Gay Erotic Stories

The Marshall had arrived in Tucson from a four day trail ride and had wasted no time climbing the marble stairs of the limestone courthouse and locating the judge’s office; he appeared strangely incongruous, filthy from his long trip, standing amid the sumptuous appointments of the private chambers.

“I know who you are, son. I’d appreciate you removing your hat in my chambers,” the judge responded, rising from behind his huge mahogany desk and moving around it to get a closer look at the lawman, which was soiling his oriental rug.

The ‘Legend of Law Enforcement’ in the Arizona Territory more closely resembled a trail hand than a federal marshal, thought the judge.

Cultrane was larger tan most men of his time, just less than six feet. And he was covered from head to toe with reddish dust that sifted down the length of a long, canvas duster and fell into a neat semi-circle onto the rug around his dirty boots. He pulled off the black, flat-brimmed hat, tapped it against the side of his coat and sent up and plume of dust that filtered slowly down through the single ray of sunlight that penetrated the damask draperies.

His face was ruggedly handsome, deeply tanned and accentuated by languid, brilliant blue eyes. Unlike most men he was devoid of a large mustache. His slightly chapped , full lips which seemed permanently set in a guileless smile were surrounded by a three or four day growth of golden stubble which spread from his high cheekbones, over the column of his thick neck to join the longer hairs tat curled up over the top of his dirty undershirt.

He casually ran a gloved hand through the neatly trimmed, curly golden hair that was cut well above the collar of his coat.

Another flurry of fiery red clay dust clouded the area around the lawman as he pulled off the duster and moved to hang it on a rack near the door. The judge had suspected that the great coat had been hiding a powerful body, now he knew his guess was accurate.

Cultrane wore a red flannel shirt, unbuttoned to where it was stretched tight across hid broad chest and casually tucked into the narrow waist of his pants. A heavy silver star decorated the breast pocket of the shirt and a handsomely tooled gun belt, weighed down by a silver six-shooter, was slung from just above his left hip to just below his right. Is well worn jeans, the kind produced by that new company in San Francisco, were only partly visible beneath the dusty, black chaps he had strapped tightly over them. At the juncture of is long legs the chaps framed an ample, well defined bulge straining te button fly of the pants.

“What did you want to see me about?”

On the trail Cultrane had lived much alone and was unfamiliar with the volume of his voice in the confines of to such an office. He knew he would have to try to quiet it.

“Have a seat, marshal.” The judge gestured to a leather chair at the front of the desk and moved to get himself a cigar and offer one to his guest. “I sent for you basically because of the reputation that precedes you. You are known as a man who gets things done and I need you.” The judge offered a lighted a lighted match to the curious lawman before continuing. “Ever been to Serena”? he asked.

“Can’t say I have.” Cultrane exhaled a cloud of smoke that hung briefly about his head before dissipating into the stale.

“The range war has created a situation over there that has to be stopped, sodomize I think you’re the man to do the job.”

“Can you tell me what this ‘situation’ is”? Cultrane was getting impatient with the route the judge seemed to be taking. He preferred a man to come straight to the point.

“Well..,” the judge was obviously uncomfortable. “…several months ago a young rancher was found dead in the desert a few miles south of Serena. Before he died the poor boy had been lashed to a saguaro and tortured...beyond belief...monstrous things had been done to him.” The judge had walked to the window, folded back a drape and looked out on the heat of the day.

“What kind of ‘monstrous’ things”? Cultrane needed facts, even if this conversation was troubling the judge.

He spoke quietly, almost as if to himself, “sharp sticks were pierced through his nipples.” He raised his hand to his chest as if he were experiencing the pain, “he was whipped, sodomized and...well, things were done to his genitals...I don’t think I can be more specific.” He’d turned a re-took the safe space behind his desk.

“Sounds like he ran into some Indians. That’s Army business, not mine.” Cultrane took another deep pull on the cheroot.

