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Nick swung down the hoe again, splitting dry earth and baring good, fertile soil. He stirred it, tilled it, took a few paces and brought down the hoe again. Toned but afflicted with the slim lines and pronounced butt of a city sissyboy, Nick Bane was a twink lover's dream if there ever was one.

The mares would take over actually planting that year's corn crops; they loved that kind of thing as long as Nick broke the ground, and he reckoned with their batting eyelashes and sweet cries of ooh, Nick, how can you go all day without a break? as they brought him lemonade and sweet tea that he could have had any and all of them for a roll in the hay. He passed by them now on his way into the loft, where drying hay needed agitation to keep the mold away. Then as ever, the pretty horses were farmgirl sweet but city whore subtle, wearing just their overalls so their fat tits let the imagination take an early day.

With the field broken in, Nick toiled up in the sweltering loft, tending to the hay. He knew that if he had a quarter for every time one of the horses or mules or bulls on the farm bellowed for Nick to get his candy ass over here, pronto, he'd have enough silver to buy up the farm. It wasn't such a bad gig, though, and it was better than doing chores at mom and pop's just for an allowance they never gave him. At Black Shores Homestead Farm & Tack, he might have been the lowest rung on the ladder, but he had spirit - and he had his imagination.

When he had been working the field, his candy ass had been summoned many times, and it kept right up as he busted said ass in the loft. He was getting to be as tuckered out as he was sweaty; going up and down that ladder like he was an elevator left paws rough and the legs tired. He wiped his brow on the back of his arm, looking at the hay like a farmer perusing his miles of crops. Yep, Nick thought sardonically, nobody moves a pile of hay like Nick Bane, no sir.

It was about this time that Nick got around to a little self-abuse, a way to melt the stress of the day away in the privacy of the loft. At first it had been thrilling - jerking off at work was a profound kind of taboo. Maybe those city folks could just go lock themselves in the handicapped crapper stall and beat their meat, but on a farm with wide-open fields and eager but misguided farm girls looking for an excuse to bang the farmhand, it wasn't so simple.

But the fact was that nobody came to the loft unless it was absolutely necessary. It was presently a balmy ninety-six degrees if the mercury in the dusty thermometer was anything to go by, and the humidity was ungodly. Nick was the only person who ever went to the loft and it was why he masturbated so freely there. Sometimes he even fingered himself, and he thought about mail-ordering himself one of those fake wieners. He had a perfect hiding spot for it in the rafters.

That day a little different, though: he'd been thinking about something besides buying himself a fancy fake dick, something a little more interesting than just shooting his stuff through his fingers and wiping it off on the dusty boards. "Ye-e-ep," Nick murmured to himself, slipping on his stetson. "Either I'm gonna get me some dick, or I'mma get my ass kicked." He started down the ladder, a big grin on his face. He was pulling for the former.

Zane and Memphis were senior day laborers at the farm. Twenty-six and thirty-five respectively, they were justified when they called the nineteen-year-old Nick kid and boy and pup and whatever other diminutive came to mind.

Memphis was a tall, hard stallion, a Tennessee Walker with an unkempt shock of silver hair and a perpetually frowning face except in the presence of the owner's daughter whose mare muff he was intimately familiar with in a tryst which everybody but the owner and his wife knew about. The only place they hadn't balled was in Nick's loft because, as Memphis said, I hate when my nuts stick to my thighs.

Zane was shorter, with legs and arms as stout as tree trunks and a demeanor far less sour than that of Memphis, not to mention a sense of humor Nick easily hit upon with dirty jokes. He was the go-to muscle on the farm, the one the farmer called when he needed the tractor pulled out of a mud pit or the truck push-started.

