Droit du Seigneur

I fuck him in the way only a man in his prime can.

Watch, Buck, watch and learn, watch an antler-crowned stud at work. Watch me impale him, fill him, squeeze the howling void out of him, drown him in the rapture of flesh. Watch me rip my cock all the way down his chute, watch him gasp as his soft tissues turn into a cavern of fire. Hear him scream as I jab it all back in him, cramming him so full he fears his skull might burst open from inside. See my fingers dig into his hips so that he cannot escape the length skewering him. Watch ruby carcanets blossom on his skin as my teeth seek to ingest his exquisite flesh.

You think, Buck, that my rapid pace means I'm after a quickie. You're an idiot, Buck, and you know it. Rapid stroking means I'm excited about this bitch. You know I can ride like this for hours, hard and fast, piledriving for madness between the bitch's pretty cheeks. Hell, I've fucked from sunup to sundown -- same bitch, too; damn near crippled him, but he limped off smiling. You know it's true, Buck; you watched me.

A burning rectum whooshing on my shaft is like, I guess, a great guitar riff to some headbanger stud, or a purring Formula One to a racedriver, or the perfect mount for a jockey. It is the poetry of the movement. I groove on the motion, the heat, and the friction of the flesh far more than I do on a simple orgasm. Orgasm's for kiddies. Real sex is in the stroking. It's in the glorious time that I know I'm male, afucking male, and I've got a cock and balls and that's all that matters in all the whole fucking universe.

Next time you're plowing someone, take a moment to really feel your nuts swaying between your thighs, and you'll learn that simple sensation is really, truly, what you yearn for.

The bitch's cunt squelches softly, relinquishing more of Buck's semen. The slow tide of his exuded potency coats my balls like warm honey. The bitch babbles deliriously, speaking in tongues. To Buck he's apostate -- but to me, a new choirboy.

Man, they ought to do thrash metal about buttfucking like this, hard, fast, long, brutal. Run the bass line off the rhythm of crotch beating on buttocks. Riff on a cock drilling a prostate.

But I can't do it as long as I want. I wanna cream him bad. New turf to mark.

My arms wrap round his waist, press his butt to me, try to merge his flesh with mine. Got places to go, men to rape, banks to rob, drugs to -- so I let loose in him. I let loose hard. The bitch is lucky I don't blast him off my cock, shoot him off the mesa, a flesh rocket with spunk propellant. My urethra burns with the solid shaft of sperm I jet into him. It feels as if I'm about to split a seam internally, like a hose under too much pressure.

"Breeding time," I grunt. "Yeah, breeding time."

When I'm done, when I've vented all the hot pressure inside his chute, I pull out. I croon "You like?" in his ear.

Mikey's delighted eyes are more eloquent than words.

I grin and dismount. The wet slurp as my cock slips free is farcical, but the gallon of grade A spunk pouring from his loose ring is a clear demonstration of true potency. That's not Buck's stuff pouring down his shaking thighs. That's all mine. I got some powerful nuts, man.

Chest heaving, dong hanging in a heavy arc, I stagger back, fall on my ass. The grit hurts, but I don't give a fuck. I look up.

Grim old Buck is -- grim. Lost. Vanquished again.

"You like that, Mikey?" I ask. Just to make things clear to Buck.

"Oh, yeah," says the bitch. Kids at Christmas have nothing on his enthusiasm.

I stand, retrieve my tee shirt. "Let's go."

No one talks as we descend from the mesa. I lead this time. The bitch clings to me. He's in his shorts. I've got a finger up a leg and planted in his cunt. It feels like hot liver inside.

The guys down on the road -- the studs, their bitches -- are done. And they're looking at me and my new one. Some are grinning, reclining on their bikes, legs spread, flies open.

"You're a shifty son of a bitch," Buck mutters.

I thrust a fist arrogantly into the air. I howl. And my men, my guys, know I'm the victor, again, and they howl back, coyotes and dingoes and hyenas all.