“That’s what we thought until there was a second attack on another young fella, a twenty year old son of another small ranch owner. He was closer to dead than alive when they found him, but he recovered and was able to connect the attack to the sons of a cattle baron, whose ranch borders the spreads owned by the families of the victims. Miles Cooper is determined to own all of that land and he and his sons won’t stop until they get it.”

“After the widow of the first victim was chased off Cooper had no trouble acquiring her land, but the second young man and is family aren’t going to leave.”

“That’s very brave of them--stupid, but brave. You still haven’t told me how I fit in, you honor.” The big lawman shifted his weight, now uncomfortable in the chair.

“The real force behind the Cooper Empire is the eldest so, Britt. They say he came back from a job in California ‘bout a year and started running the ranch and terrorizing the town. I forced the sheriff to arrest him and he’s in the Serena jail, at least for now.” The judge rose and came around the desk again. “I need you to bring him back here for trial for murder and attempted murder. Miles Cooper owns that town, as well as that asshole of a sheriff, and I don’t know how long I can keep the pressure on to keep him in jail.

“This is not going to be a snap, Marshal; Cooper and his boys are ruthless and they aren’t going to take kindly to you taking their brother.”

An ominous prescience washed over him a stole the glitter from Destiny’s eyes; his inside voice telling him this one was bad business...very bad. He lowered his gaze and sat quietly for a moment, puffing on the cigar and twirling the wet end between his lips. “When do you want me to leave,” he responded.

After finding a place to get a bath and a fresh shave and stopping at the saloon next to the barber shop, Destiny Cultrane gathered his supplies and began the three-day ride to Serena, Arizona Territory.

**********************************

In the rolling heat of noon on the third day, Cultrane reined up his roan on a bluff overlooking the town of Serena and the valley surrounding it.

Serena, the malignant little town with the sweet name was no more than a clutter of sunburned, clapboard-grey buildings, hardly worth a struggle over, squatting beneath the mountains surrounding it. Scrub brush, boulders the size os houses, Joshua trees and Mesquite scattered through the valley did nothing to add interest to the otherwise dull landscape. From his vantage point Destiny could see the source of the trouble in Serena; the miles of rich, fertile green in the foothills north of the dismal town. He knew that limited grazing space often sparked the most vicious quarrels among ranchers in the Southwest and this place was a prime example.

Dirty children dressed in raggedly clothing stopped their games and women going about their daily business looked after him with hollow eyes as e rode slowly along the main street of Serena; the only sound the steady ‘clop’ of the horses hooves on the hard-packed dirt. The few men moving about in the street watched the handsome stranger passing through with little interest.

The livery stable occupied a prominent lot at the end of the street with the corrals stretching out on either side of the barn. Inside, the few horses whinnied from the stalls as he entered, but otherwise the building seemed deserted. Suddenly, a soft rustling sound from the hayloft above caught his attention. “Hey!” he called out after catching a glimpse of a slice of bare flesh over a mound of straw.

“What the hell d’ya want?” a voice came and then the pimply face of a boy appeared at the edge of the loft, shards of golden straw poking out from his black hair.

Beside him a much older female face and torso emerged from their bed to get a look at the stranger; her heavily made-up face dirty and smudged from the midday rendezvous and her long blonde hair standing out in all directions. She seemed unaware and unashamed that her voluminous, bare breasts had flopped to one side and were laying like fat, lazy puppies on the straw.

“You going to take my horse or not?” Cultrane shifted his eyes from the whore’s tits back to the pock-marked face of the angry teenager.

“I ain’t gonna now, mister. I’m buck nekkid and busy. It’ll be two bucks...tie ‘em to the post by the trough and get the fuck outta here!”

The woman watched quietly, running a hand through her tangled hair, struggling to smooth the mess.

“Where’s the sheriff’s office, boy?” Destiny dismounted, sensing the interest in her eyes at what she could see of his husky body.

An almost audible snarl was set on the kid’s acne riddled face.

