Mack the Bull

Mack the Bull

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All characters are over 18, fictional, and none of it happened. Think of it as a Grimm fairytale.

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Australian outback road-trains are big bugger trucks, up to 50 metres long, with 4 trailers, powered by up to 600 hp diesels, driven by big men and women.

'Sheila' and 'skirt' are nicknames for females. 'Bloke' is a man. 'Shag' is to fuck.

'Mate' is (loosely) a buddy or best friend.

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Mack didn't drop his pants, but simply unzipped them to expose his dick. It was hard, erect, ready and demanding attention.

At the start of the bloody melee it was a big fat slug curled between his legs, but came to life as soon as he head-butted her bull. It stiffened nicely when he dropped the bull's two offsiders and their groans told him they weren't getting up again. It got even harder when the third bloke bolted out the back door. Finally, he head-butted her bull again and the bastard dropped like a bag of cement, raising two blood slicked hands in defeat as he went down.

And that's when Mack's cock stood straight up.

Mack had walked in from the parking lot and immediately saw the mountain of muscle and little brain sitting at the bar with a skirt by his side. The bloke had a possessive arm around her shoulders, looked over-cocky, and was leaning his head into hers as if he ruled her and could do whatever the fuck he wanted with her. His mates were sitting off to the side giving him space.

So, he was obviously her bull and had free access to her cunt.

Mack paused at the door, his eyes adjusting to the light after the scorching outback sun. The way his height, broad shoulders and big belly filled the doorway made a statement to everyone inside.

The bull with his arm around his moll saw Mack eying her from the door and instinctively knew what the big stranger was going to try. He tightened his arm around the girl's shoulders and threatened to slice Mack's jugular with a broken bottle if he tried it with her.

Mack and the bull now understood each other, and the girl had also sus'ed what was about to happen.

Mack--thinking "No time like the present and never bring words to a bar fight"--walked in silently and head-butted the bull. And it was on.

And twenty seconds later it was over, and Mack was the only one standing.

The last to drop was the bull himself, and the sight of him crossing his bloodied hands in defeat put the finishing touch to Mack's big cock. A big dollop of pre-cum squeezed out the tip.

That cock was a work of art. Three hundred millimetres, as thick as his forearm and dead straight, with a big pair of balls hanging below, filled to the brim.

Brute strength, blood lust and unbridled domination always hardened his cock and got it nice and shag ready. He could count on it, and it was his preferred foreplay by a long shot.

Some days Mack would have fun and draw a fight out over several minutes, even an hour or more, just to get it as hard and erect as he could. On other days, if he fancied a quickie in a cunt he'd just met, he could get his cock primed, locked, loaded and into her in under a minute without even looking her in the eye. All he had to do was drop the bloke beside her and she'd be his.

Today was that sort of occasion.

Just a minute before, as he walked into the pub, he'd gotten her in his sights and sized up the bruiser with his arm around her and his thick-skulled mates. It took twenty seconds from his first head-butt until two were down, a third had bolted, and the bull was spitting blood on the floor. The fight was over and Mack's shaft was as hard as a steel railway spike, ramrod straight, up along his belly, leaking a dollop of precum.

The bull's moll didn't shift on her bar stool, but stayed leaning back enjoying the show. She had seen Mack enter and fill the door and immediately fancied him. A subtle parting of her knees and faint wafting scent of arousal gave her away, and her bull immediately tightened his arm around her shoulders.

That's when she knew there would be a good bull fight over her, and that afterwards she'd be wet and ready to take cock from whoever won. So she didn't move during the dust-up that followed, just ducked a couple of thrown beer glasses and made sure when her bull went to the floor spitting teeth he didn't take her with him.

As for Mack, each time a face connected with his fist, his cock throbbed. Each spurt of blood from a broken mouth made him ache for a tight wet cunt squeezing his shaft. Each grunt from the defeated bull lying at his moll's feet brought matching grunts from Mack's own throat.

Only Mack's grunts weren't the sounds of defeat, but the guttural rumble of lust rising from deep in his cock-root and balls, full of spunk and promise he was about to fuck into her.

As the pub settled and quietened again, the only sounds were low moans from the floor at the moll's feet and the football game on the telly. The regulars had turned down the volume again.

