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Coby Gets Creamed by Will
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Badpuppy Model - TeodorFor weeks now, on Saturday nights, Coby Wyman had made that long train ride down to Dillon, Montana to Tinker’s Bar-Bell, a covert gay bar. He watched the way the brawny young cowhands in their denim, buckskin and rawhide threads would cast interested glances at the more fey customers who came from the better-heeled part of the state. Twenty-year-old Coby belonged to the cowboy-culture of Montana and Wyoming. Since his mid teens much of his life was spent in the unforgiving tumble of cattle drives, horse roundups, and all the rigors of the high-testosteronic he-man world of edgy, thrill seeking males. But for the past weeks, this burning urge, deep within, had him traveling 2 hours, both ways, to scope-out this would-be, metro-sexual bar, 129 miles away from the cattle ranch where he worked, trying, first hand, to figure out what made men gay.

Diligently, he would watch as the different types locked eyes, and then eventually slipped out together. He would listen to the snatches of conversation between the macho types and the more feminine guys. He felt himself growing excited as he would conjure up visions of what went on between the two men once they were bouncing in bed together. That imagination came only by his judging their far-out, hyped jive talk. He would just stand there and absorb the conversations.

“Look, man,” came a slurred voice from a tall leggy cowboy with silky blond hair and a cruel expression on his baby face, “you wanna git wid me? You wanna be a nice girl for me tonight?...How much dough ya got?”

“If you're not doing anything tonight,” was a hoarse whisper from a middle aged man dressed neatly in a business suit, “why not stop over at my place? It’s over on Coryell Street, near Mason” The voice went lower and the florid-faced man with glittering rings on his fingers, which held a double scotch, moved closer to his companion – a smooth cheeked young dude with almost stovepipe-tight trousers that outlined the taut bulge of his crotch and the cute enticing little melons of his butt. A thick mane of dark hair flowed over the kid’s face, “Are you all man? I only like real rough cowboys.”

A bizarre-looking, white-haired male in a gaudy shirt and loose-fitting khakis to disguise a paunch, was trying to maintain his balance, having obviously imbibed too much. He was surrounded by three tough-looking bandeleros types—surly, none-too-clean, with tattooed arms filled with muscles and cruel power. “You like leather, pop? I like it too. Big boots, cat and nine tails, paddles, harnesses… say… why not come to my place? I’ve got an assortment of whips and paddles and leather belts…”

Hearing all this made Coby Wyman curiously nervous, but, simultaneously, breathlessly excited. For the weeks he’d been coming to Tinker’s Bar-Bell, he showed a forged card to prove he was over 21 [the bartender wouldn’t serve anyone younger, even though, most of the younger crowd were hardly more than 17 or 18, and all presented similar forged IDs. He stood there in his usual spot sipping his bottle of 5 buck beer, disliking the taste as much as he did the thick clouds of smoke, the grime-covered windows, the blaring jukebox, the fetid stench from pine-scented deodorizers -- and the frequent jostling that meant interested hands were stroking his buttocks or thighs.

But Coby Wyman was determined. Determined to breakthrough. He had to find out for himself, once and for all, if he were gay or not. It had tortured him miserably the way he had worked all these years up in the mountains and sheep regions of Oregon, Montana and Wyoming, isolated with brawny, rough-and-tumble physical types, some older, some younger. Living with them in bunk houses; spending weeks on end with them on cattle drives, roundups, riding wild horses for both sport and profit… and also getting a slight rise when they all showered together in the communal cleanup.

But still, each Saturday night, Coby could never go through with it. Try as he might, he would become slightly sickened whenever an interested sex partner had seduced him to a certain point. And eventually, always found himself on the 3:30am train back up to the ranch.

But, today, his Sunday morning shower would bring Coby Wyman closer to self- discovery and self-actualization than he imagined. And it wasn’t going to be in the backroom of some gay bar with some drunken patron in a more cosmopolitan metropolis.

“Real big, ain’cha, Coby?”

Still groggy from all the beer and intense sexual energy at Tinker’s Bar-Bell the night before, Coby Wyman stood there in the communal shower trying to coldwater himself into consciousness, when he heard that stinging voice of Salvadori Muni, or “Sal”, a tall, sun-bronzed cowhand with jet black hair, sparkling olive eyes, and a look of pure, commanding, unadulterated lust.

“Hey, bet you never had a girl.”

A small part of Coby seemed to tremble. He had always made an effort to avoid Sal as much as possible. He was a sex-crazed son of a bitch with a quick fuse.

Looking around, Coby noticed that they were alone. Seeing his surprised expression, Sal laughed out that the others had all split for a fair or something over in town.

