Attahachee County

The Red Rock

October 17th, 2042. Late afternoon. Red Rock High School

"Watch how you speak to me, Clayton. You can be upset, but that doesn't give you the right to berate me in my own office. I understand this arrangement is less than ideal for you, but it's the right call. We've had three injured students across four districts this season alone, and it's not even halfway done. Now, of course Russell didn't do it on purpose, but it's gonna take that Cornell boy two months to heal if he's luc-…"

"And that's a cryin' shame, but it's football, Jed. I know you never played, but kids get banged up all the damn time!"

"As I recall, you didn't play very much either, Clayton." Snapped the principal, his patience rapidly dwindling.

Huddled around the principal's knotted hickory desk, an argument between three men entered its fourth quarter with the principal on one side, an angry guardian on the other, and a football coach who was just trying to keep the peace. Jedidiah Walker, the highest authority in Red Rock High School, wasted the last hour and a half of his workday with this foolishness, and the natural light filtering into his office cast longer and longer shadows as the insults volleyed between the opponents. The argument was tired, and so was he. Hell, Jed was tired of Clayton Hardeman's shit thirty years ago when they were in school together. 

Of course, it didn't help that the bearer had a baby in his belly who was determined to use his bladder as a bean bag chair.

"You always was a petty son of a bitch, Jed, but this is my nephew's future on the line we're talkin' 'bout. You know he's gotta real shot at the officer's program, but it starts here!" The man with the dingy brown hair and scraggly red beard was the guardian, Clay Hardeman, and he poked down on the desk for emphasis so hard Jed's framed photograph of his family slapped onto the desk with the glass facing down. Even now, Clay thought, Jed was high and mighty when he'd only been given this job because he let the superintendent put one in him. Everyone knew that. As a result, Clay found it particularly difficult to respect his authority on the matter. Especially when he was using it to make such boneheaded decisions. "You doin' all this 'cause of that misunderstandin' in front of Billy Cooper in high school, ain't ya. You really gotta let that shit go."

"Be serious, Clay, this isn't about whatever nonsense you did to Jed twenty years ago. It's about Russell-"

"Damn straight!"

"…and the safety of his fellow students, so why don't you have a seat and relax." Finally, Coach Spencer spoke from where he observed by the office door. The beefy man looked like he had an audition for the role of 'Gym teacher in a 1980s teen movie' after this meeting concluded. With his tube socks and sneakers, heavy breeder bulge straining against a pair of tiny red shorts with white trim, a white polo that probably needed to be a size or two larger (especially around the gut and biceps), and the obligatory whistle around his neck, no one was going to confuse him for the trigonometry teacher.

Even as a breeder himself, technically, the tone of voice Coach used - professional but peremptory - made the venomous words queuing on Clayton's tongue die. Russell's guardian sat down as instructed, but the expression on his plain but not unattractive face remained taut and mutinous. Satisfied, the coach continued in his smoker's gravel.

"I don't want my star player ridin' the bench any more than you do, Mr. Hardeman, be we gotta face reality. Your nephew is a beast on that field, but we can't have him mowin' students down."

Clay would be lying if he said it didn't do him proud to hear that from Spencer, but with the rumor of scouts attending every game in the play-offs Russell's superiority on the field needed to be seen. The world was going to shit, and his family needed to be in the best position possible to survive, and that meant the military fast track. So what if some chubby kid was run over in the climb-up? If anything, that kid should have been embarrassed. He was a solid defensive player from the opposing team, and even though he was older and heavier than his son, he had to use an illegal tackle to try to take him down. But Russell had nearly torn the poor boy's arm off at the shoulder as he hurtled down the end zone like a cannonball. Nothing could stop him.