They supervised the Border Collie, at least on paper. Nick could run the equipment, feed the livestock, deal with the visitors with a smile, but the owner still demanded the youngest employee be treated like a moron. Nick never took umbrage with the owner's condescension. You can _think _the boss is fulla shit, Nick, but by god, you never _say _it to the man, dad had said once. The fact that Zane and Memphis surreptitiously gave him slack made life easier and likened them to cool older brothers in his eyes, and the easiness of their relationship was what saw him stride up to them, thumbs hooked in the shoulder straps of his overalls for extra swagger.

The Walker caught sight of Nick, nodding politely at him. "'Bout time to call it a day, Nicky-boy," he said quietly, sliding crates of eggs into the bed of the truck. "Give us a hand here. You climb up in the bed, you can slide 'em in faster'n we can."

Nick was easy about helping. He took the crates they set on the tailgate, lifting them over the gap and sliding them in like puzzle pieces. A few crates in and he said, "Hey, fellas. I got a little proposition for ya."

Zane chuckled, dropping another crate for Nick. The truck sagged back and it took everything Nick had in him to lift that one over the gap. "We ain't gonna buy you no liquor. Remember when the sheriff found out?"

Yeah, and you don't know I sucked the sweat off of his nuts to keep you assholes out of jail, Nick thought, smirking. He squatted on the tailgate, wrists on his knees and brim pulled low so that when the sunlight caught his blue eyes, it gave them a dazzling sparkle. "Zane, I know you're a dead fag. I seen you at that bar up'n town there, grindin' on other queers."

The work stopped like somebody had turned the horse and mule off. Zane blinked. He turned to Memphis defensively, but the Walker was staring holes through Nick. "And how'n the hell would _you _know, boy?" Memphis snapped, flat teeth showing through in a grimace.

"'Cause I was there too," Nick laughed, "doin' the same shit." He dropped to his bottom and pushed off the tailgate, crunching dry grass under his boots. "An' you, Memph, you ain't innocent neither. We all know you're plowin' Melissa. But I know you been plowin' Jay, too."

"The old man's son?" Zane howled with laughter, hugging his flat stomach. "Jeee-sus fuck'n Christ, Memphis. I didn't know you were one of those bi-sexuals."

Memphis was red as a hot pepper, his eyes slits. He looked like he was about to either cry or knock Nick's teeth down his throat, but he did neither. "So? You're both goddamn fags, I don't wanna hear this shit."

The Border Collie's laughter was smug but handsome, and he smacked the Walker's ass when he tried to turn away. Come on, old buddy, don't make me blackmail you. With Memphis' eyes on him following the smack and Zane's having never left him, he coolly slipped his thumbs into his straps again and cooed, "So we all like some dick and a lil' ass now and then. We're all goin' to hell for being queers." He rocked on his heels and smiled. "How's about you two big ol' fags make it worthwhile and fuck me?"

The equines exchanged looks of perplexity and discomfort. That Nick could ruin them if he felt like it - even if they thought he really wouldn't, since nobody wanted two country boys with nothing to lose on their case - had a certain effect on them. It was the cooler, easier Zane who turned to the dog and shrugged. Memphis agreed verbally, snorting, "I guess so." And then he added with a huff, "Let's finish this shit up first. I gotta run this into town at dawn."

The loft was where he took Zane and Memphis. He wasted no time, pulling aside his straps and letting his overalls drop. There wasn't a thing under them, just like there proved not to be any underwear beneath the mule's ratty and stained blue jeans. He waited to hear some complaints about the heat of the loft, but the stallions were staring at his naked boy body. Nick took their lack of bitching as a compliment.

Nick forced himself on Zane. He was a few inches shy of the burly mule's height, but half as wide. He smooched the older farmhand on his craggy lips and growled, "I seen you tonguin' other men. Don't you be shy with me now, shug."

Zane, with a chuckle in his throat, nipped the dog's cheek. He brushed the cowboy hat off of Nick's head and swabbed his big, broad tongue over the boy's lips. Like a secret handshake or a password, that was all it took: the dog parted his sticky jowls and the rest was pure, eager faggotry. Nick sucked his tongue, running laps around it with the flat, pink strip of his own while the mule's fat tongue worked with dumb, brutal effectiveness. Their naked groins pushed together. Nick's uncut cock nudged stiff and ready into the mouth of Zane's sheath from which a frightful equine penis was just beginning to emerge.

