See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/rural/ashes-and-dust/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between related young-adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
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He kept shaking though, and I suddenly realized he'd finished his release long before. Kincaid was crying. I turned him to me, looked in those huge, pouring eyes and sucked his sobs into my own mouth as I kissed him with a passion... a passion I don't have words to describe. Unlike Max, though, Kincaid melted into me, softness and curves, refusing to take and refusing not to be taken. I kissed him against that tree until Gypsy stuck her big ole snotty face in there and snorted horse-slobber over us both, then jumped back. Both she and Ranger was bobbing their heads and snickering at the two of us. "Damned fool horse!" She knew, though, that I was more amused than angry. Kincaid looked at me with those huge brown eyes and just... smiled.
Ashes and Dust 6: Fair Play All Round
by Bear Pup
We finished up the lunch, both of us jest a-smiling and a-grinning as we went back to the Battle of Bramble Gulch. One thing Randy'd got right when he sent me with Kincaid was that I needed practice on that shotgun. Kincaid helped me with exactly where and how to brace the butt; he said it was different for every man and depended on where the muscles and bones lined up. I had to smile as he spent a good fifteen minutes getting right personal with everything from my right titty to my sweaty armpit "finding out" just what went where. Who knew that you could only get truly accurate with your tongue? But no matter how much fun he had a'lookin', when he finished up he found the one place where that gun didn't hurt hardly at all!
As the heat built, the snakes became far harder to see as they retreated further into what little shade the brush provided. By midafternoon, me and Kincaid were spelling each other every half-hour, one doing nothing but finding and shooting snakes and the other cutting the brambles. Between us, we killed fifteen rattlesnakes. I was right pissed at myself for also shooting a big ole prairie kingsnake that was there to eat the durn nasty rattlers! He looked just like 'em. We cut off the rattles and chucked the rest into the cut brambles. We'd finish up the next day and, assuming the wind cooperated, burn the pile.
When the sun started to lower, we were both bushed and the weak-beer was a memory so we packed it in. I'd been thinking all afternoon and decided to strike while the iron (and both of us) was hot. When Kincaid bent way over to grab something, I stepped to his side and put one hand on the back of his neck and snaked the other down his ass and 'tween his big meaty legs, caressing that big slab of meat. Kincaid stiffened and tried to stand, then relaxed with a whimper.
"Jesse. Now, don't go d-d-d-doing that, Jesse. It's right mean, that is!" His voice had gone a little high and pleading. "It's ain't nice to tease, Jesse."
I grabbed his collar and hauled him up to face me, pinning him back against the tree trunk and thrusting into a kiss that melted him. I worked his shirt open then unbuckled his belt as I watched his soft brown eyes go wide and his breath get short. I pulled back. "Who said anything about teasing." I went back to the kiss as I pulled his rapidly-hardening manhood out.
Kincaid gasped and then let out a strange, whimpering sob as I dropped to my knees. Now, truth be told, I had no heavenly clue how to go about this operation. I was pretty sure, though, that I couldn't go much wrong with getting my tongue in close proximity to Kincaid's dickhead. I was right satisfied with the strangled gasp he let out as I started lapping his knob, and the yelp of delight when I slipped my tongue inside his meaty foreskin.
"Ohhhhh, Jesse. Oh, my God, Jesse. Oh, you shouldn't aught'n'a be doin' that! I'mmmmmmm supposed t-t-t-t-to do that fer you!"
I looked up into Kincaid's wide and wondrous eyes. "Now you just hush with the aught'n'a's there, Kincaid. Now, I knows I ain't gonna get this right the first time, but I'm'a counting on you to teach me as we go." I recalled then that I'd done missed a step and moved in and started a'lickin' and a'suckin' on his balls.
"OH, SWEET BABY JESUS!" Okay. Apparently, I done did that right.
Something I hadn't really thought through, though, and it ain't my fault really, was the effect of shaving on such goings-on. Ya see, the hands shaved each morning, excluding Peter and myself (explaining the whole Cookie early-morning situation). Near as I could tell, Pete would need to shave at alternate full moons he was so smooth, and nobody in my family ever really grew a beard. I get this fuzz that grows no more than the length of an eyebrow hair. It starts out soft and over the course of a week or so gets gradually stiffer. A few days after I shave, it feels a little like kitten-whiskers. A few days after that, 'tis a little like short rabbit fur; then a paintbrush; finally, a bit like a hairbrush. I was someplace tween the last two on that p'ticular day.
