Jacob, the Cowboy - Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Chapter 3

Jacob didn’t knock. The door opened while I was still half-asleep. He stood in the doorway in the same dirty jeans and black shirt from the night before, hat already on, looking down at me like I was late for something.

“Up. Shower. Clean yourself. Barn at noon. Don’t make me come get you.”

He left. Boots on the stairs. I lay there for a minute with my throat still raw and the taste of him in my mouth. Then I got up. I showered longer than I needed to. I cleaned myself the way he’d expect. Inside out. When I came downstairs Mom was already at the table. Jacob was outside. She smiled when she saw me.

“You two are getting along better. I’m so happy to see that. Jacob is a good guy, he’s almost like a son. You’ll see that. He said you were helping with the horses today.”

“Yeah.” If she only knew…

I ate. I didn’t taste it. All I could think about was Jacob taste. At noon I found him at the edge of the north pasture, not the main barn. He had the axe. A pile of logs. The sun was already high. He didn’t say hello. He just nodded at a smaller stump.

“Sit. Watch. Don’t talk.”

I sat. He stripped the shirt off and started swinging. Every strike was clean. The muscles in his back and shoulders moved under the skin. Sweat appeared fast. It ran down his chest, through the hair, along the lines of his stomach. After ten minutes he was shining. The smell of him filled the clearing — salt, heat, work, manly. He didn’t look at me once. Just kept chopping. Grunting low on the heavier swings. The axe bit deep.

I watched and man… what a vision. My cock was already hard in my shorts. After a long stretch he planted the axe in a stump and wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. Sweat dripped from his chin onto his chest. Then he looked at me.

“Come here, boy.”

I stood. He pointed at his chest with two fingers.

“Lick it. All of it. Chest. Pits. Stomach. Don’t leave any.”

I hesitated. His hand shot out, grabbed the back of my neck, and yanked my face into the center of his chest. The heat hit me first. Then the smell. Strong. Salty. Pure Jacob after real work.

“Lick.”

I opened my mouth and dragged my tongue through the wet hair of his chest. The taste was sharp and delicious. He kept his hand locked on my neck and made me take long strokes across his pecs, over his nipples, down the middle of his stomach where the sweat had collected. When he lifted one arm he shoved my face into the damp hollow of his armpit. The smell was stronger there. Muskier. He made me lick until it was wet from my mouth instead of just sweat. Then the other arm. Same thing.

“Lower.”

I followed the trail of hair down his stomach until my tongue hit the waistband. A few drops had already soaked into the denim. He was breathing harder now, but his face stayed hard under the hat.

He pulled me off by the hair. My lips and chin were shiny.

“On your knees. Facing that log. Ass up.”

I dropped. The wood scraped my palms when I braced. He stepped behind me. Belt. Zipper. He shoved my shorts and underwear down. The sunlight hit my ass for a second. Then the thick head of his cock pressed against me. He didn’t ease in. He pushed. One long thrust. All the way. The stretch made me cry out against the wood. I was not a virgin but he was hung. He grunted and started fucking immediately. Deep. Hard. Every stroke drove me forward into the log.

“Tight,” he muttered. “Better than the girls in town.”

He set a rough rhythm. The sound was wet and loud in the clearing. Sweat from his chest dripped onto my back. His jeans stayed on, only shoved down enough. The gold buckle slapped against my skin on the deeper thrusts. He reached forward, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back while he kept pounding.

“This is the other job,” he said against the side of my head. “Not the fences. Not the horses. This. You take it. The one you choose. You don’t complain. You don’t tell Linda. You understand?”

I moaned yes. He fucked harder. Short, brutal strokes. His breathing turned harsh. I felt him swell thicker inside me. His grip on my hip tightened until it hurt.

“Take it, college boy. You’re not so smart while I’m pounding your tight hole.”

He slammed in one last time and came. Deep. Hot pulses inside my hungry hole. He stayed buried, grinding, sweaty chest pressed to my back, both of us breathing hard. Then he pulled out slow. Cum leaked immediately. He tucked himself back in, zipped up, fastened the buckle like nothing had happened.

“Pull your shorts up. You’re staying out here until I finish this pile. If it starts running down your leg, you catch it and push it back in. I don’t want it wasted on the dirt. Clear?”

“Yes, Jacob.”

“That’s my boy.”

He went back to chopping. Axe rising and falling. Cowboy hat low. Whistling some country tune under his breath. I stayed on my knees for a minute, shaking, then pulled my shorts up. The load was already leaking. I reached back, caught what I could with two fingers, and pushed it back in the way he’d said. He didn’t look at me. He just kept swinging.

He fucked me against the log a second time before we left the clearing, using his own cum as lube. This one was slower. He made me stay on my knees in the dirt while he stood over me and slapped his cock against my face until he was hard again, then turned me around and pushed back in. He didn’t rush. Long strokes. One hand on my hip, the other in my hair. He talked the whole time, low, about how the town girls never took it this deep, how I was already better at this than any of them, how Linda would never know what her college boy was doing for the man who ran her farm. When he came he stayed buried longer. Ground against me. Made me clench around him until he softened. Then he pulled out, watched the cum leak, and told me to push it back in with two fingers while he watched. I did. He lit a cigar. We walked back in silence. My shorts were soaked by the time we reached the house.

“Shower. Dinner. Don’t limp.”

I showered. I ate. Mom asked how the horses were. Jacob answered for me. Under the table his boot rested against my ankle the whole meal. Heavy. Steady. When she got up to clear the plates he leaned in, cigar smoke between us, and spoke low enough that only I heard.

“Barn after she goes to bed. Same rules. You know them now.”

I nodded. He sat back. Tipped the hat. The summer had rules. I was already following them.