Snowbound

"I'll go with him."

"Of course you will," the Lazy S foreman said, turning and giving me a leer and a snicker. I thought that was a bit mean because Sam wasn't getting anything the foreman hadn't gotten before him. Who was he to be showing judgmental?

The foreman told Sam that someone needed to go up to the Culbertson farm up the valley half way to the top Hahn's peak to check on the fences there before the snows came. Old man Peyton was a cattle man himself, but he'd bought the Culbertson farm up the valley with his brother over at the Circle K ranch. The Peytons saw the end of King Cattle coming and decided to dabble in farming themselves a bit. But a man couldn't maintain his claim on farming land out here on the edge of civilization without maintaining the fences. Homesteaders were drifting in, and the law let them grab anything thought to have been abandoned.

I turned to Sam Saunders and gave him what I thought was a secret smile but what probably wasn't a bit of a secret in the Lazy S bunkhouse. I was kind of a screamer—couldn't help it—and there wasn't much privacy attached to sudden hard on sex in a bunk house. Sam smiled back, clearly pleased I'd agreed to go with him. He looked good enough to eat. A good six years older than me, but in a lot better shape than I'd managed yet. I was getting there, though. It's a big reason I'd come here.

I had only recently arrived from back East to try my hand at being a cowboy. It was such a romantic thought and was being played up in the adventure literature for young men. Especially mentioned among my friends in Pennsylvania was how hard bodied and randy cowboys could be. I liked both the idea of hard-bodied men and me being hard bodied too.

It certainly had been one big adventure for me so far. Although only of average height and pretty slim, Sam had been at it long enough to have really muscled and toughened up. Back East he could have traveled with a troupe as the muscle man, I thought—and a handsome one at that. Curly reddish hair, a dandy's handsome face, and an "aw shucks" demeanor that turned into something else when he was fucking me.

"Remember to camp out at Dayton's mill on Slater Creek until you meet up with the man Peyton's brother is sending from the Circle K," Chuck told Sam. "His name's Jake."

We did just that—stopping at Dayton's mill to camp—before riding our horses up the valley and into the mountains, where the air was crisp and nature was both beautiful and wild.

"Smells like snow," Sam said, as we were unloading the horses and setting up camp next to Slater Creek. "And the water's already icing up."

"Good thing you brought all that liquor, then," I said, with a laugh.

"Ain't that the truth? It might snow a blizzard up at Culbertson's while we're there and we'll be stuck up there all winter with nothing to do but to keep our insides warm with liquor."

"Nothing to do?" I asked as I heaved my saddle off my horse and set it down not far from where Sam was getting an open fire going. "Is that the only thing we could do up there to keep warm?"

"Not at all, not at all," Sam muttered in a hoarse voice as he reached out and drew me into him and into a deep kiss. "We ain't had a go of it for a week, and I've been hard for your sweet tail since ten minutes after the last throw."

Our bodies were rocking against each other. Our hands had gone straight for each other's crotches. We were both hard. I'd been hard for him for the past five miles as we climbed to the camping area, and I anticipated what would happen there. I got the top four buttons of his rough cotton shirt open and latched my mouth onto a nipple. I knew that nipple play turned him into a wild man. And it was working here.

He was scrabbling at my belt and then the buttons of my fly, and I felt my jeans gliding down my legs. I stepped out of them, and he unbuttoned the flap of the union suit I was wearing underneath. He pushed that down between my legs to where he could lodge a gloved finger in the entrance to my hole, wiggling it there as I opened to him. Satisfied I was opening to him, his gloved hand took possession of my cock and started stroking.

"Don't make me wait," I whimpered in a low voice.

"Not a chance of that," he growled back.

I was on my belly over my saddle, my arms flung out above my head gripping the base of two saplings at the edge of the stream, my butt pointed to the sky. The flap of the union suit had been pulled through my legs and up my back so that my puckering hole was exposed. Sam was on his haunches behind me, between my spread legs, one gloved hand spreading my buttocks to expose and stretch my hole, his tongue driving me crazy inside my crack, and his other hand having pulled my cock through and stroking it. I was doing a lot of egging-on screaming . . . until I came. He milked my cock for everything he could get out of it, and being young and in pretty good shape for an Easterner, I kept giving him cum for a few seconds.