While his coworkers sucked face, Memphis undressed slowly. It wasn't that he was nervous, because when you fucked the two adult children of your boss on a regular basis, a sweaty fling in the loft with coworkers was as calm as a picnic. Slow was just how the Tennessee Walker tended to do things when he was off work; he liked to savor life's little moments, especially the naked ones.

Memphis' overalls hit the floor and he started to slide down his briefs. Zane peeked over Nick's shoulder then clumsily pulled the dog into a turn as if dancing with him. They broke their kiss reluctantly, lips caked with slobber and mouths open and huffing, continuing into their consumption of the sight of the Walker's fat ballbag. The horse's cock stiffened lazily, dangling presently in a sad droop but gradually gaining all the straightness and pride of a flag pole. Its flesh was mottled pink and brown, and although it was semihard, a fat wad of precum dribbled from the tip and made a splatter in the dust.

"I knew you'd be hung as all hell," Nick gushed, tail wagging. "You-u-u are gonna fuck me up the ass, dude. Zane, you're happy with the mouth, ain'tcha?"

"If ya' suck half as good as ya' smooch, then I sure am," Zane chirped.

"Coupla fags," Memphis groused, giving his cock a squeeze. He stepped out of his bottoms and kicked them away, nearly off the loft's edge. "Bend over, kid."

Nick Bane took it up the ass enough to know that that fat horse pizzle was going to destroy him. He'd used the post hole digger for the old man, opening perfect circles in the earth for miles up his roadside property. The visual caught in his mind's eye like a chicken bone in the throat; a gaped hole, freshly excavated by a massive tool. He wondered if he'd have to buy himself one of those city boy buttplugs after things were done and over with.

"Ain't got no lubrication, not unless you want me to use some of the honey," Memphis said so dryly that it was hard to tell if he teased or not. He grabbed Nick by his hips, squeezing, twisting, turning him around. Through his reorientation, the Border Collie reached for the stallion's cock, brushed his fingers on it and then huffed in disappointment as he was forcibly turned away. "Nuh-uh," Memphis snorted. "You ain't feelin' me up. None of that fag shit."

Zane laughed, masturbating slowly. He was fluffing, getting his brown cock hard and ready. "Right, yeah, you're just gonna fuck 'em so hard your prick headbutts mine somewheres 'round his lungs. Nothin' faggoty there..."

Nick sneered at Zane. His young tongue was itching to join in the smartass revelry but the Walker grabbed his shoulders. Like bending a futon from a bed into a couch, Memphis doubled the farmhand over, thrusting his handsome snout near Zane's crotch. The way Nick bobbed down, gasped, tried to straighten and got forced down again brought to mind one of those dipping birds for Zane, and he snickered into his palm.

The Tennessee Walker's tail flicked. He snorted, equal parts agitation as smoldering, studly sexuality. "Gonna breed you like a fuck'n mare, candy-ass," he spoke, the words so guttural as to be felt better than heard. He dropped fast to one knee, yanking apart the taut cheeks of the dog's ass. He nosed under Nick's tail, hawked, and spat a magnificent wad of slobber upon the boy's asshole.

"Jesus Christ, Memph," Nick groused, looking back. A smile pulled at the edges of his mouth. Just then, Memphis started to work the slobber in with the pad of his thumb, and he pushed insistently on the dog's anus like pressing a doorbell. Quickly with such wicked strength behind it, his thumb slipped inside and caused Nick to hiss and arch his spine into a satisfying bow.

Dragging his tongue over his crusty gray lips, Zane took both sides of Nick's head in meaty hands. He said with a sneer on his face, "Don't mind him none, pup. You gotcha a big ol' pill t'swallow up here."