“Yep. You ain’t never had a girl,” continued a mocking Sal, “Cause, hell’ you’d kill a bitch with that equipment you got.”

Ignoring him, Coby tried to hurry his shower. Sal too quickly lathered up and then rinsed off his hard glistening body. There they stood, both naked, slippery, with muscles etched deeply in the work-hardened young male bodies. Coby’s face flushed red when he looked over and saw Sal’s face staring him over… taking in his broad shoulders, the thick ripple of his biceps, the clean smooth sweep of his upper chest, the hard muscular planes of his abdominals. Those dark, burning, lustful eyes then traveled on down to the intersection where Coby’s lean hips joined his hard-muscled young thighs, and set in the midst of that rusty foliage was his scimitar of his power, fettered to the pouch of Adonis.

“I… I… I play around.” stammered Coby, reaching for a towel that was hung to a nail on a plank. As he reached, Sal’s leather-like palms too reached out, gripping him. Coby yelped and broke free. His face burned red. “Hey, man, cut that shit out!”

Sal was radiantly naked. His thick dark hair plastered to his head, his dark olive eyes betraying his strong, Indian ancestry. He had shoulders a mile wide. Thick pectorals, with nipples that protruded like olives. The pectorals danced up and down with his every movement. After a V-shaped latissimus spread, narrowing to his flanks, was a slight bulge on which his almond-shaped navel winked saucily. He was a massive young giant with thick pendulous powers that looked vulgar in his dark black mesh. He could easily have been a young animal in heat from the way he prowled around Coby, drinking him in.

“Ashamed? Are you ashamed?” asked Sal. He looked serious, a strange expression flickering across his handsome, sun-tanned face. His dark eyes were glazed, “Don’t be ashamed of your body, man. It was meant to have a real good time.”

Turning away, Coby was awkwardly aware of how Sal was taking in his broad shoulders, the protruding blades, the narrow spinal column, then down to his fanning flanks and the rounded moons of his dimpled buttocks. The lust-laden man couldn’t help but to move in closer to the ashamed kid to test the waters.

Coby instantly leaped into the air.

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“DAMN YOU!” he screamed, whirling around, clutching his buttocks. His heart was slamming in his throat, his blood pressure soaring.

“What’d you do that for?” he blurted out as he remembered the scorching feeling of Sal’s invasion with his turgid power into the wet, shadowy crevices that divided his firm, peaches-and-cream asscheeks.

Both fists of Coby Wyman were tight balls of power, “I oughta kill you for that you… you… you fucking faggot!”

Almost like a lightening streak, Sal leaped. As if a huge mountain puma, he was a blur and the two of them were soon rolling around on the splintery floor of the communal shower. Sal was like a keg of dynamite… penis power and hard muscle. The two naked youths punched and kicked and let loose with scathing epithets.

Sal seized a handful of Coby’s rust-colored hair, yanked so hard the boy screamed from the ricochets of pain that tore through his scalp.

“Don’t you go calling me no fucking faggot, you fucking tease!” snorted Sal, slapping the startled Coby. “I seen ya! I seen how ya go around here butt nekkid… gettin’ everybody all horny and hopped up… And then pretend like ya don’t know what’s going on when somebody comes on to ya! Well fuck that! Fuck that ya, little bitch. I’m gonna take ya up on all that teasin'!”

Coby’s knee lashed out hoping to jab Sal between the thighs. But the big tough cowboy lunged out of the way. He leaped to his feet with youthful agility. At that moment, his huge manhood was turgid and grossly lewd, throbbing and twitching straight up as it sliced the air in front of him. His pelvic muscles were sharp and his young body was thundering with sensuous virility.

“I’ll kill you!” yelled Coby, struggling to get up. As he swung, Sal gripped him by his arm and brought him to the floor.

“You ain’t gonna kill nobody… and ya oughta be damn glad I don't take a horsewhip to ya – stripe you up real good, welts and all… and then use you like a damn sheep.”

Coby struggled furiously as Sal tied him up with leather bonds.

“All hog-tied, now, kid” chortled Sal with a cruel expression shadowing his face. Naked, he looked fearful. “That’s gonna be your… Your roundup.” He parted his hard-muscled, lean and tanned young thighs, “See,” he said cupping his huge throbbing power and became lewd in fondling his stiff twitching meat right there over Coby’s face. “But, first,” he continued, “we’re gonna make you feel good. Make you feel real good!”

Coby felt panic and fear searing through his body. His blurred eyes focused on what was happening. Sal stretched him out spread-eagle, his wrists fettered to wooden posts … his ankles were similarly tied. Sal began to spread his thighs so far apart he thought his pelvis would crack.

