everything else: all the
trash and old furniture, and refuse that nobody wanted. Again, Billy and
Pooter charged a good but not extravagant fee to haul things away. People
were just happy the stuff was gone. There was a dump a ways outside town
that was more of a an old salt pit that nobody was using, and the boys
would empty the cart into that.

But Thursday was my favorite day, because that's where I come into the
story. By this time, Paw and died and Maw had run off to never be seen
again. I was living with my Uncle. He and my paw had bought a stable at
the end of town, and we charged all the visitors to stable their horses.
Back even beyond the side street, there was a huge pasture, and we would
hold all the sheep and cattle and goats that were coming to market.

I always said that my daddy was a farrier, and HIS daddy was a farrier,
and HIS daddy was a farrier, so it was no surprise that I was a farrier
too. I had a small smithy next to the stables on main street, and I would
do blackwork and mend thangs with metal and what not. Whatever needed
doing. I only had my paw's tools, and I was nowhere as good as my daddy
(or my grandfather, who was the best smith I ever met), but they taught
me everything I knew, and I was making enough money.

Everybody always asked me, "When would I find a wife?" But if yer
reading this, I think you know: I wasn't lookin' in that direction.
While all the other boys were courtin girls and getting into trouble and
getting them pregnant, I was waking up early in the morning to git a look
at the Duncan boys stirring up shit in their dirty coveralls.

Ok, that's not true: only Billy wore coveralls. Dirty, filthy coveralls,
that I think were hickory stripe at one time, but had turnd brown from
all the wear. By the look, you could tell they'd never been mended, and
by the stink, you could tell they'd never bin warshed. Billy was six
foot and muscular, ginger bearded and tousled long hair, but I could
never tell if he ever wore nothing under those coveralls. He would always
be scratchin his balls, and it would git me to wonderin, and git me a
little hard.

But Pooter was the big boy in the family, both older and heavier. Bald as
a cueball on top, he made up for it with a big black beard that hung
almost to his waist. He always wore overalls, the kind with straps,
though usually one strap wuz busted, and then other other barely holdin
on.

That's `cause Pooter was at least 300 pound if'n wuz an ounce, and he
rarely wore a shirt under those overalls. I would see the huge bush of
hair peeking out from under his arms as he sat on the wagon with the
rein. There wuz hair sproutin over his chest all the way up his neck into
his beard. Even his back hair had hair on it, big fuzzy shoulders that
looked like some kind of wild animal rug was on his back.

So Thursday, I wuz tellin you about Thursday. That was the day that the
Dirty Duncan brothers came to the stable ever week and hauled off our
"midden". Or for you city folk, the shit pile. On a good week, we would
house a dozen horses for the people that were staying in town. For
festivals or auctions, there might be a hundred horses and cattle in the
back pasture. And all those animals made a HELL of a lot of manure. I
should know, because since I was a boy, it was my job to shovel it all
into a pile that the Duncan's would pick up.

The Duncan's used it as fertilizer, mixed with the human shit they got
from town. And the pig shit from Pooter's farm. It takes a smart kind of
wizardry to blend it all together so it's not too acidic and doesn't
burn the crops. That's why they liked the PH-neutral horse shit that we
had mixed with the straw. It was a natural buffer, and they didn't
charge very much to do the hauling.

Still, it was a real valuable service to us, so I always made sure I woke
up really early on Thursday mornings to help Billy (sometimes Pooter)
load up their cart with all our manure. Ok, ok, I have to admit, I
didn't just wake up early to be nice. I had other interests. If you know
what I mean.

Damn, some Wednesday nights, I could hardly sleep but thing about those
two lugs coming onto our property the next morning. I would jack off, and
sometimes that would help. But a few times, I would just stay up all
night. I wouldn't be a lick of use the next day, but I would stay up
edging my hard dick for HOURS, thinking bout Billy and what he stunk
like. I always made sure the manure pile was contained and neat, and
ready for pick up, even if it took me hours the day before.

