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Coby's Cock Revenge by Will
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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 was in a quiet state of unimagined elation; the other part was crippled by gnawing shame and guilt. Sal walked away, tossing him an over-the-shoulder wink and a grunt, while scratching his ass.

Later, nothing was said to the other bunkhouse mates about what had happened; for which Coby was grateful. He was also grateful for a chance to bide his time to plot 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.

At the end of June, the paymaster rode out to the wilds of Montana on the spread. He found the bunkhouse paid the ranch hands their wages, and signed most of them up for another month. The whole bunch got rip-roaring drunk. All… except for Coby. He was never much of a real drinker anyway, although he was pretending to get drunk.

The rust-haired kid continually eyed Sal as he got drunker and drunker. He knew the robust, strong-willed cowpoke had an almost inhuman capacity for alcohol; and had seen him on his feet, walking steady, after consuming two bottles of Johnny Walker. Finally, he slowly walked up to rowdy ranch hand. Deliberately slurring his words, he put his arm around the broad-shouldered stud, saying, “Let’s me and you go off somewhere, Sal?” His hand then traveled lower on the cowboy’s buttocks, groping and fondling them.

“Sure… sure… kid.” said Sal, his dark eyes were sleepy and the cheap liquor sold at the nearby tavern in the dull excuse for a village was taking its effect. “I bet you want…” continued Sal, winking. “Sure… it was awful the first time, kid… but it's always good the second time… ain’t that the way it always works?”

Coby’s arm had steered them across the way towards the foreman’s office. They entered and made their way to the cheap metal cot that served as a bed. Work-exhausted cowpokes care very little for soft comfort. They can sleep anywhere… and a cot is a luxury compared to a blanket-roll on the hard open range.

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Reaching the cot, Sal released a loud sinister laugh, saying, “Down there, cutie.” as he guzzled down more of that cheap liquor. Coby reached for the bottle and pretended to take a swig. Then turning away for a second, he quickly poured a small dose of Rohypnol into the half-full bottle. Sal pulled them both down on the cot and began to undress Coby. Jumping back to his feet, Coby told Sal to finish off his bottle of liquor first. Grabbing the bottle from the rust-haired kid, Sal guzzled down the remains of the bottle and threw it across the room, smashing it against the wall. Giving Coby a yank, he pulled him back down on the cot and the two studly cowpokes began aggressively undressing each other.

Coby kept huskily gasping. “This is gonna be good for the both of us, Sal. Something that’ll make us both feel great. You showed me how, man…”

“Atta boy… that’s my fag boy.”

Coby pretended. He was pretending all the way. Slowly and methodically he lowered his jeans, exposing his bare mid-section and groin. He lasciviously fondled Sal, putting the half-breed in a smoldering state of feverish arousal as he pulled down his ripped Levis -- then removed his flannel shirt. Soon Salvatori “Sal” Muni was completely bare-ass. His young rugged body was sun-bronzed; the muscles livid on his work-hardened physique. And since he loved to frequently get drunk and go horse-back riding in the nude, his body looked like a bronze young Indian brave. But he hated being called an Indian. Sal hated it more than being called a queer. But now that he was completely naked, burning alive with stiff, throbbing ardor, begging Coby to “play” the way “I showed you”, he might have gone along with anything if only to be ultimately satisfied. But all of a sudden that gorgeous naked body went limp and he passed out.

That’s when Coby went into action with his surprise trick. “Okay, QUEER boy, now it’s your turn.” Nervously he raced across the room to get the metal chains he’d hidden there earlier. They were ordinarily used to tie fence posts together. Quickly he fettered them with thick ropes, and secured them around Sal’s thick wrists and ankles. Only this time, Sal was face down – spread-eagle – naked. Yeah! His taut young buttocks were like twin sun-kissed globes, spread apart to the split level, the shadowy dividing crevice looking so damn deliciously lewd.

The crease that divided his buttock mound from his thigh was deeply indented.

