Big Guy in Big Sky Country

[suruatgip]

"After a good day's work, a bit of relaxation."

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

The Senator from Montana

Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Secret Hunger

The Senate grounds court still echoed with the slap of shoes and their ragged laughter as the cameras shut off. Sweat soaked through Jon Tester’s white shirt, clinging to the broad, solid frame of the Montana rancher. Thick arms corded from years of farm work, rounded belly pressing against the damp fabric, tails flipping out of his pants with every earlier jump shot and giving glimpses of that heavy midsection. Cowboy boots scuffed the pavement as he walked. Cory Booker, taller at six-three and leaner, his athletic muscular build glistening under the shirt and tie, broad shoulders rolling, firm rounded butt tight from workouts, couldn’t stop stealing glances.

Cory Booker, taller at six-three and leaner, his athletic muscular build glistening under the shirt and tie, broad shoulders rolling, firm rounded butt tight from workouts, couldn’t stop stealing glances. Tester had bumped into him hard during the game, throwing off his shots with that gritty physicality, body checking the New Jersey senator like they were still fighting Big Ag mergers instead of battling for net neutrality. Booker had always savored those accidental brushes during their legislative huddles: a firm hand on Tester’s thick shoulder, a playful shove that lingered a second too long. The urban vegan from Newark had been harboring a secret hunger for the gritty, ornery Democrat beside him for months.

“Damn, Tester, you play dirty,” Booker growled with a grin, wiping his brow as they walked back toward the quiet hallway leading to the offices. His rich baritone carried that polished New Jersey energy even through the heavy breathing. “Illegal in six states, you said? Felt like you were trying to body me off the court. That three-fingered grip of yours nearly took my arm off on the block.”

Booker’s heart hammered under the dress shirt. The playful trash-talk had always masked something deeper. He stopped them in the shadowed alcove off the corridor, voice dropping low and warm.

“Jon… I need to tell you something. All this time working together, fighting corporate consolidation in agriculture, filming these ridiculous videos, I’ve been fighting something else. I want you. Badly. Those little touches during markup sessions, the way you needle me and call me soft, it gets me hard every single time.”

Tester’s eyes widened, but a slow, knowing smirk spread across his weathered face, strong jaw working. His deep gravelly Montana drawl rumbled out plain and earthy.

“Well, hell. Didn’t expect that from Mr. Charisma. You offering what I think you are, Booker? Shit, boy, I felt those glances. Thought maybe you just hated losing.”

Booker’s dark brown eyes locked on him, sincere and hungry. He sank to his knees right there on the hard floor, the risk of discovery sharpening the thrill.

“Let me show you how much I’ve wanted this.”

He freed the rancher’s thick, veiny cut cock. It was already half-hard from the adrenaline of their game, roughly eight inches of solid meat with a slight upward curve and broad rosy head. Just the meaty build of a man who still ran the family organic farm near Big Sandy. Tester groaned low as Booker’s full lips wrapped around the broad head, the senator’s skilled mouth taking him deep with eager hunger. Booker moaned around the girth, savoring the salty taste of sweat and musk from the outdoor court, his powerful hands gripping Tester’s powerful meaty thighs. One hand drifted down to free his own thick, veiny cock, roughly seven and a half inches straight with a large head, already rock hard and leaking. He stroked himself in slow pulls, heavy balls swinging as he worked.

The Montana man didn’t hold back. He threaded the fingers of his good hand through the space where Booker’s hair would be on that shaved bald head and fucked his willing mouth with steady, deepening thrusts. Grunting with each push past those plush lips, balls slapping against Booker’s chin.

“Fuck, Cory… that mouth of yours,” Tester rasped, hips snapping faster, rounded belly bouncing lightly with the motion. “Takes cock better than any damn heifer I ever saw. You been starving for this country dick, ain’t you?”

Booker’s eyes watered but he urged him on, hollowing his cheeks, tongue swirling around the veiny shaft and probing the slit for more of that salty precum. He pumped his own cock harder, fist flying over the thick length, hips bucking into his grip while Tester used his mouth like a warm wet hole. Tester’s three-fingered left hand braced against the wall for balance, voice rough with earthy humor even in the middle of it.

“Shit fire, Booker, you keep sucking like that and I’m gonna paint your tonsils.”

Booker pulled off just long enough to gasp, “Yes, Jon. Fuck my face. Give it to me.”

Then he dove back on, taking the upward curve deep into his throat, gagging wetly around the broad head while he jerked himself faster, pre-cum slicking his fingers. Tester’s thrusts turned brutal, the solid meat of his cock pistoning in and out, heavy balls smacking Booker’s chin and lips. The rancher’s gravelly moans filled the alcove.

“Gonna come, you bastard. Take every drop.”

With a deep guttural moan, Tester came hard, flooding Booker’s throat with thick ropes of cum. Booker swallowed every drop, throat working visibly around the spurting head, his own fist flying until he erupted too, shooting thick jets across the floor between Tester’s cowboy boots. He pulled off only when Tester softened, a string of saliva and seed connecting his lips to the rosy head. Both men panted, sweat still cooling on their skin.

Tester helped Booker up with that strong callused hand and stole a rough kiss, tasting himself on the other man’s tongue.

“This ain’t a one-time thing,” he said, voice low and plain-spoken. “We find more time. Lots more. Next time I want that mouth again, then I’m burying this cock in that ass butt of yours. You hear me, Booker?”

Booker grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes bright.

“Deal, you mean, cantankerous, ornery son of a bitch. Same time next week after the Ag Committee meeting. I’ll be on my knees the second the door locks.”

They straightened their clothes, shirts still damp, ties crooked, and stepped back into the hallway like nothing had happened. The laughter from earlier still lingered in the air, now edged with something hotter and private.

Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy, invented for entertainment purposes only. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of Jon Tester or Cory Booker.

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

Jon Tester Former United States Senator

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

The Senator from Montana

Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Oval Office Bargain

The Oval Office fell quiet once the aides filed out, heavy drapes drawn against the Washington night. The 1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan hung in the balance, with GOP filibuster threats and moderate nerves fraying the edges. President Joe Biden knew the votes only locked in if key Democrats like Joe Manchin, Kyrsten Sinema, and Jon Tester stood firm. After the group meeting wrapped, Tester stayed behind in his dark suit, tie loosened, the air thick with leather, old books, and the weight of unspoken leverage.

