by Ben Boxer

Part 1

The lips of his ruggedly handsome face lifted in a sneer above the grizzled beard. He growled in contempt as he pushed me down hard on my knees with one huge hand.
I looked up at steely gray eyes staring down coldly from under the wide brim of his 10-gallon Stetson hat. His massive shoulders were silhouetted against the oil rig that loomed high above us, almost touching, it seemed, the blue West Texas sky.
With the other hand he tore at his belt buckle and dropped his jeans to the tops of his hob-nailed boots. His studded belt still swung from those broad hips I could barely get my arms around. He had no skivvies on.
There it was: ten thick inches of uncut manhood knocking against that big hairy belly I loved to lick. Its moist scarlet head rose angrily out of the foreskin, looking for a fight. It dove at me when he thrust his hips forward. He jammed that bugger down my throat. I struggled, but with my hands roped behind my back there was nothing I could do.
Thrusting, thrusting, in, out, he picked up speed and went at me like a battering ram. His heavy balls banged against my chin. I tried to cry out, but my screams were lost in gagging. His thrusts grew even faster.
He clutched my head to him with both meaty paws. He smelled rich and heavy like the big bear he was. "Take it, cocksucker!" he yelled. "I'm gonna drown you with my cum!"
At that moment, I felt a fiery liquid spurt against the back of my mouth. It was like boiling lava. My nostrils, till now gasping desperately for air, flared with the funky smell of fresh cum. Right then, he pushed me away fiercely, his huge cock still squirting juice that showered over me as I twisted and fell backward.
The impetus of the fall rolled me over on my stomach. I lay there naked and panting, waiting for the blow, knowing it was time to die. But instead of killing me, he snarled: "Up on your knees, pussy boy! It's time for you to get fucked!"
Unbelieving, I stared at his cock. That giant wang was a living, breathing thing. It still stood tall. The red head still looked out in rage at the world, and, yes, especially at me. I obeyed him, as I always did, and found myself on my knees, bent forward.
My asshole began to quiver. The sphincter muscles expanded and contracted in quick jerks beyond my control. The anal opening puckered like lips ready for a kiss. My heart pounded. My temples throbbed. My whole body coiled like a spring.
"Fuck me! Fuck me!" a voice cried out.
Was it mine? It had to be. There was no one but the two of us out there on the prairie under the burning sun, two ants at the feet of our god--the great phallic oil rig scraping the sky--waiting for the gusher that would have made us rich men.
We had waited so long, had worked so hard to build our rig, yet only water had boiled up from the ground. Now we expected never to strike black gold, Texas tea. We had lost everything. There was nothing left. We couldn't go on. So we had devised this game. It brought our death wish to life. I was the hostage held for a ransom that would never come. He was the bearish bandit who kidnaped me and carried me away. While the make-believe posse closed in, he would rape my tonsils and suffocate me with his huge dick.  If I didn't strangle on his cock, he would slit my throat with a sharp knife before shooting himself through the heart.

Part 1 | Part 2

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