On the stool, Vicky--that was her name though she and Mack hadn't formally met yet--was relaxed and still leaning back after the fight, her elbows on the bar behind her, facing Mack. But she had made one small adjustment which told him all he needed to know. It was as plain as if she had stood up, walked over, and grabbed him by the knackers.

As she watched him deal with her erstwhile bull and his mates, her nipples popped and she slowly spread her legs until they splayed wide and her mound humped up under her mini skirt as if searching for cock.

By the time Mack finished the job and stood in front of her, facing her, full on, head lowered, breathing heavily, big hands at his sides, erection hard as steel, she was flashing her crotch and a big fat sloppy open-mouthed shit-eating grin at him. She liked bulls, especially winning bulls, and this one was a big, tough, rough bastard, primed and ready to go.

Her sort always knew which side they wanted their bread buttered on and who was up to the job. Violence and domination wasn't just his foreplay, it was hers too, and suddenly she was in bad need of a good bull battering from him.

She stared glazed-eyed at Mack, her lips parted, her tits lifting as she breathed for him, no longer for the bloke on the floor.

She'd had Mack's sort before. Often in her brief young life she had been won fair and square by a bull who needed a shag, just like Mack had won many a cunt in many a pub fight when he needed a shag. She had been regularly fought over by bulls, just as Mack had seen regular action across the country, in bars, motels, and in his big triple-rig truck.

Hell, some of his most memorable fucks were hitchhiking cunts. He would stop, pick them up, pull over in a lay-bye and bend them over the big bull bar in front of the radiator of the road-train with it's three loaded trailers stretched out behind for fifty meters. The big diesel engine idling under their clits acted like a six-hundred horsepower vibrator. When they came their screams rose above both the rumble of the engine and Mack's own primal roar as he got his load into them.

But he never had to hope and wait. All it ever took when he felt the need to service his cock was to find a pub with a decent cunt he fancied and some bull on her arm. Then he'd take him down a peg or two. The bigger the better, and the fight would give him a hard-on. As soon as the bloke was on his arse his Sheila would come across to Mack and climb all over him.

Christ, the cunts couldn't get enough of him once he'd dropped their blokes. By then they were wet and horny and soaking for a fucking. The sight of two bulls fighting over them spread their legs and opened them right up, just as the fighting stiffened him. Sometimes he'd take them right then and there, where the rest of the bar could watch and learn.

And that's how he met Vicky.

Later he told me about it in his own words. I made notes, and, as best I remember, this was his story. It also became part of my story which I'll write about one day.

At that time, I was young and wet behind the ears, eighteen, with straggly facial hair and no chest hair, barely legal age for drinking and whatever scrapes the demon elixir might get me into. Today I'm a big fucking bull, but then I wasn't even a smidgin of a hint of an inkling of a promise of becoming one. All I had going for me was an enormous 250 mil cock and a young bloke's stamina.

Mack was three times my age, one of life's gentleman, a bloke I admired and loved to copy, a mentor, a bull who took me on as a sort of apprentice. I think he saw himself in me, like he had been before he got his cock in gear and became a bull.

One day we were drinking in the Drovers Arms in Booligal. As Banjo Patterson said, there's Hay, there's Hell, and then there's Booligal. It's a rough tough god-forsaken beautiful outback pint pot town.

"Did I ever tell you how I met Vicky here?" he asked as we breasted the bar and ordered two beers from the young flat-chested--but legal--barmaid.

We were both as dry as a dead dingo's donga, and those first beers went straight down without touching the sides of our throats.

"No, I don't think so," I replied, wiping my thin teenage moustache and ordering the next round.

"Well, it was pretty simple, really. A long time ago I was on a bull run down from Queensland. That's what I call it when I'm hauling a triple-trailer road-train rig loaded with cattle. It can be pretty thirsty, cock-lonely work, so I'm always on the lookout for some bull fun along the way."

He idly watched the girl bending over to load the dish washer with glasses.

"I was passing through and I parked the rig and stopped in...came for a feed and a drink and anything else I might find...walked in and here she was. Vicky. On a barstool. In the tightest little mini-skirt and halter-top I'd ever seen. Enough to leave you hanging on her every word and nipple."