Even if I couldn't smell Billy comin, I could sure HEAR him. They had
bells on the two Clydesdales that hauled the huge wagon, and beside, most
people didn't some up the back road to our property. Usually, people
stuck to the main road. But we had a little cottage behind the smithy and
that's where a slept, and on a cool night, I would keep my window open
so I could hear Billy coming a mile away with them bells.

I jumped out of bed. I had bin asleep, but still had a huge hardon. I wuz
wearin my red flannels which I always wear. I rarely take them off, even
when my Uncle sez that my scent is "getting kinda high". I know with
the work I do I sweat and piss in that union suit to the point that it's
soaked anyway on a hot sommer's day. And as far as I can tell, that's
as good as rinsing them with water, as far as I kin tell.

So I pull on a work shirt and my dungarees. And my work boots that are
still coated in horseshit from the day before. I don't warsh my boots,
but I do put on a new pair of socks every month. I wanted to look nice
for Billy that morning, even though I knew he didn't care.

I wuz standing outside by the manure pile when Billy pulled up the side
road. I smiled at him, but he just looked down at me from the tall wagon
and just grunted.

"Nice morning, isn't it?" I said. Goddam, why did I say that? That
just sounded stupid. Plus, I didn't want to talk too loud, because my
Uncle was in the cabin afar ways away in the back pasture. My Uncle Ron
was more of a rancher than a farrier or horseman, and left me alone to
take care of the stables and smithy.

Billy just grunted at me. I noticed he wuz wearin his usual coveralls. He
turned around in his seat and stuck his big ass out to climb down from
the wagon.

I held my arms out like I would help him. But there was no need. Anyway,
there was no way I coulda caught him or held onto him if he fell anyways:
he weighed twice as much as I did nearabouts. I noticed Billy's HUGE
hobnail boots as he plopped down off the running board. The guy's feet
were huge, a big as his shoulders.

"It's over here," I stammered. Again, I felt stupid, `cause of course
Billy knew where our shitpile wuz... he'd only bin doin it the last ten
years. I held out my pitchfork for him to take, but of course he had hiz
own in the back of the wagon. And together, we started shoveling the
horseshit into the back.

Or I should say, Billy did most of the shoveling. For every small
pitchfork of mine, Billy would take two huge heaping mounds of manure. He
seemed to work twice as fast as me. But he didn't seem to mind. I liked
standing on the opposite side of the pile from him, pitching my
shovelfuls to the left over my shoulder. Not as quite as high as his,
though.

Dammit, I still had a hardon. Oh to be twenty again. I swear I could
SMELL Billy from over the other side of the pile. Even with all the coal
and shit and everything you get in a paddock, I would sniff occasionally
as I was working, and I swear I could smell his pitstink.

It's like a spice, I swear it is. Like is the seamen of old went to the
far reaches of the seven seas and brough back frankincense and myrrh
(whatever they were) and fermented oils and grease, that's what Billy
stunk like. Not in a bad way... I'm not saying anything bad. But like
FOREIGN, you know? Like something forbidden, his armpits and sweat
stirring up salty hot smells like an animal musk. Like something buried
that had just been uncovered like a treasure, or something secret.

I swear I almost came in my jeans a few times just being near the man.
Luckily, there wasn't much to pitch that morning, and with two hands,
Billy's cart was soon fully loaded. Billy pulled off his hat and wiped
his brow with the back of a sweaty hand. It still wasn't quite daylight
-- I can't imagine how much sweat the man works up in the heat of noon.
But he threw his pitchfork into the back of the cart, and turned to me.

He didn't say nothin for a long time. I looked at the sweat dripping
down his flanks, soakin up the sides of his overalls. I looked down at
the ground. Billy stuck his hand out, and huge dirty fist that was coated
in blisters and blood and manure. I stuck out my hand to shake it, and I
grabbed Billy's hand, noticing that it was twice as big as mine, like
trying to grab a dinner plate sideways.

Billy stood at me for a minute, saying nothing. We were just hand-in-hand
for a full minute. Billy was looking at me strangely. Then he dropped my
hand, and then took off his hat and scritched the back of his head. He
stuck his hand out again... this time palm up.

