“A beautiful ride.” I conceded. “Too bad it wasn’t official. I judged it to be in the high 80's. Call it 88.”
“Not in the nineties?” Tim kicked back his hat with one finger and looked at me sideways. Tim usually scored in the high eighties to low nineties.
“Not with that bull.” I clarified. “You two were wrong for each other. I got the score I did by giving 45 to you and 43 to the bull. Meet Your Maker should have given more spin. His tempo was off, and that decreased your marks as well; it’s hard to keep a rhythm of motion on a bull with uneven muscular motion. No man looks his best on a less-than-perfect mount.” I said.
Tim nodded. “That’s about how I scored it myself.” he grinned easily. “Except I gave myself a higher score and the bull a lower one.”
“It was the bull’s fault.” I agreed. “Of course, you can’t blame the bull when it’s just trying to buck you off; it’s not interested in finesse.”
“Lost Innocence seems to have the knack.” Tim said, again, a little too casually, he was pumping me again. He pretended interest in the trick riders out there right now.
I nodded. “Lost Innocence seems to have figured out the object of bullriding. He bucked off and then trampled one of my hands when he was a year old, cracked two ribs on the guy. Lost Innocence sort of stopped, looked at us, snuffled and seemed to realize he wasn’t supposed to do that. Then it was like he was thinking about being ridden and why we did it, and then it was like he had figured out it was a contest, man against bull, and he started studying how to do it the right way. Now, when a rider is thrown off, Lost Innocence is downright proud of himself and kind of struts around; the crowd loves it.”
“So what is his right way?” Tim asked me.
I grinned at him. Like I said, he had some right to ask me these kind of questions. “For now, his right way is to keep sending everyone up to sun their moccasins. I got three rodeos panting to get him for the Fourth of July weekend, all because he keeps bucking everyone off and the word is getting around.”
“It’d be nice if I was to ride him out for the first time.” Tim agreed.
“Yep.” I agreed. “Trouble is, what do you have that I’d want bad enough to ruin Lost Innocence’s perfect score so early in his career?”
Tim hitched one leg up onto the seat ahead of him and dropped the other back, jutting his hips forward and emphasizing his crotch that way, turning it into a lump inside the blue jeans under those black chaps; I think he had an erection in there but I wasn’t too sure. His arm went down and that caused his still-partly unbuttoned shirt to jut open, giving me that glimpse of his nipple again. “What do I have that you want?” he asked me in turn.
I couldn’t help but look at his body, at his basket, my first really good look there.
“I think I have something you want.” he said to me, arrogantly, like he knew the answer damned well and was ready to use it. His leather-gloved hand went down and cupped his crotch, sensually, showing it to me. “Only question here is, what will it buy me?”
I looked up into him, his face smiling not very friendly, but confidently. He knew I’d give in, he was just waiting for me to say the words.
“I....” I swallowed, started again. “If I tell you too much, everyone will know I told you.”
“I don’t need much.” he said.
“Well.” I said before he could go on. “If I give you one good hint about riding Lost Innocence....” I gulped again. “...is that going to be payment enough for you?”
“That’ll do right nicely.” he said to me.
I swallowed yet again. “All right. Where can we go?”
“Why should we go anywhere?” he said. “Nobody watching us way over here.” He was right, the arena entrance gate was below us and to the left, only the riders out on the field could see us at all, and they were too busy. Someone was hitching up another bull.
I licked my lips and he brought his gloved hands down to his pants, button-fly jeans there, but he opened the fly easily the way a cowboy who has worn gloves most of his life can work such things, daintily. It was the same training that caused him to reach into his briefs with his free hand, to keep the resined glove away from him, a good thing, that is some nasty stuff if you get a taste of it. Pulled out his cock like unrolling a fire hose, it slithered out as he tugged on the shaft, and then the cockhead flopped out to dangle like a fish on the end of a hook.
“There you go, Cashew.” Tim said to me. “Take a ride on it. It’ll last a good deal longer than eight seconds, though.” and he laughed, and his cock jerked in the potency of pride in a good joke.
I had sold my pride for this, damned if I wasn’t going to enjoy it now that I had it! I didn’t make no false bashfulness, I just scooted down on my knees and hunched over to him and my hand contacted that cock, and it jerked again, filled itself out while still lying limp.
His cock wasn’t very clean, the mark of a vagabond rodeo rider on the two-bit circuit, living out of his pickup, eating in cheap burger joints...and riding bulls in the morning of a rodeo, in order to win a bet to make the money for the entry fee for the next event, the one that would make their fortune. Entry fee here was fifty bucks, too, just the amount he’d taken Marvin for.
Now he was taking me. Somehow, I just didn’t care!
The spongy glans soaked up my saliva as I tongued it, tasted it, washed it with my spit and then sent it sliding into my mouth upon my tongue. Now the cock was a fat snake, still not real hard, but full-sized and fleshed out, and I licked my tongue over the underside of the shaft, tasting the almost oily raunch concentrated there, musky manhood but with something more...the smell of the bull permeated his crotch, a harsh animal aroma. I was inured to such smells, all it aroused in me was a love for the life I led, even driving half the night with a hopeful bull in the trailer hung on back, even sitting around an arena in its dusty unkempt plain that would become the parking grounds later on, waiting for the rodeo to begin once more.
We were alike, Tim and me, I knew that. I had a more balanced approach to it, but we both lived for the rodeo, for the chance to pit man against bull, and see who won. This man, who would ride my beautiful Lost Innocence tonight, seated upon him, trying to ride him into victory, break his spirit, douse his fire, demean his virility and thus enhance his own.
