The Ranch Foreman and That Brush Under the Table

Mateo had only recently turned twenty when his parents told him they were going on a trip to the plains to visit his paternal grandparents. They had gone five years without visiting, partly because of his father’s work complications, partly because the two families lived at opposite ends of the country. Even so, the idea bothered him at all.

On the contrary, he liked the promise of that long trip, the open landscapes, the dry heat of the countryside. And above all, in the mind of a horny college student, he was already picturing the men from there: brown from the sun, built from hard work, taking off their sweat-soaked shirts in the middle of the day. Definitely, he thought, it would be a good trip.

After two grueling days on the road, they finally arrived at the family ranch, planted in the very heart of the plains. From the entrance, the first thing you could make out was the main house: a deep blue, one story, but with a porch that made it look elegant. Mateo looked at it in surprise. It was not the old, dusty house he remembered from childhood.

As his father had told him on the way, his grandfather had done a huge favor for a local landowner, and the man had paid him back by selling him one of his ranches at a friend’s price. That explained the new house and the hectares of pasture stretching out to the horizon.

His grandparents were waiting at the door. They were already around eighty, but they still stood upright, with that sturdiness that comes from a lifetime spent outdoors. There were kisses, blessings, and tight embraces, the thick joy of people meeting again after far too long.

After hugging both of them and enduring the usual comments about how tall and thin he was, Mateo noticed two people watching them a little farther back, under the doorway.

—Well, I want to introduce you to two good workers here —said his grandfather—. She is Dolores, the housekeeper, and this is Ramón, the ranch foreman.

Both of them came over to greet the newcomers. Dolores wore a simple light blue dress that covered her to mid-calf, as women from the region usually do. She looked kind, well into her forties, still attractive, although the wrinkles around her eyes betrayed an old weariness.

But the one who drew every eye, and especially Mateo’s attention, was the foreman. Ramón was the stereotype of a country man: also around forty, straw hat, a face with hard features weathered by the sun, neatly kept mustache and beard, and an open smile. He was not handsome in the conventional sense, but he had an unmistakable, overwhelming masculinity, exactly the kind that kept Mateo up at night.

—Pleasure to meet you, boy. Ramón —he said, offering his hand.

Mateo snapped out of his reverie at the gesture. When he took it, he felt the firm grip of that thick-fingered hand, rough from years of labor under the sun. And in his mind, always filthier than was sensible, he was already licking his lips at the thought of that callused hand squeezing his ass, those thick fingers prying his cheeks apart, shoving them into him to the hilt while the foreman spat in his mouth.

—The pleasure’s mine, Mr. Ramón. Mateo —he replied.

When he looked up to hold the greeting, he met that hard but friendly face, and a pair of brown eyes that seemed to gleam faintly beneath the shadow of the hat. He must have let a lovestruck idiot grin slip out more than he should have, because he noticed Ramón’s face shift into an amused expression.

Then, very discreetly, he felt the foreman stroke his fingers before breaking the handshake to greet the others. Mateo stood there for a few seconds, trying to understand whether that touch had been real or just an invention of his desire. And if it was real, what the hell it meant.

—Come with me to the kitchen, please —said Dolores softly—. I fixed something for you all, since I’m sure you’re exhausted from the trip.

They all went into the house to rest a bit after the small odyssey of the road. They sat around the wooden table to enjoy some sugarcane juice and cheese-filled arepas that the housekeeper served. While the parents and grandparents caught up on family gossip, the young man ate in silence, eyes lowered but fixed on the person seated across from him.

He studied the foreman discreetly. His arms could be seen bulging under his shirt, and his chest was broad, heavy, less like gym pecs than the firm flesh certain big men have. For Mateo, that was perfect. He loved biting and licking the hard nipples of the men who fucked him, sucking them until they were swollen while a nice thick cock drilled into his ass.

At one point, Ramón lifted his gaze slightly from his plate and pinned his eyes on those of his stalker. His expression was serious, his stare cold, so much so that Mateo jolted with fright when he realized he had been caught. He feared he had made him uncomfortable, gone too far. But even so, he did not look away.

When he became interested in someone, he preferred to be direct and test the waters to see whether he had any chance. And apparently the move worked, because that cold stare soon turned back into the friendly smile from the entrance.

The confirmation came when he felt Ramón’s foot, under the table covered with a large cloth, rubbing brazenly against his leg. It climbed and descended slowly along his calf, all while the foreman kept eye contact and never let his calm-man expression fade.

To hell with it. He’s shouting it in your face. All or nothing.

Mateo gathered his courage. Carefully, without making any sudden movements that might alert his father, sitting right beside him, he removed his right shoe using his other foot. He settled himself properly in the chair and, holding his breath, brought his socked foot straight to the foreman’s crotch. He rested it there gently, waiting for a reaction.

For an instant, the plainsman’s eyes opened wide in obvious surprise. Mateo began to sweat. Had he gone too far? Had he ruined it? He watched tensely for any new movement from the man, any sign that would tell him what he was feeling.

