Big Sky Country Ch. 02

"Yes, Gabe is fine. And I think I follow. These two ranches are what keeps this town open and when they say 'jump,' everyone here says 'how high?' But you have some separate status yourself because you own this diner, they don't." Taking a chance, Gabe moved his leg forward and rubbed it up against Sam's. The man had established that Gabe should give him deference. Let him know Gabe considers him important enough to get what he wants.

Gabe was careful to put it on the outer side of the man's leg. Inner side was a declaration of top; outer declaration of bottom, his memory of what Adrian had told him coming into play. In either case, he could claim he thought it was a table leg if it didn't have the desired effect. He also laid his forearm on the table, in case Sam wanted to put his hand on it. Sam did want to do that, and Gabe gave a little shudder, which he remembered from what Adrian had told him--Adrian said men liked to see you shudder at their touch--and looked into the man's eyes. The man also didn't remark on Gabe's leg rubbing his.

Gabe didn't see what he had been told to expect to see in Sam's eyes, though. There was no interest or lust to be seen there.

"That's right," Sam said. "And, since the war, some men who have come to work on those ranches have had different interests and needs from generations before them. And it's getting harder to find men willing to take on the cowboy life now. Those two big ranches are interested in keeping their men happy--all of them, even ones with peculiar interests and appetites, as long as they do a good day's work and don't keep other cowboys from doing theirs. Which leads us to that 'help wanted' sign you have in your hand. You're wondering what that 'and for man sport' business is about, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so. The rest of it is for a waiter's job, I guess."

"You got that right. But there's more to the job than that--like there's more to Carol's job--the waitress over there--than just slinging plates. A diner in a town this small has to do what it has to do to stay open. Jobs here have to do double duty and they have to meet the needs that are going in town. You understand that much?"

"Yes, Sir," Gabe answered. He looked down at the hand that was on his forearm and considered his leg up against Sam's under the table. He thought he knew where this was headed--and why it would be part of the job--but the man wasn't putting out the signals like Adrian said a man interested would do.

By now a man interested in fucking him should be doing something more with his legs under the table. As Pastor Elijah had demonstrated when they'd been alone in the church kitchen for lunch, he could be expected to have both of his legs somehow between Gabe's under the table top, and pressing Gabe's thighs open with his knees. And he should be doing stuff with his fingers on Gabe's forearm--playing with the hair there or something. And the looks he was giving Gabe should be undressing looks. But Gabe wasn't getting anything like that from Sam, even though there was touching.

"I think you understand what the 'man sport' part of the sign is, Gabe. There are two types of men sniffing around for it in this town. Most are sniffing for woman, women like Carol. Some, though, are sniffing for male tail. I think I'm right that you're homo--that you'll let a man fuck you and you'll will take money for it. Am I wrong? If I'm wrong, I apologize, but then this interview is over. That's what 'man sport' means on that sign. It's pretty straightforward really. The diner gives the venue and the connection--and you get a cut of what comes in."

So, this wasn't just a diner; it was a brothel too. "No, you're not wrong," Gabe said. And to make sure it all was clear, he said, "So, you're saying the job would be both being a waiter in here and letting men fuck me for money in this room the sign says goes with the job."

"Bingo, Gabe," Sam said, with a smile. "I'm glad we didn't have to beat around the bush on this. The two big ranches here are interested in having prostitutes their men can go to when they are in town--and they are having cowboys now who, some of them, want to fuck a man rather than a woman. I think it's a war thing. Our boys went off to the Second World War, needed a release for their cum, and didn't always have a woman around. So they did each other, and some of them decided after they came home that they wanted to continue doing each other. So, yes, that's the job. You'd work here in the diner and when there was a man who wanted to pay to fuck you, you'd work in your bedroom upstairs. For the waiter job, you'd get the room, board, and tips. For what you'd get for fucks, you'd get a third of what they pay, and the rest goes to the house. You understand? We good on that?"

There was only a slight pause. Gabe didn't have much of a choice and it wasn't like he wasn't giving sex when he needed to to survive. He even got pleasure from it with some men. He was just happy that there would be men who wanted to fuck him for money. Sam went on to cover that, having taken his hand away and moved his leg back.

