Featuring Rep. Glenn “GT” Thompson & Cody Archie
CHAPTER THREE: After Hours in San Antonio
The fluorescent lights of the San Antonio convention center buzzed overhead as Rep. Glenn “GT” Thompson wrapped up his remarks on the Farm Bill to a packed ballroom of farmers and ranchers. His tan suede blazer felt a touch warm under the lights, blue button down crisp against his barrel chest, dark navy dress slacks hugging his sturdy thighs. At fifty something, with his round to oval face flushed ruddy from the Texas heat, bald crown gleaming under the spots, and close cropped white gray hair framing the sides, GT still carried that earnest, folksy optimism that had served him well from Eagle Scout hikes in the Pennsylvania hills to listening sessions back home in Howard.
That is when he spotted them. Erika Archie was a whirlwind, thin as a fence post, phone glued to her hand, filming every handshake and soundbite for their Bar 7 Ranch TikTok. But her husband… Lord have mercy. Cody Archie was all thick set Texas everyman: 5 foot 11 of stocky ranch muscle gone soft with good living, round full face under a tan cowboy hat, prominent cheeks ruddy from the sun, thick handlebar mustache twitching over thin lips as he grinned that warm, faith driven smile. Forest green quilted vest stretched across his broad soft chest, striped button down tucked into dark blue denim that did nothing to hide the heavy bulge or the way his wide butt filled out the seat. Cream colored ostrich boots planted firm on the carpet.
Cody’s brown hazel eyes locked on GT during the post speech mingle, a little too long, a little too steady, like he was sizing up a prize bull. GT felt a low stir in his gut, rural Pennsylvania boy turned congressman, married thirty plus years to his high school sweetheart Penny, three grown sons and two grandsons, but that thick, classic good ol’ boy build kept pulling his gaze back.
“Well, Congressman,” Cody drawled in that warm Central Texas twang, voice low and friendly as a Sunday sermon, “you reckon we could grab a cold one? I got some thoughts on that bipartisan ag stuff you were talkin’ about.”
GT chuckled, adjusting the gold wedding band on his left ring finger, the class ring on his right catching the light.
“What about the missus? She looks like she’s got that phone glued to her hand for the next hour.”
Cody’s eyes twinkled with something darker, hungrier, beneath the good ol’ boy charm.
“Erika? Shoot, she loves filmin’ for the ‘Gram. Keeps her happier than a hog in slop.” He winked at his wife across the room, jerked his thumb toward the exit. “Y’all go on, darlin’. I’ll catch up.”
Erika didn’t even glance back, already pivoting toward the next influencer cluster.
They slipped out the side doors, dodging conventioneers, hearts pounding like teenagers sneaking behind the barn. Cody led the way to the hotel tower across the street, his cream ostrich boots clicking on the pavement. In the quiet elevator, Cody’s meaty hand brushed GT’s thick padded arm, then squeezed. By the time they hit the hallway, Cody’s palm was flat on GT’s broad back, steering him.
The room door clicked shut behind them, spacious king bed, heavy curtains drawn, faint scent of hotel soap and Cody’s earthy ranch cologne. Cody spun GT around, eyes dark and hungry under the brim of his cowboy hat.
“Been thinkin’ about this since you stepped up to that podium,” Cody murmured, voice thick with that Texas drawl. His hands roamed GT’s shoulders, squeezing the stocky muscle beneath the suede blazer. “You got that steady, service driven way about you, Congressman. Makes a fella wonder what else you’re good at.”
GT’s breath hitched, mild Central Pennsylvania rural accent slipping out easy and folksy.
“Well, shoot, Cody… I ain’t never done nothin’ like this. Not in all my years. But you… dang, you got a way of lookin’ at a man.”
He grabbed Cody’s thick ass through the denim, pulling their bellies together, GT’s large rounded gut pressing firm against Cody’s prominent beer belly. Their mouths crashed together, frantic and wet, tongues sliding like they had waited years instead of minutes.
Cody moaned into the kiss, desperate, lapping at GT’s tongue like a man dying of thirst after a long day branding cattle. His fingers worked GT’s belt buckle open, shoving navy slacks and briefs down in one rough tug. GT’s thick 7.5 inch cock sprang free, cut, blunt helmet shaped head already glistening with precum, heavy low hanging balls swaying in their loose wrinkled sac, sparse graying pubic hair tickling Cody’s knuckles.
“Wow,” Cody breathed, dropping to his knees right there on the carpet, cowboy hat tilting back. His handlebar mustache brushed the blunt head as he stared up with wide eyed wonder, brown hazel eyes locked on GT’s ruddy face. “Look at that pretty Pennsylvania piece. Thick as a fence post.”
He leaned in, lips trembling, then slurped the helmeted head into his warm mouth. His tongue swirled slow and hungry around the ridge, tasting the salty leak, before he sank down, inch by inch, until GT’s cockhead nudged the back of his throat. Cody gagged softly but didn’t pull off, hollowing his cheeks, sucking with wet, rhythmic pulls that made obscene slurping sounds echo in the quiet room. One hand cupped GT’s heavy balls, rolling them gently, thumb stroking the wrinkled sac; the other wrapped around the base, stroking in time with his bobbing head.
