Snow Blower

I spotted the kid walking along the side of the snow-packed road from half a mile away. I throttled down my Firecat F7 EFI snowmobile and pulled off the road, into the ditch. I was fifty feet behind him in a matter of seconds, and then I gunned the big engine, cranking out a hundred and forty horses and flying up out of the ditch like a snow-blowing, midnight-black bat out of a frozen hell.

He spun around and stared at me, scared. I glided up next to him. “Kinda cold to be walkin’ around dressed like that, ain’t it?” I asked, gesturing at the thin, brown jacket he was huddled in. He had a pair of faded blue jeans and white running shoes to go with the jacket. The temperature was minus five degrees Celsius, a north wind blowing, a bright, weak sun hanging low in a cloudless sky; a hell of a nice February day in rural Saskatchewan, in other words.

“Uh, n-not really,” he mumbled, his teeth chattering. “I’m j-just goin’ to the highway, eh.” He tried to look through the mirrored surface of my helmet face mask, but all he saw was his own pale blue reflection.

The highway to Prince Albert, or away from Prince Albert, was two miles due south.

“I’ll give you a ride,” I said, ogling the firm, round mounds of his ass cheeks when he turned to squint down the empty country road. The sun bouncing off the flat, white land was dazzling enough to snow-blind an Eskimo. Typical of these parts, there wasn’t a car or farmhouse to be seen.

“S-sure, I g-guess so,” he responded eventually, giving me and my souped-up snow-machine a thorough going over with his big, brown eyes – eyes hard and wise well beyond his twenty-or-so years. He walked over, straddled the padded bench seat, and sat down behind me, grabbing onto the sissy bar.

“Name’s John,” I lied, waiting for a reply and getting none. I viciously twisted the accelerator, sending the twin skids on the front of the snow-skimmer leaping into the air, like a horse pawing the sunset – only there weren’t any white hats on this ride. The wide, rubber track bit into the snow with a crunch and the snowmobile catapulted forward, forcing the kid to grab me around the waist or fall over backwards.

I barreled down the road like I was racing the wind, full-out and spitting the white stuff – sort of like I lived. I got her up to fifty and held it, the kid hugging me tight, his pretty face plastered up against my broad back to escape the brutal wind sheer. His body was warm and hard, and my cock stiffened along with my resolve to teach the kid a lesson about accepting rides from strange, horny, middle-aged men in the middle of nowhere.

After a couple of minutes of kick-ass snowballin’, I plunged off the road and into the ditch, sailed up and over the other side. I gunned it into a puny clump of scrub-pine, the only vegetation on the snow-crusted landscape for five miles in any direction. I knew it was nice and sheltered in the middle of that Saskatchewan-sized forest; I’d used it as a cum-dump many, many times before, summer and winter. I skidded to a stop and gestured at the kid to get off.

“W-what’s up?” he asked, a real icicle now. He slid off the seat and stood on the hard-packed snow. The scar running down from the left-hand corner of his mouth to his chin didn’t quite match up with the naivety scene he was trying to put over on me; I sure as hell knew that scar hadn’t come from any girl’s fingernail.

“I am,” I replied, turning the key and pocketing it, then jumping off the machine and pulling my gloves off and unzipping the front of my snowmobile suit. I kept my helmet on, my face shield down, shrugged my shoulders and let the sweat-dampened suit pile up around my ankles. Then I tugged my sweatpants down and let my rock-hard cock get some much-needed air. It twitched in the cool air, seven inches of sleek, arrow-straight, mocha-colored fuck-tool, sporting a smooth, bulbous head that’d forced its way inside a lot of kids just like the one gaping at it now – young, dumb guns full of cum, theirs and mine.

“Uh, w-what’s goin’ on, mister?” the kid asked, like he was surprised. His bright, knowing eyes studied my studly member, and he swallowed.

“Suck it, baby!” I growled. “Then maybe we’ll take a trip to my nice, warm cottage, and I’ll fix you up with some food and booze. Sound good?”

He hesitated, putting on a show, as if sucking a man’s cock was something new and strange to him, but he knew that I knew better, and when an icy gust of wind tore through the thin trees, through his thin jacket, he dropped to his knees like he’d been shot. He gripped my throbbing rod in his cold hand and started stroking.

“Yeah!” I hissed as the kid pulled on my cock with one hand and fumbled my balls around with the other.

He palmed me like a pro, polishing my pulsating dong with his snow-white hand, juggling my heavy, shaved balls like a seasoned street hustler. Then, when he had me so hard that it hurt, and my slit was oozing pre-cum, he parted his plush, red lips and engulfed my bloated cocktop with his warm, wet mouth. He sucked on my hood, his tongue scrubbing the super-sensitive underside of my cock.

