[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"Here," he said, "take it. Get out. And forget this ever happened."
McCormack's cockhead had retreated into its long foreskin. He had a pretty nice-looking dick.
Not as big as Harry's kind of small, actually but suckable.
"How about I go down on you?" Harry asked. "To show no hard feelings?"
"Go on. Take this and get the hell out."
McCormack watched as the hustler stripped in reverse. Too bad things had to end this way. He
was a good-looking kid. And a real cowboy, too, or at least so he said. Oh, well, these things
happened sometimes. He poured himself another drink, not offering Brett one.
When the hustler was fully dressed, he stood there for a minute like he was expecting something,
like maybe free tickets to his next show.
"Go on," Craig said between sips, "get out. And don't forget your hat."
Jesus, what was that? For a weird minute, Harry thought Craig McCormack was going to cry. But
no, it was just that his face was all flushed with liquor. Probably.
Oh, well, he'd gotten paid, no problem. More than he'd expected, actually, though whether that
was intentional, he had no idea.
And now he could take a cab home, take this shit off, get some rest.
The hotel lobby was near empty when he left, and nobody gave him a second glance.
Outside the hotel window, most of L.A. was asleep. McCor-mack watched the cowboy go,
switched on the radio, then turned it off again. He stripped down, turned off the lights, and
crawled into bed.
He inhaled deeply. He could still smell the scent of the boy's asshole. He reached down and
stroked his hardening cock. It was a comforting feeling, the touch of his own hand sliding the
foreskin back and forth, back and forth. He thought of the way Brett's asshole looked, the way it
had tasted when it yielded to his tongue. Back and forth, back and forth. He said it aloud: "I want
to eat ass." His cock was hard as a rock now, close to coming. His tongue against the boy's soft
insides. Horsie. The spotlight. Him walking home from high school with Brett, almost getting up
the courage to tell him how he felt but then the moment had passed. The roar of his fans. Brett's
dick. Hard cock, hairy ass, pink hole. He came then, not so much squirting as oozing cum, a big
sopping handful. Ordinarily he wiped off with a Kleenex. But he just brought his wet hand to his
mouth, his cum's saltiness joining the lingering scent of Brett's ass, and licked his palm clean.
Brett. He was drunk, exhausted, nearly asleep. Brett.
Sometimes he wished...
Sometimes he wished...
WESTON'S SPREAD
Jude Gray
Alex Weston's hazel eyes swept across the wide-open land stretching outside his kitchen window,
and he shivered in the cold October morning. He had just added wood to the kitchen stove, so it
would be some time before the room warmed up. As he turned from the window, he put on a pot
of coffee and crossed bare arms over his hairy chest. He moved around the cold kitchen, getting
breakfast organized and slapping his arms as he struggled to wake up. Being cold and naked was
the best way he knew to fully awaken himself each day. Most mornings he woke up in his huge,
warm bed with a painful hard-on begging to be drained of piss and his hot, sticky seed. To keep
himself from lingering in bed, he had taken to masturbating in the outhouse after relieving his
bulging bladder. By sitting in the stink and cold of the outhouse to release his pent-up hormones
rather than the comfort of his bed he wasn't tempted to tarry too long and waste the daylight.
On this morning, with the lightest touch of frost on the ground, Alex stood with his butt
dangerously close to the stove as he warmed his bare backside. He blew a stray lock of wavy dark
hair off his forehead and decided it was time to get moving.
Just more than a year ago Alex's grandfather had passed on and willed the entire ranch, what
everyone in these parts knew as Weston's Spread, to his unwed, twenty-four-year-old grandson,
his only surviving family. Alex's grandfather had raised him, as he'd lost his parents and two
younger siblings to disease years ago. When his grandfather had released his final breath, Alex
felt something break within him. He was alone for good now, no one to turn to for help with the
ranch or to talk with when the sun fell behind the foothills and the long, dark night took the open
land.
Shaking his head to clear away his negative thoughts, Alex took a deep breath and burst out of the
warming kitchen into the brisk air.
"Yikes!" he cried, his balls pulling up and his hard-on quickly retreating at the rude slap of cold
air. He dashed to the outhouse and jumped inside, slamming the door behind him. He stood
before the smooth, wooden seat and released a long, steady stream of piss into the dank, wet
depths.
When Alex had finished, he turned to sit on the seat and took himself in his hand, stroking his
member back to life. His cock unfurled slowly, reluctant to expose itself to the cold. He closed his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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"Here," he said, "take it. Get out. And forget this ever happened."