Oh fuck. The guy didn't want to shake my hand. This was the universal
signal for "pay me the money you owe me for hauling away your shit." I
felt humiliated. I thought there was... a moment. Instead, I stammered,
"Oh!" and dug in the pocket of my Levis. My Uncle had given me the
money yesterday to pay the man. I hauled out a damp five dollar bill and
held it out to Billy.

Billy took it, but then paused, still looking at me strangely. Then he
turned away and muttered something like, "Thanks" or "Ok" but ended
up sounding like "Ummmphhhn". Then he climbed up on top of his wagon
and drove the horses away.

And that's all the communication Billy and I had that day. I went back
inside the old cottage I used to share with my pa and went back to bed.
Ok, I admit, I jacked off three or four times thinking of Billy. But I
eventually fell asleep again, to get some rest before I had to do my
chores.

So, that was the routine Monday to Thursday: Billy and Pooter hauled away
food scraps, then shit, then garbage, then manure.  You might ask, "
What did Billy do on Friday?" That's when he came into town and made
sure he collected all the money he and Pooter were due. And then Billy
drank hisself blind drunk.

The West (Part 2)

There's a saloon across Main Street, directly across from our stables.
It's not the GOOD saloon... there's a much better drink establishment
afar into town. But that first saloon is for the guys who caint wait. It
doesn't even have a name... it's just "The Saloon", and usually
townsfolk speak of it with a snooty tone in their voice when they say it.

And that's why our stables are right where they are:; at the end of town
right across from the saloon. The way it (usually) works is that on
Friday nights, the farmers and ranchers and cowboys and other riffraff
ride as fast as they can into town with their week's pay. They dump
their steeds off at the stables as fast as they can. Leaving me to sort
and tend to their creatures as fast as I can before the afternoon rush is
over. Then, the recently-paid working men run over to the saloon and
start drinking as fast as they can -- as much as they can.

I have to feed and water and curry the animals. There are only a dozen
stalls off of Main Street, so the rest of the horses go into the back
pasture, and it takes me a while to lead them back there and git back.
Plus, I have to collect all the cowboy's money because sometimes they
forget to pay me the next morning. And by "forget", I mean, "They
drunk all their pay and now they don't have nothing to get their hoss
with," kind of forgetting.

So, when things calm down, I seen what happens. I kin hear the hootin and
hollerin comin from the saloon. Ever if I never bin in it myself. Yeah
that's right -- I live right across the street, and I ain't never been.
I can't explain now, but let's just say alcohol and my family have
never gotten along. Plus, my Uncle would whup me if I ever stepped foot
in there. I think he's given the barkeep explicit orders to never let me
in.

And that's another thing -- there's two more men in town that the
barkeep has decided to never let into his bar. And that's the Dirty
Duncan brothers. And it's all just because of the smell. Even the Duncan
bros know they're not fit for regular company, specially in tight
quarters.

So, you may ask, how does Dirty Billy drink away all his earning on a
Friday night if he's not allowed inside the bar? Well, there's an alley
outside the bar, and that's where all the cowboys go out and piss
between bottles. Or, they do something else.

`Cause for years I've seen this dance: guys go out to the alley, and
then they come back pulling their pants up and fixin their belts like
they've had their pants pulled down. And then later some other guys come
walking warily out of the back alley, and they've got muddy  pants like
they've bin kneeling in the mud and piss outside the saloon. And it
doesn't take anyone a lot of imagination to figger out whut they bin
doin.

I'd see Billy go to the dark back alley. And someone would reach an arm
out the back door with a bottle, and Billy would hand some money back.
And that's how Billy would get a drink without having to go inside. I'd
see groups of men standing in a circle outside in the shadow of the
alley. Sometimes, it looked like one guy would be in the middle of `em.
I'd see guys talkin, guys laughing. Sometimes a fight. You'd see
rougher guys stumble into Main Street covered in blood from a punch. Or
covered in water like someone pissed on em.