"Maybe if Coach Whatever-the-hell taught that boy how to tackle properly, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Summoning what remained of his patience, Coach Spencer sat down on the desk in front of Clay - that breeder's bulge right at the guardian's eye line. His damn shorts were so tight Clay could see a delicious vein imprinting the thin fabric, which caused his mouth to go dry. He immediately looked away. Knuckles going white as he clenched his fists around the ballcap in his hands, Clayton stubbornly forced the exact shape, size, and scent of Spencer's daddy dick out of his mind lest he compare it to his own, less impressive set. They were both breeders after all, they should be on the same level as one another, but one had a baby growing in half of the school faculty, and another was here on behalf of his nephew.

Clay seethed, furious with the Coach flaunting his masculinity in front of everybody like they should give a damn. What did he want applause for not knowing how to pick clothes that fit? Well, Clayton was a man, a Hardeman no less, and he bent over for nobody.

But by the time Clay gathered his defiance, Coach Spencer had taken control of the conversation.

"We can see you workin' yourself up again, but we don't wanna hear it, Clay. Jed's had parents and the district on his ass all week about this. Hell, even Mayor Strickland hopped on the phone to ask why we 'keep maimin' children on school property'. This whole mess is stressin' Jed, and that li’l baby of his out, and I won't have any of it!" There he goes again, Clay thought, talkin' to me like I'm some bearer.

"Now I'm sorry about it, but we've done everything we can do, and no amount of bitchin' and moanin's gonna change it." Coach was sympathetic, he truly was, but a grown man can only go in circles so many times before he lays down the law. "We both know a boy like Russell doesn't need football to get the Defense's attention, so all of this blusterin' is for nothing. That track is for men like you."

"What the hell is that s'pose to mean, Spencer?" Clayton was on his feet again and halfway to telling both men where they could stick the 'district' when the office door opened.

"C'mon now, Uncle Clay, that's enough."

The topic on everyone's tongue darkened the doorway: a looming teenager well over six feet tall, his school bag slung over a beefy shoulder. Looking equally embarrassed and frustrated, Russell surveyed the adults, eyes narrowing when he found Clayton making a scene. Having heard shouting from where he sat talking to the school receptionist, the teen had to step in.

 Aside from their similar height, though Russell was taller, there wasn't much family resemblance between uncle and nephew. Russell's jaw was sharper, and his freckled shoulders - made bare by the old t-shirt he'd mutilated with a pair of scissors - were broader. His hair, which was millimeters away from the top of the door frame, was a rich auburn that shone red when he stood in the light of the window. They were similar in that they both had brown eyes, perhaps, but while Clayton's were dark and beady, Russell's were warm and golden brown.

The rest of the teen's outfit, like the beaten-up ballcap and jeans with holes in them that were earned with hard labor, weren't exactly school dress code approved either, but they weren't as revealing as that shirt as evidenced by a pink nipple peeking out from one of the 'shirt's' gaping arm holes. Noticeably, the gravid principal sat upright when Russell entered the room, masking his discomfort as he drank in Russell's powerful stature. He brought with him the scent of a potent new breeder, as well, which worked wonders for Jed's nausea. All eyes, some more lustily than others, were on Russell as he took a deep breath and said:

"I'm done with the team, alright? I quit."

——

"Will you just drop it so we can go home, I'm starvin'." Without waiting for a response, Russell opened the door to his uncle's beat-up electric truck and slammed it closed on Clay's tirade. It had taken another ten minutes and a brazen declaration from Coach that he was 'gonna bend Clay over his knee and embarrass him in front of his nephew' before they managed to get out of the principal's office. The teen's reprieve was short-lived, however.

"Boy, you do not fuckin' shut me out when I'm talkin' to you, Russell Ray." Clay's face was a ruddy mask of fury as he stood in the open driver's side, using the truck key to point at his nephew and punctuate the severity of his words. He had to take the disrespect from the school administration on the chin, but Clay would be damned if he took it from this pissant pipsqueak too.

