Mature Guys

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.