McCormack's cockhead had retreated into its long foreskin. He had a pretty nice-looking dick.
Not as big as Harry's kind of small, actually but suckable.
"How about I go down on you?" Harry asked. "To show no hard feelings?"
"Go on. Take this and get the hell out."
McCormack watched as the hustler stripped in reverse. Too bad things had to end this way. He
was a good-looking kid. And a real cowboy, too, or at least so he said. Oh, well, these things
happened sometimes. He poured himself another drink, not offering Brett one.
When the hustler was fully dressed, he stood there for a minute like he was expecting something,
like maybe free tickets to his next show.
"Go on," Craig said between sips, "get out. And don't forget your hat."
Jesus, what was that? For a weird minute, Harry thought Craig McCormack was going to cry. But
no, it was just that his face was all flushed with liquor. Probably.
Oh, well, he'd gotten paid, no problem. More than he'd expected, actually, though whether that
was intentional, he had no idea.
And now he could take a cab home, take this shit off, get some rest.
The hotel lobby was near empty when he left, and nobody gave him a second glance.
Outside the hotel window, most of L.A. was asleep. McCor-mack watched the cowboy go,
switched on the radio, then turned it off again. He stripped down, turned off the lights, and
crawled into bed.
He inhaled deeply. He could still smell the scent of the boy's asshole. He reached down and
stroked his hardening cock. It was a comforting feeling, the touch of his own hand sliding the
foreskin back and forth, back and forth. He thought of the way Brett's asshole looked, the way it
had tasted when it yielded to his tongue. Back and forth, back and forth. He said it aloud: "I want
to eat ass." His cock was hard as a rock now, close to coming. His tongue against the boy's soft
insides. Horsie. The spotlight. Him walking home from high school with Brett, almost getting up
the courage to tell him how he felt but then the moment had passed. The roar of his fans. Brett's
dick. Hard cock, hairy ass, pink hole. He came then, not so much squirting as oozing cum, a big
sopping handful. Ordinarily he wiped off with a Kleenex. But he just brought his wet hand to his
mouth, his cum's saltiness joining the lingering scent of Brett's ass, and licked his palm clean.
Brett. He was drunk, exhausted, nearly asleep. Brett.
Sometimes he wished...
Sometimes he wished...
WESTON'S SPREAD
Jude Gray
Alex Weston's hazel eyes swept across the wide-open land stretching outside his kitchen window,
and he shivered in the cold October morning. He had just added wood to the kitchen stove, so it
would be some time before the room warmed up. As he turned from the window, he put on a pot
of coffee and crossed bare arms over his hairy chest. He moved around the cold kitchen, getting
breakfast organized and slapping his arms as he struggled to wake up. Being cold and naked was
the best way he knew to fully awaken himself each day. Most mornings he woke up in his huge,
warm bed with a painful hard-on begging to be drained of piss and his hot, sticky seed. To keep
himself from lingering in bed, he had taken to masturbating in the outhouse after relieving his
bulging bladder. By sitting in the stink and cold of the outhouse to release his pent-up hormones
rather than the comfort of his bed he wasn't tempted to tarry too long and waste the daylight.
On this morning, with the lightest touch of frost on the ground, Alex stood with his butt
dangerously close to the stove as he warmed his bare backside. He blew a stray lock of wavy dark
hair off his forehead and decided it was time to get moving.
Just more than a year ago Alex's grandfather had passed on and willed the entire ranch, what
everyone in these parts knew as Weston's Spread, to his unwed, twenty-four-year-old grandson,
his only surviving family. Alex's grandfather had raised him, as he'd lost his parents and two
younger siblings to disease years ago. When his grandfather had released his final breath, Alex
felt something break within him. He was alone for good now, no one to turn to for help with the
ranch or to talk with when the sun fell behind the foothills and the long, dark night took the open
land.
Shaking his head to clear away his negative thoughts, Alex took a deep breath and burst out of the
warming kitchen into the brisk air.
"Yikes!" he cried, his balls pulling up and his hard-on quickly retreating at the rude slap of cold
air. He dashed to the outhouse and jumped inside, slamming the door behind him. He stood
before the smooth, wooden seat and released a long, steady stream of piss into the dank, wet
depths.
When Alex had finished, he turned to sit on the seat and took himself in his hand, stroking his
member back to life. His cock unfurled slowly, reluctant to expose itself to the cold. He closed his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]