"Why not, it ain't like you been sayin' nothin' new for the past hour and a half anyway?" Like a viper, Clay lunged for the boy, his hand cutting the air as he reached toward Russell's face. But the teenager was faster, catching the older man by the wrist. "That old trick won't work anymore, old man," Russell squeezed and pulled, making his uncle slide awkwardly into the truck and across the center console head first. "...you sure you wanna start somethin' you can't finish?" 

The bones in his fist felt fragile, like if Russell clenched just a little bit tighter they would crack and shatter like sticks of chalk. 

Russell let go at once, shaken by the unbidden urge for violence, and turned away to stare out of his window. For a moment, at least, Clay was silent. He straightened himself onto the driver's seat, embarrassed and a bit frightened by how easily the boy had snatched him, and rubbed his wrist before igniting the engine. But everyone knew Clayton Hardeman didn't know when to quit, not when everything was an affront to his breederhood. So after they pulled out of the school lot, he looked askance at the sullen teenager and said:

"You're a disappointment to me, boy." When Russell didn't respond, Clay felt emboldened to continue. "I came all this way to fight for you and this family, and you just up and quit like a coward? Makin' me look like a fool in front of Spencer, now I raised you better than that."

Russell's nostrils flared as if he were responsible for what a fool his uncle was.

"…the whole world at your fingertips and you wanna throw it away over some namby-pamby…" But Russell stopped paying attention. All he could think about was that senior who had to heal instead of playing out his last season of high school football. That boy probably loved the sport more than he, Russell imagined; that boy probably wanted to get scouted, too. But he'd taken that away from him, and the scary part was, hadn't noticed the damage done until he got his touchdown and saw the small crowd forming around the screaming linebacker. All that and for what, six points on a scoreboard?

"You're not like other boys, nephew, when will you learn? You're special…" He heard his uncle say. Playing high school sports didn't make him feel special; it made him feel ridiculous, like a pro playing Pee Wee.

"If that's true, I can be 'special' without football. You got me cooped up throwin' balls with bearers when I could be doing…" But Russell didn't know what he could be doing, not when his entire life was already mapped out. “…I don’t know, spendin' more time with Sarge or makin’ deals and buildin' hotels. Anythin' else." With his uncle's overprotective mania overfilling his head all his life, Russell hadn't really had the opportunity to think about what he wanted for himself.

"I see how it is, hotshot, you think you're the next governor?" Clay didn't give his nephew an inch, but he found it more difficult to maintain his energy the longer he sat beside the boy. In such a small, airtight space, the teen's scent overpowered everything else. An earthy, leathery musk with a note of dark spice that intrigued the senses enough to want to know more. A familiar profile to Clay and one that made it difficult for bearers to focus. That was probably the reason why the little brat insisted on tearing up his shirts from his waist to his shoulders like that.

To his horror, however, Clayton felt his hole twitch in his seat, which was his cue to roll down the truck windows. Fresh Texan air blew through the cab, taking that dangerous smell with it. But now that there was a small wind tunnel swirling through the vehicle, Clayton had to shout to be heard, which was never an issue for him.

"There's your problem right there, boy, ya lack focus. If you'd just listen to your elders, you'd know you can do 'anything else' after you sit at the officer's table and make a life for yourself. The military is runnin' this place, and you can either run it with 'em...or get run over."

"Nobody gives a shit about football anymore, includin' the army. The world is dyin' for god sake." But that was only half true. The organized sports industry was on its last legs nationally, but in Attahachee County, sports were more popular than ever. Breeders and bearers alike made good money playing for their respective city's team, and the army frequently recruited the best athletes. "If you wanna hold onto it so badly, then you go out for a team."

Those words caused a frigid silence between uncle and nephew for the rest of their drive home; the whistling wind and Clayton's fingers tightening around the leather steering wheel providing the only soundtrack.

At the height of the awkward tension between them, Russell's phone vibrated, and the screen populated with a text from Coach: 'Sorry about that clown show, champ, talk to you when you get back to school Monday.' Russell responded with a single emoji, giving a salute.