"Uh, yeah," Nick Bane muttered, pawing at Zane's hips. He kissed the head of the mule's cock, precum smearing on his lips and staining his fur. An abundant stink of musk and sweat lingered in his tender canine nostrils and registered unmistakably as Zane, his friend whose stink he'd smelled unconsciously since he started working for the farm at the tender age of fifteen. He slurped Zane's cockhead indulgently, then grumbled, "Quit thumbin' me like I'm a bowlin' ball 'n fuck me already, ya' big goddamn faggot."

Zane palmed the sides of the dog's head and pulled him in closer with a greedy touch. His scrotum smeared across Nick's snout, caking plush black-and-white fur with sweat. His cock's head rubbed the dog's crown and left a crooked skunk's stripe of precum.

"Yeah, yeah, ya' bossy little fuckhead," Memphis snorted, popping free his thumb. Nick's anus was left momentarily winking, gulping at open air where the stallion's large digit had once been. It wasn't given long to pine for a plugging object before the stallion slapped his two-toned meat against the split of Nick's ass crack. He pushed it in, biting his lip in a show of concentration as old as time. When he felt the dog's asshole smooching the overwhelmingly fat flare of his cockhead, he huffed, "Last chance to back out of this, boy. Gonna be takin' all yer meals standin' up otherwise."

"Aw, fuck him already," the mule chimed in, and he gave Nick's ears a friendly rub like one often did with a lovable farm dog. "Ain't it obvious he's been wantin' it for years?"

"What he said," Nick quipped, slipping his paws around Zane's ass cheeks. Despite the incredibly stout muscle on his body, Zane had a little bit of a bubble butt going on. The dog let his fingers sink in and thought hungrily, gonna tongue this guy's sweaty ass first fuckin' chance I get.

Nick pushed his lips to Zane's brown cock and started the slow, messy process of gulping it in. He thought about snakes and how they could unhinge their jaws to swallow big critters - now wouldn't that be handy for somebody like me?

Drool was just beginning to streak down Nick's chin into the dense fluff of his neck when Memphis made his grand entry. He was steady and implacable, pushing into Nick as firmly as he pushed it into Melissa and Jay night after night. The difference was how small Nick was, how wickedly snug but therefore fuckable the dog proved to be, which was what made the Walker huff through his nostrils, flaring them sharply.

Gouged at both ends with the horse at the rear taking a much more proactive approach to the proceedings, Nick Bane felt that distinct pang of worry which all boys in the middle of a queer threesome think at one point: did I bite off more'n I can chew? Nick was pretty cool-headed, and he hadn't panicked when he'd first driven the tractor, which could easily have plowed through the barn or, god forbid, the old man's house. Nick closed his tearing eyes and squeezed down hard on Zane's ass, less for molestation than for comfort. He decided he wasn't going to panic now.

Nick may have had his doubts, but the mule and horse had no such fears. Zane rubbed the dog's ears and on down the back of his head, smiling big and toothy as inch after inch of his foot-long chode slipped slow but steady into Nick's slick maw. Gay equine friends of his had a hard time gulping down the sheer thickness of his meat, but Nick Bane was almost making it look easy. Zane caught sight of the involuntary tears in the Border Collie's eyes, and he noted the death-grip on his ass, but that was par for the course when you were being fucked at both ends like a bitch. Zane patted Nick between the ears to convey a _good doggy! _notion.

The blunt and drooling head of Zane's meat butted up to Nick's throat. He swallowed against it, testing the size, thinking back to when he needed antibiotics at the young age of nine, and how they felt like they'd been the size of double-A batteries. Fuckin' horse pills, daddy had called them, and Nick found himself thinking here I am a decade later, swallowin' horse pills again, gettin' horse pills shoved up my ass...

Memphis took hold of Nick's tail, a bushy brush which wagged lamely as the penetration took place. He gave it a little pull, just enough of a yank to let the dog know he'd decided to hold onto it in the first place. He felt a twinge of pain and tasted blood. It was just a little tear, reminding him he'd been biting on it in the first place. He let go of it but tongued the tiny wound; it was his replacement show of concentration while he watched the middle ring of his cock slip closer and closer to Nick's gouged, reddening asshole.