“Okay, queer Sally; let’s wake you up… I want you to feel this!” said the rust-haired kid aloud. The watered-down date-rape drug was thinly measured and Coby knew that it would work instantly with the amount of liquor Sal had consumed -- but would wear off to allow near-full consciousness in about 30 minutes. While waiting those long thirty minutes, Coby went to get the metal bucket that he had filled with ice-cold water. He was in no real hurry. He knew the foreman wouldn’t be back for two days.

And as he sat waiting, he heard the other cowboys in the bunkhouse across the way, whooping it up, shouting and rough-housing and lashing their whips. They were in a wild mood for anything.

Slowly raising the metal bucket into the air, he sloshed the icy water all over the back of Sal’s head and shoulders. The robust cowboy shook his fog-clouded head – his long curly jet black whipping droplets of water all over the immediate area. It took several minutes before he was completely revived.

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“WHA? WHA? HEY! WHAT THE FUCK…!” He was like an fierce, enraged bull when he realized he was spread-eagle and all chained up. “DAMN YOU, MUTHA FUCKA!! LET ME LOOSE!” roared the irate, red-faced half-breed.

“Sally, Sally, Sally, getting screwed in an alley” began Coby in a cool, smooth, cocky attitude. “You yell too loud the others might come a-runnin’. And you know what they’ll do is they see you like that, dontcha, girly-boy. My queer girly-boy, SALLY!”

Coby sneered. He sneered openly at his coworker. The flush of vengeance sending a fierce course of ramrod power sweeping through his young loins. “So shut your fucking pie-hole, Sal-Lee! You didn’t let me talk… REMEMBER!!?”

“Awh, Coby… Coby, baby… lemme up, man. What’sa matter? Come on, lemme up, sweetheart!”

Coby’s manhood thickened and lengthened beyond imagination. Because all the more the big, brawny naked cowboy squirmed and struggled, his rippling muscles flexing and bulging beneath the slight layer of sweat, exacting a phenomenal aphrodisiac on Coby, had his young brain spinning and reeling in a dizzying dance of divine lust. It scared him at first because he didn’t really want to enjoy it -- he just wanted to do it. But all of sudden Sal was morphing into a helpless, vulnerable little boy – and that was making Coby Allen Wyman a sex-crazed monster.

“Just relax, queer boy,” Coby spat out finally, “and take it like man.” He then guffawed. “I mean take it… like a woman… my sweet girly-boy.”

With that, Coby peeled down his dungarees. He wanted to do it to Sal in the raw. And he didn’t want it to be a hurry-up or a quickie-fashion. Since it was going to be his first fuck, he wanted it to be the rapturously bizarre thrill of flesh-on-flesh, man-on-man, lovin’.

Sal had grown frantic. He had been blitzed on cheap liquor and had been drugged; but the shock of what was going to happen had really sobered him up. His lean-muscled thighs were spread-wide and he responded with spine-tingling shivers when Coby’s fingertips fondled, dove beneath, cupped his thick man-pouch, and then stroked the rigid powerful ramrod symbol of his awesome manhood. Coby’s searching, fondling, tantalizing hands soon had Sal in the throes of bestial arousal. The anger and rage soon flowed off into lustful simpers and pre-orgasmic whimpering as he almost tearfully begged for release.

Coby hurled himself upon his bound, sex-bloated victim. Revenge was so very sweet. So very, very good! He straddled Sal; then moved quickly. He had never known it could be done this way… but it was the way Sal had told him; it was he who had threatened him -- who had gone into the most coarsest details, leaving nothing to the Coby’s imagination.

“I would get myself tanked up at a faggot’s bar.” Sharply Sal’s words came back to Coby as he pressed down tight against the whimpering cowboy’s moist, hard-as-wood back, “Then I’d pick up a gay boy, one of them swishy fairy-types, the kind that looks like girls… and I’d bring them to my room, get the damn little queer all drunk… and then really tear into him… use him like a girl. Hell, in the dark, just turn a sweet-faced boy upside down, and he’s just like a girl. Better’n a girl… nice and smooth and tight… Something real good… Maybe too tight… So you just start real easy and get a real good hold… And then… WHAM!!”

There they were… The words were instructive guides to Coby as he pressed his broad chest down flat against the smooth planes of Sal’s bronzed back, the shoulder blades cutting into his own pectorals.