He began to hurl vicious, razor-sharp epithets at Sal, so the horny half-breed tied his bandana over the boy's mouth. Quickly Coby began to squirm and make garbled sounds through the red and white cloth across his mouth. But the more he struggled against his binds; it seemed all the more tighter they became. His eyes were green pools of rage. His rust-colored hair was plastered with sweat to his head.

What a fool he’d been. He should never have let himself get so involved, he thought, as he began to accept that a part of him really did want to seduce the crazy Indian. But he never guessed it would go this far. As usual, he thought he could “will” his way out of it.

He stared up at the brawny, long-legged cowboy, naked, bronzed and filled with amazing power. What was this crazy ass Indian going to do to him? Coby Wyman – you’re in for it, he thought, as he looked up at the handsome, lust-bloated bronze pagan who seemed to blaze with sheer searing lasciviousness!

“I ain't had no sex in five weeks; not since I shipped out of Oregon and came here for this cattle drive. I’m really worked up. See?! See?!” lewdly growled Sal, manipulating his powerful truncheon toward Coby. It looked like a sledgehammer to Coby’s green, half-exhilarated, half-terrified eyes.

“Okay, kid, its time for you to make me feel real good… just like I’m gonna make you feel real good too! And you ain’t gonna call nobody faggot….not nobody, again. Least of all, no cowboys like me. Cause we is all queer… and at one time on another we all take sheep, goats, cows… horses… and young, tight-pussyed punks like you.”

Coby reacted to the announcement as though a live wire had seized his vitals. He moaned and groaned as Sal dropped to his knees in front of him and seized his manhood, sending sparks of electrifying sensations throughout his virginal loins. Instantly the kid’s reflex responses were in full force. He had never traveled this far beyond himself and the swiftly surging feelings came close to being pure rapture. For several moments he didn’t know who he was, where he was or what his was doing. When he regained presence of mind, he was unconsciously lifting his pelvis, as he felt Sal savagely fondling his buttocks, stroking, kneading, and with each seemingly calculated gesture he touched delicate pressure points that were erotic gateways to sensitive nerve endings.

In spite of himself, Coby Wyman trembled, gasped and luxuriated with primitive passion at each scintillating touch of Salvatori Muni.

“You is a real hot cowpoke, ain’tcha, kid?” mocked Sal as his wild, sex-glazed eyes took in the cock-hardening spectacle of his lust-tortured plaything. “Nothing to be ashamed of, boy. Hell, you oughta go at it in front of the whole corral… let the other guys watch… you is really wild, man!”

But despite his overmastering feelings of immense satisfaction, Coby suddenly realized he wasn’t going to give Sal the privilege of knowing that he was doing anything pleasurable to him. Because that damn half-breed Salvatori Muni was in control, and Coby Allen Wyman hated anyone being in physical control of him. Thoughts of his drunken, god-awful father came to mind, and the hits, the beatings, and the psychological torture came flooding back into his 20 year old consciousness. This was the same kind of helplessness that his father had wrecked upon him. All too soon the sexual euphoria segued into gut-wrenching anger. The sudden anger elicited a primordial whimper; was he going to cry? He tried very hard not to. But he knew he was in Sal’s power and could not get free.

Damn… if only all the others would return.

But no.

That might make it worse. A bunch of sex starved cowhands, who loved to brawl, all with a queer bent. Hell, they might all take their turn with him, he thought.

“Can't hold back. Eh? Okay, Fag Boy. That’s your new name, Coby, ‘Fag Boy’… Let’s see how you like being called faggot, ‘Fag Boy’!”

With that, Sal knelt down between Coby’s splayed thighs.

Coby eyed the raging, angry sexpole that throbbed and jerked uncontrollably. Sal was a young lusty brawl-hungry cowboy, built like iron, with a penis power that would have made the most jaded female scream with pain. And now there he was kneeling before Coby.

The rusty-haired kid tried to fight the explosively titillating sensations that Sal was creating by methodically beating out a tattoo rhythm between the upper slopes of his sensitive thighs. His young body shivered as the spasms started… then he stiffened. Stiffened quickly and rigidly… a rigidity not before seen; it almost ached in its tension.

Sal’s warm, wet mouth slowly descended and hotly enveloped the throbbing stiff power that he had so skillfully erected. His tongue was a quick and exact leather lash, skillfully flogging all the precise nerve endings until Coby, utterly controlled by the mounting tension, finally threw back his head, arched his hard sweat-soaked body into Sal’s face and screamed loudly through his saliva-soaked bandana gag.