Tester spoke first in his deep, gravelly Montana drawl.

"Joe, we've danced around this long enough. You want those votes locked down, you gotta show you're serious. Ain't about policy papers. It's about trust."

He shifted his stocky six foot one frame, broad shoulders filling the suit jacket, his rounded belly straining the buttons. His friendly blue eyes sharp with prairie pragmatism.

"Back on the farm we don't half ass a deal. You want this thing to pass? Time to put skin in the game, Mr. President."

Biden stood, his six foot frame still solid despite the years, silver white hair gleaming, blue eyes carrying that familiar Uncle Joe mix of empathy and grit. He flashed the wide, toothy grin.

"Big Jon… I've been cutting deals since Scranton. Let's get this done, for God's sake."

Biden moved between Tester's spread knees and sank down, carpet soft under his joints. Slender, veiny hands worked Tester's belt open, the zipper rasping. Tester's thick, veiny eight inch cut cock sprang free, blunt rosy head already glistening with a fat bead of precum that stretched into a shiny string, heavy low hanging balls nestled in graying hair and radiating the warm, earthy musk of a man who had spent the day in tense negotiations.

"Sweet Jesus," Biden rasped, his Delaware accent soft with a hint of stutter, "you mountain boys pack heavy."

He leaned in, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head before his lips stretched wide around the broad, rosy crown. His tongue swirled in slow, deliberate, hungry circles over the slit, lapping up the salty bitter precum with broad, flat licks that made the thick shaft jerk and leak more. Biden sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks to create intense, wet vacuum pressure while his tongue pressed firm along the thick underside vein, tracing every bulging ridge and pulsing throb as he bobbed deeper. Thick, bubbly strings of drool spilled from the corners of his stretched, reddened lips, coating the veined shaft in glossy layers and dripping in heavy, glistening strands onto the heavy, wrinkled sac. The wet, obscene slurping and gagging sounds filled the hushed room, gluck gluck gluck, as Biden forced more of the girthy cock into his throat.

Tester groaned low and deep, weathered right hand sliding into Biden's silver hair, guiding the rhythm while the scarred stumps of his left rested on a broad thigh, giving rough little tugs.

"That's it, Joe… slow and deep. Nice to have a president worked this hard for my vote. Use that tongue yeah, just like that, work those balls with your hand."

Biden took him to the root, throat muscles rippling and constricting in rhythmic gulps that massaged every inch of the thick shaft. His nose pressed flush into the coarse graying pubes, inhaling the strong, sweaty musk while more spit bubbled out around his lips and ran in rivulets down Tester's balls. He pulled back with a gasping, spit soaked pop, strings of saliva connecting his swollen lips to the shiny, throbbing cockhead, then dove back down, gagging wetly as the blunt head bullied past his tonsils and bulged visibly in his throat. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, but he kept sucking with sloppy devotion, tongue constantly working the underside while his hand gently rolled the heavy, pendulous balls.

"Fuckin' hell, look at you choke on it," Tester growled, voice thick with pleasure. "Deeper, Joe. Take it all. Milk it with that throat good goddamn, you're sucking the cum right out of me."

After long, filthy minutes of sloppy, throat bulging oral worship Biden's chin and neck slick with thick ropes of spit, eyes watering, lips puffy and glistening Tester pulled him up.

"Enough jaw jackin'. I want that ass."

He guided the president to straddle his lap, facing away from him. Biden kicked off his slacks and boxers, his own cut eight and a half inch cock flared mushroom head angrily flushed and dripping long, clear strings of precum bobbing free above sparse gray hair. Tester spat generously into his palm, slicking his own thick shaft with long, twisting strokes until it gleamed obscenely, then reached around and smeared more warm saliva across Biden's tight pink pucker. He circled the wrinkled rim with a thick fingertip before pushing two callused fingers inside, scissoring them slowly and deeply. The hot, velvety walls clenched and fluttered around the intrusion, sucking wetly as Tester curled his fingers to brush the sensitive prostate, drawing a shaky moan from Biden while more slick sounds filled the air.

"Jon…" Biden started, breath hitching, but he lowered himself anyway.

The blunt rosy head pressed against the slick hole, teasing the softened rim with slow, grinding circles until Biden sank down. The fat head popped past the tight ring with a loud, wet squelch, forcing Biden's inner muscles to yield in a burning stretch.

"Easy, Big Jon… Christ, you're splitting me wide open fuck, it burns so good, stretching me like that."

Biden moaned loudly as the thick shaft sank inch by throbbing inch, every bulging vein and ridge dragging against his sensitive inner walls, the slight upward curve pressing firmly and relentlessly into his prostate. When Tester's heavy balls nestled snug against his ass and the rounded belly pressed warm and solid to his back, Biden was fully impaled, hole stretched taut and puffy around the base, inner muscles rippling and gripping like a hot, silky fist.

Tester's voice rumbled with earthy satisfaction.

"Ain't no gentle fly casting, Joe. This is Montana rough. Take the whole damn plow."

His hands gripped Biden's hips, holding him down as the president adjusted to the overwhelming, burning fullness.

Biden rocked hard on Tester's lap, using those strong, thick legs for leverage. He rose until only the broad, flared head stretched his rim obscenely, then slammed back down, ass cheeks rippling and jiggling heavily on impact. Wet, filthy squelching and slapping sounds filled the room with every bounce lube, precum, and spit frothing white around the stretched hole, skin smacking skin. Tester's blunt head battered and ground against Biden's prostate relentlessly on every downward thrust, sending jolts of electric pleasure through his body while the thick shaft reamed his walls open wider with each plunge.

Tester reached around with his good right hand, rough calluses wrapping Biden's leaking cock in firm, twisting strokes, thumb smearing the steady flow of precum over the flared head.

"Feel that, Joe? Jackin' your presidential prick while I wreck this old hole. Gonna make you shoot buckets all over the desk."

Biden's moans grew louder and more broken, ass clenching rhythmically around the thick cock, inner walls rippling and sucking greedily with every lift and drop. His prostate throbbed and swelled under the constant pounding, hole stretched shiny, puffy, and gaping slightly on every upstroke. Finally his cock pulsed hard, spurting long, powerful ropes of cum across the Resolute Desk in thick jets while his ass spasmed wildly, milking Tester's shaft in tight, fluttering, rippling contractions.