I knew about this ever since before my dad died. He would often stay up
on a Friday night, but tell me to go on to bed. I'd "go to bed" but
figgered out I could stand on my bed in the cottage and still see out the
window above the front door, the "transom" we'd open up in the summer
to let the cool night breeze in. I could barely see what was going on,
but my paw would go over to the saloon.

Sometimes, he would bring back a cowboy that was in a bad state of
drunkenness. Paw always kept the smallest stable clean, and full of
straw. Sometimes on I the morning, I would go out to do my early chores,
and find a dusty and dirty cowboy sleeping it off on a straw pile in the
far stall.

And that's how I learnt to suck dick. There were a lot of drunk cowboys
comin' thru town, and I earned some money doin it too.

The West (Part 3)

I woke up at "false dawn". That's my favorite time of day -- it's
still cool from the night breezes, but you can start to see things around
the stables. The sun hasn't risin yet, but is bouncing off the clouds
and atmosphere, giving everthing an unearthly glow. If I'm feeling good,
I can jump out of bed, step into my dirty overalls with just my red union
suit underneath, and find a not-too-dirty work shirt to put on. Then my
stinking socks and boots, and I'm ready to go. And I can do all of this
before the crack of the sun rises above the horizon and starts the true
dawn.

But this morning I am yawning and scratching myself. I've got a huge
hardon that even a morning piss cain't cure. I'm walking to the
outhouse when I see something in the far stable.

I think it's a stack of goods, or maybe a load of bricks -- it looks
like a dark pile of garbage heaped in the corner of the dirty stall.
Sometimes Uncle gits stuff delivered, and if there's nobody to receive
the mail, often the delivery guy drops it somewhere. I thought this was
that.

But then the large mound snore, and I saw a man roll over. It was Billy.

I duno why Billy was sleeping in the mud. We had cleaner stalls nearby,
and there was that pile of straw for guys to sleep on, but Billy had
plopped hisself down in the middle of a puddle like he was a prize hog.
And he as big enuf to be one too.

Billy wuz still snoring so I let him be. Plus I had morning chores to do.
I watred and fed the few horses we were boarding, and go things together
for the rest of the day. But I couldn't help mysself to walk by the
stall once or twice and take a look at Billy.

The guy was propped up sideways against a straw bale, his hat halfway
across his face. Billy was wearin an old leather coat over his coveralls,
which looked kind of funny, like he was trying to be formal and workin
clothes at the same time. The entire backside was soaked in mud from the
puddle, which I bet was mostly manure and horsepiss, too. Worse, it
looked like Billy had pissed himself during the night -- the was a huge
wet stain all over the front of his coveralls, soaking down into the
ground below him.

I turned away, but I had an erection that wuz hard as ever. I thought
maybe I could go back to bed to jack off, but I was already filthy from
the morning work and my sheets were dirty enough already. I rubbed my
hard cock through my work overalls with work gloves on.

I heard a low cough behind me.

"You gotta problem?"

I spun around. Billy was still in the same position, but now he, too, was
rubbing the front of his pants. I could see a bulge there through the big
piss stain.

"N- - no, sir," I stammered.

"Look to me," Billy said looking at my crotch, "like you got a
problem."

Billy kicked his feet out, smushing his ass into the manure below him.
With one hand, he fished his dick out through a cut in the front of his
pants. It looked like his coveralls had a button fly at one time, but
either the buttons ripped off from hard work, or they rotted away, but
all that was left was a big flap that hung open.

Billy's cock was awesome. It was thick as a railroad spike, and kinda
pointed at the head like one too. Well, I didn't need a second
invitation! I went down on my knees in front of the sleepy man, and my
knees sunk into the mud and manure. And when I say "sunk", I mean it...
my kneecaps went down right into four to six inches of muck. This wuz
gonna git REAL messy.

I actually don't like it when guys grab at my cock right away -- so I
try not to do it to other guys, too. Instead, I have a trick... with one
motion, I bent my head down over Billy's prick, but I didn't touch it.
Instead, I just kept my mouth wide open and surrounded his dick with my
mouth, going down all the way to the root, if that makes any sense.