"Now you. You. Fuck me! Give it to me now."

Sam complied, moving over my back, latching onto my pecs with his gloved hands. Entering, entering, entering me, and pumping, pumping, pumping. I writhed under him. Never before had he given it to me so hard and deep. Never before had we had such privacy to be able to let it all out. Never before had I felt free enough to scream for more of it, deeper. At the ranch, we'd never been far enough from the ears of others to engage in the wild fuck Sam now was giving me.

I felt him tense, hold for several seconds, and then, in a heavy release of breath, give me his load deep up inside me. Once, twice . . . four times in all. I was swimming in cum.

It was only while we were cooling down, that we both looked around and saw him—over to the side at the edge of the clearing, down on his haunches, elbows on knees, a long blade of grass extending from his mouth as he chewed on the end of it, an enigmatic smile on his face, one hand holding the reins of the horse grazing beside him and the other open and dangling between his legs.

Who knew what he'd been doing with it before we saw him, but the bulge in his crotch was huge. Everything about the man was huge—not as in fat—but as in tall, bulky, muscle bound. He made Sam look scrawny. Dark, curly hair, swarthy complexion—he must have had some Mexican in him—hair in profusion. Five-o'clock shadow on his face, but the promise of hair everywhere else—spilling out of the neckline of his shirt, on the backs of his hands and on his knuckles. A face that was so ugly that it was mesmerizing and arousing; a body that was powerfully built, a real muscle man. A man my friends in Pennsylvania had said was out West, just waiting for me.

"You must be Jake, then," Sam said, trying for a calm voice conveying that we weren't doing anything out of the ordinary at all.

And, indeed, we weren't—really. The reality was that there were so few women out on the frontier as yet that the men mostly had to do with just their right hand or other men. Still, there was no way of knowing how one man would react to coming upon that as opposed to another man.

* * * *

It had been a rough ride from the campsite up to Culbertson's farm, and Sam had said we should start checking the fences right away. It looked even more like snow was coming up here than it did down at the Lazy S. I stuck to Sam, and Jake went his own way. Something in the way he eyed me as we rode along gave me chills of both fear and arousing anticipation.

Sam and I would be staying in the same cabin with this man for a week or more. I hadn't thought about that before. I assumed I'd have Sam all to myself. We'd have to be more careful and observant than we were at the campsite. It wouldn't be any different from being in the bunkhouse with other men, and I'd been looking forward to it just being the two of us.

I may have been apprehensive of the man as we rode along, but he and Sam were having a good old time jawing and talking of shared experiences, which included, again to both my apprehension and arousal, their visits to the same male brothel in Hayden. They discovered they both were fond of the same male whore and what they said about what they liked in how he looked and what they could do with him, sounded awfully familiar to me.

I wasn't shocked, though, because, again, I didn't find this as unusual as most public claimed to think, considering the needs of men and the male-to-female ratio on the frontier. There were a whole load more fit and randy men on the frontier than there were women. It wasn't uncommon for the men to turn to each other. Most, indeed, could enjoy both women and men as long as they regularly could get off. Without someone else, they had to take the matter into their own hands, and it's not hard to get tired of that.

It was because of the virile, muscular, and randy men that I'd come West. I wanted the knees of a strong man between my thighs. The men in Pennsylvania were OK, but I'd heard arousing stories about the doings of the men on the frontier. I had tried several men out at the Lazy S before settling on Sam, and none of the men before him had thrown me out on my tail. I had learned that size mattered too. Sam was the biggest of all who had fucked me. Within three weeks of my arrival at the Lazy S, half the cowboys in the bunkhouse—and the foreman as well—had fucked the "sweet little piece coming in from the East." There was even talk of not needing to make the run to the brothels of Hayden this fall. I was just shopping, though, and when I settled in for Sam, I kept my legs closed to the rest of the men in the bunkhouse.

That night, after Sam had tended to the horses and I had cooked our meal—and Jake had gotten started on the drinking—we celebrated our arrival by dipping into the large supply of liquor Sam had brought up—the clinking of the saddlebags on the horses reminding us of good times to come all the time we were riding up into the mountains.