But instead of a furious look or an insult that would expose him in front of everyone, what he got was Ramón’s hand closing around his foot beneath the tablecloth. The foreman guided it, forcing him to rub harder against the bulge that was already beginning to throb under the denim of his jeans. And it was no ordinary bulge: under the sole of his foot, Mateo could clearly feel the shape of a thick, long cock, growing thicker by the second, stretching the fabric until every inch of the shaft and the heavy balls hanging beneath were outlined.

Now Mateo was the one surprised. To have his move returned with a boldness as shameless as his own left him breathless. He saw Ramón’s face reflect a playful wickedness, a lust he made no attempt to fully hide. His mouth watered imagining that huge cock outside the pants, throbbing in his face, leaking the precum he was sure was already staining the foreman’s underwear.

That was all he needed. He gave him the same look of desire while his foot worked against the older man’s bulge: up and down, squeezing and letting go, feeling the fabric tighten more and more around what was hidden beneath. The foreman’s hand kept encouraging him, stroking his fingers over the sock, leading him straight to where he wanted to be attended to.

The intent is there. Now all that’s missing is the chance.

—Boss —Ramón said suddenly, leaning back in his chair as if nothing were happening—, they say the boy is going to inherit this place one day. Why don’t I take him out on the horse for a ride, so he can get to know the ranch?

—You already trying to kill me, talking about inheritance? —the grandfather shot back.

—From here you’re going straight to the grave, boss.

—Cut it out with the nonsense, little Ramón. But it wouldn’t be bad for the boy to get to know the land while the grown-ups talk.

The grandfather let out a loud laugh. It was clear that between boss and employee there was enough trust to speak like that, without ceremony, almost like two old friends.

—Do you want to go? —was all his mother asked.

His father nodded at once, delighted with the idea. Mateo turned to Ramón, who kept that same innocent smile he was already beginning to know and which, nevertheless, hid nothing innocent at all.

He felt a shiver rise up his legs, the same one that had run through his whole body a minute earlier under the table. The afternoon sun came in through the kitchen window and warmed the back of his neck, but the heat he felt did not come from the plains weather. It came from the promise in those brown eyes.

He imagined the ranch stretching out to the horizon, the two of them alone on the same horse, far from ears and eyes. He imagined the perfect excuse the foreman himself had just spun in front of the whole family, with the naturalness of someone used to getting his way after years of practice.

—I’d love to —he replied.

And as he said it, he noticed his own pants tightening around his hard-on under the table, the tip already dampening his underwear. He knew, without the slightest doubt, that this trip to the plains would be nothing like the visits of his childhood.

The horse was a large chestnut, with broad hindquarters and a thick mane. Ramón mounted it first in one leap, with the routine agility of someone who had spent half his life doing it, and held out his hand to Mateo from above.

—Up you go, boy. Behind me.

Mateo obeyed. He grabbed that callused hand, placed his foot in the stirrup, and hauled himself up until he was seated right behind the foreman, chest pressed against that broad back and legs spread against the man’s hard thighs. He wrapped his arms around Ramón’s waist, tighter than strictly necessary, and felt under his palm the firm belly, the thick belt, the plainsman’s steady breathing.

Ramón urged the horse on with a click of his tongue and they trotted out along the dirt path. A few minutes later, when the house was already a blue blur in the distance and they were surrounded only by yellow grass and the occasional lonely samán tree, the foreman loosened the reins and let the horse settle into a slow walk.

—What exactly are you looking for, kid? —he asked, without turning around, in that deep, drawn-out plains accent.

Mateo swallowed. He pressed his lips against the foreman’s ear, right where the hat left the skin exposed, and answered quietly:

—The same thing you’re looking for, Mr. Ramón.

The foreman gave a rough laugh. Without another word, he guided the chestnut toward the shade of a dense little grove, dismounted in one leap, and held out his hand again to help Mateo down. As soon as Mateo’s feet touched the ground, Ramón shoved him firmly against the thickest trunk, grabbed his jaw with that rough hand, and pushed his tongue into his mouth without asking.

The kiss was hard, brutal, tasting of black tobacco and sugarcane. Ramón bit his lips, sucked his tongue, while the other hand went straight down to his crotch and squeezed his cock over his pants. Mateo moaned against his mouth. That man wasted no time, there was no preamble, no question: he went straight to the point, as if he had been holding back for hours —maybe since the handshake at the door—.

—Kneel down —he ordered, pulling just far enough from his mouth—. I want to see how well you suck it.

Mateo’s knees buckled on their own. He fell onto the dry earth, hands trembling from pure lust, while the foreman unbuckled his belt, opened his jeans, and pulled his underwear down to mid-thigh. The cock that sprang at his face drew a gasp from him. It was thick, dark, veined, with a big shiny head already dripping a thick drop of precum. The balls, heavy and hairy, hung below, pressed tight against the root.

