BRONC BUSTER
by Buckin Bronc
Uploaded to Pink Triangle by Simon Jones
I was pretty hot shit for an 18 yr old, or so I thought! I had grown faster than most for my age, and the results were embarrassing, yet ego-building. A full 6' tall, and a full 7 thick inches at age 18, it was those fuckin' low-hangers of mine that got me the nickname "Moose". It was also "balls" that got me into more trouble than I could handle that summer afternoon as I stood on the back porch, my cut cockhead aimed at the mouth of a canteen; busily "brewing" the tea to take to Rob at the corral on the back forty.
To me it was just another prank, a little excitement in my other- wise monotonous summertime existence - days filled with baling hay, driving cattle and shovelling shit. Behind my prank, however, was a deeper motive than want of excitement. Only-children are notoriously spoiled and covet attention jealously. No one dares tread on their territory. I was no exception to that rule. So it was more than just kicks that prompted me to fix my special "cocktail" for Rob that steamy summer afternoon.
I had always jealously admired Rob, the hunky number that came to be our "hired hand" for the summer. For the last several years, my old man had bruised my pride by hiring an extra man in the summertime. But this time instead of some overgrown city brat from the county deten- tion centre, Dad had picked a REAL man, a 6'2" black haired, blue-eyed cowpuncher who had lost his winnings from the spring rodeo in a bet on his arm wrestling ability. "Too much beer and not enough muscle, kid", He told me when I asked why he'd lost!
But He had too much muscle for me. Too much of everything for someone who was only 6 years my senior! As I swung up on my Palomino gelding, Rex, I chuckled to myself; as in my mind I conjured up vi- sions of Rob's expression when He discovered the fluid pouring out of that canteen was hot piss and not iced tea! I'd teach that hayseed cowboy to invade my territory! A few minutes later, I reined Rex from a full gallop to a dead stop, about 2 feet from the outer corral gate.
As the dust settled, I could hear Rob coughing, trying to clear the sandy grime from his throat. "Where the fuck ya think you're goin' Kid, a fire?", he asked. I watched as he pulled out his red bandanna and wiped the dirt of his disgruntled face. The sweat formed rivulets meandering over his pecs and down over his muscled gut - then racing toward the bulging crotch hidden beneath his well-worn 501's. I didn't know just why, but I had always been drawn to the sight of a working cowboy, but I had - and here stood a perfect example of the type my mind worshipped.
My eyes roamed from top to bottom. From the tanned face, broadened by a bushy black moustache; shaded by a sweat-stained straw hat, across that bulging crotch wrapped in snug-fitting chaps - bruised over the years by thorns and barbed wire, down to this spur-clad boots, the caked mixture of horseshit, piss, and dirt making them look twice as Rob's 24 years - he was the walking, talking example of what I looked up to - of what I wanted to be.
But the shithead was on "my" ranch, rustling the approval of "my" old man, and the son-of-a-bitch was gonna have to GO - I'd see to that! "I may not be able to wrestle your ass down", I thought, as He reached into my saddle bag and grabbed the canteen, "but I can make your ass so fuckin' mad you'll stomp off this ranch pronto!", I sur- mised. After all, everyone isn't able to take a practical joke even when it's only now and then.
Just as Rob was putting the canteen to his lips, a curious white- faced heifer nosing around the outer gate knocked it from its mooring. It slapped Rex right in the ass, sending the flighty palomino lunging across the corral toward Rob, who was throwing his head back expecting to drink in a gulp of cool refreshing tea. In the second it took for the hot bitter fluid to hit his throat, I found myself heels-in-a-pile at Rob's feet, deposited there by one cowpony who could jump any fence when he felt both surprised and threatened. I landed belly up, cover- ing me in a stinking spray from head to toe.
The look of rage in his eyes told me that my inability to escape "after the fact" meant that this joke was goin' to be on me - only no- body was laughing! My efforts to make Rob's life miserable called for a squaring of accounts, and mine was soon gonna' be marked "PAID IN FULL"! I grunted as Rob slammed his crusty right boot in the middle of my gut, the rowels of his spurs aimed menacingly at my cock.
He spit the last drops of my golden piss in my face and growled, "Alright punk, since you're such a funny man, let's you and I just try out MY new act". The full weight of his body grinding through the boot planted on my stomach had me pinned to the ground. Before I could squirm free, the cowboy stud had deftly grabbed a piggin-string and lashed my legs together. "Roll Over", he barked, as he raked the rowel of his spurs across my crotch.