“Jesus! It’s up Jail Street, over there, ‘bout a block.” he said, stretching out a muscled arm and pointing in the direction south of the stables.

The sheriff’s office and jail was a small, crumbling adobe structure set on a back street and marked by a weathered sign swaying in the hot breeze over the door. A fat, shabbily dressed man with a hat pulled over is eyes snoozed on the porch, his feet up on the rail and a shotgun slung across his lap.

“You the sheriff?”

He looked out from under the hat. “I ain’t the preacher. What d’ya want?”

Cultrane reached under the great coat and pulled out the order the judge had given im. “Here to collect Britt Cooper and take him back to Tucson for trial.”

The sheriff absently looked over the papers Cultrane had handed him and began to laugh. “You gotta’ be foolin’, marshall. Why you’ll be deader than shit before you get a mile outside town.”

“Maybe so, but I’m takin’ him in anyway. You just get him ready. Where can a man get a bath and a shave in this town?” Destiny stepped down onto the road and began to walk away.

“Barber shop’s the middle of main street,” answered the sheriff, pointing across the street and beginning to laugh even heartier.

The barber had no customers when Destiny entered the shop and gladly took four bits from the big stranger for a shave and a fresh water bath. “Four bathhouses out back. Take the first one, it’s the cleanest. The boys’ll fetch your water--none used, all new.” He opened the back door of the shop and pointed at a row of small, weathered shacks, identical, standing up on short footings with a worn step in front of each door.

Inside, Destiny took a moment to examine the shabby interior. There was barely enough room for the dirty copper tub, the commode and a wobbly chair which stood in the far corner. A small, square window with two broken panes provided the only light and allowed a hot, dusty breeze to waft into the room. On the commode a grimy chamber pot occupied the bottom shelf, while a pitcher and bowl, a shaving mug, a bar of lard soap and a few threadbare towels were carelessly scattered on the top. A piece of cracked, unframed mirror strung with a crude wire anger hung on a nail above it.

Cultrane had stripped by the time six tallow-complexioned urchins began a bucket brigade from a steaming cauldron outside to the bathhouse. The boys showed only casual interest in the big, naked lawman as they filled the tub, alternating cold with hot until it was full to the brim and at a comfortable temperature. “Fetch me a bottle of whiskey,” he directed the oldest boy. E fished in the pocket of his discarded jeans and tossed the youth a few gold coins. “Keep the change.”

“Thank ya’, Sir! I’ll be back quick!” The eager wide-eyed youngster looked into Destiny’s face before lowering is gaze to catch a cursory glimpse of the dark patch between the marshal’s muscular legs and the adult sized equipment tat hung there. With is curiosity sated, the youth ran after his friends, touting the generous tip and allowing them to accompany him to the saloon.

After the boy had delivered the bottle, Cultrane sat for a long while in the hot water, alternating deep drafts of whiskey with long pulls on skinny cheroots; he was contemplating what could prove to be a very dangerous undertaking, making careful plans.

When the eat had left the water, taking the soreness in his muscles away with it, the lawman continued his bath by drawing his feet beneath him, raising himself, and reaching for lumpy soap.

So, this is the man they sent to take Britt Cooper to Tucson, Billy Hollis thought. My god, he’s beautiful.

Hollis had heard that Cultrane had arrived and had very little trouble tracking him to the barber shop. He’d snuck around to the back of the bathhouse, peered carefully through the dirty window and noticed the big blonde marshal relaxing in the tub. He’d been fascinated by his golden hair, his thick neck, his strong, broad shoulders and the alluring blue eyes that flashed, even in the dullness of the mirrors surface.

He paid no heed to the twinges of pain that still haunted his body from the horrors of the experience with the Cooper boys and slowly shifted his weight to get a better view. At first Billy was afraid that he might be shot if the marshal discovered him but when he was sure he was not being seen is apprehension was quickly diffused.

