The Cattleman Who Picked Me Up in His Pickup

The room smelled of used sheets and cheap cologne when Baltasar finished. He pulled away from the woman, slipped the condom off with two fingers, and let it drop to the floor without looking where it landed. She, a big-breasted blonde who called herself Brenda, was still lying there, catching her breath, with a grin that was meant to pass for a smile. Her chest glistened with sweat and her pussy was open, reddened, still throbbing from how well he’d fucked her. A thin white trail slid down the inside of her thigh, even though the condom had done its job: it was her own discharge, mixed with the semen from the previous client, who hadn’t bothered to wash himself properly. Baltasar saw it and didn’t care. He’d driven his cock all the way in for twenty minutes, had bent her over on all fours and slapped her ass again and again while gripping her ponytail like reins, and the fucking whore had come twice, screaming into the pillow so as not to wake the others.

—You’re gorgeous, babe —he said, and left two bills on the nightstand.

—Glad you enjoyed it.

—That pussy of yours is a gold mine. Take care of it.

She laughed weakly and ran a hand over her big tits, still marked by the cattleman’s thick fingers. Baltasar hauled himself up with a grunt, his ninety-odd kilos creaking in his knees, and went into the bathroom. She heard the long piss, then the shower running. When he came out, still wet, he scratched his hairy belly and took his gold watch, a chain with a cross as big as a finger, and his phone from the nightstand. His cock, thick and dangling, swung between his thighs, still half-hard. She looked at the towel on the floor and the water pooled on the tiles. He noticed where that look had gone.

—Sorry —he said without meaning it—. I don’t like smelling like anything else.

He went down the stairs in his jeans and a red shirt unbuttoned two buttons, with his gray-streaked chest hair showing. Dolores, the owner, was waiting at the door.

—Don Baltasar, what did you think of the new girl?

—Fantastic. Tight as a virgin and sucks like a junkie. She’ll do great, you’ll see. —He put another bill in her hand—. This is for introducing her to me and for the room.

He put on mirrored sunglasses, lit a cigarette, and walked toward his black pickup, a gleaming beast with a bull sticker on the tailgate. It was ten in the morning and he had four hours of road ahead of him.

***

Baltasar Quintana, fifty-two years old, cattleman through and through and proud of it, preferred to do business face to face even if he had the latest phone in his pocket. He was going to buy some black pigs and close the sale of two fighting bulls. Three hours later, forty kilometers from his destination, he pulled off toward a rest area where an old friend ran a tapas bar.

—I knew it was you without seeing you! —Honorio called from behind the bar.

—How’s that?

—That bull sticker on the machine you drive. You son of a bitch, things are going well for you.

—Pour me a draft and bring some tapas, I’ve got a long day.

Honorio served the beer and leaned on the counter.

—You looked like you’d already been to Dolores’s place.

—I had my balls full to bursting. And she’s got a new girl, a blonde who’s a pleasure to look at. Tits to get lost in, and a pussy that squeezes a cock like a fist.

—They say she’s worth what she costs. She’s a bit out of my way, but every time I pass by I think about it.

—Think less and go fuck her, man.

While they were talking, a thin boy came in from the shower area with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He was young, hairless, with a somewhat ambiguous look about him, dark-skinned, long hair tied back in a ponytail still damp. He walked with a certain fragility, weighing each step. He took cigarettes from the machine and came over.

—Good afternoon. Do you know if any bus goes up to Las Cumbres del Vado?

—Only one in the morning —Honorio said—. And hardly anyone takes it.

—Then I’ll see if I can find a trucker headed that way. —He fixed his gaze on Baltasar—. Or maybe you, sir.

—Get a taxi, that would be the normal thing —Baltasar replied, raking his eyes over him from head to toe without hiding a damn thing.

The boy held the gaze a second too long, shrugged, and left. Honorio spat into the sink.

—That’s Saturnino’s grandson, the goat farmer’s. Good kid, even if you can see what he looks like. Las Cumbres is at the end of the district, up in the hills. Twenty kilometers off the route.

—He’s screwed, then.

Baltasar finished his beer, left some coins, and said goodbye with a hug. But when he got back into the pickup, he didn’t start right away. He looked left and right across the forecourt until he found him: the boy’s slim silhouette by the roadside ditch, thumb out, ponytail shining in the sun. Something tightened inside him, an old hunger he knew well. He ran a hand over his fly, felt the bulge starting to rise again, and smiled. The blonde had emptied his balls, sure, but he was one of those men who filled themselves back up just by looking at the ass that needed filling.