Nick thrust his prettyboy snout forward and gulped in the same instant. He speared open his throat and instantly regretted it. It took all his willpower not to start choking and sputtering, and he wondered if he'd ever get used to swallowing dick. It seemed like something he should have had some basic skill at after two years of doing it.

"Ooh. Gawd," Zane cooed, already impressed. "Yer better at suckin' dick than all the people I ever met, girls or boys," the mule said with a pleased sigh. His cock throbbed in Nick's face, each pulsation giving Nick a new urge to choke, and each one being resisted narrowly. His words were meaningless; Nick was focused on not choking.

Memphis stared at the penetration, grinning as the ring in the middle of his cock pressed in. Nick's abused and throbbing anus reluctantly permitted it; he felt the dog twitch around him. It returned to its original girth past that ring, and so did Nick relax along with his stretched butthole. "Something tells me our pup here ain't never had a pecker this big up his butt before."

Nick opened his eyes, found that his view was wet and distorted like looking out the bottom of a glass, closed them again. He pulled on Zane's ass cheeks and spurred the mule to murmur something about how the air felt good on his asshole. Nick was dimly aware. He reached away from the mule's fine behind, leaving a paw on his hip for support but grabbing his needful meat with its twin. He masturbated clumsily but eagerly. There was no need to fluff; he was almost painfully erect, precum leaking from him constantly.

The agonizing slowness of the Walker's entry into Nick came to an end. His hips met the dog's ass, his balls so fat and sweaty as to smother Nick's own sack. The dog crooned around Zane. He pushed the mule's hips, then pulled him back. It took just one repetition for the mule to get the idea.

Zane pushed in smoothly, bumping his sweaty crotch to Nick's nose. Already the dog's sinuses were full of the equine stink of both Zane and Memphis, but now the mule's flavor dominated the Border Collie's senses. Nick drew in a deep, sucking sniff as though Zane's musk were a line of that cocaine stuff the city folks snorted up. His paw made wet and constant slapping noises on his cock.

Not speaking a word, Memphis pulled back his fat cock to just about the middle ring. He bit his lip again, his teeth settling into familiar, fresh grooves. He purposefully closed his massive hands around the Border Collie's hips, and the size difference was such that Memphis could have touched his fingertips together given just a few more inches of reach. He and Zane exchanged looks, and the Tennessee Walker nodded.

As Memphis plunged in again, his fat and flared cock reaming out Nick like a pipe cleaner, Zane pulled it back and almost out of the dog's throat. Nick gave in to a gag but kept abusing himself. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but they were a response only to the choking. He felt the kind of bliss he thought a straight guy could only dream of.

Memphis pulled it back, dragging his cock out of Nick like pulling a tree stump with the tractor. Zane plowed back in, momentum causing his balls to pendulum into the fuzz on Nick's neck. They fucked the dog in counterpoint, unrelenting rhythms lined up perfectly as though Nick were a great redwood they were sawing down.

Faggoty anal pleasure swelled in Nick's gouged ass; the flavors and smells and the sheer outrageous presence of Zane's cock in his throat gave him both pride in his queer skills and baser pleasures from the onslaught of musk. Nick's cock twitched in his paw and his twink body was nearly convulsing. He knew he would have fallen over without the studs holding him up.

Nick was squeezing his cock fast, gripping it like he thought it might vanish if he let it go. It felt so minuscule compared to the unreal size of the horsecocks reaming him at both ends, emphasizing what a poor match he was for a pair of equine fuckbuddies, but he was galvanized by the notion. He jerked himself viciously, turning his penis strangled hues of red and purple with his iron grip. He tried to keep his throat open around Zane, giving into that instinct to breathe and survive, but he was hopeless against Memphis. His anal muscles gripped the stallion even though they'd been stretched so uselessly far, but he couldn't defy the Walker any more than he could shut out how thirsty he was for the mule's load down his neck.