Over and over again, Sal, tantalizingly, withdrew his full, spit-drenched lips -- looking wickedly up at the boy as he groaned, squirmed and writhed in the wake of the Indian’s hell-bent mission to make the self-denying kid feel what he’s always wanted to feel – completely sexually satisfied by another male…

“Gonna make you sweat real hard for it, boy,” laughed Sal, “so’s that way you’ll really appreciate it.”

Every muscle in Coby’s body was taut and alive. His face, ordinarily boyish and cherub-like, was now mature and filled with deep sexual intent. “Yeah, babe, that’s how you make it last; and it feels so damn good!”

Coby was in the throes of new passions, he sweated profusely. He knew his face was flushed flame red and he really did feel ashamed and humiliated. Nobody had ever touched him in such an intimate and private way. And even though it felt damn good, and even though he had so often fantasized about it. He still refused to completely allow himself to think it was aright.

Still, naked and spread-eagle on his back, in full heat like a rutted bull, his young body was being aggressively stroked, fondled, licked, sucked, within every private nook and crevice being hungrily explored by a young, rugged, super masculine male animal. It really was the best of moments for the boy, and yet, could not resist thinking it was, too, the worst of moments.

Sal bent again, and Coby caught a glimpse of his bent back, the back of his neck, too, with thick tufts of his black hair curling around, caressing his shoulders… the twin shoulder blades, then the twin domes of Sal’s young buttocks and the crevice that divided them. The buttock cheeks were tight and the shadowy dimples very deep. Damn it all, thought Coby, Sal is like a young bull. An animal!

The young rust-haired cowhand didn’t want to give Sal the satisfaction of his orgasm. Despite how great he knew it would feel, he tried to fight against it. It was his father all over again. He had to win. He had to win. He was smarter than that old drunk he had for a father; and he sure as hell was smarter than this half-breed cowhand who could barely read and write. And in spite of the great skill with which Sal serviced his stiff twitching manhood, Coby Allen Wyman decided he was not going to surrender his virginal juices to him.

But as hard as he tried fighting against the feeling, Coby realized he was now too far gone. He was in blood heat. Boiling, boiling, boiling, up and up and up came the inner sensations as he experienced, and was mesmerized, by the intimate warm, moist, attentive environment of Sal’s wet, oral orgy. That mouth slavishly devoured him in it searing hot envelopment; the asp-like tongue was like a whip as it smashed, flogged and punished and worshiped his sensitive steel-hard piston.

An intense feeling of smokey warm euphoria encased the boy when he suddenly accepted he could no longer hold back. He luxuriated in a surging feeling of hot lava power as it swept upward and forward. His heart pounded wildly. His pretty green eyes bulged in their sockets. Every muscle strained and every sinew was etched on his young, tanned body. With half the bandana across his mouth having partly slipped away, Coby loudly bellowed out his soaring rapture when the dam of his copious juices finally broke.

He felt the pleasure-pain of a live wire having been inserted. No, the livewire had pierced the tip of his scimitar and the gushing flood was hot and tasty and kept coming in spurts and spasms of joy… as though his truncheon had been transformed into a living dam, and someone had pierced the long-impeded opening.

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It was the most exhilarating pleasure-pain Coby Allen Wyman had ever known in his 20 years on this planet. He was grunting and groaning, writhing and the fierce gyration of his pelvis, were the movements and noises of his phenomenal euphoria announcing both his delight and shame to the world.

Gradually the stormed subsided and he collapsed back onto the splintery floorboards, exhausted, breathing rapidly. If only cruel Sal would remove the restraints and the spit-drenched bandana that gagged half his mouth.

Cruel Sal?

Sal had just made him feel and experience something really wonderful… Something really, really good… even though it was imposed on him.

The sweet-soaked ‘cruel’ Sal now sat up on his haunches. He swallowed hard a few times and then grinned, “Real good, huh, ‘fag boy’?”

The words were like a sharp knife stabbing against Coby’s raw senses. He whimpered and made signs that indicated his plea to be released. Already, the rawhide leather thongs were slightly slicing into his wrists and ankles. He felt every muscle strain.

“Not just yet, ‘fag boy’”, snapped Sal, as he removed the askew bandana. His calloused palm then stroked Coby’s proud chest; his fingertips tweaked his recessed nipples, stroked them, pinched them and worked them until they grew larger and hard, then his palms made circles and semi-circles as well as whorls, stroking Coby’s feverish, well-tanned flesh, “We’re going to get you back in the mood first.”