It was a painful half hour of silence later, and the old Chevy finally turned on the dirt road leading to the Hardemans' Sunrise Ranch. A tidy parcel of over six hundred hectares of bottomland that belonged to their family since Texas declared independence, the homestead was probably Russ' favorite place on earth. Not that he'd visited anywhere else with the military checkpoints surrounding the county. Nevertheless, though somewhat smaller as his grandfather sold off parts to Red Rock, the military, and Omnicare, his ancestral ranch was beautiful.

She sat on eighteen hundred acres of hardwood forest at the confluence of two large creeks - one of which fed out to Lake Attahachee. Before the Conflict, Grandpa Kent's father switched the mission statement of their land to conservation, back when everyone thought global warming would be the thing to kill off the world, and as a result, a large portion of the ranch was devoted to wilderness (small game, deer, feral hogs, etc), and the large pond which they called Lake Sunrise, where the kept bass and catfish.

Due to the focus on conservation, their ranch business was modest and never had more than three hundred longhorns at one time. A fact which never failed to stick in Clayton's - who hated running the bed and breakfast instead of 'cowboyin' - craw. But other animals, such as pigs, goats, chickens, and, of course, horses, could be spotted the closer to the house the truck came. They drove up to the metal swing gate, painted to look like the Texas flag, and Russell couldn't wait to get out of the truck and open it.

"I'll walk the rest of the way." He said, and Clayton didn't argue for once. Russell took his time as he hoofed it after the truck. He strolled past the private residences of some of the ranch hands and staff who lived on the property while working for his grandfather, including their ranch manager's manufactured home. Old Monty's wife never let him smoke inside, so he was on his porch smoking a cigar as Russell went by. "That shit's bad for you old man!" The teen shouted.

"It ain't killed me yet." The manager responded.

Further down Cattle Drive, the ranch's main street, were the guest cabins and the Big House where the bed and breakfast resided. By the sound of it, at least one of the cabins had a particularly athletic couple inside, though whether they were guests or a pair of randy ranch hands was anybody's guess. Unless the governor bussed the newest batch of Attahachee pilgrims in from all parts of the state, the ranch was pretty quiet during the off-season save for a handful of regulars who practically lived there.

By the time he turned left at the Blue Bonnet cabin and walked further down the dirt road toward the horse stables, Russell's mood was considerably lightener, such was his home's effect.

"Where's my beautiful baby boy!?" He hollered as he entered, hoping to spend some time with Calamity, the black and white Shire his grandfather had given him as a coming-of-age gift five years ago.

"Are you talking about me, or the horse?" Answered a young man, maybe twenty-five, with dark hair that flipped up around his ears, forehead, and nape. Dressed in a cap and hoodie to protect against the evening chill, his head poked up from behind the stall where he'd been spreading wood chips. Russell recovered without missing a beat.

"You, of course." For the first time that day, a genuine smile lit up the teen's freckled face, making him look, for once, like the schoolboy that he was. His warm brown eyes twinkled with how happy he was to see Mateo, the ranch's horse groom and trail guide. Though why he was in the stables when he should have been resting, Russell didn't know.

"Will he ever get better at lying?" Mateo asked Calamity in the next stall over, who snorted in answer. Though he was playing it cool, the groom's heart beat a little faster as the force of Russell's smile hit him like a sudden squall. Towering over the older man, Russell scooped him into his ropey right arm and lifted him into a tender kiss. Without preamble, he slipped Mateo some tongue, treating him to a greeting that made the groom drop the bag of chips and hug him around the neck instead. Denim-clad legs wrapped around the breeder's waist, and Mateo's arms encircled his spotted shoulders. He almost lost track of time as they stood there in the stables, tongue wrestling until Russ pulled away and said with a cheeky smirk.

"You smell like horse…"

"Yeah," Mateo chuckled, pecking along Russell's diamond-cut jawline as he spoke. "…what else is new Captain Obvious?"

