BRONC BUSTER
			       ------------
			      by Buckin Bronc

		 Uploaded to Pink Triangle by Simon Jones

    I was  pretty hot  shit for  an 18  yr old, or so I thought! I had
grown faster  than most for my age, and the results were embarrassing,
yet ego-building. A full 6' tall, and a full 7 thick inches at age 18,
it was  those fuckin'  low-hangers of  mine that  got me  the nickname
"Moose". It  was also  "balls" that  got me  into more  trouble than I
could handle  that summer  afternoon as  I stood on the back porch, my
cut cockhead aimed at the mouth of a canteen; busily "brewing" the tea
to take to Rob at the corral on the back forty.

    To me  it was just another prank, a little excitement in my other-
wise monotonous  summertime existence  - days  filled with baling hay,
driving cattle  and shovelling  shit. Behind  my prank, however, was a
deeper motive  than want  of excitement. Only-children are notoriously
spoiled and  covet attention  jealously. No  one dares  tread on their
territory. I  was no  exception to that rule. So it was more than just
kicks that  prompted me  to fix  my special  "cocktail" for  Rob  that
steamy summer afternoon.

    I had  always jealously admired Rob, the hunky number that came to
be our "hired hand" for the summer. For the last several years, my old
man had bruised my pride by hiring an extra man in the summertime. But
this time  instead of  some overgrown city brat from the county deten-
tion centre, Dad had picked a REAL man, a 6'2" black haired, blue-eyed
cowpuncher who had lost his winnings from the spring rodeo in a bet on
his arm wrestling ability. "Too much beer and not enough muscle, kid",
He told me when I asked why he'd lost!

    But He  had too  much muscle  for me.  Too much  of everything for
someone who  was only  6 years my senior! As I swung up on my Palomino
gelding, Rex,  I chuckled  to myself;  as in my mind I conjured up vi-
sions of  Rob's expression when He discovered the fluid pouring out of
that canteen  was hot  piss and  not iced  tea! I'd teach that hayseed
cowboy to  invade my territory! A few minutes later, I reined Rex from
a full gallop to a dead stop, about 2 feet from the outer corral gate.

    As the  dust settled,  I could  hear Rob coughing, trying to clear
the sandy grime from his throat. "Where the fuck ya think you're goin'
Kid, a  fire?", he  asked. I watched as he pulled out his red bandanna
and wiped  the dirt of his disgruntled face. The sweat formed rivulets
meandering over  his pecs  and down over his muscled gut - then racing
toward the bulging crotch hidden beneath his well-worn 501's. I didn't
know just  why, but  I had always been drawn to the sight of a working
cowboy, but  I had  - and  here stood a perfect example of the type my
mind worshipped.

    My eyes roamed from top to bottom. From the tanned face, broadened
by a  bushy black  moustache; shaded  by a  sweat-stained  straw  hat,
across that  bulging crotch  wrapped in  snug-fitting chaps  - bruised
over the  years by  thorns and  barbed wire,  down to  this  spur-clad
boots, the caked mixture of horseshit, piss, and dirt making them look
twice as  Rob's 24 years - he was the walking, talking example of what
I looked up to - of what I wanted to be.

    But the  shithead was on "my" ranch, rustling the approval of "my"
old man,  and the  son-of-a-bitch was  gonna have  to GO  - I'd see to
that! "I  may not  be able to wrestle your ass down", I thought, as He
reached into  my saddle  bag and  grabbed the canteen, "but I can make
your ass  so fuckin'  mad you'll stomp off this ranch pronto!", I sur-
mised. After  all, everyone  isn't able  to take a practical joke even
when it's only now and then.

    Just as  Rob was putting the canteen to his lips, a curious white-
faced heifer nosing around the outer gate knocked it from its mooring.
It slapped  Rex right in the ass, sending the flighty palomino lunging
across the corral toward Rob, who was throwing his head back expecting
to drink  in a  gulp of cool refreshing tea. In the second it took for
the hot bitter fluid to hit his throat, I found myself heels-in-a-pile
at Rob's feet, deposited there by one cowpony who could jump any fence
when he  felt both surprised and threatened. I landed belly up, cover-
ing me in a stinking spray from head to toe.

    The look  of rage  in his eyes told me that my inability to escape
"after the fact" meant that this joke was goin' to be on me - only no-
body was  laughing! My efforts to make Rob's life miserable called for
a squaring  of accounts,  and mine  was soon gonna' be marked "PAID IN
FULL"! I grunted as Rob slammed his crusty right boot in the middle of
my gut, the rowels of his spurs aimed menacingly at my cock.

    He spit  the last  drops of my golden piss in my face and growled,
"Alright punk, since you're such a funny man, let's you and I just try
out MY new act". The full weight of his body grinding through the boot
planted on  my stomach  had me  pinned to  the ground.  Before I could
squirm free,  the cowboy  stud had  deftly grabbed a piggin-string and
lashed my legs together. "Roll Over", he barked, as he raked the rowel
of his spurs across my crotch.