Pleasure made the mule's expression tight and coy, nearly sneering. His tail slashed the air, fanning the smell of his sweaty body, ass in particular, through the still loft. Sweat rolled down his stout form in heavy drops, falling from every conceivable crease and fold of muscle and furred flesh like rain off of shingles. His sweat drops pattered on the floor and on Nick, adding needlessly to the dog's soaked fur. The fur of his crotch just above the root of his cock was spongy with sweat, and the Border Collie's tender nose crushed into it every single time the mule mashed in.

Memphis snorted like a beast, flaring his nostrils enormously. To Zane, he looked like a galloping warhorse about to trample some hapless soldier, a monster if there ever was one, and he was directing all that pent-up gay lust at Nick Bane alone, destroying that boyish ass like it was his only goal in life. Then and there, Zane would have loved to grind up against the Walker, kiss him, feel those meaty hands on his body.

The dog's reamed anus throbbed around the stallion's cock, its abused swell sure to be the most lasting sign of the fuck taking place. "Gonna nut in you, boy," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. Memphis was never one much for creative pillow talk, but he got his point across without fail. "If you was a mare, you'd be pushin' out Memphis Junior in just about nine months, y'little prettyboy."

"Fuck'em, Memph," Zane cooed, feeling and sounding a little dreamy from the Walker's virulent display. He squeezed the sides of Nick's head, stroked down, patted his neck. The obscene bulge in the Border Collie's throat delighted him. "Mmn, hell, you really are a prettyboy, Nicky. Betcha could work as one of those sex-boys over in Taiwan if the farming business gets old."

Under any other circumstances, Nick would've at least thought of witty, or failing that, bitchy replies to such comments. Right now, with dick in both ends of him and a paw full of his own aching little prick, he couldn't even remember where the hell Taiwan was. And was he a prettyboy? You bet your ass he was - he was one of the prettiest boys to ever get a dick shoved up his ass, if that queer bar taught him anything.

Zane shuddered, snorting but not to match the great blast of the Tennessee Walker. He bit down on his lip with flat teeth, throwing back his head and wishing crazily in that moment that he had a dashing mane to throw around like Memphis did. The thought passed, replaced by the primal urge of climax. A lusty groan escaped him and he found himself squeezing involuntarily on Nick's cranium with hard, brown hands. His penis throbbed harder than Nick could have imagined, gouging out the poor dog's neck with brutal effectiveness.

Nick gagged, trying his hardest to circle-breathe around the meat, but the throbs completely filled his throat out. He felt twinges of fear with the asphyxia, but his cock twitched in pleasure so sharp, it was nearly painful. Nick didn't see himself about to start self-strangling with belts like he was some bored rockstar, but choking on a dick felt pretty fucking good as far as he was concerned.

Everything pointed to Zane being first to go, but it turned out to be Nick, who was being pushed ahead by the mild but tantalizing suffocation. He whimpered around Zane's prick, but the sound was really just a lame moan like any other sound he tried to make. He trembled, but it was noticeable only in his legs because of the cocks holding him upright. He squirted through his fingers and the mess dribbled from the crevices of his digits, leaving a drip painting of semen on the boards underneath him.

With Nick's climax came a full tightening of his throat, the direct result of which was more of that wonderful lightheadedness. In the same vein but unimportant to his breathing, his ass clenched possessively on Memphis. Both stallions rammed home, shuddering and grimacing, looking now like they were trying to get their penises to kiss right in the middle of the dog's body. Nick caught a snatch of breath by some miracle and kept his consciousness, but it stayed light and airy. His climax was magnified by his narrow awareness and he knew then and there he'd be chasing the dragon for the rest of his life, trying to attain such a perfect orgasm one more time.

