Bareback Ranch

The dusty road to Bareback Ranch winds like a happy trail under the relentless desert sun. Nick Fitt and Zario Travezz play like boys let loose, their laughter cutting through the dry air. Zario's shirt hits the ground first, baring his muscled frame. He grabs Nick with rough ease, hoists him over one broad shoulder like a conquered prize, and strides homeward, boots kicking up sand. At the ranch, ice-cold bottles sweat in the shade, a mercy for these two wranglers burning with need. They crack them open, the chill biting sweet against the heat. Zario tips his head back, lets a slow gulp spill down his pumped chest, tracing the ridges of his rippling abs to pool at his raging boner. Nick drops to his knees, tongue darting to lap every cool, damp drop, savoring the salt and thirst. Hunger builds fast. Zario's fingers probe Nick's hole, slicking it wet and eager for the merciless thrust to come. Then he mounts him, raw and relentless, hips slamming in a rhythm that shakes the very earth.