"That's Colonel Obvious to you, private." Laughing, Russell punctuated the admonishment with a slap to Mateo's ass with his free hand. He gave no indication that the pregnant grown man in his arms weighed anything as he kept him close. "What're you doin' muckin' at this hour, babe, shouldn't you be restin'?"

"It's like, barely half-past five, and - like I've told you before - the doctor said I'm free to do anything I normally do." Gingerly, Russell backed out of the stall with his workaholic captive in tow, and shuffled toward a stack of hay arranged at the front of the barn in a tiered stack.

"I know, I know, but I convinced Granpa to get you that bot so you wouldn-"

"Don't piss me off, Russell Ray, that trashcan can't do shit ri-" Russell kissed him again, smartly cutting off the gathering storm as he gently sat Mateo on his firm ass atop the bale of hay. With a large pale hand, Russell palmed Mateo's protruding belly as if it were a basketball.

"Alright. jeez, I'm sorry." That machine was quickly becoming a waste of money. "I just worry about you and these little guys. You spend so much time in here they're liable to come out as a pair of centaurs or something." Mateo snorted and swatted Russell's shoulder with a slap that did more damage to his palm.

"You're the one with the horse cock, Red, so if we have centaur babies, it's gonna be your fault." Few people remained unscathed after talking about the teen's cock like that, so the drama of the day was all but forgotten when Russell pulled the hoodie up over Mateo's head and tossed it atop the hay beside them. Leaning down, he kissed the carrier's belly, whispering to the twins how big and strong they would grow. He'd love these boys, hooves and all if it came to that. He wasn't going to make the same mistakes as his uncle.

Maybe the drama wasn't completely forgotten.

"Do you think we can keep them? Raise 'em together?" The teen asked between belly kisses. "I know they were a little unexpected, but I dunno…sendin' 'em to a Nursery seems sad, don't it?"

"What…why?" Mateo stammered though it was difficult for him to focus when Russell's kisses dotted his dark skin in a straight line toward his chest. The high schooler's back was so broad he blotted out the bulb shedding light from the wooden rafters as he enveloped the smaller man. Then, with more tenderness than one might expect from a breeder of Russell's stature, he brushed his pink lips against Mateo's puckered nipple as he said.

"I dunno, I want my boys to grow up here, I guess. Like I did." Russell's breath was warm against the sensitive little nub, which caused the groom to shudder and goose pimples to rise along the back of his neck. Mateo wanted to express his concern with the plan, but Russell's wet mouth sucking on his tit slackened his mind.

By now, this was Russell's usual greeting, eagerly testing if Mateo's body was ready to give milk. The flat of his tongue raked across brown flesh as he made a seal with his lips and sucked in concert. Soon, his hands were in on the dance, too, cupping each pec in an open palm and firmly massaging the muscles. All Mateo could do was think how unfair this, as a negotiation tactic, was. Russell had a way of making him give and give, but was this asking too much? He didn't think he was ready to have children at all before Russ, much less raise them.

"Mmm, R-Russ wait-" When the tit proved to be still dry, Russell slid his hands down to the waistline of Mateo's Wranglers and yanked them down from his hips with a forceful pull that had scratchy hay raking across the bearer's back.

"Just…promise me you'll think about it, babe?" He asked, looking up at Mateo with those impossible-to-disappoint puppy eyes. How the boy managed to look innocent even while he folded a man's legs against his chest was beyond Mateo. But apparently, the idea of him raising their twins was revving the boy's engine, so he didn't have time to ponder it for very long. Holding Mateo in place atop the hay. with his knees against his sternum with one hand, Russell squatted down so his face was level with those round cheeks. "God I love this ass." He said, kissing his favorite cheek before spreading it to reveal the bud underneath.

"Sorry to interrupt ya, cuz, but Granpa told me to tell ya Sergeant Moss just pulled up. Hey there, Mateo."

