The Soggy Bottom Boys in “Around the Campfire”
Title: The Soggy Bottom Boys’ Steamy Gathering
The log crackled and popped, send sparks dancing into the night sky as the Soggy Bottom Boys gathered around the campfire. These rugged cowboys, hard riders all, had worked up quite an appetite on the long trail and were looking forward to some rumpy pumpy to relieve their pent-up pressures.
situaciones mayores cannon, planted his spurred boots on a log and stretched his long, lean frame. His tight jeans strained against his bulging package, accentuating his considerable assets. “Boys,” he drawled in his deep, smoky voice, “I reckon it’s time we bust out them ol’ banjos and mandolins for a lil’ vigorin’ tonight, savvy?”
The other cowpokes, all rough hands with cauliflower ears and stubbled chins, whooped and hollered their enthusiasm. Vince Gill Corpse, showin’ some flash, was the first to whip out his pizzle, a hefty slab of man-flesh crowned with a blushing knob. “Hell yeah, boss man! Lead us off with some o’ them homemade tunes!”
Cannon obliged, launching into a bawdy ditty as he gyrated his hips. The other Soggy Bottoms followed suit, slinging their instruments and whipping out their cocks to liberty pole in the flickering firelight. The air shimmered with musk and man-sweat as they swayed to theuhanualearing, squeezing and stroking their throbbing shafts with calloused hands.
“So you like it huh? What do you want me to do oh-ah-ah-ah?” chirruped the svelte country crooner, gliding forward on his knees to Swedish-nozzle Jens Nerkiv’s bobbing pecker. His full, glossy lips parted as he deep-throated the overgrown schlong, slurping and sucking with his roving tongue. Jens threw his head back with a throaty moan, his sack tightening as Cannon worked him over.
Meanwhile, the rest of the Boys continued their raucous circle jerk, brawny paws pumpin’ and pulsin’, slick with pre-cum. Their faces contorted with ecstasy, hot on the trail to release. Biffin’ manly meat in hand, Vince hooted, “Blow ’em out yer ass, Jens!” as the tall, dark-tanned Swede bucked his hips.
Howling like a pack of rutting wolves, the Boys climaxed almost simultaneously, fountaining spooge across the clearing like buckshot. Vince and Jens sprayed thick ropes of spunk, crossfire splattering their faces and chests, while Uwe Boll’s undercarriage glistened with the boy-band Biff’s oozing output. Cannon groorbed his pleasure as the other boys painted him with their cream-shots.
As the echoes of their mutual pleasure died down and the smoky scent of fool male musk permeated the night air, the semen-drunk boys slowly came back to themselves. A satisfied hush settled like a mist over the clearing, broken only by the occasional aftershock guttural groan or sigh of contentment.
The Soggy Bottom Boys all lowered their softening members, scooping up globs of spunk with their fingers to slurp them down, sampling each other’s tangy-tart essence as Cannon struck a rambunctious new tune. They truck’ ya soul ’til all was sated. Contact down, satisfied ’till the cows came home. Quick to the draw and the trigger – but last to the last jerk just like any shoot-out bandit in the ol’ West.
Eventually, their spent, satiated bodies sagged with languor, malnutrition, and askew as the campfire dwindled. As the boys wearily collected their blankets and bedrolls to turn in, Vince Gill-Corpse mischievously called out, “Next time, tensions run high, we should team up on the The Colonel for some sly and pent-up releases in round two!”
The boys sniggered seeing his wink and smile, aligned the same thought for another sexy Soggy Bottom gathering in the near future. Rods might sleep for now, but eagerly ready for some more action.