“Fuuuuck,” GT groaned, rural accent thickening, hand gentle on the back of Cody’s dark haired head. “You suck cock like you mean it, son. Easy now… that’s it. Lord have mercy, you’re gonna make this old firefighter pop before we even get started.”
Cody popped off just long enough to gasp, lips shiny, mustache wet.
“Just one other fella before you, Congressman. But damn… yours is a helluva lot nicer.”
He dove back down, deepthroating with messy enthusiasm, spit dripping down GT’s shaft onto those low hanging balls.
“Look… either you finish me off right here or I bend you over and fuck that thick Texas ass proper. But we gotta be quick, your wife’s still out there filmin’.”
Cody looked up, dangerous twinkle in his eye, voice husky with that faith driven drawl turned filthy.
“Fuck me, GT. I want you buried balls deep in this rancher’s hole. Been prayin’ on it since I saw you talkin’ ag policy.”
They stripped fast, suede blazer, striped shirt, and navy slacks hitting the floor beside the forest green vest, denim jeans, and ostrich boots. Naked, they were a matched pair of stocky, barrel chested everymen: GT’s fair skin ruddy and mostly smooth save for his chest, broad gut and love handles jiggling as he moved; Cody’s fair farmer’s tan skin dusted moderate to heavy dark hair across his soft chest and rounded beer belly, bushy dark pubes framing his own cut 6.5 incher with its bulbous pinkish head and hefty bull balls.
GT manhandled Cody onto all fours on the edge of the king bed, that wide, hairy ass presented like an offering. He slapped one meaty cheek hard, crack, watching it ripple, then groped both full globes, spreading them to reveal the tight pink pucker.
“Look at that pretty hole,” GT murmured, voice low and folksy. “Bet it’s never had a Pennsylvania cock like mine stretchin’ it.”
Cody moaned, face pressed to the sheets, cowboy hat still somehow on his head.
“C’mon, Congressman… quit teasin’ and wreck me.”
GT spat on his palm, slicked his thick cock, and pressed the blunt helmet against that virgin tight ring. Cody’s face twisted, pleasure melting into a grimace of pain, as the head popped past the rim.
“Ahh, shit, that burns so good,” Cody growled through gritted teeth, mustache twitching. GT inched forward slow, thick shaft stretching him open, heavy balls swinging against Cody’s taint. Inch by inch, until GT’s gut rested heavy on Cody’s back, crushing him down with warm, padded weight.
Cody’s eyes squeezed shut, then fluttered open in a slow, moaning growl as the pain bloomed into pleasure.
“Fuuuuck… there it is. Right there on my spot. You hittin’ it just right, GT.”
GT started grinding, slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, thick cock stirring deep inside that hot, clenching channel. Sweat beaded on his barrel chest, dripping onto Cody’s hairy back. He reached under, wrapped a big hand around Cody’s throbbing 6.5 incher, and stroked firm and steady, thumb smearing the steady leak from the bulbous pink head.
“That’s it, Cody… stroke that pretty Texas cock while I fuck you proper. Feel how full you are.”
Cody bucked back like a wild horse, meeting every thrust with a low, groaning squelch of lube and spit. GT grabbed the cowboy hat, jammed it back on Cody’s head, and started pounding harder, deep, rhythmic slams that made Cody’s hefty balls swing and slap.
“Take it, rancher. Take every inch like the good ol’ boy you are.”
Cody’s hand flew on his own cock now, jerking fast and sloppy, pre cum flying.
“Yes, God, harder, Congressman! I’m gonna… I’m fixin’ to shoot.”
His body seized, ass clamping down like a vice as thick ropes of cum splattered the sheets, his bull balls pulsing in GT’s loose grip.
GT did not stop. He pulled out slow, teasing the gaping, reddened hole with his cockhead, sliding it up between those hairy cheeks, tapping the heavy sac, then popping just the blunt tip back in and out, over and over, until Cody was whimpering.
“Put it back in, GT, please, I need it fillin’ me again. Don’t make me beg like some backslidin’ sinner.”
GT grinned, folksy and satisfied, and slammed home. He fucked Cody through the aftershocks, then flipped him onto his back on the edge of the bed. Cody’s sock clad legs, one sock slipped down around his ankle, wrapped tight around GT’s waist, heels digging into those sturdy tree trunk thighs. GT leaned in close, bellies pressed slick and hot, and drove deep in long, punishing strokes. Fifteen minutes of steady, sweaty missionary, GT’s gold watch glinting, heavy balls slapping Cody’s ass, until GT’s beefy cheeks clenched and he buried himself to the hilt.
“Lord… have… mercy,” GT groaned, rural accent thick as he unloaded, thick pulses flooding Cody’s guts. He kissed him slow and deep, tongues lazy now, before rolling off with a satisfied grunt.
Cody lay there, glazed and well fucked, cum leaking from his stretched hole, chest heaving under his dark hair. His handlebar mustache twitched in a lazy, sated grin.
GT patted that wide, sweaty ass.
“You’re a helluva good fuck, Cody. Didn’t expect a faith driven rancher like you to take it so damn sweet.”
Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional and it does not reflect any known events or factual scenarios involving Glenn Thompson or any person named Cody Archie.
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