"Uh…hey Bennett." Bent in half, ass out with his pants around his ankles, Mateo awkwardly waved to the newcomer. At almost the exact same time, Russell said.

"Daggoneit, Ben, why do you always have such shit timin'?"

"It's one of my many charms." He said, impish. Then to Mateo. "When are ya gonna stop messin' 'round with little boys and take a ride with a real man, muchacho?"

"When I find a real man you'll be the first to know, Ben."

Russell snorted his laughter as his cousin waved them off in feigned disgust. That wet hole looked so pink and inviting that tearing himself away from it was torture, Russel couldn't go without at least a little taste. So he leaned in and gave it a mournful kiss goodbye before standing.

"Well, it wouldn't be right gettin' this lil filly all worked for nothin', you wanna be useful for a change and come finish 'im off for…me…?"

"Shiiiit, you ain't gotta tell me twice, cuz. Lemme show ya how it's done." Bennett was on his knees in a heartbeat, and his tongue replaced his cousin before Mateo could pretend to object. He was no Russell, in the groom's opinion, but no one knew how to eat ass quite like another bearer. After spreading the bearer's cheeks, Ben traced a circle around the sensitive perimeter of his hole, running the tip of his tongue across every nerve-ending and causing Mateo to close his eyes and lay across the scratchy hay. Until the groom heard a teasing chuckle, felt Bennett's face smash into his cheeks, and his tongue clumsily popped inside of him.

"C'mon, second stringer," Russell said, as he pushed Ben's nose into Mateo's crack with a large palm on the back of his cousin's head. He knew he was supposed to beeline to the house, but instead, the teenager fisted that palm in Ben's hair and pulled him off of Mateo. "If your gonna work this hole in my honor, then ya gotta do it right. Tongue out…" Ben, red-faced, obeyed and Russell leaned over him to spit in his mouth before shoving his face back into those cakes and forcing him to tongue-fuck their horse groom.

"Hey Mateo, I think we just found another way to shut 'im up." The pregnant bearer gave a breathy laugh as Ben's warm tongue tasted his lathering walls.

"Maybe I should nut in that hole and give the tough guy somethin' to clean up." The sergeant was going to be pissed, but Russell couldn't stop himself from unbuttoning his pants and forcing his cousin's mouth on the bulge in his jeans. "There ya go, Benny, get your baby cousin nice 'n hard so you can see what a 'real man' looks like." Then he let Ben go and stepped closer to Mateo so his fingers could keep that wet hole warmed up.

Even without his cousin's insistence, Ben followed that bulge on his knees, his mouth never leaving that seam, which made Russell laugh again. Though not unkindly, it was the type of laugh shared between friends who liked to rib each other.

Ben pulled Russell's jeans down Russell's thigh and cursed when a heavy softy flopped out.

"Jeez, champ…do you ever stop growin'? Save some cock for the rest of us." He said, reaching around to playfully slap Russell's firm ass as if to scold him. Then he held that teen cock by the root and added under his breath. "Shit, I think this bad boy is bigger than me when I'm fully boned up? How did you survive, Matty." Russell shrugged, he barely noticed other men's dicks at the best of times.

"…mmm, prayer mostly…" Chimed Mateo, who was having his own battle as Russell's fingers sawed in and out of his hole.

"If you're impressed now, cuz, wait 'til he wakes up. Speakin' of," Moving his hips, the teen slapped his meat against his cousin's bearded jawline and watched as Ben's eyes began glazing over. Russell had an entire school day before this, including gym and his stroll across his family lands, and his musk was so potent even the mares in their stalls felt antsy. These too-bearers had no chance. "My baby mama's waitin' and I ain't got all afternoon. Show me that throat."

Ben opened up for his cousin and slurped the salt off his meat. His own pussy and cock were starting to leak as a result, and despite fancying himself as a so-called 'breeder among bearers', Ben found himself wishing Russell's toughened fingers were limbering his pussy up instead of Mateo's. He groaned at the thought, and the taste of his cousin's cock made him drool uncontrollably.