Like I said, it never did occur to me that such a detail might be at all important in what I was a'tryin'. And, truth be told, I doubt I could'a recalled it anyways. I'd dove into the crease next to Kincaid's hard pecker and took a long breath and a thick tongue-full of sweat. I was struck near senseless by the taste 'n' smell of him. It was... right hard to describe. Pepper gravy and spicy sausage were in there, with summer-sun and dust and thunder. I was right lost in it and kept rooting around.
I heard, vaguely, someone a-hollering as I moved to the other side. There was a long, desperate keening attendant upon my chin-whiskers traversing Kincaid's pecker-head and shaft, and then some sorta begging as the whole edifice I was a'snuffling at started to quake and shudder. Like I said, I wasn't right paying close attention to anything but that wondrous scent as I dragged my cheek (and soft face-fur) up and down his manhood as my tongue and nose searched out any little pockets that held the nectar. I was right surprised therefore when there commenced a rhythmic squealing scream and the right half'a my head was suddenly awash in sticky, creamy warmth.
I followed that crotch with my face as it slid its way down to the dusty ground, Kincaid still spasming and squeaking and rippling with aftershocks. I looked up to see Kincaid's eyes glazed and wide like a man possessed, panting like he'd just finished a ride on a right-nasty bronco. As his eyes came back into focus, flat-out shock replaced the wonderment.
"What you do that for, Jesse?"
"Well, I don't rightly know, Kincaid. All I knows is that I was a-planning to suckle on your pecker and you done shot too soon." I smirked at his expression. "That's a right shame cuz I figure it means I gotta start over." He moaned piteously as I went back to his still-leaking dickhead and nursed the last of his seed out. The whimpering yelps did then recommence as I decided to go right to the swallowing and gulping part. The big old cowpoke's paws were all over my head by then, trying at one and the same time to pull me off and push me further in. And didn't he make the most amazing sounds?
I'll be the first to admit I was plumb stymied. Kincaid weren't near as big as my ole monster, but his pecker was durned thick! I'd'a needed to unhinge my jaw to get more'n the head in, so I finally gave up and started to bob up and down on what I could and decided, since it 'tweren't doin' nothing else, my tongue could right well find out how much it could do inside that foreskin. Since my hands weren't otherwise occupied, I figured that they might as well go exploring.
I got one hand round his ample but not outsized nuts and, at something of a loss, decided to go a-teasing a bit further back. Kincaid durn near bucked me off as my diddling fingers found this cute little seam of flesh running from his nut-purse to his bee-hind and started to play round with it. I looked up from my mouthful of cockhead and saw Kincaid biting his bottom lip like he was pert-near to chewing it off. He made a strangled little whine when my hand slipped a little and ended up a'touching his unmentionable orifice. Well, how 'bout that? The more my fingers wiggled, the more his whole body wriggled!
So, I was a'bobbin' and a'tonguin' and a'fondlin' and a'diddlin' to beat the band as Kincaid made some darned interesting noises and no mistake. I was getting worried 'til he got to the prayerful stage, then I figured it was okay. About five minutes later, his big old paws just locked onto my skull. Kincaid was a strong man, but tender. The tender was pert-near missing as he clamped me in place, hunched twice and let out a howl that sent coyotes scurrying for burrows six counties away.
That was the first time I done tasted a man's seed. I rolled it round my tongue and worked right hard to decide whether I liked it. The flavor was old, wilted flowers and mineral oil, with salt-beef and tallow. Not bad; not great. The texture was slimy but no worse'n overcooked gumbo. All on balance, I decided it weren't something I was gonna go to great lengths to obtain, but neither something I'd say no to. Anyway, the pride and power of making a big, strong cowboy like Kincaid make that commotion and those wriggles and that sweet spunk more'n made up for any other considerations.
I pulled back smacking my lips and, as Kincaid had done for me earlier, used his time "lost in the Arms of the Lord" to clean him up and put his clothes to rights. I looked up to find Gypsy peeking round one side of that tree and Ranger the 'tother, both looking smug as otters. Damned fool horses.