Tester stood then, still buried balls deep, turning Biden and bending him firmly over the desk. Jacket shed, he gripped the older man's hips and drove in with hard, punishing strokes that made Biden's body jolt forward. Tester's rounded belly rubbed sweat slick against Biden's back as he fucked like a machine, heavy balls slapping loudly and wetly against Biden's taint with every thrust. The desk creaked under them, Biden's hole making constant, loud, squelching noises as the thick cock pistoned in and out, stretching the rim obscenely on every withdrawal before spearing deep again and grinding against the prostate.

"Shhh, Joe. Take it," Tester growled, scarred left hand reaching around to squeeze Biden's spent cock in a tight, possessive vice. He kept hammering, the burning friction and deep, relentless pounding pushing Biden into overwhelmed, gasping pleasure.

Finally Tester roared, burying to the hilt.

"Fuck here it comes!"

Thick, heavy pulses of warm cum flooded Biden's guts in powerful, ropey spurts, painting his insides white as Tester ground deep, forcing every drop past the fluttering, spasming ring. He stayed hunched over, breathing heavy like a locomotive, until his cock softened and slipped free with a wet, creamy pop. A thick, obscene gush of pearly seed immediately leaked from the gaping, puffy red hole, running in slow, viscous trails down Biden's trembling thighs and dripping onto the rug.

Tester fed his spent, cum and ass smeared cock into Biden's mouth.

"Clean your mess off me, Joe. Taste that farm boy ass and cum mix every damn drop."

Biden sucked obediently, tongue swirling the salty, musky, bitter sweet blend of seed, sweat, and his own stretched hole, lips stretched once more around the softening thickness.

They disentangled slowly. Tester clapped Biden's shoulder with his three fingered hand.

"Well, shit, Mr. President. That's one hell of a seal on the deal. You took it like a man, Joe. I'll help get it passed."

Biden straightened on shaky legs, cum still trickling, and flashed that familiar grin.

"Deal's done. Now let's go pass some goddamn history."

Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy, invented for entertainment purposes only. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of Jon Tester or Joe Biden.

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

Mmmmm Jon is so fucking hot

Yes he is.

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

Jon Tester Former United States Senator

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

The Senator from Montana

Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester

Chapter Fifteen: The Senator’s Secret Celebration

After weeks of grueling negotiations, Senator Jon Tester had finally helped seal a landmark bipartisan infrastructure deal. The tall, robust 6 foot 1 inch Montanan with his signature graying flattop and three-fingered left hand stood in the conference room alongside Senators Mitt Romney, Bill Cassidy, Rob Portman, Susan Collins, Lisa Murkowski, Joe Manchin, Kyrsten Sinema, Jeanne Shaheen, and Mark Warner. His executive assistant, 28-year-old Jack Lucas, a stocky 5 foot 10 inch young man with tousled light brown hair and bright blue eyes, had been running point on logistics the entire time. Lucas had spent the last month horny as hell, jerking off in his D.C. apartment most nights while imagining what it would feel like to finally get his mouth around his boss’s thick cock again.

When Lucas walked into the room after the final handshake, he found Tester and Mitt Romney still lingering by the long table.

“Ah, Lucas, you’ve met Romney, right?” Jon drawled, waving him over with that easy Montana grin.

“Yes, Sir,” Lucas replied, approaching.

Romney, 73 and still lean at 6 foot 2 inches, eyed the younger man with a polished smile.

“Hello, son. Call me Mitt. Jon’s been bragging about you.”

“Has he?” Lucas smirked.

“Damn right,” Jon chuckled, his voice carrying that gravelly prairie twang. “Told him you’re one hell of a cocksucker.”

Mitt laughed softly.

“He wasn’t lying, apparently.”

Jon’s three-fingered left hand rested on the table.

“Sharla’s back on the farm. Why don’t we head over to my townhouse and put this boy to work? Celebrate properly.”

The three men made their way through the quiet D.C. evening to Tester’s townhouse. Once inside the bedroom, clothes came off slowly and deliberately. Jon stripped out of his gray tweed blazer and red patterned tie, then his white dress shirt, revealing a broad, powerful chest dusted with dark hair that thinned toward his solid belly, still strong from decades of farm work. His black cowboy boots thunked to the floor. He stood in snug white briefs that did little to hide the thick bulge already forming.

Lucas shed his crisp blue suit, standing in black boxer briefs that hugged his athletic, stocky frame. His own 7-inch cock was already half-hard and twitching visibly.

Mitt folded his dark blue suit and striped tie neatly on a dresser, his lean, distinguished body emerging with salt-and-pepper chest hair, a flat stomach, and a prominent 7-inch cock already swelling in his briefs.

They stood in their underwear for a charged moment. Lucas stepped forward, bold, and moved in front of Jon, running both hands slowly over Jon’s broad chest, feeling the heat and the solid muscle. He dragged his palms down Jon’s firm waist, hooked his fingers into the waistband of the briefs, and tugged them down from the front and back at the same time. Jon’s thick 8-inch cock sprang free, veiny, heavy, already leaking a clear bead of precum from the fat head.

Lucas dropped to his knees without hesitation. He wrapped one hand around the base, feeling the girth stretch his fingers, and guided the hot shaft to his lips. He licked a slow, wet stripe up the underside, tasting the salty musk, then sealed his mouth around the fat head. Hollowing his cheeks, he sucked hard, tongue swirling around the sensitive crown while his fist stroked the lower half in a steady rhythm.

“Fuckin’ hell, boy. That mouth,” Jon rumbled, his three-fingered hand sliding into Lucas’s hair. “Suck it proper. Show Mitt what you can do.”

Lucas bobbed eagerly for a minute, taking more of the thick girth each time, saliva quickly coating the shaft and dripping down his chin. He stroked the base with his fist while his tongue swirled around the sensitive crown, then pulled off to lick and suck Jon’s heavy balls, rolling them gently in his mouth before sliding his lips back up the entire length. Jon’s hips rocked forward, fucking Lucas’s mouth in short, controlled thrusts.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas saw Mitt step closer, his own cock now fully hard and pointing straight at him. Jon pulled his cock free with a wet pop, turned Lucas’s face, and guided him onto Mitt’s shaft.

“Open up for him too,” Jon ordered.

Lucas turned immediately to Mitt. He licked around Mitt’s cockhead, tasting the different, cleaner precum, and sucked him in deep, cheeks working as he alternated between slow, deep sucks and faster bobs. His free hand reached down to grip his own throbbing 7-inch cock, stroking it in time with his mouth on Mitt. Jon watched, stroking his own spit-slick cock slowly.

