During Mike's first few weeks at the ranch, he did little more than clean the house, wash clothes, and prepare meals for his Aunt Molly and himself. Although she would never admit it to him of course, what Molly needed most was a "wife" and Mike was it.
Being a sharp eighteen year old, Mike knew what role he had been given but he was an eager helper anyway. He knew he was basically useless elsewhere and the chance to watch his aunt's ass in those tight jeans more than compensated for any masculine ego bruising his gender inappropriate role forced upon him.
Molly and Mike's sex life settled into a happy routine. Each morning she would awaken him with a blowjob. On Wednesday and Saturday nights, they would fuck, usually three times. Neither could remember being happier.
In his spare time, Mike helped in the main horse barn. He learned how to assemble and put on the rider's tack. He practiced riding and gave the horses some needed exercise.
Although her spread [the ranch I mean...sheesh] wasn't large, it was more than Molly could handle alone, even more than she and Hastings could fully work together. About three days a week and whenever else Molly needed help, three cowboys from Abigail Campbell's place would help run the ranch with Molly.
Primarily, the business made money in four ways: leasing excess acreage to other ranchers for grazing and winter feed crops; selling stock; supplying stud services, particularly Molly's prized Appaloosa stallion Banshee; and leasing riding ponies to nearby dude ranches open during the summer.
In the past, Molly and her husband had boarded horses owned by well-off professionals working in the cities of Wyoming and surrounding states but escaping through imagined lives on the open range. She still had two mares that she kept for Bill Dennis, but that represented the smallest portion of her revenues and earnings.
As he became more competent, Mike's chores took less time and he began helping Molly with some of the revenue aspects of ranching. In particular, he learned to drive the pickup and horse trailer. He practiced for hours, maneuvering the tandem vehicles forward and back, across open terrain and around obstacles. Mike became a better driver than either Molly or Hastings had ever been.
With his newfound talent, Mike began delivering horses for tourists' use and picking up them up when the rush had passed. In time, he was also shuttling stallions to neighboring ranches for stud, including Banshee. His first outing was with the prized stallion proved to be quite an education for a young man still discovering the wonders of Wyoming women.
Mike arrived at Abigail Campbell's ranch at 10:30 as scheduled. A pretty girl his own age waved him over to a split-rail corral adjacent to one of the barns. A skittish filly moved nervously inside.
"Hi, I'm Amanda," she said as Mike stopped the pickup next to her and lowered the window. "Amanda, not Mandy, if you're thinking about being a friend," she smiled.
"Hi, I'm Mike," he smiled back. Girls his own age still made him nervous.
"Abby said to put him in with the filly."
Abigail Campbell was Molly's best friend and had already heard all about Mike. She deliberately didn't greet him herself sending Amanda, her prettiest and most friendly summer worker in her stead. She wanted to size up this newcomer from afar first.
In his boots, Mike stood six feet six. He was lean but muscled. His face and arms were tanned and he was now more handsome than he'd ever been. Amanda's heart skipped a beat as she watched Mike lower that trailer's back gate and begin unloading Banshee.
The stallion was more fractious than Mike could remember as the scent of a female in season saturated the air around the corral. Banshee reared up nearly causing Mike to lose control. The horse's fat penis had begun to unsheathe and both teens could clearly see the pink and black flesh bobbing in the air.
Amanda had noticed Mike's nervousness from the start and decided to have some fun with the tenderfoot. "Guess he's excited to be here, huh?" she asked, causing Mike to blush.
Mike had absolutely no idea what the protocol for horse mating might be and, after delivering the stallion to the corral, headed back to his truck. Until, that is, he saw Amanda mount the fence and take a seat straddling the top rail. Apparently, equine reproduction was a spectator sport. Mike joined her.
Almost immediately he knew he'd made a bad choice as watching a fully aroused stallion chase a fertile filly bucking at his attempts to mount while sharing split-rail seating with a gorgeous girl caused his own cock to swell. Amanda was immediately aware of the movement in his jeans.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked being almost cruel in her ambiguity. She let her hand rest on his thigh.
Poor Mike was no match for the human beauty. This was Amanda's fourth summer on the ranch and she'd heard all the raucous tales that have been told around the campfires of the west for that past hundred and fifty years. She knew exactly what she'd say next.
The coupling itself didn't take very long, but it was sufficient time for her to ask, "How'd you like to do that?" she asked, nodding at the coupled horses. Squeezing his thigh, Amanda looked deep into Mike's eyes with her best come-get-you-some look.
"Sure," squeaked Mike in a voice he hadn't used since his testicles descended.
"Well go ahead," Amanda laughed as Banshee's phallus slipped dripping from his erstwhile mate. "I don't think Abby will mind and from the size of that stud, I doubt that filly will even know you're in there!"
Mike was crimson as Amanda stood up on the fence rails. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before swinging her leg to the ground. "Don't be mad, it's only a joke," she said and started toward the barn. She turned but kept walking backwards. "And don't forget, cutie, it's Amanda," she called letting him know her interest was anything but malicious.
Mike watched over his shoulder as Amanda led the filly into the barn, leaving Banshee alone in the corral. He was just beginning to ponder her use of the appellation "cutie" when another voice, deeper and more sultry, startled him.
"You must be Mike," it said. He jerked his head around to see a most amazing sight standing by his knee. In her boots with three-inch heels, she was still under five feet high. Brassy, curls sprouted everywhere from under her cream colored Stetson like some blonde medusa. Her fat, pouty lips painted a bright red were no more than a foot and a half from his crotch as she stared up at his roost on the fence.
"I'm Abby and Molly has told me all about you," said the voluptuous, almost cartoonishly proportioned female. From the waist down, Abby was an almost normal, albeit well-cushioned, human. It was the two volleyballs Mother Nature had stuffed into her stretchy top that made people's mouth's hang open on first meeting her.
"You'll probably never hear another woman say this as the third sentence to a perfect stranger but, yes, they're real. Don't be embarrassed by thinking that, everybody does. Hey, come on in the house and I'll get you a pop."
Except to Mike's sexually charged ears, it sounded like she said, 'I'll get you to pop.'
Abby handed Mike a can of Pepsi from fridge and opened one for herself. She made no effort to get glasses. That kind of shit only meant something to pampered city cunts. She held her soda up in toast.
"That horse got some dick on him, don't he?" she offered without a hint of embarrassment.