By this time, Kincaid was right begging for another go at my own lower reaches. I smiled and pulled him to me. "No, sirree, Kincaid. That was nothing more nor less than a thank yoooo from a fellow hand who owes you a right lot for the tutelage. You taught me bout shooting and... shootin' today, cowboy. And don't you worry; I ain't forgettin' what you asked for."
He smiled like a hopeful and slightly sad little boy with those big-ole brown doe-eyes. I leaned forward and planted a big old smooch on his nose, just as I'd'a done for Gypsy. "Now, about that promise, Kincaid. I, well, I uh..."
"What, Jesse?" his voice strained and needy, "Just you tell Kincaid, please? Just don't say you ain't gonna... you know, like ya promised? Please, Jesse? "
"Well," I was blushing so hard I could feel it burn, "how 'xactly, do I go about asking?"
He laughed with relief, "Oh, hell, Jesse! I don't care. Raise an eyebrow, crook your finger, holler out across the bunkhouse, 'Kincaid, lips on my pecker, NOW!' I don't care!"
"Oh, hellfire, Kincaid! I cain't say nothing like that. And you mean, like, you'd do... that? In the b-b-b-b-bunkhouse? With the hands lookin'? Don't be silly, Kincaid!"
His face went all predatory, "In a damned heartbeat, Jesse. You don't get it, Jesse, do ya? If you so much as smile, I'll take you down in the middle of the congregation and let the preacher watch!"
I snorted at the absurdity of his boasting. Nobody'd do something like that! We saddled up and headed in, long shadows beginning to slant across the dry summer grasslands. We got in just as Max rode up on Streak, looking relaxed enough that his bones might'a slipped out.
"W'ahl lookee here," Kincaid leered. "You're looking right satisfied there, Max. You placed your... order with Emily Smits, then?"
Max smiled long and slow. "Act'chu'allee, Kincaid, her husband, Walter, was there as well. Closed the shop for right near an hour so's we could pay proper attention to each other, then it took all afternoon to take care'a business with each'a the Smits separate. And don't you leer at me, Kincaid. Not with both you boys' peckers still drippin' in your drawers, there." We both gasped and bent to look as Max guffawed, knowing he'd got us both.
Grumbling and smiling at once, the three of us curried out the mounts and got them settled, fed and watered. Them three horses was gossiping to each other like hens and I right blushed at what they must'a been a'tellin' each other. The chow-bell rang then and we trooped to the chuck-house, laughing and joshing. We'd barely made it through the door when Cookie's voice boomed.
"No, no, no, no! You get that dust right back out my chuck-house. Peter!" he yelled over our shoulders, "Get these h'yar boys cleaned right up fore they come back h'yar." Peter's stomach rumbled like a freight train and he scowled at the three of us. I looked down and blushed at causing him to have his chow delayed. "And don't you a'go grumpin' lahk that! I'll keep a plate fo' ya."
The four of us jostled backwards through the tide of incoming hands and got a look of commiseration from most. Apparently, Cookie the Dust Avenger had struck each of them at one time or 'nother. We started into the bunkhouse and Peter just grunted, "Strip!" and pointed to the porch. He dragged Kincaid inside as Max and I got nekkid as quick as possible. Peter, already nekkid, came out with Kincaid, each of them carrying two of the kettles.
Peter just growled at Kincaid who blushed purple and stripped off as quick as he could. The three of us lined up like naughty schoolboys as Peter poured the first kettle of water over us. He proceeded to give us the fastest wash I ever did know. He was even right perfunctory with our equipment. Twasn't til he spun us about and got to Kincaid's backside that I heard him chuckle and slow down.
Me and Max slowly turned to watch as Pete got right up in there. Our pudgy cowpoke glanced and saw us watching and just hung his head and blushed as he started to groan. Fore long, I could tell that Peter was right personal with them nether regions that I'd just managed to tickle a little earlier. Kincaid started to whine then whimper then hunch, and damned if more-n-more of Pete's hand didn't find its way up in there! Kincaid sudden-like threw his head back and moaned, "No, Pete! God, please, not like thisssssssssss!" With a massive gasp, my plump cowboy began to hunch and huff and damned if he didn't unload right there on the boards. Tweren't nuthin' even touching his pecker!