“Jon wasn’t exaggerating. That throat is dangerous.”

He switched back to Jon, sucking the thicker cock with renewed hunger, taking it deeper until his nose pressed close to Jon’s pubes and he gagged lightly around the head. Spit ran down his chin and onto his stroking fist as he jerked himself faster. Then back to Mitt, sucking him wet and sloppy, tongue pressing firmly along the underside while his hand pumped his own leaking cock, precum slicking his fingers.

The men watched him work, breathing heavier. Jon’s cock twitched in Lucas’s mouth as he switched again.

“Goddamn, look at you. Just like a pro.”

Lucas moaned around whichever cock was in his mouth, the vibration making both men grunt. He deepthroated Jon until his throat tightened, then pulled back to lick and suck the heavy balls before switching to Mitt for the same treatment, tongue lapping at the sensitive skin while his fist flew over his own shaft. Saliva glistened on both senators’ cocks and on Lucas’s lips and chin. His own cock was rock hard and dripping steadily onto the floor as he edged himself, matching the pace of his oral service.

After several minutes of alternating, wet, enthusiastic sucking, Jon pulled Lucas off gently.

“Enough with the mouth for now. Get on the bed, boy. On your hands and knees.”

Lucas obeyed quickly, climbing onto the king-sized bed and positioning himself on all fours, ass raised and presented. Mitt moved behind him, slicking his fingers generously with lube. He worked two fingers into Lucas’s tight hole, scissoring and twisting to stretch him open. Lucas moaned and pushed back, his own hand reaching under to stroke his cock again as Mitt added a third finger, curling to rub firmly over his prostate. Sparks of pleasure shot through him, making his cock leak more precum onto the sheets.

“Fuck, he’s tight,” Mitt said, voice rougher now. He withdrew his fingers, slicked his 7-inch cock, and pressed the head against Lucas’s entrance. He pushed in slowly, the thick head stretching the ring of muscle. Lucas gasped at the initial burn, then groaned as it gave way to a deep, filling pressure. Inch by inch, Mitt sank in until his hips pressed flush against Lucas’s ass.

Jon gripped Lucas’s hair with his three-fingered hand and fed his thick cock back into the younger man’s mouth.

“That’s it. Take both of us. You’re our little celebration tonight.”

Mitt started with slow, deliberate thrusts, letting Lucas adjust to the girth. Each stroke dragged over his prostate, sending waves of pleasure through his body. Lucas’s hand worked his own cock faster, matching the rhythm as Mitt’s thrusts grew steadier and deeper. The wet sounds of skin meeting skin and the slick slide of cock in ass filled the room.

“Goddamn, that feels good,” Lucas panted, pushing back to meet each thrust.

Mitt gripped Lucas’s hips and picked up the pace slightly.

“You take it well, son. So tight around me.”

Mitt was thrusting, steady, deep strokes that rocked Lucas forward onto Jon’s cock. Each time Mitt bottomed out, Lucas felt the heavy balls press against him and the thick head drag over his prostate. He reached down between his own legs and jerked his 7-inch cock hard, precum dripping from the tip in long strings.

Jon watched the show, hips pumping.

“Fuckin’ beautiful. Look at you takin’ Mitt’s dick while you choke on mine. Stroke that cock faster, boy. I wanna see you leak all over my sheets.”

Mitt’s thrusts grew harder, skin slapping against Lucas’s ass.

“Jon, you’ve been keeping this ass to yourself too long. He’s milking me already.”

“Share and share alike,” Jon grunted. “Switch with me. I wanna feel that hole again.”

Mitt pulled out with a wet sound. Jon took his place immediately, his thicker 8-inch cock already slick with lube and spit. He pressed the broad head against Lucas’s now-loosened hole and pushed in with more force. Lucas cried out around Mitt’s cock as the thicker girth stretched him wider. Jon’s three-fingered hand gripped Lucas’s hip hard while his good hand smacked the firm ass cheek.

“Still tight as a virgin fence post,” Jon growled, starting to pound, setting a vigorous pace. “Gonna plow this ass proper. Ride it, Lucas. Move that ass up and down my pole.”

Lucas obeyed, rocking back to meet every thrust while Mitt fucked his throat in long, deliberate strokes. The rhythm was relentless, Jon’s powerful hips slamming forward, driving Lucas’s mouth deeper onto Mitt. He started thrusting hard and deep, powerful hips driving forward, the wet slap of his body against Lucas’s ass echoing loudly. Each vigorous stroke bottomed out, the thick cock pounding directly over Lucas’s prostate and making him leak and moan uncontrollably.

Lucas stroked his own cock frantically beneath him, the dual sensations overwhelming. Jon’s vigorous fucking rocked his whole body forward, balls slapping against him with every thrust. The older man’s grunts mixed with the filthy wet sounds of his cock plowing Lucas’s stretched hole.

“Take it, boy. Ride that cock like you were made for it,” Jon ordered, pounding harder, faster, his robust frame putting real power behind each thrust. “Gonna fuck this ass proper.”

Lucas sucked hungrily around Mitt's cock while Jon continued his relentless, vigorous assault from behind, the force of the thrusts driving Lucas’s mouth deeper onto Mitt’s shaft.

Mitt came first, groaning as he held Lucas’s head and unloaded thick ropes down his throat. Lucas swallowed greedily, tasting the salty flood, his own cock twitching in his fist.

Jon’s pace grew even more intense, hips snapping forward, the bed creaking under the force. The wet sound of his cock pounding Lucas’s well-fucked hole filling the room. Lucas’s hand flew over his own cock as the prostate stimulation built to a peak.

“Fuck. Gonna fill this ass. Take every drop, boy!”

With a final series of deep, powerful thrusts, Jon buried himself to the hilt and came hard, pulsing thick ropes of cum deep inside Lucas’s ass. The heat and fullness pushed Lucas over the edge. He moaned around Mitt’s cock and shot his load across the sheets in powerful spurts, his hole clenching rhythmically around Jon’s throbbing shaft.

They collapsed in a sweaty, panting tangle on the big bed. Jon’s three-fingered hand rested possessively on Lucas’s lower back. Mitt lay on his side, catching his breath.

“Goddamn,” Jon muttered, voice hoarse and satisfied. “Goddamn, we worked you over good, Lucas.”