"That's why it would be OK with me that you were just drifting through. It's not easy to fill this slot, although I have some prospects who might show up in a few weeks or a month. But this is the sort of thing where men paying money like to have variety. And, I gotta say, you're one sexy little piece. I could tell as soon as you walked through the door that you'd be a hit around here in this job. So, the job's yours if you pass the entrance test."

"The entrance test?" Gabe asked. "So, you want me to go upstairs with you and give you sex?"

Sam laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh, though. "Shit, no, I'm not queer. I was just testing you to make sure you were. One of the big honchos over at the Brighton Ranch--one nearly as big as the 6666 or Pitchfork--is a power fucker, and I'll let him decide if you're good enough. He likes to get to them when their fresh. I suspect, though, that if you'll take a guy's dick without fainting you'll be good enough. You're certainly the best looker we've had in here since I had to lay a homo on as part of the service. You've taken a big dick before, haven't you?"

"Yes, Sir," Gabe answered. The biggest dick he'd taken was Pastor Parker's and that wasn't much bigger than any other he'd taken. It wasn't as big as Adrian's that Gabe had jacked off with his hand a time or three. But Gabe wanted the job, so he'd do whatever size dick showed up until he had the money to get to Lubbock.

The rancher's name was Sterling Fisher. He was a good six foot six, nearly ten inches taller than Gabe, and a hefty 230 pounds, all in well-distributed muscle on the mature frame of an outdoor's man in his late forties. He had a mane of graying hair, a ruggedly handsome face, the cock of a horse, outstanding vigor and virility, and the cruelty of a matinee villain.

Over the space of two and a half hours, he plowed Gabe in several different positions, all dominating ones, and ejaculated twice, bringing cum out of Gabe four times. Gabe had never been taken this fully or roughly before. Fisher pounded him hard and deep, giving no quarter, laughing when, with a groan, Gabe laid himself out in the cruciform position Pastor Elijah had enjoyed so much as a symbol of Gabe's total surrender, and arched his back and put his pelvis into a counterthrust motion, when the rancher slid inside him deep and hovered over his body, doing pushups above him. The bed frame creaked, squealed, and thumped against the wall in the rhythm of the fuck, a sound Gabe would be hearing in stereo on Friday and Saturday nights as Carol was doing the same business that he did in the room next door to his.

Gabe could now answer the question of how the pastor compared to other men--or at least to Sterling Fisher. He in no way compared to this robust rancher in girth, length, or vigor. It had been hard for Gabe to take the cock in the initial fuck--painful, and he didn't open for it as he had for the pastor's. The pastor's cock didn't make the demands on his channel that the rancher's did. Fisher kept growling, "Open, open to me," as if Gabe's channel would know how to accommodate a cock that size. And then, when it was a good five inches inside him, Fisher said, in a more soothing voice, "Relax to me. Take it, take it all," and stopped pressing, just held there as they both panted and he kissed Gabe on the lips and stroked his ass cheeks.

They both felt Gabe relax and open. His channel did, after all, know what to do. Fisher then moved a hand to the small of Gabe's back, pulling him onto the shaft, while his cock glided in for those last few inches. Gabe moaned and sighed as the pumping started, at first slow and shallow, eventually hard, vigorous, and in long sweeps, with Gabe's pelvis matching the primeval rhythm of the fuck. Gabe's channel had stretched and stretched for the man, almost to splitting, and each time he came--which was twice--it was in a gusher that Gabe could believe was flowing up into his stomach.

Gabe was left, exhausted and moaning, stretched out on the bed in the room on the second floor of the diner, in a completely open, vulnerable stance, which Fisher found so arousing that, after a steak dinner in the diner, he climbed the stairs and did Gabe again. This time Gabe received more pleasure than pain from the fucking. He had been reamed to the rancher's specifications, his channel knew this cock now and blossomed open to it as it sank inside, and he was able to concentrate this time in moving with the man in the rhythm of the fuck.

When the rancher was done and gave his report to Sam, he declared Gabe to be "a really nice piece of ass." "He starts like a virgin and finishes like a whore. He do that for other men and you've got a little goldmine here. I'll be a regular," and, with that, Gabe had a job, a room, and three square meals in the dusty little town of Guthrie, Texas.