Date: Tue, 14 Jul 2009 21:39:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: thinsmooth <thinsmooth@yahoo.com>
Subject: Ranch Boys 4

From part 3

Henry sat in front with his father, leaving the back of the king
cab to Nicky and me.  The brothers chattered happily on the way
back to town.  I listened incomprehensively as the boys answered
their father's questions in their own language.  I'd never heard
him speak in English.  After my first ride in their truck, Henry
had told me his dad wasn't very fluent, and was shy about using
English.

So I wasn't expecting it when he turned his head briefly to
address the back seat, and said, "Danny, you work hard for my
sons.  You help Henry with homework.  You good friend."

The boys froze in their seats, staring at their dad.  Then each of
them turned their heads to me, smiles spreading across their
surprised expressions.  I just blushed and said, "Thank you, sir.

Mr. C (I'll call him) had turned his eyes back to the road, but he
looked up at me in the rear-view mirror, and continued.  "Boys
have to chop firewoods for grandma next Saturday, at sheep camp in
mountains.  You go with them?"

"Well, I haven't chopped much wood before, but sure, I'll be glad
to help out."  Nicky and Henry both gave me high-fives, and beamed
as they spoke to their dad in their language.  They were still
talking when they drove away, after they'd dropped me off at home.
It wasn't even 10 a.m., and I was already anticipating the first
of several jack-offs I would enjoy before I fell asleep that
night.


Part 4

By the time Henry arrived for the next study session, two days
later, I'd come a dozen times reliving events at the ranch.  But
my mother is nosy, and I was paranoid about being caught at home.
Therefore, Henry and I couldn't pick up where we left off, with
his cock in my ass.  The best we could manage was a mutual feel-
up, but I was always worried that my Mom would walk in to "bring
cookies", or any of her other excuses.

Still, we enjoyed ourselves.  I don't think we turned a page in
the text book, though.  The first night, my hand brought him to a
climax, and he left for home trying to cover the wet spot his dick
made on the front of his jeans.  The second night, I violated my
own self-imposed limits, and opened his belt buckle.  Henry was
wearing a rodeo buckle on tight jeans, and a plain white t-shirt
that stretched tightly across his chest, glowing against his
exposed biceps.  As soon as the buckle was loose I opened the
front of Henry's pants, and reached into his white briefs.  I
realized that my cock-hunger was overcoming my normally good
judgment, and I didn't care.  But a noise in the hallway forced me
to stop my advance on Henry's open jeans.  He zipped up, and we
didn't try any nasty play again before he went home.

At sunrise Saturday morning, I was more than ready when Mr. C's
pickup truck pulled into the driveway.  Henry was already in the
front seat, so I joined Nicky in the back.  In the shadows of the
rear cab, Nicky's hand found my left knee.  His fingers skittered
up to my crotch, and clamped down for several seconds.  My dick
hardened under his hand, while I watched the mirror for fear his
dad would see us.  In the growing light, the open space between
the front bucket seats made it too dangerous for Nicky to leave
his hand on my dick, and he withdrew after a few minutes.  I
relaxed my attention on the mirror.

The road began to ascend toward the Continental Divide.  Mr. C
turned off before the summit, and continued on a rutted dirt road,
into the trees.  After about 20 minutes, I could see that we were
approaching a small house, framed on either side by corrals, full
of sheep.  "Stay in the truck" was all Mr. C said, before climbing
out and shutting the door behind him.

Henry turned from the front seat, to face me.  "Grandma doesn't
speak English, Danny, but if she talks to you, just be yourself."
He gripped my shoulder with his left hand, and smiled.  I was
almost lost in that smile, until I felt Nicholas' hand on my other
shoulder.  I think I blushed again.

A minute after entering the house, their dad emerged to beckon us
inside.  I was the last to enter through the wooden, screened
door.  As my eyes adjusted to the low light, I saw that I was in a
kitchen.  By this time my nose had also picked up the smell of
cooking meat.  In the middle of the room was a thin, very elderly
woman wearing glasses, her white hair covered with a scarf.  She
was busy hugging her grandsons when I entered, but let Nicky go
when she saw me.  She waved her hand wordlessly, in a motion to
beckon me closer.  After I stepped over to her, she raised her
hand to the side of my face, and laid her palm on my cheek.  At
the same time, she said something in their language and smiled at
me.

"My mother doesn't trust white people, but she says she can see
that your heart is true, and she says you are welcome here."  I
didn't know what to say, except "Thank you, ma'am"  Normally, I
don't like being laughed at, but when the boys, their dad, and
their grandma started laughing at me, I knew it was because my
face must have turned bright red.  That's always been my curse.  I
smiled like a fool, and soon their attention turned to affairs of
the day.  Although they didn't speak in English, I could tell they
were discussing the job we were there for.  Within a few minutes,
we jumped back in the truck, and continued along the rutted dirt
road that wound higher up the mountain.  About a quarter mile past
the house, Mr. C stopped the truck and pointed to a stand of oak.
After we unloaded the chainsaw, water jug, and 2 axes, Mr. C left
in the truck.

"Come with us Danny.", was all Henry said, before he started into
the woods, with Nicky close behind him.  When he stopped, he
turned and addressed us both in English.  We'll use the chain saw
here.  We brought the axes just in case.  We'll pick one tree, cut
it down, trim and section it with the saw, then wait for dad to
bring the truck so we can haul the wood back to the house.  He'll
be back when he finishes fixing the gate on the sheep pen.

Nicky and I looked around, while Henry selected a tree.  He chased
us away from proximity to an oak about 30 feet tall, and proceeded
to bring it down.  He worked quickly and expertly trimming
branches, then used the snarling saw to cut the tree into 3 foot
sections.  Henry was sweating by now, while we relaxed in the
shade.  Then he looked up. "Start carrying these big ones to the
road, while we're waiting for dad."