Mitt chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Best way to celebrate a deal I’ve had in years.”

Lucas grinned into the pillow, still trembling from the intense release.

“Anytime, Senators. Happy to serve the team.”

They laughed together, the room heavy with the scent of sex and satisfaction.

Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy, invented for entertainment purposes only. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of Jon Tester or any person named Jack Lucas.

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

You describe the feeling of getting fucked open by Jon so fucking well, it's incredibly hot. Is this coming from your own fucking experiences with plump men that have full thick cocks?

Just imagination.

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

The Senator from Montana

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Almost Heaven on the Potomac

Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester

The Almost Heaven rocked gently on the Potomac, but inside the master bedroom, the air was thick with heat and anticipation. Jack Lucas, his stocky 5'10" athletic frame already slick with nervous sweat, followed Senators Jon Tester and Joe Manchin down the narrow corridor. The pizza and beer from dinner sat heavy in his stomach, churning alongside the raw, electric want that made his skin prickle.

Tester led the way, his 6'1" stocky build filling the space—broad shoulders, thick arms, prominent belly straining his casual shirt, sturdy legs carrying him with the solid certainty of a man who'd spent decades working Montana dirt. His graying brown flattop caught the dim cabin lights, and his weathered left hand—missing the middle three fingers from that childhood meat-grinder accident—flexed at his side. Jack's gaze dropped to the heavy bulge in Tester's jeans: thick, uncut eight inches of Montana beef already straining the denim.

Manchin, towering at 6'3" with his sturdy athletic frame, broad shoulders, and sun-weathered olive skin, walked beside them. He'd already ditched the Hawaiian shirt as they boarded, revealing a chest dusted with moderate graying hair and a solid torso honed from years of boating, hunting, and West Virginia grit. His shorts clung low, and the outline of his cock—nine thick inches, broad flared head pressing insistently against the fabric—made Jack's mouth go dry.

Lucas stopped short on the gangplank, eyebrows shooting up as he took in Manchin's casual boat attire. The senator turned, catching the stare, and flashed a warm, knowing grin.

"Like what you see, Lucas?" Manchin drawled in that deep, resonant Appalachian cadence, warm but edged with steel. "This old coal-country boy still got plenty left in the tank. Don't be shy now—we're all friends here on the Almost Heaven."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Manchin," Tester rumbled in his deep, folksy Montana drawl, slapping Jack's back hard enough to jolt him forward. "Kid looks like he's seen a damn rattlesnake in his boot. Let's get inside before he hightails it back to the Hill. C'mon, Lucas, quit gawkin' and move your ass."

The bedroom was all polished wood and crisp white sheets, the king bed like a throne in the center. Tester wasted no time, unzipping with a growl and hauling out his thick, uncut cock—veiny shaft, blunt wide rosy head already glistening, heavy low-hanging balls nestled in dense graying pubes. He wrapped his mutilated hand around it, stroking slow and deliberate, the scarred stump adding a rough friction that made his breath hitch.

"Strip, Lucas," Tester ordered, voice gravelly and profane as ever. "Show us that tight little staffer body. Ain't got all night—got wheat to check back home tomorrow, and I ain't leavin' without plowin' this field first."

Jack's hands trembled as he yanked off his shirt, revealing his broad shoulders, solid chest, and the light brown trail leading to his seven-inch cock, already hard and leaking. He kicked off his pants, and Tester let out a low, filthy chuckle.

"Goddamn, look at that thing standin' up like a damn flagpole. You're eager as a bull in spring, ain't ya, Lucas?"

Manchin stepped closer, shedding his shorts. His nine-inch beast swung free—thick cut, broad flared head dark and slick with precum, pendulous balls heavy in salt-and-pepper pubes. He gave it a casual tug, eyes locked on Jack.

"On your knees, boy," Manchin said, voice warm but commanding, that Appalachian drawl rolling like slow river water. "Time to show some respect to this West Virginia steel. Been haulin' coal and runnin' boats long enough—now you're gonna haul somethin' else."

Jack dropped, knees hitting carpet as Manchin's cock loomed huge and hot, musky with salt and man. He leaned in, tongue flicking the slit to lap up the bitter bead of precum, then stretched his lips wide to take the head. Manchin groaned deep, fingers carding through Jack's tousled light brown hair.

"That's it, son—suck it down nice and slow. Just like that. Fuck, your mouth's warmer than a July day on the river."

Jack hollowed his cheeks, working the thick length, gagging as Manchin pushed deeper, the flared head battering his throat. Spit dripped in thick strands down his chin, pooling on his chest.

Behind him, Tester pumped his own cock, the wet schlick-schlick loud in the room. "Goddamn, Manchin, he's slobberin' all over you like a calf at the teat. Look at that mouth stretch—fuckin' obscene."

Manchin bucked gently, fucking Jack's face with measured thrusts, heavy balls slapping his chin. "He's a natural, Jon. Bet he's been practicin' on half the Hill. Easy now, boy—breathe through your nose. That's good… real good."

Jack's jaw burned, throat raw, but his own cock throbbed untouched, leaking steadily. Tester's patience broke.

"Enough jaw work. Get him on the bed—I'm takin' first crack at that ass."

Tester hauled Jack up by the armpit, tossing him face-down on the mattress. He spread Jack's legs wide, exposing the tight pink pucker. Tester spat a thick gob into his palm, slicking his girthy cock, then another directly onto Jack's hole, watching it drip down the crack.

"You ready, Lucas? This ain't some gentle fly-fishin' trip—this here's Montana rough country."

Jack managed a shaky "Y-yeah, Senator," before Tester lined up and slammed in, the blunt head popping past the ring, eight thick inches burying deep in one brutal thrust. The burn was fire, stretching Jack wide, and he yelped, clawing sheets.

"Fuck—Senator, slow down, you're fuckin' splitting me!"

Tester laughed, dark and dirty. "Slow's for city boys, Lucas. You’re takin' every goddamn inch of this farm-raised beef." He pulled back and rammed again, balls smacking ass with meaty thuds, each thrust grinding against Jack's walls, dragging over his prostate.

"Fuckin' tight—shit—gonna ruin this hole, Lucas. Squeeze me like you mean it."

Jack's cock bounced against the sheets, smearing precum as Tester pounded relentlessly.

Manchin climbed in front, straddling Jack's shoulders. "Open wide again, boy." He slapped the wet head against Jack's lips, then shoved in, filling his throat until pubes tickled his nose. "Choke on it while your boss wrecks your backside. That's it—take it all, like a good staffer."