What was he planning, thought Coby? Didn’t Sal get what he wanted? Wasn’t that what faggots wanted… a big mouthful of young virginal male sperm. So what else did he want? Even though he queried himself, in the back of his mind, he knew, as he watched the fierce re-surging of Sal’s robust masculine power. The half-breed was really worked up. He could really ice somebody with that fearsome thing…his manhood was like a thick-knobbed sledge hammer.

Coby shivered when he felt Sal’s calloused, work-hardened hands stroke him lower and lower, sweeping across his lower tummy til he traced his fingers along his pelvic bone, and finally cup his slowly rejuvenating powers. A spasm instantly creased his loins, as he released a soulful grunt of excitement. Now Sal was ready to reveal to his plaything just what he wanted.

“You about ready, eh? Okay, ‘fag boy’ – let’s see how you can take care of me, and make me feel real good too.”

In his western twang, the slow drawl of a lust-drenched cowhand, Sal could have been accommodating, sensuous, stimulating, earthy. But, momentarily, he was a ravenous, sex-crazed beast. His dark eyes brimmed bright and glazed radiantly with raw, primitive lust. His thick, lustrous black hair tumbled over his boyish face. His robust young body was alive and glistened almost magnificently with perspiration. The awesome sight of Salvatori Muni at that moment made Coby as malleable as a new born babe.

The dominating aroma of the man made the rust-haired cowboy dizzy with a new euphoria. He felt warm, contented and enthused, and didn’t know why. He soon got the picture, when Sal eased the tip of his fat-knobbed manhood on his pink lips.

“OH, noooooooooo!” Coby screamed, “I’d rather die than do that to anyone!”

“Man, this is gonna feel real good. And if you think you gotta die, then so be it, ‘fag boy’. In the meantime, you gonna git busy.”

Coby felt Sal’s naked, hot, sweaty buttocks squatting on his chest; felt the way the cheeks had yawned wide and experienced the intimate heat of that shadowy crevice on his own chest. it was a miracle that his chest wasn’t crushed. Sal’s knees bent and dug into Coby’s armpits.

The blur of the power descended and the sledgehammer was forced into the sweet, open gorge -- the chasm of warm moist Eros. No matter how much Coby twisted and turned his head in feigned protest, he was held prisoner by a grinning Sal, who had seized him by his rust-colored hair, and pulled until his head was held in place.

The target was finally reached.

Sal’s boy-man face was screwed up into a mask of naked, Dionysian lust, “Ooooooooh, fuck… it feels so FUCKING good! Feels real good, just like you felt it, ‘fag boy’!”

His hips moved; his sweaty loins undulated lewdly as though he were consummating a natural act… and Coby mouth was the va-jay-jay of a dewy girl.

Coby mouth could barely accommodate the huge truncheon and spent much of the time trying to force it out of his mouth. There was way too much meat on that bone for him to really enjoy it. But the greater effort that the rust-haired kid made to get Sal’s manhood out of his mouth only created the greater stimulation, bringing provocative thrill after thrill to the lust-hypnotized half-breed.

“Oh, more..more! Please… more!” feverishly muttered Sal. His thick fingers clutched Coby’s hair, forcing him to bob his head up and down.

It took a rather awkward five minutes… each second a mixture of pleasure and pain for Coby. The taste, the aroma, and the thought of the act were really sexually stimulating -- but the discomfort of that mammoth tool stretching his jaw beyond belief and clogging his throat and sinuses, left much to be desired.

Then it happened.

Sal’s long lean, wiry body went stiff; then erupted into a sequence of shuddering spasms, his handsomely exotic boy-man face possessed a strange expression of acute exhilaration when the peak has been reached.

“Ohhhhhh… man, go for it… more… more…!” he grunted, which was followed by a series of lewd epithets.

Coby almost choked. His gag reflex was being challenged. The taste was alien, unusual… but it was the taste of a man-juice cocktail, one he had fantasized about for many months. So he swallowed and swallowed and swallowed; gagging on the first one or two. But soon the constantly erupting ejaculations were gobbled down with comparative and jubilant ease.

Soon the leather ties at his wrists and ankles were removed and his just lay there. A part of him in a quiet state of unimaginable elation, the other part crippled by gnawing shame. Sal walked away with a wink and a grunt, while scratching his ass.

Later, nothing was said to the other bunkhouse mates, for which Coby was grateful. He was also grateful for a chance to bide his time to get his revenge. He continued working on the cattle drive that spring, rounding up animals, watering and branding them. But throughout it all, he stoically waited for the chance to pay back that thieving half-breed, Salvatori “Sal” Muni.

To be continued...

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