He started the engine, pulled out onto the road, and when he drew alongside him, he braked and rolled down the window.

—I can give you a ride if you show me the way.

—Great! I thought you weren’t going to…

—Stop thinking and get in.

***

The boy buckled his seat belt and set the backpack between his legs. Baltasar watched him through the mirrored lenses: unmarked skin, a slender neck, long fingers.

—So tell me where to turn off, Adrián.

—How do you know my…? —He stopped, glanced for a moment at the eagle tattoo on the man’s forearm, and decided not to ask—. You’re very kind.

—Use tú with me, I’m not that old. Well, I am old, but not that old.

Adrián smiled. The road began to climb between holm oaks and dry scrub. The engine answered with a deep purr each time Baltasar pressed the pedal. The boy rested his elbow on the window and let the breeze move the loose strands of hair.

—Your pickup is incredible —he said, and his hand settled as if by accident on the driver’s thigh.

Baltasar didn’t move it away. He drove like that for a while, with the other man’s palm warming his jeans, feeling the boy test the ground with tiny caresses until those long fingers started to climb, to search. When they reached his fly they paused for a second, measuring, and then the palm opened over the bulge and squeezed. Baltasar let out a low growl.

—Jesus, kid, you’re pretty confident with that hand.

—And you’ve got everything else pretty well set up too —Adrián murmured, feeling the thickness through the denim—. What a cock. I wasn’t expecting it to be like that.

—Unzip me if you’re that curious.

The boy didn’t need asking twice. He undid the belt with quick fingers, lowered the metal of the fly, and pulled the cattleman’s cock out, already swelling, thick and veined, crowned by a broad glans still shining from the shower. Adrián weighed it in his palm, stroked it from top to bottom, spat into his hand, and wrapped around it again, now slick. The shaft kept growing under his fingers until it stood hard as a stick, throbbing against the boy’s wrist.

When they reached a long, empty straightaway, Baltasar took one hand off the wheel and brought it to Adrián’s hair, wound his fingers in the ponytail, and gave a light tug, just enough to make the boy tilt his head back. Then he pushed him down, not roughly but without hesitation, until the young man’s mouth was a hand’s width from his cock.

—Keep your eyes on the road or we’ll die —Adrián muttered, but his voice had gone rough.

—Is that good or bad? Suck me for a while, come on, I’ve been looking at that mouth of yours for two hours. Don’t let the car stop.

Adrián bent over the gearshift, swept his hair to one side, and opened his mouth. He licked the glans first, drew circles with his tongue, caught the drop of precum beading there and licked his lips. Then he took it in one stroke, all the way, until the tip hit the back of his throat and brought tears to his eyes. Baltasar tightened his grip on the wheel with his free hand.

—Fuck me, what a throat you’ve got.

The boy began to suck with real hunger, moving his head up and down, pressing his lips against the thick vein underneath, while with his free hand he caressed the heavy balls over the denim. The cattleman’s cock, harder and harder by the second, glistened with spit. Adrián took it all out, spit on it, ran the flat of his tongue along its length, then swallowed it again. Wet sounds, slurps, the occasional brief gag that only made him hotter. Baltasar stopped pretending to watch the road and dropped his gaze for a second to see his cock disappear between those thin lips, that cheek dimpling from the inside with the shape of his glans. His cock was vibrating inside the boy’s mouth.

—From what I can tell, at least I don’t disgust you —the man panted, tugging his ponytail again.

Adrián lifted his mouth for a moment, a string of saliva sticking his lip to the glans.

—You don’t disgust me at all. I’d bet you’re the kind who likes to be in charge. And that you’re going to come in my mouth if I keep this up.

—Not that fast, kid. I want to come somewhere else. Is there somewhere around here to stop?

—A little farther up, out in the moors, there’s an abandoned shepherd’s hut. Nobody goes there. You can pull off there.

—Keep sucking until we get there —Baltasar growled, and pushed the boy’s head back into his lap.

***

The track turned to dirt and stones. Adrián didn’t let go of the cock for the entire ride, sucking slowly, licking the balls whenever the rough road made him lift a little, then going back to the wet glans. At last a low adobe structure came into view, with no door or windows, the floor covered in dry grass. They got out, the cattleman with his fly open and his rock-hard cock dangling outside, wet with the boy’s spit. He lit another cigarette, took a deep drag, and walked over to the young man, who was waiting for him leaning against the gate.