His virility. His hardness. It was mine now. That realization sent me with sudden determination into a hard dive, I lunged down onto his cock, and it caught, buckled at my tonsils, and then, as Tim gave a small “Ungh!” sound, I felt it slither on down my gullet and I rammed my nose against Tim’s abdomen and my chin bopped his nuts swaying loosely in their sac, and I held it there, held all of his manhood inside myself, though it was like a fencepost had slid down my throat, his cock was hardening up now, getting damned hard.
“Shit!” Tim breathed. “You took the whole ten inches! I didn’t think anyone could do that! God, damn! Mmh! Yeah! Uh!” He tried to move his body, but I was chock-a-block against him, he was helpless under me, his pleasure depended upon my moves, and would wax and wane at my will.
Only then I began to release him, disgorging the huge organ lodged in my throat, letting it slip out, coated and slimy with my saliva and throat mucus, it shone in the morning sun with diamond sparkles below my nose, and then I felt the cockhead like a caboose on a train and I clenched my lips tight, grabbed his foreskin and caused it to wrinkle up and engulf the glans, and then when the base of the glans hit my teeth, I pressed back down again and sent that cock back into its dark home inside of me.
“Ah, ah, damn! Shit!” Tim heaved. “Uh, God, but you’re a damned fine cocksucker, Cashew! Ah, man, fuck!”
His body was mine, thoroughly mine now. I caught those taut little buttocks in my hands and I held onto them, one orb in each palm and I used that hold to send that prick thrilling into my maw and then used the hold as a purchase to keep it from getting away from me.
Tim’s hand, the resined hand, came up and clutched at the back of my head, and knocked my hat from me, I let it fall where it would, I let him grab me with the other hand and with both hands firmly clutching my head, he began to fuck himself at me, and even then, he belonged to me, this cowboy wannabe-star, and I had his manhood within me, and it was thick, it was huge, it reeked of the smells of the rodeo and I didn’t ever want to let go of it.
“Uh, gah, uh, shit, man!” Tim grunted as he fucked at my face, thrusting his hips hard against me, mauling and bruising my lips with his rough hunches into my mouth, his mouth dangled open, his eyes were glazed, his sharp cheeklines softened and rounded by passion. He’d started doing this because he needed what I had to give him, now he was doing it because he was a man and he was fucking my face and his cock was brim-full of jism waiting to explode out in an orgy of life. My own hands, not needed any longer, went down and found my own fly and unzipped, took out my own raging prong, began to pump at it.
“M-m-m-m-h! U-u-u-u-u-u-uh!” Tim groaned as he began to hump my mouth with a furiously fast pace. Brief bursts of hard hipwork, and then he’d pause, shift his grip slightly, and then fire another rapid stream of thrusts of his cock into my mouth. His cock was frictioning on my throat at the top, his cockhead was only getting up to there before it would be sent plunging back down in, he was deep-face-fucking me, it was like I couldn’t let go of that prick, like he’d keep it in me forever, plugging up my esophagus and only letting me breathe in tiny little gasps of air, enough to keep me alive but no more.
Tim grabbed me and spun me around, I ended up sitting on my butt on the dirty floor of the stands, my back jammed painfully up against one of the seats, and he was fucking my face again, this time driving his prong down into me, and I reached up and again cupped and fondled that tight little butt, wishing it were bare here so I could send my finger down into that moist crevice and thrill the tiny tucker there into quivering life. All I could do was feel out the sewn seam there like a hard square block of wood placed there, and then it was back to the buttocks themselves, such warm globes they were, I wanted to just bury my face between them and breathe in deeply!
Tim’s dong was a hot driving rod inside of me, I heard dimly the hoops and cries from the watchers for the rider in the arena, the dim smells of massed horses and cattle from the little corral attached to the arena, the rich fetid smells of barnyard life, and Tim’s cock was a red fiery pillar raging into me, and his groans were taking on a high intensity of sound and fury, matched by the utter insensitivity of his thrusts into my mouth, my face was one solid bruise now from the way his hips had slapped his body against me, my nose’s tip was aching and raw, but Tim was pumping at me harder than ever, and then his moans rose up and up and up...and caught, strangled and dropped low again.
And his salty load poured into me then, I nearly drowned in it and there was no question of being able to breathe now, all I could do was drink him down, drink and drink and still more came from that long pole of his, his climax went on for the longest time, and even when his cock no longer spewed his jizz into me, still he held me tight and fucked at me with his softening prong, wringing out every last iota of pleasure from his prick, keeping it up until every last erg of his energy fled his body and left him limp.
His knees hit on either side of me, and he was sitting on my lap with me still pounding my prick, and I felt that snug little set of buns of his lying against my prod, and I was suddenly clutched by my climax, with him gasping on top of me, helpless to move or fend me off, I squirted my jizz right onto those sweet little buttocks of his, drenching the seat of his pants thoroughly.
In the clench of my climax, I looked into his face, his mouth open, his face sweaty and wrung dry of passion, and he was like a child to me, a beautiful child, and he belonged to me, and I reached up as I panted with the end of my orgasm and I kissed that sweat-dappled cheek of his, and then again, and again.
Then he rose up, in some disgust, wiping at his ass with with gloved hands. “Shit, man, you creamed on my butt!” he said, his nostrils flared, his upper lip crinkled in revulsion. “God, man, all over me, and these are my rodeo duds, too, man! Fuck, what am I going to do?”
“I’m sorry.” I told him, but I wasn’t.
“Ah, it’ll have to do.” he said as he finished wiping off my jizz as well as he could, mostly smearing it around those two matched little joy-bumps of his.
I stuffed my cock back into my fly, and stood up, staggering and then his hand clamped on my shoulder and spun me around. “Okay, time to pay up!” he said, his face right up against mine, and there wasn’t any softness in those eyes at all. “What’s the secret of riding Lost Innocence?”