Dinosaurs + Ranchers

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

---

Ranchers

February 7 & 8, 1956

Ennis, Montana

Not here, not now, my nineteen-year-old brain cried.

I was stirred from my sleep under the clear moon and stars near the base of the lake when I heard the sound of heavy boots approach my rickety tent. I knew then, at that very moment, I was about to face the inevitable. I knew if it came—when he came—it was coming as soon as we settled in for the night.

None of the others knew was my rationale, at the time. I had given myself away to the second oldest of the three Blackfoot Indians. I stared at him too long. Something had become painstakingly obvious when he grabbed at his bulge through his worn chaps when he saw me looking, even when I didn’t know I was gaping. So, the moment really came as no surprise. Particularly when he peeled the opening of my ten and stepped in to find me playing dead stripped down to my red wool long johns.

He climbed in beside me, as gentle as he could without trying to bring the tent down. He was tender wrapping his arms around me without saying another word. I welcomed his heat, his affection. Rather than his hand going down to the surge that was my throbbing cock, anxious with angst and anticipation, his hand crawled up to my mouth covering it with his dirt-dusted hand.

I stirred, not pretending to be asleep anymore. I struggled to fight back because in my mind this was supposed to be much more romantic than this. He cursed something in Kainah, something I simply did not understand. I knew then it wasn’t the “him” I was expecting, the middle of the three men. The “him” I spent most the day aimlessly eyeing. Because the “him” I wanted was the only one that humored me with his sketchy English.

Me and this guy tussled in the tent.

I fought against him, but he was too powerful for me, holding me against his body while his freed hand worked open his buttoned fly and worked off the convenience flap to my long johns.

There was no time to think. I had gone as far as I could in fighting him.

Oh shit, I cried in my head. This was it. This was my fate tonight. I had no other choice but to accept it.

And in one brutal plunge, the Blackfoot bastard plunged into me with no lube other than the spit-coat he added with his calloused hand.

I winced in pain. Always did. It was bad. Though, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it should have been with the tip of the head barely making any leeway to stay inside of my tight hole.

He said some more stuff in Kainah—some more shit I couldn’t comprehend—before I got the ultimate hint he wanted me on my stomach or on all fours. I didn’t understand this—at first. I guess I wasn’t fast enough to meet his urgent demand.

He grabbed me, flipped me over like a fucking flapjack, cursed me some more in his native tongue and took another brutal and fluid plunge into me. This time however I felt him—all of him—and all the pain that was missing before—skewered into me without mercy or forgiveness.

It felt like my hole was being split open by fire.

In spite of the insurmountable pain, I found the will to fight back. I almost succeeded in getting up and breaking free from his grasp. But he proved wittier than I was. He had me by the shoulders, pinning them to the ground. He wasn’t about to let me up. I was doomed not to break free. He was gritting and groaning through his teeth every time he found a new barrier inside of me to break. The more I continued to fight back the more relentless he was, knocking the bottom out of me. So I tried my best to get use to his plunges into me since I no longer had control over much else. But even that, at my most compromising, he proved to be too big for me to get used to, as my muscles softened into mush, just enough to be yielding. And if that wasn’t enough, the sweat pouring from him seeped into my tight hole, setting me afire to find some sweet drop of relief to his otherwise spit-shined dry humping.

He rode me like a crazed stallion, letting me scream my fucking head off to the high heavens every time he buried his beast to the root, indebting me into his submission. Before it was all over with though, I was enjoying him as he was enjoying me, trying to milk him with my hole at the end of each lust-filled stroke. And when our truss finally came to an end, with him flooding my insides with his seeds I was almost sadden.

It was over—so I thought.

As soon as he dismounted, I was mounted again by two other tent-raiders destined to fill my guts with their spunk. They did, making me feel every stroke beat for beat. Eventually I passed out when the three of them dipped their dicks back into their sloppy seconds.

The night had passed. I woke up around about noon the next day.

It could have all been a bad dream, I reasoned the next day. As I started to move though I knew something was wrong. I felt a draft through my undone convenience flap. My chute was so open and slimy-slick with their seed still swimming inside of me I couldn’t even walk straight or without a swoosh when I got upright.

I was too embarrassed to come out of the tent fearful of what else they had in store. None of the three men said anything to me after I came out, except only to laugh among themselves when they saw me looking at them as I spewed my pent-up spunk to the ground.

When we got back home, however, I convinced my pa to let go of those Blackfoot bastards…and he did.