Cowboy Roundup

Taming Brooks by R.W. Clinger-4

It’s two days later and I’m tucked into the third floor loft of the barn, feeding the Mustangs by forking hay down into their clean stalls. Sturdy rafters hang around stacks of golden hay in the sticky and sugary smelling loft. I’m shirtless and hot, ready to take a break. The afternoon sun shimmies its way through the open cracks of the barn. I breathe hard, sweaty and exhausted; the perfect skilled ranch hand. I decide to take a short break and lean into a loft doorway and study the view of Brooks Ranch…

The dry, vast fields seeming to go on forever. I see Brooks, taming a stallion in a smallish corral, straddling and riding the bucking and wild animal with all his might, hanging on for dear life. Brooks’ lean and muscular body bounces up and down. Eventually, he gets bucked off the pissed stallion. The cowboy’s tan Stetson flies down to the earth, and Brooks himself goes careening in mid-air, legs wide open, arms flailing, and lands on his tight ass. He stands up, brushes himself off with spread legs, bent knees, and an arched back. He is all masculine and rancher muscle, which totally drives a shiver of excitement up and down my spine. Growing hard in my jeans, I watch him collect his hat and act as if nothing has happened during his cowboy routine.

In the distance, Brooks decides to take a break of his own, slips his shirt and hat off, and places both on a fence post. Now, he pours water over his head. Chilled liquid decorates his pointed n*****s and rounded abs on his firm stomach. The water dribbles down and over his silver longhorn belt buckle. It washes his blond chest, cooling him down.

I’m lost within the loft and can’t help from pushing down a newly aroused erection. Everything about the moment is heated and erotic…just by watching him perform his everyday tasks. Fortunately, I’m alone and decide to unbuckle my belt and push my Wrangler’s down to my ankles. As my view rests on Brooks with his created and soothing waterfall, I latch sweaty palms onto my extended and firm c**k, start working the d**k with ease, spread my legs as far as they will go, buck hips and ass forward, and turn myself on. Everything about my body is sweaty and stinging. Closing my eyes for the next few seconds, lost on my own range, I catch breaths of hay-filled air, groan, work my erection, ready to pop a load.

Loose boards squeak behind me. “Why don’t you use that thing on me, Randy?”

Startled, I spin around and see Brooks in the loft with me; obviously he has had plenty of time to find me. He wears his hat, but is shirtless and sweaty, drop dead gorgeous and rippled. He has his arms stretched above his head, and practically hangs from a rafter, staring over at me and taking in my body. I see the blond curls in his pits and the pumped lines on his terrain-like chest above me. His jeans are unbuckled, which leaves me with a view of his drooping piece of cowboy-c**k between his chiseled legs.

I hold onto my erection with both hands, feel a jolt of excitement that tells me to coexist with the man, and say, “You scared the s**t out of me.”

“Didn’t mean to. I just came to see if you could tame me.” His veined d**k grows by the second, becomes harder, and rises to the sinful occasion of two hot and sexy men in a sun-bleached loft.

“Tame you?” I ask.

Brooks nods, reaches down between his legs with his right hand, and shares a delicious smile with me. “It’s time for you to be handy, Randy.”