As was the custom in the bunk house, we were down to our union suits, all three of us. I melted at the look of Jake in his. It barely contained the muscle mass of his body. He'd unbuttoned the top of his suit down to his waist. I could see why, His chest was so muscular that it strained at the suit, the rough material of which must chafe his big nipples. The effect was a magnificent hairy chest spreading the top, exposing his powerful torso.

The bulge at his crotch strained the buttoned flap to hold him in too. As it was, the flap was pushed forward by his equipment and curly hair and glimpses of a cock were visible in side looks at him. It was all I could do to contain myself while watching him strut around the single room of the cabin. It grew more maddening when he got more comfortable and left his flap hang open and his cock and balls hang and swing free. I have to admit that, in our time in the cabin, I saw the cock more in erection than hanging and swinging, though.

To put it succinctly, Jake was one hairy muscle stud. I was wishing that he'd been on offer in the Lazy S bunkhouse when I'd arrived from the East. I was with Sam now, though.

The two of them were passing the bottle—and then another one and another—between them and laughing and jawing. Occasionally, I got a swig or two—or three—too. I wouldn't say I was drunk on my tail but I was gone enough to easily give into what happened as the evening wore on.

Sam had pulled me down into his lap. I was naked except for my boots and had no idea how I'd gotten in that condition, other than I might have done that myself. I know I was swaying in front of him and finishing off a bottle that the two had passed to me. The two men were sitting in straight chairs against the wall, side by side, and watching me do the dance I thought I was doing.

Sam pulled me right down on his cock—both cocks were now out of their union suit flaps while I was swaying in front of them. Jakes' cock made me moan. It was twice the size of Sam's in both girth and length. Jake was twice the man that Sam was in every way. Twice as cruel too, I was to find out.

I slid down Sam's cock as I was pulled into his lap, facing him. I unbuttoned the top of his union suit, spread the sides wide, and played with his nipples while I bounced up and down on the cock until Sam came. I'd already come, but was gone enough that I hadn't been aware enough of it to enjoy it.

"You gonna share some of that with me?" The question was spoken in a growly voice. I looked over at Jake. He was looking straight into Sam's eyes. He was asking Sam, not me.

"Sure, have at it. We like the same thing," Sam said in a slurred voice, as he started handing me over and Jake got his strong, beefy arms around me. The bulging slabs of his chest were busting out of the top of his unbuttoned union suit and showed nearly all of it. His chest was as hairy as a bears.

I protested, not too effectively or forcibly, I'll admit, considering that I had drunk more than I should have and the dancing display I'd already put on. Much of the protesting centered around the size of the man's cock. I didn't think I could take it. I protested I couldn't take it. I was here with Sam, not Jake. Both men were laughing and drunkenly chanting. "Take it, take it, take it," I heard Jake belt out in a deep bass voice.

I gave one last plaintive look at Sam. His voice heavily slurred, he was chanting "Take it, take it" too—and pushing me over onto Jake.

Jake pulled me down into his lap, facing him, just like Sam had done. I wouldn't have put it past him to have schemed that if he did just as Sam had done, Sam would be better with it that way. Just a friendly sharing of what Sam had. Just like sharing his liquor. A generous man, Sam was, and he was really getting along with this cowboy from the Circle K. Sam was sitting there, watching us, with a sloppy grin on his face, and fisting his cock. Obviously Sam was good with it.

The big, hairy cowboy got the bulb of the monster in me, but just that, showing I couldn't take it. I screamed of not being able to take it. He pulled me down farther on it. I couldn't take it. My walls were stretched to the limit. But they began to give way as he pulled me down farther on the cock, relentlessly. And then I could take it. And then I wanted it. I always wanted a cock inside me. The bigger the better. This was the biggest.

"Arch back to the floor," he growled. "Grab my ankles."

I did as he commanded, and screamed my fear and taking to the sparse furniture—the two beds—across the room in an upside-down view. With beefy, hairy hands on my waist, he slid me on and off of his club, the cum Sam had deposited there already aiding in both the friction and the lubrication. My screams turned from ones of pain and splitting to "Yes, yes. Fuck me hard. Deep. Split me! Pound me! Give it to me! Just like that. Just like that! Oh, shit, I've never had it this big."

I heard him snort and mutter, "Just bet you haven't, you sweet little honeypot. Tight as a virgin."

We both knew I wasn't, though.