The dual pounding was merciless: Tester's thick girth plowing his ass, wet squelches and skin slaps filling the air; Manchin's longer cock battering his throat, gagging slurps and drool everywhere. Jack's body shook, pleasure-pain spiking with every hit to his prostate.

"Switch," Manchin rasped, pulling out with a slick pop, spit strings dangling. They swapped—Joe behind, Jon in front.

Manchin probed the wrecked entrance, then plunged, nine inches spearing deeper, bottoming out with a groan. "Lord have mercy, this hole's like a hot damn furnace. Squeezin' me tighter than a miner's grip."

He thrust slow but deep, grinding balls against Jack's taint, bruising hips in his strong hands. "Fuck, boy—feels like home."

Tester grabbed Jack's hair with his mutilated hand, shoving his ass-slick cock into the waiting mouth. "Taste your own ass, Lucas. Lick it clean—every fuckin' bit."

Jack moaned around the girth, tongue swirling the veiny shaft, ass clenching on Manchin's length.

Manchin came first, a guttural roar as he flooded Jack's guts with thick, hot spurts. "Take it all, son—every drop from this old river rat!"

Tester followed, pulsing down Jack's throat, bitter ropes choking him. "Goddamn—swallow it, Lucas—fuckin' drink it!"

They collapsed in a sweaty tangle, cum leaking from Jack's gaping hole, dripping thighs, coating his chin. His own cock remained hard, untouched, a puddle beneath him.

Tester slapped Jack's ass, leaving a red print. "Fuckin' A, kid. Tougher than you look."

Manchin exhaled, grinning lazily. "Round two after I catch my breath. This boat's still rockin', and we ain't done yet."

Jack groaned, wrecked and sated, wondering if he'd ever walk straight again—or if he even cared.

Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of Jon Tester, Joe Manchin or any person named Jack Lucas. It is invented for entertainment purposes only.

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

Jon Tester Former United States Senator

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

Jon Tester Former United States Senator

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

The Senator from Montana

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Muck and Desire

Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester

The late winter wind cut like a blade across Tester’s 1,800-acre Montana farm, the flat, snow-dusted fields stretching into the gray horizon. Jack Lucas, 5’10” and stocky, stood by his mud-caked Ford Fusion, its rear wheels stuck in the mire. His black insulated jacket hugged his athletic frame, his light brown hair tousled under the hood, and his blue eyes; sharp with mischief, gleamed despite the cold. At 28, Jack was Tester’s right-hand man, loyal to a fault, his 7-inch cock already stirring thick and heavy in his jeans as he watched the senator work.

Jon Tester, a 6’1”, 300-pound bear of a man, clambered down from his red Case tractor, his brown Carhartt jacket smeared with mud. His dark plaid shirt tucked into khaki work pants, black winter boots crunching the snow. Blue work gloves covered his hands; one scarred, missing three fingers from that childhood meat-grinder accident. His graying flattop caught snowflakes as he knelt to free the chains from Jack’s car, broad ass straining the fabric of his pants. Grunting, he lay flat on his belly in the muck, oblivious to the cold soaking through, blue eyes squinting under the chassis.

“Fuckin’ chains,” Tester muttered, his deep Montana drawl thick as the mud. He stood, shaking off the metal links, and caught Jack’s heated stare, the younger man’s jeans tented unmistakably. A dirty grin split Tester’s rugged, ruddy face. “Well, shit, Lucas. That hard-on ain’t from the cold, is it? Looks like you’re packin’ heat for more than just the tractor.”

Jack smirked, blue eyes glinting.

“Guess not, Senator.”

Tester dropped the chains with a clang and closed the gap in three strides, his bulk looming. Without a word, he sank to his knees in the snow, gloved hands yanking Jack’s jeans open. The zipper rasped, and Tester tugged them down, freeing Jack’s 7-inch cock to the frigid air. Jack shivered, but Tester’s hot mouth engulfed him in one greedy gulp, the wet heat swallowing his shaft to the root. Tester’s scarred left hand and good right grabbed Jack’s ass cheeks, squeezing the firm flesh as his head bobbed, nose pressing into the cold, musky light brown pubes with every deep swallow. Wet, sloppy slurps filled the snowy silence, spit dripping down Jack’s balls and freezing on his thighs.

“Fuckin’ Christ!” Jack gasped, stumbling back against the car’s hood, hands gripping the icy metal.

Tester’s tongue dragged slow and heavy along the underside, swirling around the head before plunging deep again, throat constricting with practiced hunger. The senator sucked like a man starved after a long harvest, cheeks hollowing, full lips stretched tight, blue eyes locked upward with that folksy, filthy charm.

“Shit, Senator… gonna blow!” Jack warned, knees buckling, hips twitching.

Tester growled around the cock, the vibration humming through Jack’s shaft, and shoved his head down harder, taking him to the hilt. Jack’s orgasm hit like a stampede, cock pulsing as he unloaded thick ropes straight down Tester’s throat. The senator swallowed every spurt, lips locked tight, milking him dry until the spasms faded. Tester pulled off with a wet pop, a thick strand of spit and cum dangling from his lips. He wiped his mouth with a gloved hand, then grabbed Jack’s shoulders and gently pushed him down.

“Your turn, boy. Get that mouth on me.”

Jack dropped to his knees in the snow, jeans soaked, and Tester unzipped his khakis, freeing his thick 8-inch cut cock. It sprang out heavy and veined, blunt rosy head already slick with precum, heavy low-hanging balls nestled in dense graying pubic hair. Jack gripped the girth, marveling, then wrapped his lips around the wide head, sucking the salty bead before taking him deeper. Tester groaned, scarred hand tangling in Jack’s tousled hair.

“Fuck yeah, Lucas… suck that Montana beef like you mean it.”

Jack’s throat stretched around the thickness, tongue swirling over pulsing veins as Tester fucked his mouth with slow, deliberate pumps. Wet slurps mixed with the senator’s grunts, heavy balls brushing Jack’s chin.

“Goddamn, boy, you’re suckin’ me like a calf on a tit,” Tester growled, hips snapping faster until Jack gagged, spit spilling down his chin.

Just as Jack braced for a flood, Tester pulled out, glistening cock throbbing.

“Get up, Lucas. Bend over the hood… I’m gonna fuck that tight ass.”