I followed Nicholas' example and picked up a log section from near
the top of the tree.  Each time we returned from the truck, we
picked up another section, and repeated the cycle.  As we got
closer to the base of the tree, the sections were too big for one
person to carry, so Henry split them with the gasoline saw.  They
were still rather heavy, though, so Nicky and I doubled up on the
last few large pieces.  By now, we were all dripping perspiration.

We only had a couple of minutes to catch our breaths, before Mr. C
arrived in the pickup.  It was quick work to fill the cargo bed,
but the weight of the load caused the truck's rear end to sag
slightly.  We unloaded the wood near a low shed, where I cold see
a stack of cut wood lined against one wall.  Close by the shed was
a very large block of wood, about 3 feet wide and high.  The boys
and their father spoke in their language as we worked.  As soon as
the truck was unloaded, Mr. C was off again, heading down the
mountain.

Henry retrieved an axe from inside the shed, picked up a log from
the tree we'd just cut, and placed it standing on end, on the
large block.  Then, stepping back a few feet, he buried the blade
in the upright end.  The log didn't quite split all the way along
its length, so he lifted the axe with both hands, its blade still
buried in the partially split wood.  When he brought them down
again, the log split into two pieces.  He continued in a similar
fashion through several logs, sometimes splitting them on the
first blow, other times needing 2 or 3 strikes before the log
finally split.

"Your turn, Danny, I'll show you how to hold the axe."  Henry
placed a log on the block and handed me the axe.  After a minor
adjustment to the position of my hands he stepped back and told me
to try it.  I managed to bury the blade in the end of the log, but
not very far.  I lifted the combined weight of both log and axe,
and brought them down on the block, and repeated that move twice
more before the log split.  I heard Nicky's brief applause behind
me, and looked up to find Henry laughing at Nicky's joke.

Two or three split logs later, I was panting and sweating, and
Nicky offered to take over.  He went through 5 or 6 logs, then
asked me if I wanted to try it again.  There was no shade where we
were standing, and we soon removed our t-shirts.  Henry was
watching me closely, and gave me a few more pointers.  During
their turns, I was watching each brother closely as well, but not
for the same reason.  Henry's taller, more developed body and
longer arms made him the best axe handler, but Nicky was no
slouch, either.  The wide arc of each blow stretched glistening
copper skin taut, over bellies, chests, shoulders, and arms.  They
both wore silver rodeo buckles on their belts, which reflected the
sunlight with the movement of their upper bodies.  Henry's swollen
biceps were the most impressive among the three of us,  I'm lanky
and tightly packed, but not as densely muscled as Henry.  Nicky
was still too skinny to compete with us, but he held his own with
the chiseled definition of what muscle he showed.  Both boys'
asses nicely filled their jeans.

Alternating with the axe, we continued splitting up the wood until
we'd finished the entire truckload.  By now we were drenched in
sweat.  Henry shouted something toward the house, and his
grandmother replied faintly from within.  Henry turned to us with
a smile, "Dad won't be back to take us home for two hours or so.
There's a pond down that way, Danny, where the sheep graze.  Wanna
go swimming?"

It took us a good twenty minutes of rigorous hiking to reach a
shallow, earthwork damn, holding back a stream-fed pond.  There
was a motionless windmill accompanied by the usual round water
tank, on the far side of the pond.  The pastures below the
windmill were empty, and fenced off.  I could see several gates,
which were all closed.  The stream fell over a concrete and metal
channel at the top of the small dam, and wound through the
pastures below.  The pond must have been there for a long time,
because there were dogwood and willow trees growing in several
places around the bank.  Un-shaded areas of the shoreline were
dominated by thick stands of cattail.

Henry continued to lead the way, until we arrived at a shady spot
by the water.  Up close, I could see that the water was clear and
dark.  A few lily pads floated in the shallows under the trees,
but there appeared to be no other obstructions.  No sooner had I
completed my analysis of water quality, than I heard Nicky's
shrill, hooping holler, and a splash.  While I'd been examining
the aquatic flora, Nicky had shucked his pants, which lay on the
shore.  He now paddled away from the shore, and from underneath
the dangling rope-swing which remained tied to the tree limb above
him.  By the time I saw the rope, Henry's bare arm was grabbing
for it from the lower branches of the willow.  The rest of him,
naked, emerged rapidly from my peripheral vision, into widescreen
Cinemascope, swinging out over the sparkling water, then
submerging beneath it. I was left standing there, tenting rapidly.

"C'mon Danny, the water's great!"  "Yeah, Danny, hurry up and make
like Tarzan!"  I'd never stripped so fast in my young life.
Unencumbered by clothes, I found my way up the branches of the
tree, and grabbed the rope.  I swung silently out over the dark
water.  Reflexively, as I released the rope, I curled my naked
body into a cannonball dive, landing only a few feet from Henry,
who'd barely cleared the strike zone.  I immediately regretted my
"innocent" mistake.  By the time my face cleared the water, I felt
Henry's steel embrace drive me under.  He didn't let me go, even
though I was sputtering and coughing, but he did let me come back
the surface to breathe.  Henry was facing me now, his legs locked
around my waist.  He looked down into my eyes, smiling like he had
in my room, when he knew I was checking him out.

My feet had touched the bottom, and I made my way into the lily
pads.  As I emerged, the bank, he released me.  We stood facing
each other, under the willow tree.  Henry continued looking at my
face as he reached around my ass.  Still standing, I allowed him
to turn me around.  Now he spooned my body, his hands on my neck
and shoulders, his tumescent cock teasing my responsive ass.  He
pushed me to my knees, which is when Nicky arrived to cushion my
landing.  His smooth male equipment loomed beneath my lips.