He came in one heavy flooding, followed by several weaker afterbursts. I lay there, spent, tears running down my cheeks, cum burbling up my channel and down my inner thighs. My belly wet from the cum of my own spouting. Panting, panting, panting.

Wanting nothing now so much as the bed I could see in my upside-down view across the room.

"Shit, oh holy shit," I weakly murmured as he started to pull me on and off the cock again. He was still hard. He hadn't finished fucking me.

Sometime later I was looking, at first plaintively and later warily, over at Sam slumped over in the chair against the wall, his head hanging down, snoring. At first I thought I wanted him to wake up and come to my rescue. Increasingly, though, I wanted him to stay comatose, not to see what Jake was doing to me on his bed. Sam had been good, but Jake was twice the man Sam was.

Jake was on his back on his bed, and I was on my back as well, on top of Jake. He was gripping my pecs with his hands, pinching my nipples, and his bent legs encased mine and had them spread wide and raised. His dick was pumping up into me deep. Thick and reaching deeper than Sam had ever reached. The bed was creaking and bucking as hard as Jake and I were. I didn't want it to stop—and it didn't for a long time into the night. He was twice the man that Sam was.

* * * *

It had already started snowing when we stumbled out of the cabin in the early morning, on our way to checking the fences. Before braving the fence inspection, I was preparing the breakfast and Sam went out first thing before that to take a leak and to feed the horses in the barn. I was walking gingerly and sighing and giving Sam hard looks while avoiding looking at or talking to Jake at all. I don't know what I wanted Sam to do—or Jake to do or say for that matter. I don't know what I would have done if Jake had apologized, blamed it on the liquor, and told me he wouldn't touch me again. My feelings were mixed. Sam should be my man and act like it. He should know what Jake did and do something about it. But if he knew—or showed he knew—maybe Jake wouldn't give me another roll in the hay. And what Jake did with me the previous night was the best fucking I'd ever had.

Something inside me told me that Sam should be asserting his rights. But he didn't even seem to notice that I had a burr in my saddle or how tense the atmosphere in the cabin was. When he went out to take care of the horses, he was gone long enough that Jake pulled me over to the wall beside the door, pushing me against the rough log surface with his hairy chest, bursting out of the top of his union suit, which was still unbuttoned down to his navel, with the flap at the crotch open.

"No, we can't," I murmured. But we obviously could. His dick was so hard he couldn't have stuffed it back in his suit if he'd wanted to, and I could tell that it was going to get what it wanted. He scared me, but he sent my heart racing too. He was so much bigger than Sam, and I had taken it all. My channel was twitching. I couldn't help it. I wanted him inside me again.

"Then be quick about it," I whimpered. I was Sam's, not his.

He laughed. He reached around and unbuttoned the flap in my union suit, jerking it between my legs to expose my hole as well as my cock and balls. He lifted one of my legs, pushing my knee into the curve of the log wall. Crouching down, he came back up under my buttocks, got his cockhead positioned, and slowly pushed up into me. I moaned and groaned, turning my face toward his, my eyes locked on his, seeing a determined, cruel, sneery look on his face. He moved his beefy, hairy forearm to under my chin and pressed me hard to the wall. I fought for breath, my eyes watering. I opened my mouth to cry out at the deep, thick invasion of him.

"I'll be quick about it if you're quiet about it," he growled. "You don't want Sam to hear, do you?" I clamped my mouth shut, my silence aided by the pressure of his forearm on my throat. I didn't know if I wanted Sam to know what he was doing with me or not, but I knew that if my cries summoned Sam, there would be no option of pretending or hiding anything.

I counted the stuffing, cruel, glorious strokes. One, two . . . eighteen, nineteen, twenty. He jerked and creamed my intestines.

When Sam returned from feeding and watering the horses, Jake was sitting at the oak table, drinking coffee and looking very pleased with himself, and I was hobbling around the kitchen counter, finishing up breakfast preparations, and not able to look Sam in the eyes.

We weren't out, Sam and I, on the fence line much beyond noon. The snow was piling up and it was accumulating deep. When we'd managed to trudge back to the cabin's porch, it nearly was over our boot tops.

"We're gonna be snowed in real good in another hour or so," Sam said. "I'll go look to the horses and you go on in. Don't know where Jake's got off to."