The mule muttered something very lewd about Nick's twink figure and then he blasted off, his cock twitching as it pumped what seemed like gallons upon gallons of primo mule spunk down Nick's gullet, no swallowing required for such a good farmdog. He leaned forward, seeming to slump, and Memphis reached out and held him up by the shoulders. They soon held each other, Nick just a slack fuckdoll between them.

"Jesus fuckin' shit-Christ," Memphis wheezed, squeezing so hard on Zane's shoulders that the mule would later sport bruises. His tail swung through the air, moving so fast it was a wonder it didn't crack like a whip. His balls, those big brown sacks of spunk, drew up tight to the comfort and safety of his loins while sweat rolled off them, fresh from the crack of his ass. He erupted with what seemed like earth-shattering force, shooting into Nick like a geyser. He let loose a number of fat surges, each accompanied by a massive throb of the horse's cock, and Nick was overfilled by the second gush. It escaped around the Walker's penis in loping waves, a little bit loosed every time the stallion's cock breathed inside of him.

Huge strands of semen rolled down Nick's balls, excessively caking the fur. His thighs were a mess, his taint unspeakably sticky. He still felt lightheaded, still drawing breaths only through lucky gulps.

Zane kissed Memphis on the lips, getting no reaction, but that was as good as it got with Memphis; if he didn't slug you one, it meant he liked it. Thinking eventually of the Border Collie's well-being, he straightened up by pushing off of the Walker. He pinwheeled his arms and caught himself on the windowsill. "All righty, now, Nick," he said warmly, drawing back his cock. "Ea-a-asy now, don'tcha go drownin' yourself on my baby gravy..."

Nick felt the flare of the mule's cock pulling up to his mouth. He dreaded the moment where it would pop free, but like when he had to get that tetanus shot in the butt cheek after his bare foot found a rusted, jagged piece of tin in the overgrown grass, he opted to get it done and over with just as quick as possible. He yanked back, got his gagging and sputtering out of the way, and then looked up at the mule with a clearing head.

The dog's face was a mess. Semen both fresh and congealing smeared his lips like a city whore's lipstick. Sweat glistened in his black and white fur. There was that business of his asshole being stretched to at least three times its normal size, but he decided to put off that concern for just a little bit. He tried to talk, but his voice was nearly gone. "Sh-, shee-it," he managed to sputter. "Guess that's how it feels gettin' your tonsils cut out..."

Zane chuckled in his good-natured way. He straightened Nick up and smooched him between the eyes. "Yer a good farmdog, Nick Bane. A real good farmdog." The mule dressed and left without saying a word more, only shooting Nick a casual smile and nod as he went down the ladder.

Nick, alone with the Walker and still very much impaled, rested against the horse. The stallion was solid as a mountain, same as ever, and about as emotive as one. "Took it pretty well, boy," said the Walker flatly. "You wanna ride into town with me tomorrow?"

The dog grinned. He reached around to the horse's backside and clapped his paws on those muscular, sweaty ass cheeks. They had hardly any fat, and therefore no give. "Ya' wantcha a patented Nick Bane Mouth Hug when you're drivin'?"

Memphis, unamused like always so Nick didn't take it personally, grabbed the twink's hips and pushed him forward. The fat, but softening bulk of his cock was freed of the dog whom squirmed and winced, uttering something about just how goddamn weird _and _awkward the feeling was. Runners of cum not yet congealed oozed from Nick, but when the flare popped free, the gaped post hole that was Nick's anus gushed discarded spunk. It slopped across the boards like a spilled dish of gravy, seeping through the cracks and dribbling to the dirt clod floor below.

With his anus gaped and pulsing, Nick leaned on the windowsill and rubbed his sticky ass cheeks tentatively. "Jee-zus fuck," he whined. "Feels like I could park a fuck'n tractor up my asshole..."

The Walker gave a rare grin and patted Nick's bottom, making the boy flinch. He gathered up his clothes but only threw them over his shoulder. On the way down the ladder, he said, "Be up at five, pup. Better hope that butthole of yours keeps loose."