Well, my jaw was hung open like no-never-mind and I didn't even notice the kettle fore I was a'sputtering and a'gurgling as Peter rinsed me. Max laughed at me. Even Kincaid managing a red-faced chuckle at my predicament. Peter got us all three rinsed and chivvied us into the chuck-house in naught but skin, not that anyone really noticed. Cookie, true to his word, had four plates made up and covered on the warm-shelf above the stove proper. It was a thick, rich, blond stew of chicken and fluffy-wet dumplings. There was chive biscuits and some sort of greens on the side.
Peter sighed deep as we sat down and I looked over at him. "Becky and Sue," he said a bit mournfully.
I swallowed a moan (and a giant mouthful of stew) and asked, "Pardon?"
Pete pointed at the platter. "Becky and Sue. They ain't laid for two weeks and that's the limit, so they's dinner tonight."
I looked at him a bit askance. "You, um, name the chickens?"
He gave me a right offended look. "Course! I see em ever morning when I collect the eggs, and I talks to em no different than you do Gypsy and like most of the hands do the cows!" I pondered that as I chewed a particularly stubborn bit of Sue (or maybe Becky).
"Well, I guess I cain't argue that, Pete, but I never thought'a chickens that way. The always seemed, well..."
Peter's back was up a bit as he retorted, "What? Stupid?"
"Well, I was gonna say ornery, mean and vindictive, but I won't refute a bit short on brains neither." I grinned crookedly and got a grudging smile in return.
"Well, why you think they all get girl names?" I laughed outright at that. He saw me jawing a piece and whispered, "If it's tough as nails, you can bet it's Sue, by the bye." We both giggled like boys playing a prank.
When we finished up, there was still some light left. I turned to Peter and asked, "Um, you mind introducing me to your chickens, buddy?"
He gave me a frown but led me out, both of us snagging boots on the way but neither really feeling the need to cover up none. It was truly surprising, but the whole 'no clothes' thing seemed to be so much more natural after only a few days that I rightly began to wonder why I ever wore duds a'tall other than for working or heading into town. We got to the coop, a big old thing with even a roof of chicken-wire to give the birds room to roam about without the worry of varmints. 'Course they was all settled in the coop by that time and Peter turned to me.
"Now, you knew as well as I that the scratchers and peckers were gonna be abed by now. So, what's this about, Jesse?"
"Well," I smiled crookedly, "it really is a bit about peckers." He laughed. "I, uh... I don't right know how to ask. Um, well... wuchadotakincaid?"
"Um? Run that past me again, cowboy?"
I sighed, blushing enough to reignite the faded sunset. "What did you do to Kincaid? We, um... me and Kincaid came to an understanding today and I, well, I really do want to make him feel good and it shore looked like you had that man feelin' right nice."
Peter cocked his head and looked at me for the longest time. "You know, Jesse, I thought you was just playing at this. But you really are just as innocent as yore pretending, ain't'cha?"
I scowled at the ground and kicked the dust up with the toe of my boot. "Ain't no call for bein' mean, Peter! I knows I'm fool ignorant but'cha don' have'ta rub it in none."
"I'm sorry, Jesse! I didn't mean it like that, honest!" I looked up and his face matched his tone; he was truly upset that he'd poked that scab over my shameful ignorance when it came to manly things. "It's just.... well, Jesse, it's right special. I never got to tell somebody suchlike, and I don't recall as anyone every taught me. I was never brave 'nuff to ask! And I mean that, Jesse. Seem to me it takes a real man to ask something that personal, out loud to another man 'n' all." I relaxed and looked at him hopefully. He was right as always; it had taken a lot for me to ask the question a'tall. He got a slow and sly smile. "Tell ya what, cowboy. 'Tis a lot more fun a'showin' than a'tellin'..."
Special thanks for amazing editing work go out to Ronald, Ronnie, Tom, Skip and the incomparable Jeff Moses. You are really missing out if you're not reading his work on Nifty.
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 35 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 26 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 28 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 20 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Culberhouse Rules: 12 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 10 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/ Ashes & Dust: 6 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/ Maybe Next Time: 6 chapters .../authoritarian/maybe-next-time/