"Good, cuz, get it nice and wet for me," Russell said, and he pushed himself in and out of Ben's offered mouth as his meat slowly swelled with blood. No matter what he tried, it always took Russell a while to expand, but once he was at full mast, going back down became its own battle. "Soak it, princess…" That nickname earned him an irate grumble from Bennett, which vibrated through his leaking dick, but his cousin kept slurping away despite his annoyance.

Deciding to press his luck, Russell lodged his chub in the back of Ben's throat and initiated a game of chicken the sometimes played with each other. Though maybe Russell played a little dirty, since his cock was still swelling, stretching out poor Ben's throat as they glared at each other. With each second passed, Russell's cock became girthier, and Bennett's face got puffier.

Even with all of his advantages, Russell blinked first, worried about the way his cousin's eyes were starting to roll in their sockets. He pulled out of Bennett's throat, who immediately blinked and gasped for air. Bennett's blue eyes were bloodshot and streaming tears, but they were victorious.

Russell chuckled, positioned himself between Mateo's legs, and without ceremony guided the drooling tip of his 'horse cock’ between Mateo's cheeks; Ben and his obnoxious comments were forgotten for now.

"Fuck!" Mateo explained, as that thick mushroom head opened him wider than the dueling cousin's tongue and fingers respectively.

"It's okay, baby, I got you… we'll take it slow." Russell's strokes were confident, he didn't hesitate, but he was true to his word.

The teen's demeanor was completely different with the bearer who would soon give birth to his children. He was tender, as he enveloped the groom in his bulk as he peppered Mateo's handsome face with sweet kisses. With Russell's musk warmed him from the inside, his head swam in the clouds. He could feel the teen trying to get every thick inch inside his sheathe, but with his bearer's womb already occupied, there was no way for more than half his meat to fit without hurting Mateo. So Russell had to make do with shallow trusts, that were more than enough if his bottom's squeals were an indication.

"Breath, I got ya…fuck, you're so beautiful. I wanna put more sons inside you so bad it hurts, Mateo." He whispered, just as Bennett's mouth found his heavy nutsack. But Russell ignored his cousin's polishing because Mateo was starting to heave.

Something about the way the teen said his name sent Mateo over the edge, and his little bearer prick squirted watery fluid that also went ignored by Russell. Instead, the teen lifted the older man off his perch as his thrusts increased. Held aloft in his lover's arms, Mateo was still mad with musk and orgasm, as Russell hiked on foot up on a hay bale and bounced the bearer on half of his teen cock. He was clearly chasing his own nut now, mindful of Mateo's limits, but it wouldn't come. All of his stresses of the day balled up in his lower abdomen, unable to fucked out with a bearer that was already pregnant. At least…not without more time.

"Uh, cuz…your phone's ringin'…again."

"Damn it all to hell, Bennett Josiah Hardeman…" With great guilt and reluctance, Russell gently lowered Mateo back on his makeshift bed and clumsily reached for the damn device while still tucked inside.

Three missed calls.

There was nothing for it, it was a quarter to six, and the sergeant would have his ass if he pushed his luck. Slowly, with great reluctance, Russell extricated himself, turned to his cousins, and took his frustrations out on Bennett's throat again for a couple of pumps. He shouldn't shoot the messenger, he knew, but Bennett did have a big mouth. With two giant paws on each side of Ben's skull, he throatfucked the 'real man' just long enough to make it clear that he let his cousin win chicken, pulled out, wiped his cock clean with his cousin's shirt, and said.

"Sorry baby, I should go…" And kissing the bearer's sweaty forehead. Bennett soon found out as Russell shoved him back into place between Mateo's thighs; though the teen hadn't been able to nut, Mateo's hole was full of his breeder precum. He lapped it up hungrily. "Heh, see ya later, cuz." Were Russell's final words as he jogged out of the stables.

Seemed there would be no rest for the weary today.