“If you scream… or yell,” grunted Coby into Sal’s ear, as he found his liquid-fire target, “you just gonna get it worse… QUEER boy! If I can be your ‘fag boy’, then you gotta be my queer boy. That’s what you gonna be… my QUEER boy!”

With his thumbs and palms, Coby pressed flat on the bottom slopes of Sal’s buttock cheeks. He was cruel… as only a vengeance-filled victim can be cruel… and he cruelly pried the hard muscled cheek flesh apart.

At first, he thought he couldn’t go through with it, because it was so diametrically opposed to his true nature. But then… when the liquid fire of the target had been invaded --- when the hot, sweet goodness had tightly encased his rigid vigor, Coby knew he would have to go through with it or else he would EXPLODE!

“Oh, fuck, man,” sobbed Sal, “It hurts, man….it hurts!” He kept struggling and sobbing, but that only aided in further whetting Coby’s lust-driven appetite. It only served to inspire him on with his new sense of potent sexual power.

“It’s supposed to hurt, you fucking cry-baby faggot!” shot back Coby, using the vernacular that Sal had so eloquently revealed to him. Then the rust-haired kid made the deep diving plunge. He soared and he fell… and the result was as if someone had filled him with the most thrilling ecstasy imaginable. He felt as though he were being bathed in a shower of mind-expanding exhilaration.

“Oh, damn… is this good or what? Oooooh, man, you feel so fucking good!” Coby was working like a pile driver, a human piston… And he tore at, and hurt, Sal’s virginal sphincter until the explosive level was reached.

Coby rocked.

He roared.

He exploded with a charge. The dynamic powers ripped through his loins and he actually felt as though he floated all the way up high into a flashing shower of iridescent novas.

He was vindicated.

Slowly, he eased himself out from within the tight scalding hole. At one point Sal clenched his muscular buttocks tightly around the escaping shaft as though it were grieving its departure. The victor moved over to the sink and cleaned himself up, as he occasionally glanced over at Sal, who lay softly moaning and groaning while clenching and releasing his butt cheeks as if he were still experiencing the deep brutal thrusts of Coby’s avenging cock.

Dressed now, Coby walked over to the naked, sun-bronzed, body spread-eagle on the cot, that trembled in the sweet aftermath of its anal deflowering, “Want some more --- QUEER BOY?” asked Coby, deliberately emphasizing the last two words. His green eyes lasciviously scanning the radiant naked majesty of the guy, “Injun… Ya damn Injun redskin… that’s what you are… Injun!”

Sal flinched; then growled. “I’ll get you, fag boy. I’m gonna split you in apart!”

“You mean like I just split you apart?” laughed Coby. “Well, you won’t get the chance, Injun. You won't be able to do anything… not for a long time.”

Coby then let out a whistle across the yard toward the bunkhouse. It was the kind whistle only heard elsewhere by some city dweller whistling for a cab in New York City.

The rowdy band of cowpokes, all hollering and stomping in a drunken romp across the way all stopped and asked “WHAT??”

Making sure that Sal heard him, Coby yelled back "Wanna get a nice piece of nice juicy, Injun squaw ass?? Come on over, she’s waiting for ya.”

With a loud war whoop, the drunken cowpokes raced the distance across the yard like pack of wild dogs, and filed into the foreman’s quarters. They saw Sal in his naked helpless trussed-up condition, with that awesome sun-bronzed ass spread wide for unimpeded insertion was all the invitation the wild bunch needed. They all broke out into loud screams, wolf whistles and cheers as they commenced to crazily rip off their boots and clothes

“Nawh, guys, naw! Ya’all don’t wanna do this, do you?! Come on, man… don’t” screamed Salvatori “Sal” Muni, as Coby headed out the door and made his way down the road toward town to catch the train to Dillon. He whistled a tune as he walked with his young mind filled with sweet, tasty memories of an enjoyable revenge --- and he no longer felt the slightest tinge of shame or guilt about wanting, needing and loving to ‘stick it’, hot, hard and heavy, to another consenting masculine male like himself.

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