—You don’t even offer me a drink first —Adrián said.

For answer, Baltasar grabbed him by the waist and kissed him hard, shoving his tongue all the way in, making out with him like he wanted to eat him. He was a full head taller. The boy pulled his shirt off his shoulders while Baltasar bit his neck, rubbed his gray-streaked beard along his jaw, pulled down the zipper of his sweatshirt, and squeezed the bulge over his pants. Adrián was hard too, smaller than the man’s but tight, defined under the fabric. He took a blanket from the pickup bed and spread it inside the hut. A few grasshoppers jumped from the weeds; a couple of birds took off from the eaves.

They undressed slowly, sizing each other up. Baltasar was a mass of muscle and gray hair, broad-chested, with huge hands, his thick curved cock pointing upward, his balls hanging heavy between his thighs. Adrián, by contrast, was all fine lines: pale skin, a smooth belly, two small tattoos —a wolf and a bird— on his sides, a straight, handsome cock, high shaved balls. His ass, when he turned to drop his pants, was round, white, firm, one of those asses that opens under the hands begging to be bitten. They stood there for a moment staring at each other, feeling what was in front of them, before the boy knelt on the blanket.

He did it with appetite, without rushing, alternating tongue and lips, sucking each ball one by one first, taking them fully into his mouth, rolling them gently. Then he moved up the thick vein to the glans and swallowed the whole cock, to the root, burying his nose in the gray pubic hair. Baltasar stroked his hair, let the ponytail come loose, and gave a low groan each time the boy tightened his throat around the tip.

—That’s it, that’s it, eat it all, kid… you do that so well, you son of a bitch, what a mouth…

Adrián sucked him to the brink, feeling the cock swell even more, feeling the balls draw up against his body. Baltasar had to pull his head away by the hair to keep from coming, and he laid him on his back over the blanket.

—My turn now.

He spread the boy’s legs and returned the favor with a patience Adrián hadn’t expected from such a rough guy. He bit the inside of his thighs, rubbed his rough beard over his balls, sucked them too, ate his hard cock until he was moaning. Then he lifted his legs until they were pressed to his chest and buried his face between his cheeks. He started licking his asshole with the tip of his tongue, in circles, calmly, while the boy gripped his own thighs and let out his breath in one rush.

—Fuck… fuck…

Baltasar ate his ass like a man possessed, salivating over it, driving his hard tongue inside, spitting on it and licking again. When the pink asshole began to open on its own, when the boy was already pushing his hips against the beard begging for more, he slid in one finger first, then two, turning them slowly, feeling the narrow inside give way, hot and tight.

—You got anything? —he asked, voice rough.

Adrián stretched an arm toward the backpack and took out a tube of lube and a condom. The man smiled: the boy had come prepared, and he liked that. He tore the wrapper open with his teeth, rolled the condom onto his cock, smeared a good amount of lube on the glans and as much again on the boy’s open, slick asshole. He added a third finger and worked carefully, without roughness, taking his time to open him while the boy panted and begged for more through clenched teeth.

—Slowly… like that… put it in already…

—You hold still, I know what I’m doing. You’re going to feel this cock tomorrow.

He pressed the fat glans against the asshole and pushed little by little, alert to every flinch, stopping when the boy squeezed his eyelids shut, advancing when he relaxed. Adrián gave a sharp gasp when the broad crown forced the ring open and went inside. Baltasar held there, letting him breathe, letting him get used to the thickness, and then kept pushing it in centimeter by centimeter, span by span, until his heavy balls bumped against the young man’s ass.

—That’s all the way in now. All of it, kid.

—Ah, fuck… you’re huge… you’re filling me up…

He stayed still for a few seconds, letting the boy adjust to the invasion, and then started moving. Long pulls until only the glans stayed inside, deep thrusts that tore moans from Adrián’s throat. The boy’s tight ass milked him at every shove, sucking his cock like an eager mouth. Baltasar dug his fingertips into the boy’s hips, leaving the marks of his fingertips on pale skin.

—Get on all fours, I want to see that ass while I fuck you.

He turned him without pulling out all the way, lifted his white ass, and drove into him again to the hilt. Adrián rested his elbows and cheek on the blanket, his cock bouncing against his belly, and let himself get fucked. The man rode him with hard thrusts, faster and faster, his palms spread over the boy’s cheeks, prying them apart so he could watch his cock going in and out, coated in lube, shining. He landed a slap that cracked like a gunshot in the silence of the moor.