—Take all of it —said Ramón, gripping his cock at the base and gently tapping it against his cheek—. Let’s see if you can handle it, kid.

Mateo opened his mouth and swallowed it. At first only half, wetting it well with saliva, sucking the head with tight lips, circling the swollen glans with his tongue. The foreman grabbed the back of his neck with his callused hand and began to push slowly, feeding it in deeper and deeper, until Mateo felt the coarse pubic hair brushing his nose and the heavy balls flattening against his chin.

—Like that, you son of a bitch, like that —Ramón growled through his teeth, looking down at him—. Swallow that whole huge cock. Don’t leave me a single drop outside.

He started fucking his mouth with firm thrusts, holding him by the hair with both hands, not letting him breathe. Mateo choked, tears ran down his cheeks, saliva hung from his chin in thick strings, but he did not pull away. On the contrary: he clung to the foreman’s hard thighs, buried his face against his pelvis, let his throat be used as if that were the only reason he had gotten up on the horse. Each stroke pulled from him a wet, obscene sound, a sticky gulp that mixed with the plainsman’s grunts and the buzzing of the cicadas.

—Goddamn, you suck good —murmured Ramón, pulling out for a moment and slapping his wet cock against his cheek—. You can tell you’re used to running around with your mouth open, right, kid?

—Yes, sir —Mateo panted, lips swollen and shining—. Give me more.

The foreman smiled, crouched in front of him, and put him on all fours on the ground. He yanked his pants and underwear off in one pull, leaving Mateo’s ass bare in the tree’s shade. Mateo felt those thick hands prying his cheeks apart, and then a hot, persistent tongue, rough with mustache, licking his asshole with no shame at all. Ramón sucked, spat, licked again, pushed the tip of his tongue inside and twisted it as if polishing the entrance for what was coming.

—What a tight little ass you’ve got —he said between licks—. I’m going to leave it wide open so you remember the plains every time you sit down.

He spat a good mouthful onto the hole, smeared his cock with the saliva mixed with precum, and pressed the head against the opening. Mateo clenched his teeth. The foreman’s cock was thick, thicker than any he had ever had inside him before, and he felt the ring give way to it centimeter by centimeter, burning him, scorching him, while Ramón entered with a firm shove, without pause or mercy.

—Ah, shit, ah —Mateo moaned, cheek pressed against the earth.

—Take it, kid, take it —panted the foreman, gripping his hips—. You’ve almost got all of it in. That’s it. Take it like a man.

When he finally felt the plainsman’s hairy balls striking his perineum, he knew he had it all the way in. Ramón stayed still for a moment, giving him time to get used to it, and then he started moving: long, deep thrusts, pulling almost all the way out to slam it back in with one hard stroke. The sound of Mateo’s ass hitting the foreman’s pelvis echoed in the grove’s stillness, a fleshy slap that blended with his muffled moans.

—You like it like this, don’t you? —Ramón growled, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head back—. A country man grabbing you and burying it in you clear to your guts. Say it.

—Yes, sir —Mateo whined—. I like it like this. Fuck me to death with those big cocks, Mr. Ramón, please.

The foreman changed rhythm, faster, more brutal, drilling into his ass with the force of a man who had spent years riding beasts and knew how to set the pace. With one hand he held Mateo by the waist, with the other he delivered sharp spanks that left his skin red and burning. Mateo clung to the tree roots, his own cock bouncing between his legs, hard as stone, leaking onto the dry earth.

—Turn around —Ramón ordered suddenly, pulling out with a wet snap—. I want to see your face when I fill you.

He laid him on his back on the ground, lifted his legs and threw them over his broad shoulders, then sank back in with one single thrust. Mateo screamed. From that angle the cock hit deeper, brushed that exact spot that made him see stars, and the foreman knew it: he fucked him while staring straight into his eyes, with that satisfied-man smile, beard wet with saliva and sweat.

—Touch yourself, kid. Cum for me.

Mateo grabbed his cock with a trembling hand and started hammering it in time with the thrusts. It took only a few seconds. His load burst out in thick white ropes, splattering his chest, his belly, even the foreman’s beard, and Ramón bent down to lick a drop from his nipple. Mateo’s ass clenched like a fist around Ramón’s cock, and that was all the plainsman needed.

—There it comes, there it comes, you son of a bitch —he growled, driving it all the way in—. Take it all, kid, all of it.

Mateo felt the hot jets of semen flooding his insides, shot after shot, while the foreman’s cock throbbed inside him with every release. Ramón collapsed on top of him, panting against his neck, not pulling out, letting the boy’s ass squeeze every last drop from him.

When he finally pulled out, with a wet, sticky sound, a thick thread of cum ran down Mateo’s crack and onto the earth. The foreman crouched between his legs, licked his mustache, and gave the red-marked cheek a soft slap.

—Welcome to the plains, kid —he told him, with that friendly smile from the doorway—. You’re going to know this ranch inch by inch before the vacation is over.