Jack scrambled up, yanking his jeans and briefs to his ankles, bare ass exposed to the biting wind. He spat into his hand, slicking his hole with quick strokes, then bent over the cold metal hood, arching his back. Tester stepped up, spitting a thick gob onto his fat cock and smearing it over the rosy head before pressing the blunt tip against Jack’s puckered ring. He rubbed the wide head in slow, teasing circles, watching the tight muscle flutter, then pushed forward.

The blunt rosy head popped through the resistant ring with a wet squelch, stretching Jack’s hole wide open in one sudden, burning invasion. Jack cried out as inch after thick inch sank in, the veined shaft forcing his silky inner walls apart, the heat inside gripping like a furnace. Tester groaned deep in his chest.

“Goddamn, Lucas… your ass is so fuckin’ tight, squeezin’ me like a brand-new gasket.”

He bottomed out, heavy low-hanging balls pressed flush against Jack’s taint, dense graying pubes grinding against the younger man’s cheeks. Tester pulled back slowly, the thick shaft dragging along sensitive walls until only the wide head remained trapped inside the puffy rim, then slammed back in balls-deep with a loud, wet thwack. He set a punishing rhythm, long, powerful farm-rough strokes that made Jack’s hole clench and flutter around every ridge and vein. The filthy, rhythmic squelching grew louder with each thrust as spit and precum frothed into a creamy ring around the stretched entrance, the pucker turning shiny and swollen from the relentless pounding.

“Fuck, Senator… you’re huge!” Jack gasped, body jolting against the hood, the cold metal a sharp contrast to the searing fullness inside him.

“Huge and hard for you, boy,” Tester snarled, gripping Jack’s hips as he hammered deeper.

Each brutal plunge made the blunt head batter Jack’s prostate, sending jolts of pleasure through him. Tester leaned back to watch his thick cock disappear completely into the gripping hole, then reappear glistening and veined, the stretched ring dragging obscenely along the shaft.

“Listen to that sloppy hole, Lucas… suckin’ and slurpin’ like it don’t want me to leave. Your ass is milkin’ me so good, clenchin’ around every inch. Gonna ruin this pretty Montana fuck-hole.”

He angled his hips, delivering short, vicious jabs that kept the rosy head hammering Jack’s prostate without mercy. Sweat dripped from Tester’s ruddy face onto Jack’s back despite the freezing wind. Jack’s own cock, hard again, slapped the bumper with every thrust, smearing precum across the metal.

“Fuck me harder, Jon!” he begged, voice raw.

Tester slapped Jack’s ass with his scarred hand, leaving a red mark.

“Who’s my fuckin’ boy, huh?” He railed even faster, the wet schlick-schlick-schlick echoing across the snowy fields as his heavy balls slapped loudly against Jack’s taint.

The tight channel pulsed and squeezed around him, the silky walls fluttering in waves that milked his cock from root to tip.

“Me… fuck, I’m yours!” Jack moaned, balls tightening.

His second orgasm hit hard, cock spurting across the bumper as his ass spasmed violently around Tester’s shaft, strong, rhythmic contractions that clamped down like a vice, rippling and squeezing in perfect time with every deep thrust. The intense milking pushed Tester over the edge.

“Shit, I’m cummin’!” he roared.

His thick cock stiffened deep inside, pulsing as hot cum flooded Jack’s guts, spurt after heavy spurt coating his insides, filling him until excess leaked out around the buried shaft in creamy white rivulets. Tester kept grinding slow and deep, wringing out every drop while his broad chest heaved against Jack’s back. He kissed the younger man’s neck, breath hot and ragged.

“Goddamn, Lucas… you’re gonna kill me one day.”

Jack, trembling and spent, managed a shaky grin.

“Worth it, Senator.”

Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of Jon Tester or any person named Jack Lucas. It is invented for entertainment purposes only.

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

Jon Tester Former United States Senator

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

The Senator from Montana

Featuring Farmer and former United States Senator, Jon Tester

CHAPTER TWELVE: Mile-High Connection

The cabin lights dimmed on the commercial flight from Reagan National to Billings, the last leg home to Big Sandy. Senator Jon Tester, still riding the filthy high from his airport send-off with Jack Lucas, shifted his 6’1”, 300-pound frame in the wide seat. His graying flattop was slightly mussed, piercing blue eyes scanning the rows when they landed on a familiar round, expressive face two seats over in first class: Joel McKinnon Miller, the Brooklyn Nine-Nine actor, looking every bit the stocky Midwestern everyman at 5’11” and comfortably overweight. Same signature gray-brown flattop, warm blue eyes, thin smiling lips, fair ruddy skin dusted with light body hair peeking from his open collar. Miller’s black watch sat on his left wrist beside a gold wedding band, his broad shoulders and noticeable man-tits stretching a casual button-up shirt, sturdy hairy legs crossed under loose pants.

Tester’s thick cut 8-inch cock twitched at the memory of Lucas’s load still faintly leaking in his briefs. Hell, why not? he thought, that pragmatic farm-boy boldness surging. He leaned across the aisle with his deep, folksy Montana drawl.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re that Scully fella from the cop show, ain’t ya? Jon Tester. Pleasure to meet a fellow flattop man.”

Miller’s resonant, opera-trained Midwestern baritone rumbled with easygoing charm, warm gravelly tone carrying hints of Lutheran humility and quirky humor.

“Senator Tester! Big fan of your no-nonsense style. Joel McKinnon Miller. Grew up a small-town boy like you.”

They chatted low through the flight; Tester swapping DC stories and farm tales from the family homestead near Big Sandy, Miller sharing stories of Hollywood and raising kids with his wife Tammy back in low-key LA, complete with their beloved dog Elliot. The easy folksy rapport crackled with something hotter. By the time they landed in Billings and headed through the quiet terminal, Tester’s heavy low-hanging balls ached for round two.

“Flight was smoother than a fresh-plowed field,” Tester growled as they reached a family restroom near baggage claim, the area nearly deserted late evening. “But I got this itch that needs scratchin’, Miller. You game? Quick and dirty.”

Miller’s blue eyes widened, then crinkled with that loyal, humorous spark. His voice dropped to a resonant hum.

“Well, Senator… I’ve played a lot of parts, but never this one. Tammy’s back home, and I’m just a humble Minnesota boy. But damn if your charm ain’t got me curious.”

He glanced around, then nodded, gold band glinting as he pushed the door open.