So, what Billy expected wuz prolly a nice nice wet hole. But instead with
the way I dun it, Billy could only feel my lips locked around the base of
his furry shaft, with the tip of his dick starting to go down my throat.
Then I just held him there.

This is frustrating for a guy, but that's the point. I wanted Billy as
riled up ad horny as a stud horse that's held inches away from a mare's
pussy. I just tightened my lips on the shaft of Billy's cock, and
didn't move. I soon got the reaction, I wanted.


"Oh, FUCK," roared Billy. He put one is his big dirty paws on the back
of my head, and tried to push my head down. But I kept my mouth open
inside (if you kin picture that), and I felt the tip of Bily's dick
start to slide down my throat. It mite make another man puke or gag, but
I was good at it and just held still as I could.

Billy started panting, and I could feel the tip of Billy's cock start
pulsing. His dick was getting harder and harder with each heartbeat. We
stayed that way for a minute, not doin' anything.

With my nose buried way down, I could smell the rankness of Billy's
crotch. The guy certainly pissed hisself sometime during the night, it
was all like ammonia and musk down there. Or maybe that was the smell
coming from his coveralls... Billy didn't ear nuthin' underneath them.
No underwear or union suit or fuck all. And he shure as shit didn't
warsh em.

I took off my work gloves and  put my hands down into the mud between
Billy's legs. It was weird to feel all that filth between my fingers,
but I raised myself up a little, and then I used suction to try and put
pressure on Billy's shaft all at once. I tried to make my mouth and
throat into a pussy, just squeezing Billy as hard as I could. I went all
the way down as far as I could, burying my nose into the red bush of
Billy's public hair.

Then, with all the spit and suction I could muster, I lifted my head up,
trying to suck Billy's cock as hard as I could. Of course, at this the
stud started to bellow. He tried to sit up a bit in the slop, but I
reversed my action and slid back down his dick again, trying to give it
as much pressure as possible.

I dunno why I did it like this -- I just felt like it. Billy didn't seem
to mind. I went faster, pulling off and then slamming down like an oil
rig. I could feel how hard Billy was getting, there wusn't any bend in
his dick at all now, and I shoved all eight inched down my throat as far
as I could.

Billy started to try and lift his body upwards to buck into me and fuck
me like a filly. I kept suckin on him hard as I could, and we built up a
rhythm. Him poundin my mouth like a pussy, and me smashin my face into
his crotch.

I reached in with one mud-covered hand, and pulled out Billy's balls
from the rip in his coveralls. Billy's balls weren't big, but they were
covered in red pubes. Some of the hair wuz getting' in my mouth as I
sucked... the guy was as hairy as a bear. I propped myself up with one
hand and squeezed Billy's balls with the other. I didn't worry about
being to rough. I liked to see how far I could pull on `em. It felt good
to stretch his sack while I sucked on his dick, and it made the whole
thing really long and hard.

Billy wuz just sayin, "Oh god oh god oh god." He put both of his hands
on the top of my head, and seemed to like guiding how fast I wuz sucking.
With every stroke, he pushed down harders, and I it started to git into
that range where I coulda started to gag a bit, but I wuz so into it I
just rode it as best as I could. I think Billy wuz precummin, cause my
whole throat was slick and I had to swaller a lot like there was spit in
my mouth. But I didn't release the seal I had on the base of his dick. I
wanted all that cum that was afforded me!

I reached with my free hand UNDER Billy's balls, and rubbed his taint
and the area right back there behind his balls. And that's when I felt
it. The bear had shit hisself! There was a huge mass of crap lodged
between his cheeks and my finger disappeared into it like I was poking it
into a mud ball. I wiggled my finger around and eventually found his
asshole. I stuck the first knuckle of my forefinger up his hole, and his
hole clenched back onto me like it was saying, "hello".