—You like getting fucked like this? Tell me you like this cock in your ass.

—Yeah… yeah… fuck me, give me more, harder…

—You filthy junkie… you’re made for this, this little asshole of yours…

Baltasar leaned over him, grabbed the ponytail like reins, yanked his head back, and kept pounding him, now with his beard against the boy’s neck, his mouth at his ear, whispering filthy things. He ran a hand over his chest, pinched his nipples, slid down to Adrián’s hard cock and grabbed it, starting to jerk him off in time with his thrusts. The boy moaned uncontrollably, spitting saliva onto the blanket, clenching his ass around the cattleman’s cock.

—I’m going to come… I’m going to come, fuck…

—Come, come for me, squeeze that ass.

Adrián came first, with a hoarse cry, splashing the blanket with white jets while his insides convulsed, milking the man’s cock with uncontrollable spasms. That clenching was what finished Baltasar off. He gave three, four more thrusts, deep, savage, and exploded inside the condom with a muffled roar that bounced off the adobe walls, emptying himself completely, feeling his cum come out in thick spurts, feeling his cock continue throbbing inside the boy’s tight ass for several seconds. They stayed like that, locked together, chest to back, sweating, with the hum of insects as the only sound.

When he finally pulled out, he did it slowly, and the swollen glans tugged at the boy’s asshole on the way out. He removed the full condom, tied it off, and left it at the foot of the blanket. Adrián let himself fall face down, his ass reddened, still open, shining with lube, breathing hard. Baltasar lazily ran a hand over his wet back, then over his buttocks, squeezed one and smiled. Then they lay on their backs on the blanket, staring up at the worm-eaten beams of the roof.

***

Baltasar checked his watch and muttered a curse under his breath. They dressed quickly and got back into the pickup. This time, when he lit a cigarette, he offered one to the boy before starting up.

—You sure burn through energy for your age —Adrián said—. How old are you?

—Fifty-two. And you?

—Twenty-two.

—This isn’t your first time with an older man, is it? You can tell. Not your second, or your tenth either. An ass like that doesn’t happen by itself.

—No —the boy laughed, blowing smoke out the window—. Though my beginnings were weird, don’t get me wrong.

—Tell me, we still have some climbing to do.

Adrián settled back in the seat and watched the scrubland roll by on the other side of the glass.

—I’d just turned eighteen. I worked one summer on a big farm, far from home, picking olives. There was a foreman there, a man in his forties, quiet, strong, one of those men who never need to raise their voice. I looked at him without really knowing why, and he noticed.

—And one day it happened.

—One day I stayed behind at the end of the shift helping him lock up the warehouse. We were alone. He asked if I wanted to stay a while longer. —Adrián smiled to himself—. I said yes before he’d even finished the sentence. He took me to a little room in the back, locked the door, pinned me against the wall, and pulled out my cock over my pants. He sucked me off first, a forty-year-old foreman kneeling in front of a kid, and everything went blurry for me. Then he turned me around, pulled my pants down, and ate my ass until I was shaking. When he put it in, slow, very slow, with his hands on my waist, that’s when I understood what I liked. I came twice that night, the last time with him inside me.

—A good teacher.

—The best. After that summer I knew what I wanted. Guys like you, seasoned, who know what they want but don’t treat you like an object. With a thick cock and patience.

Baltasar let out a long whistle and squeezed his knee without taking his eyes off the road.

—Well, today you got yourself a good specimen —he said, and they both laughed.

They talked about nonsense the rest of the way: cattle prices, the villages that were emptying out, the children Baltasar had scattered around the district and who messaged him all hours of the day. The boy told him about his grandfather, the goat farmer, and why he went up to see him every few weeks. By the time they reached Las Cumbres del Vado, just a handful of houses hanging off the slope, they seemed like old acquaintances.

—This is where I get off —Adrián said.

He got out, slung on his backpack, and leaned into the window for a moment. There were no kisses or promises. Just a look that said everything.

—Thanks for the ride, cattleman.

—Take care, kid. And take care of that ass, it’s worth its weight in gold.

The boy walked uphill, moving with a slightly different sway, with the man’s cock still marked inside him. Before he rounded the corner, he turned and saw Baltasar, leaning against the pickup’s tailgate beside the bull sticker, lighting another cigarette and scratching his belly with the calm of a satisfied animal. Then the man climbed into the cab, rolled the window all the way down, cranked the radio up, and drove down the road toward the valley, with the feeling that he had emptied out more than just fatigue.