After years of calf roping on the rodeo circuit, Rob made quick work of tying me spread-eagle across the loading chute. As he yanked my Levis over my cheeks, exposing my ass to the sky, he muttered, "Get your nose in that fuckin' straw and keep it there shitface - there's more of that smell comin', and you're gonna love it!" The jingle of his spurs as he walked around me was quickly broken by the crack of the bullwhip which moments before had been draped over the chute gate.
"Now, you son-of-a-bitch, since you don't know how to tell piss from tea, I'M gonna give you a sample of real food and drink - and you're gonna learn a little about cleaning, too. Do you understand?"
"Yeah", I moaned into the wet straw. "I didn't hear that", he snarled and lashed out at my expose ass with the whip. "Yes SIR!" I screamed, shuddering all over from the searing pain radiating from my freshly bruised ass. "Look fuckface, your old lady don't like me tracking horseshit in her house - so you're gonna be in charge of seein' that my boots are clean from now on - got it?"
"No way you bastard", I yelled - never looking up to betray the fear in my eyes. "Lick 'em now!", and the whip sailed out again, the knotted end finding the puckered hole in the middle of my ass-crack. This last blow sent a stinging sensation crawling right up my ass into my gut. Fearing more of the same, my tongue shot out caressing the shit-caked toe of his boots.
"All over 'em fucker", he demanded. The crack of the whip enforced his command, and my wet tongue slid eagerly into the arch between the heel and sole of his boot as he rubbed the spit and piss dampened raunch of many a rodeo over my face and in my moustache. The filth on his boots began to almost taste good as my mind began to wander to the magnificence of this stud cowpoke ruling over me. After at least half- an-hour of furious licking, he pulled one foot and then the other out of my face.
The metal of his spurs was now shining, and the boots - though old and beat up, were clean enough for MOM's inspection! "Not bad, but you'll get better", he smirked patronizingly. "Bullshit", I mutter un- der my breath. Not only was my comment too loud, but my timing was off for the 2nd time in one day - for my wise-crack sent my Cowboy Stud Master into another rage! "You think you're such hot shit? - well I'm gonna take you like a fresh caught mustang and ride your ass! You're gonna suck my cock, drink my piss, and take up that ass whatever I want to put up there!" He was just the cowboy bronc buster to do it!
In a few seconds, I found myself flipped over, my legs spread wide and tied in an almost vertical position to the top of the fenceposts. "Open wide", he ordered as I stared into the dripping 9" dong hanging over my face. I clenched my teeth, determined there was only gonna be one piss drinker in this crowd, but the slam of his bootheel into my exposed balls caused my mouth to shoot open in a cry of agony - just in time for the hot piss from his tool to funnel into my throat. Re- fusing to swallow, the hot golden fluid was flowing over my face. The sounds of his boots slapping my balls again and again were like claps of thunder - the shooting pain in my groin like lightening! Just the encouragement to make me greedily swallow the gallons of hot piss pouring from his cock.
Staring at that gorgeous tool, spewing that golden fluid; feeling that powerful thrust of his muscular legs as he planted blow after blow from his bootheels to my balls - I knew from the rock-hard meat between my legs that my own body was saying, "This is the stud you've been wanting to serve!" As the flow of liquid gold stopped, I could see his eyes silently penetrating my now rosy-red ass. I knew what was coming! As promised, he had broken my will, just as he had broken may a mustang. The ride of a lifetime was coming my way!
All the fight now drained out of me, I yielded willingly as his throbbing cockhead parted my cheeks and plunged into my asshole. I groaned with pleasure - he grabbed my throbbing cock in his gloved hand and began to stroke the shaft furiously - in rhythm with the pumping fuckstick he was cramming down my ass! The moment I felt the surge of his cock dumping loads of cum into my gut - my own cock spewed white globs of pearly cum all over my chest. Wasted by the vio- lence and passion, I melted into the weathered floor of the chute as Rob, my training completed, released my arms and legs from their bonds.
"Now that you know who's boss, kid - we're gonna get along just fine", he smiled as the words firmly crossed his lips. He turned, mounted his horse, and headed for the barn. I picked myself up and pulled on my jeans, mounted Rex and headed home, too. I never played anymore practical jokes on that stud cowpuncher.
My training, happily, didn't end that day. I really needed someone to show me just where my ass belonged - and he was just the Bronc Buster to do it!
Copyright 1982, 1986 Impramatur Ron a/k/a Buckin Bronc boot.slave@iname.com Comments welcome.
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