Inside the locked stall, Tester wasted no time. His weathered left hand; scarred stump and two fingers, reached out and caressed Miller’s broad chest through the shirt, feeling the soft, ample man-tits.

“Goddamn, Miller, these are somethin’ else. Like ripe melons on a sturdy farm boy.”

He popped the buttons open one by one, exposing the light body hair and plump, rounded pecs. Tester’s full lips latched onto one fat nipple, sucking hard with wet, hungry pulls, tongue flicking the stiff bud while his right hand kneaded the other, pinching and rolling. Miller moaned, the sound rich and operatic, gravelly baritone vibrating.

“Oh hell, Senator… that mouth of yours… damn. Suck ‘em good… makes this old Lutheran feel downright sinful.”

Tester growled around the tit, “Taste like honest Midwest sweat, boy. Been wantin’ to get my hands on these since I saw you.”

He switched sides, slurping noisily, spit trailing down Miller’s soft belly as his own prominent gut pressed close. His thick 8-inch cock strained against his black pants, blunt rosy head leaking. Miller dropped to his knees on the tile, blue eyes looking up with quirky humility.

“Your turn, Senator. Let’s see what a Montana farmer packs.”

He unzipped Tester, freeing the heavy cut cock and low-hanging balls nestled in dense graying pubes. Miller’s warm mouth engulfed the wide head, plump lips stretching around the blunt girth. He sucked with surprising skill, opera breath control letting him take it deep, throat relaxing as he bobbed, resonant hums vibrating along the shaft.

“Mmmph… thick as a prize bull,” he mumbled around it, pulling off to lap at the heavy balls, sucking one then the other into his mouth, tongue bathing the coarse hair while his hand stroked the slick 8 inches in firm, twisting pulls. Tester’s scarred left hand guided Miller’s head, stump pressing into his scalp.

“That’s it, Miller… suck it like you’re singin’ for your supper. Goddamn, your mouth’s tighter than a combine belt.”

Precum coated Miller’s tongue as he jerked Tester’s shaft fast, thumb circling the rosy slit, then dove back down, gagging wetly with spit dripping onto his own man-tits.

Tester pulled him up, voice rough.

“Bend over the sink, boy. I’m gonna fuck that soft ass proper.”

Miller braced his stocky frame, dropping his pants and bending forward, exposing his soft, rounded, lightly hairy butt. Tester spat thick into his palm, slicked his fat 8-inch cock until it gleamed, then pressed the blunt rosy head against Miller’s tight pink pucker. He rubbed the wide tip in slow circles, teasing the rim until it fluttered, then pushed forward. The tight ring resisted for a heartbeat before popping open around the thick head with a wet, obscene stretch.

“Aww, fuck, Miller… that hole’s grippin’ me like a brand-new vise on a tractor axle,” Tester growled, feeding another inch, feeling the silky-hot walls clench and ripple around his shaft. Miller’s breath hitched in a resonant groan.

“Jesus Christ, Senator… you’re splittin’ me wide open. Burn’s so damn good.”

Tester sank deeper, inch by fat inch, until his dense graying pubes nestled against Miller’s soft cheeks and his heavy low-hanging balls pressed snug against the actor’s taint. The heat inside was velvet-smooth and furnace-hot, Miller’s inner muscles fluttering and squeezing rhythmically like a well-trained throat. Tester pulled back until just the blunt head remained trapped inside the stretched rim, then slammed forward in one powerful farm-boy thrust, burying himself balls-deep. The wet slap of flesh echoed in the stall as he started pounding, long, deliberate strokes that made Miller’s soft rounded ass cheeks jiggle and ripple with every impact. Each thrust dragged the wide rosy head across Miller’s prostate, forcing a deep, operatic moan from the actor’s gravelly throat.

“Goddamn, your ass is suckin’ me in like it’s hungry for seed,” Tester grunted, hips snapping harder, sweat dripping from his ruddy face onto Miller’s back.

He reached around with his scarred left hand, the rough stump and fingers wrapping around Miller’s thick 6-inch cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, callused palm smearing the steady flow of precum leaking from the plump mushroom head. Miller’s sturdy hairy legs trembled, man-tits swaying as he pushed back to meet every pounding stroke.

“Harder, Senator… fuck that hole. I can feel every thick vein rubbin’ my spot… fuck.”

Tester obliged, shifting to short, brutal jabs that kept his cockhead hammering Miller’s prostate relentlessly. The tight channel clenched and pulsed around him, milking the shaft with silky contractions, the lube of spit and precum making every slide audibly wet and filthy. Tester’s own heavy balls swung and slapped loudly against Miller’s taint, the sensation building like a thunderstorm over the Montana plains.

“Take this big Montana cock, you opera-singin’ sonofabitch. Feel it rearrangin’ your guts… stretchin’ that pretty hole wide enough to drive a pickup through.”

Miller’s resonant baritone broke into whimpers and gasps, his soft body rocking forward with every deep thrust.

“Don’t cum inside me, Senator. I ain’t ready for that kinda mess on the way home to Tammy and the kids.”

Tester’s pace grew frantic, belly slapping against Miller’s back, scarred hand still jerking the actor’s leaking cock. At the edge he yanked out with a wet pop, the stretched hole gaping open for a moment, pink and shiny, before clenching shut. He spun Miller around, stroking his own 8-inch cock furiously with his good right hand while the scarred left tugged his heavy balls.

“Open wide and stick out that chest, boy.”

Thick ropes erupted; first blasting across Miller’s round expressive face, splattering his thin smiling lips, blue eyes, and flattop, then painting his ample man-tits and soft belly in hot, white streaks that dripped down through the light body hair. Miller’s own thick cock jerked untouched, spurting onto the floor as he moaned long and low in that warm gravelly voice.

They cleaned up quick, Tester chuckling with folksy humor.

“Hell of a layover, Miller. You sing as good as you take dick.”

Miller wiped his face, gold band flashing, and grinned.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Senator. Safe travels back to the farm.”

Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of Jon Tester or Joel McKinnon Miller. It is invented for entertainment purposes only.

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

Your thoughts on Tim Hooper? is he bottom

He’s a bottom that loves big cock.

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

Jon is by far the hottest, classic daddy bear we've had in our politics in a long time. Who is shaping up to be the next Jon in your eyes?

I honestly don't know.

[bigguyinbigskycountry]

Jon Tester Former United States Senator