I loved hearing his stories, learning the ropes of fighting, sex and life on the road, and figuring out how to turn any situation to my benefit.

"It was a couple of days since I'd had a good shag so right then and there I decided to get Old Percy into her. I sized up the blokes around her and dropped them in half a minute. Didn't give them a chance. Only the bull with his arm around her knew what was going on, and he was outclassed.

"When it was over they were all on the floor, except for one who scarpered, and Vicky was alone on her bar stool, leaning back against the bar, flashing her knickers and a shit eating grin at me."

The barmaid had straightened up and was quietly listening as she polished glasses. My cock was stirring and I wondered if a hard-on would show.

That always embarrassed me in those days. I hadn't yet become proud of my meat and what I could do with it, like Mack was. I often tried to hide mine, but when he had an erection he let everyone know he was ready for action.

"I didn't mess around," he continued, "Putting her bull on his arse had gotten my cock nice and primed, so all I had to do was unzip, pull out the old three-hundred mill and get between her legs."

"Right there on the bar stool?" I asked, amazed and wondering if I'd ever have the courage.

"Of course," he replied, "in fact, it may have been the one you're sitting on. No big deal. You should try it.

"All I wanted was to get my bull load into her, f'Christ's sake. I could see her cunt soaking that seat your bum is parked on, and I can tell you it wasn't creaming for that pissant limp-dick bastard wot brought her to the dance. He was lying on the floor beside her, about to get a closeup look at me getting my cock inside what had belonged to him.

"No sir, her fresh cream was for me."

"Fu...uck...," I muttered, running four fingers along the stiff shaft in my pants, hoping no-one would notice.

But of course Mack did, and he smiled. His mission was to get me laid as often as he could, which so far wasn't very often because I was too shy. In fact he had never managed it even once. As they say, you can lead a lad to cunt but you can't shag it for him.

"Anyway she hadn't budged, she just stayed leaning against the bar while I dropped her bull on the floor beside her, as if I was simply saying 'G'day, mate, now be a good bloke and lie down and stay out of the way for a while.'

"Then both of them watched me unzip, pop out my cock and walk over to her. Neither could take their eyes off it. The knob was fucking purple and bigger than even I'd ever seen it. It was oozing plenty of pre-cum and was fit for purpose.

"I got between her knees and wedged them apart. No formalities. Just a wham bam, without a thank you ma'am. All I wanted was to get my load into her, my winner's spoils, fuck maybe even knock her up with my first shot."

"Of course," I muttered, as if I, too, would naturally do the same thing.

If he was trying to draw me out of myself and be a little less self conscious, it was working, because I had started openly stroking and squeezing the hard sausage in my jeans.

"At first she tried to twist away from my swollen monster knocking at her gate, but I pushed in fully between her legs and got her wedged back hard against the edge of the bar. You'll find it's a good way to control a Sheila."

I was busy and could only grunt. The barmaid moaned and dropped a glass.

"She put her hands back to prop herself up and stop falling back on the counter, which only got me harder," Mack continued, "In that position she'd be able to look down and see my cock going up inside her. But to make sure of it, I hooked my left hand behind her neck and pulled her head toward me and down to get a good look. I didn't want her to miss any of her adventure."

I was running my hand along the long hard cock-swell down my pants leg, and said, much louder than I intended, "Jesus, that's fucking hot, mate," I saw the barmaid, looking for all the world like an innocent young fawn, jump and glance at me. My heart skipped a beat but my hand kept moving.

I stood up to adjust my cock and had to unzip it and work pretty hard to free it from my tight jeans and point it up my belly behind my belt. She watched with her wide fawn's eyes, and suddenly my newfound don't-give-a-shit cockiness evaporated, and I blushed.

Mack had kept talking and I had to think hard about what he was saying. I didn't want to miss a word of his wisdom.

"I pulled her knickers off, got my cock-head into position, and gave an almighty push, but she was god awful tight and I struggled to get the knob into her. She was as wet as the Suez Canal but afraid of the size of my meat, and her fear had gotten the better of her.

