Winner Takes All

Under the vast prairie sky, Rod Phillips, Lee Ryder, and Mark Hunter reined in their horses, sweat-glistening hides heaving as the riders dismounted for a hard-earned rest. The sun beat down, warming their skin through shirts unbuttoned at the collar. Lee wasted no time. His eyes locked on Rod with a hunger that cut through the lazy afternoon haze. He stepped close, one hand sliding up Rod's broad chest, fingers tracing the hard lines beneath damp fabric. Rod's breath hitched. Lee's lips crashed against his, rough and demanding, tongues tangling in a kiss that tasted of dust and desire. Mark lingered on the sidelines, arms crossed, pulse quickening as he watched Lee's free hand dip lower, palming the growing bulge in Rod's jeans. The sight stirred something primal in Mark—a slow burn igniting to full flame. He shook off his stupor and strode forward, boots crunching the dry earth. No words needed. Mark's strong fingers gripped Lee's shoulder, pulling him into the fray. Clothes came off in a frenzy: shirts tossed aside, belts unbuckled with urgent snaps. Rod dropped to his knees first, mouth enveloping Lee's thick cock, sucking with a rhythm that drew guttural moans from deep in Lee's throat. Mark circled behind Rod, hands kneading firm ass cheeks before spreading them wide. He spat into his palm, slicking his own rigid length, then thrust in deep—raw, unrelenting. Rod gasped around Lee's shaft, the dual invasion sending shocks of pleasure through him. Lee tangled fingers in Rod's hair, fucking his mouth steady and deep. Mark pounded harder, hips slamming with a cowboy's raw power, their bodies a slick, sweat-sheathed tangle under the open sky. Grunts and slick slaps echoed across the empty plain. Climax hit like a thunderclap: Lee spilling hot down Rod's throat, Mark flooding him from behind, Rod shuddering between them, spent and sated in the heat of their makeshift haven.