    After years  of calf  roping on  the rodeo circuit, Rob made quick
work of  tying me  spread-eagle across the loading chute. As he yanked
my Levis over my cheeks, exposing my ass to the sky, he muttered, "Get
your nose  in that  fuckin' straw and keep it there shitface - there's
more of  that smell  comin', and  you're gonna love it!" The jingle of
his spurs  as he  walked around  me was quickly broken by the crack of
the bullwhip which moments before had been draped over the chute gate.

    "Now, you  son-of-a-bitch, since  you don't  know how to tell piss
from tea,  I'M gonna  give you  a sample  of real food and drink - and
you're gonna learn a little about cleaning, too. Do you understand?"

    "Yeah", I  moaned into  the wet  straw. "I  didn't hear  that", he
snarled and  lashed out  at my  expose ass with the whip. "Yes SIR!" I
screamed, shuddering  all over from the searing pain radiating from my
freshly bruised  ass. "Look  fuckface, your  old lady  don't  like  me
tracking horseshit  in her  house -  so you're  gonna be  in charge of
seein' that my boots are clean from now on - got it?"

    "No way  you bastard",  I yelled  - never looking up to betray the
fear in  my eyes.  "Lick 'em now!", and the whip sailed out again, the
knotted end  finding the  puckered hole in the middle of my ass-crack.
This last blow sent a stinging sensation crawling right up my ass into
my gut.  Fearing more  of the  same, my  tongue shot out caressing the
shit-caked toe of his boots.

    "All over 'em fucker", he demanded. The crack of the whip enforced
his command,  and my wet tongue slid eagerly into the arch between the
heel and  sole of  his boot  as he  rubbed the  spit and piss dampened
raunch of  many a rodeo over my face and in my moustache. The filth on
his boots began to almost taste good as my mind began to wander to the
magnificence of this stud cowpoke ruling over me. After at least half-
an-hour of  furious licking, he pulled one foot and then the other out
of my face.

    The metal of his spurs was now shining, and the boots - though old
and beat  up, were  clean enough  for MOM's  inspection! "Not bad, but
you'll get better", he smirked patronizingly. "Bullshit", I mutter un-
der my breath. Not only was my comment too loud, but my timing was off
for the  2nd time  in one  day - for my wise-crack sent my Cowboy Stud
Master into  another rage! "You think you're such hot shit? - well I'm
gonna take  you like  a fresh caught mustang and ride your ass! You're
gonna suck  my cock,  drink my  piss, and  take up that ass whatever I
want to put up there!" He was just the cowboy bronc buster to do it!

    In a few seconds, I found myself flipped over, my legs spread wide
and tied  in an almost vertical position to the top of the fenceposts.
"Open wide",  he ordered as I stared into the dripping 9" dong hanging
over my  face. I clenched my teeth, determined there was only gonna be
one piss  drinker in  this crowd, but the slam of his bootheel into my
exposed balls  caused my  mouth to shoot open in a cry of agony - just
in time  for the  hot piss from his tool to funnel into my throat. Re-
fusing to  swallow, the hot golden fluid was flowing over my face. The
sounds of  his boots slapping my balls again and again were like claps
of thunder  - the  shooting pain in my groin like lightening! Just the
encouragement to  make me  greedily swallow  the gallons  of hot  piss
pouring from his cock.

    Staring at  that gorgeous tool, spewing that golden fluid; feeling
that powerful  thrust of  his muscular  legs as  he planted blow after
blow from  his bootheels  to my balls - I knew from the rock-hard meat
between my  legs that my own body was saying, "This is the stud you've
been wanting  to serve!"  As the  flow of liquid gold stopped, I could
see his eyes silently penetrating my now rosy-red ass. I knew what was
coming! As  promised, he had broken my will, just as he had broken may
a mustang. The ride of a lifetime was coming my way!

    All the  fight now  drained out  of me, I yielded willingly as his
throbbing cockhead  parted my  cheeks and  plunged into  my asshole. I
groaned with  pleasure -  he grabbed  my throbbing  cock in his gloved
hand and  began to  stroke the  shaft furiously  - in  rhythm with the
pumping fuckstick  he was  cramming down my ass! The moment I felt the
surge of  his cock  dumping loads  of cum  into my  gut -  my own cock
spewed white globs of pearly cum all over my chest. Wasted by the vio-
lence and  passion, I  melted into the weathered floor of the chute as
Rob, my  training completed,  released my  arms and  legs  from  their
bonds.

    "Now that  you know  who's boss,  kid - we're gonna get along just
fine", he  smiled as  the words  firmly crossed  his lips.  He turned,
mounted his  horse, and  headed for  the barn.  I picked myself up and
pulled on  my jeans,  mounted Rex and headed home, too. I never played
anymore practical jokes on that stud cowpuncher.

    My training, happily, didn't end that day. I really needed someone
to show  me just  where my  ass belonged  - and  he was just the Bronc
Buster to do it!


Copyright 1982, 1986
Impramatur Ron a/k/a Buckin Bronc <boot.slave@iname.com>
Comments welcome.

                             END
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