"Even though she wanted nothing more than a good fucking, her cunt muscles had tightened up. She got to trembling and moaning when I used all my force trying to get the monster in. Maybe you'll get to feel that one day. It's the second best feeling known to man. The resistance of a Sheila's tightly clenched cunt trying to keep you out, and her squirming and thrashing around and fighting you off...well that's a fantastic feeling that put's the cherry on top when you're taking a cherry.

"Hell, I like a good tight virgin, but none of them have anything on how tight Vicky's cunt was clenching that day. But each to his own, and now she was mine, and my mind was set. I'd get it into her one way or another.

"So I backed off, squeezed her tits, leaned down and sucked them for a bit while I fingered her, then I got a hand around her throat as warning, encouragement and control, all rolled into one."

Out of the corner of my eye I noted the fawn had stopped what she was doing and come close to listen to Mack. I could see she was his prey, looking up at him, hypnotised, and he was leading her thoughts where he wanted them to go. I suddenly realised he'd had her in his sights all along since we walked in. He was showing me how to hunt pussy.

"Well, Vicky liked that, and she relaxed and slowly opened up to me. I spat on my cock to lube the tip, then pushed the Purple Crown in between her cunt lips again.

"This time when I gave an almighty shove it popped in. She groaned, and we were on our way."

Behind the counter the barmaid also groaned and clutched the dish washer. It was running, vibrating and sloshing.

"I set to work and I'm not sure who was louder. What with my grunting and her moaning every time I railed her, our noise filled the bar and even drowned out the footy on the telly. They had to turn up the volume to hear the commentary.

"But it didn't much matter, because she had given in to me completely and was screaming the place down. I had lowered my weight on her, squeezed her throat, got my tongue between her lips when she gasped for air, and was giving her a bellyful of hot hard bull cock she'd never forget.

He stopped for a swig of his beer, watching me over the rim. His story had gotten the better of me, and I had unzipped my cock and was slow-jacking it. Right there in the Booligal Drovers Arms. Right in front of that slip of a barmaid. Hell, I didn't even realise what I was doing, or had any inkling that I was getting close to graduating and shagging in the open just like Mack.

But Mack did. I was his apprentice and he was watching my progress. He was proud of me.

"That's a nice two-fifty mill you've got there, mate. Maybe we could double dip Shirl some time. She'd like that. Another two beers, Shirl, love," and he winked at the her.

"Any...time...mmm...," she moaned.

I looked at the eighteen year old vision behind the bar and, keeping a steady deliberate slow wank going, all the while looking her up and down, and told Mack to call me anytime. I was showing off, of course, but more about that story another time. It will involve a weedy thin eighteen year old bloke with a scraggly moustache, no chest hair and a mighty big cock, and how he lost his virginity in the arse of a barmaid. But that's another story.

Shirl set two fresh beers with perfect foaming heads in front of us, saying, "Here I go...er, I mean...here ya...go boys!"

"Ta, love," he said and openly took her measure. He was assessing her for fit.

"Anyway, getting back to the matter in hand, I gave Vicky the jolliest rogering she'd ever had. The bar fight had got her hot, and she had gotten even hotter because the winning bull-- and that's me--"

...he stood up, took a little bow to me and the barmaid, and flashed his shit eating grin, then sat again...

"--I was now up her cunt and making little bulls and heifers inside her--and the final beauty of it, the 'piece of resistance' as the frogs say, was that her old bull was lying on the floor, staring up at my cock pumping in and out of her."

At this point discretion kicked in. My wanking had gotten faster, to the point where there was no turning back and I realised I was about to make a mess so I desperately asked Shirl for some napkins. She was also diddling herself double-time, so she used her free hand to throw me a handful of napkins.

But all the while she kept going and looking at Mack.

She had come around the bar and was standing near Mack, so close he could feel her tits rub against him as she diddled herself. She was staring up at him, panting, and managed to croak, "You can't stop there...I'm almost...almost...alm..."

She had leaned into him, eyelids narrowed, jaw tense, diddling and thrusting her twat at him like there was no tomorrow, right on the edge.

At that time I'd never seen a woman come, but I liked what I saw and even reached out with my free hand to cop a feel while she was concentrating. She was wet and soft and hot and slick and my finger disappeared up her gash till it bumped into something and couldn't go any further. Some lucky bastard was going to enjoy getting his cock into her.