Thank god Billy didn't mind a little hole action. And if he knew
anything about the state of his seat, he didn't say anything. Now, when
ranching, you get yer hands into all sorts of nasty stuff -- farm animals
aren't too particular on where they do their business, so I didn't mind
getting my fist durty. I was too turned on to stop. Instead, I pressed my
finger deeper into Billy's hole, and soon, two then three fingers were
part way up in there, with the whole back of my hand smushed into a huge
pile of Billy's shit.

Now, this is how I like to get blown, and it seemed like Billy liked it
that way too -- I call it the "washing machine". I pulled up off'n his
dick and sat up a bit. Instead of a blowjob, I took my messy hand that
had been proppin me up and I started jacking off Billy with a huge
fistful of mud and horseshit. My other hand kept turning to the left and
the right trying to git into Billy's ass.

I think it's like heaven like this. You feel yer asshole just stirred
up, the feller's fist just moving in circels til yer asshole just can't
take any more and give way to open up real wide. Meanwhile, yer dick is
getting the "washing machine" movement too with a shit-covered hand
just squeezing and moving both up and down but also round and round. I
kin do it so both hands go in the same motion, or sometime it drives a
guy crazy to get them out of sync and he doesn't know when his ass is
getting' plunged or he's bout to shoot off.

Billy wuzn't sayin anything any more, and he wasn't breathing regular
neither, so I knew it was bout time. I think the muck I was jackin him
off with felt way different than my mouth, there wuz tiny stones from the
mud and grass and hay from the horse manure, so I bet it was rough. It
looked like a thick porridge, and stunk like... well, horseshit.

But I didn't care. I brought things to a "climax" (see whut I did
there?) by pulling my hand quickly off Billy's dick and then I shoved my
hand as hard as I could up his ass, making his hole "pop" a but as I
got my hole fist up there. And at the same time, I used my mouth again,
and sucked his he pecker that was now covered in barnyard slop.

This did it. Billy yelled so the neighbors could hear. A loud groan from
his gut that I could feel the vibrations from through my head that was
connected to his dick. At the same time, I felt Billy's pecker start to
shoot -- big pulses of ropy cum. I soon had a mouthful of horseshit, mud,
and semen all rolling around my tongue. And I felt Billy's ass clench
down on my wrist... I could feel the spasm as his prostate kept clenching.
His hole was trying to suck my fist up farthr into isself, but at the
same time trying to shit me out. I bet it felt good. Or painful. Or
something. Billy sure hollerd.

I got four or five more squirts of Billy's cum, so I stoped suckin. I'm
not one of those guys that keeps rubbin' ya long after you shoot. I
think that's kinda mean. Billy looked like he wuz doing sit-ups. He
would clench down in orgasm, raising his muddy boots and head off the
ground, and then slam them down again, like his big ol boots were tryin
to find purchase. He wuz a real physical cummer, and humped my face like
we wu tryin to breed me.

Finally, Billy sank back into the mud like he wuz gonna fall asleep
again. So, I stood up before him. I hand to wipe off my chin with the
back of my filthy hand, so much cum wuz dripping out of my shit-covered
lips. My hands were black up to my elbows from the mud we were wallowin'
in. My face was covered in manure and cum, and my knees and lower legs
were a wreck. But that wuz nothin' compared to Billy, who was soaked in
horse juices all over the back half of him.

But he struggled to his feet, dripping shit everywhere, and pulled his
leather jacket into place. He stood in front of me, a little unsteadily,
and tucked his dripping dirty whanger back into his pants. He looked at
me through a squint like it was the first time he had ever seen me. He
didn't say anything for a bit, like he wuz thinkin.

"Pooter sent me to git ya." Billy finally said. I think it was the
first words he said to me that mornin.

"Cart's broke. Bring an axle."

Billy turned and walked away. That's all he said. I guess I had extra
new job I had to do that day. I wiped myself off as best as I could with
my hands before I went into the barn, and I found a scrap of board and
pencil to write with. I wrote a note.

GON WITH DIRTY DUNCAN THERE CART BROKE

I propped the sign up against the door to the barn where Uncle Ron would
see it, and then I went to see what the problem was