“That’s the way, baby!” I groaned, clutching at his short, jet-black hair and jerking his face into my crotch, the thick muscles on my arms jumping all over the place. It was feeling a whole hell of a lot warmer in that tree-sheltered country fuck-spot now, downright hot inside my closed-up helmet, and sweat turned from trickle to torrent on my face, streaming down my grim mug as the man at the end of my cock gobbled up more and more of my meat.

I thrust my hips forward, brutally jammed my cock into the kid’s sensuous maw, banging my dicktip against his tonsils, forcing my way down his throat. My body spasmed, but I held on tight to the kid’s head and desperately fought off the urge to blast the cute little cocksucker’s mouth full of steamy semen, drown him in my rubbery sperm.

“Deep-throat me!” I gasped, staring down at him, at his lips sealed air-tight around my angry cock, his cheeks billowing, his throat working my hood.

He stared back up at me, a couple of tears rolling out of the corner of his glittering eyes and down the sides of his head, as he gulped down more of my prick, till he had me balls-deep in his tight, moist mouth and throat. Then he gagged, spat me out in gush of saliva and snot, and I laughed. He grabbed onto my dick and slid his hand up and down its slimy, raging length.

“Enough child’s play!” I yelled, my balls boiling with semen. “I’m gonna fuck you up the ass! Now!”

He didn’t need any instruction. He climbed to his feet, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and pushed them down his creamy-white, muscular thighs. His pink cock hung at half-mast in a bush of downy, black fur, and he let me eyeball it for a moment before turning around and dropping down onto the snow, on all-fours, making a present of his taut butt.

I nodded my head and knelt down at the altar of ass-flesh, gripped and squeezed his firm, padded butt cheeks with my big, strong hands. I roughly kneaded his pillows for a good, long while, fingered his pucker, and then rubbed some cold snow onto my hot cock, turning snow to water in an instant, repeating the process with his asshole. He reached back and spread his butt open for business, and I grabbed my dick and savagely shoved its mushroomed hood into his pink.

“Fuck!” he howled, and I did just that.

I dug my fingernails into his burning, ivory flesh and drove my cock deep into his gripping anus, slamming my body up against his, ram-rodding my pole all the way into his ass. Then I started churning my hips, sliding my prick back and forth in the kid’s stretched-out chute.

“Fuck almighty!” I bellowed, praising our god, as I torqued up the sexual pressure another notch, really started banging my boy’s bum, my thighs smacking sharply against his rippling butt cheeks. I threw back my head and hollered with joy, sending ravens wheeling and cawing into the cool-hot, pine-scented air.

I hammered the kid’s tight, impudent butt with my steely rod, reveling in the sinful sensations of plundering another guy’s ass in that chilly Garden of Eden. I pummeled his sweet behind, over and over, ravaging his manhole with my pistoning cock. Then I lost it, yelled, “Fuck!” at the top of my lungs, at the clear, blue heavens, and rocketed white-hot semen deep into my boy-toy’s bottom.

I was jolted by orgasm again and again, like I was strapped to an electric chair and given full-juice, blowing wad after wad into the kid’s quivering butt. I dropped an awesome load into my snow angel with the dirty face, and then I collapsed on top of him, wasted.

Eventually, when I got some of my strength back, I ripped my cock out of the kid’s battered ass and told him to get dressed, again promising him food and drink at my imaginary cabin. We were out of the bush and back on the road in minutes, and when we hit the highway, I made the turn towards Prince Albert. The kid’s grip tightened around my waist, like he sensed that something was wrong, but he had to keep his head ducked down behind my shoulder to keep his face from freezing off. I dove into the ditch and went full-throttle, and when we rounded a corner, I shot the Firecat out of the ditch and back onto the highway, a hundred yards in front of an RCMP roadblock. The kid knew that everything was wrong, then, that I was going to screw him all over again.

He grabbed the handlebars and twisted the accelerator and screamed, “Fuck you!”, sending the snowmobile flying full-speed into the barricade of cop cars.

I still see the kid every now and then, but not as often as I did before the accident. They’ve got me working a desk job in the assistant warden’s office – the only job fit for a corrections officer too young to retire and too old to learn anything new, paralyzed from the waist down.

The kid tells me that he knew it was me all along, recognized my big, beautiful, cut cock from the bangings I used to hand out to cons looking for favors in the shower room. Apparently, he didn’t think I’d turn him in, thought I’d try to get some more play out of him, and he was going to play along, too – until he got a chance to slam something over my head and steal my snowmobile. But he didn’t count on my sense of duty; and neither should’ve I, because look where it got me.

He got two years tacked onto the original five he was serving for second-degree murder, and I got a life sentence of living death: a homosexual prison guard – surrounded by hundreds of hard, hungry men – with no hope of a hard-on. Ever. I watch the kid in the shower room every now and then, as he soaps up his smooth, sexy body, or pulls a train with some of his bum-buddies, but my Grade A beef is ground round now, as limp and useless as the justice system. My only consolation is that my mouth still works, and it’s as dirty as ever.