He was awed by the size and the stunning perfection of the nude who drew himself up to stand in the tub; a sheet of cloudy water, like a second skin, racing over the contours of his muscular back, glistening where it was trapped in the hairs along his round and sculpted legs and falling noisily into the tub and onto the floor around it. There was tremendous power in the man’s back, the giant balls of his shoulders and the way the plates of muscle rolled and bunched beneath his ivory skin as he worked the soap around his chest and abdomen.

Billy figured him to be no more than thirty-five, although his body showed no signs common to an ‘older’ man. There wasn’t an inch of fat on his belly or at the base of is back where two deep dimples marked the end of is spine and the beginning of the dark cleft dividing the twin globes of his buttocks. His sex stirred and began to harden when he realized that what he saw among the shadows between the lawman’s spread legs was the back of a long scrotum, swinging loose amid wet, blonde hairs.

Although he was sure he’d be noticed, Billy prayed the big man would eventually turn toward him. For now, though, he had to be satisfied with a small of broad, hair covered pectoral and a glimpse of one brown nipple visible in the mirror.

Destiny had finished lathering his upper body; working the hard soap bar into the musky depressions under each arm, across the mounds of his golden-haired chest and belly and into the coarser hair patch at the base of his body when he sensed a familiar pressure from deep inside. Making a quarter turn toward the side of the tub, he arched his back slightly and relaxed is bladder beginning with a few short spills at first, then a strong yellow stream that arced away from his body, blended with the spilled bath water and drained through the spaces between the floorboards.

Billy’s cock went fully hard and began a steady throbbing in his pants when he finally saw the profile of the marshal’s body and his thick penis arcing out of a billow of creamy, wit lather, spilling piss onto the wet floor. The hot, acrid scent of the waste rose up at him from beneath the building as hgis fingers worked quickly at the buttons of his pants. He felt the steely length of his own cock in his fist while he watched Cultrane shake the last drops from under the puckered folds of his dick-skin.

Destiny worked more lather, as best he could, up onto his back and deep into the warm divide of his ass before returning his hands to his male parts. After he shook off the last of is piss he peeled back the generous foreskin and began applying lather along the heavy shaft and onto his sensitive head, igniting thousands of tiny fires in the nerves of his groin. The penis squirmed and came to life as the tangle of blue veins along its length filled with new, warm blood, stiffening the rod and swelling the dark magenta knob. The hefty cock came fully erect and rose in a strong curve toward his belly as he lowered his hands and began a deliberate massage of the twin eggs slung in the sack beneath it. With his left hand still ministering to his burgeoning testicles, he closed his right fist around the shaft and began a slow masturbation, teasing the delicate flange of the helmet on each upstroke; the action he knew would soon bring relief to his aching nuts.

Billy watched Cultrane’s eyes drift shut and his head fall back as he lost himself in the pleasure of his own hands. He hoped that he could hold himself off until the lawman’s huge arms and hands delivered him to the edge of ecstasy. E didn’t have too long to wait, for suddenly, with a final, hard squeeze to his balls Cultrane’s entire body seemed to harden. His thick chest flared; the ridges of thick muscle across his abdomen contracted and his face contorted in a savage grimace. A low, guttural moan escaped his lips as his body arched forward; the hand that had been beating furiously on the length of his cock slowed to a gentle massage.

Billy’s orgasm splattered against the side of the bathhouse and ran in creamy rivulets down the clapboard as Cultrane went over the edge.

The big lawman’s body literally shook as a blast of thick cum shot across the room and hung like egg white on the edge of the old chair before falling to floor. It was followed by wad after wad of sperm that exploded from the long piss slit and flew in all directions, landing in milky puddles on the floor until only a long, pearly thread dangled from the hand he still had curled around his fading erection.

Destiny lowered himself into the tepid water just long enough to rinse hid body before stepping from the tub and beginning to dry himself. He glanced over at the empty window.

The marshal smiled at the thought of the young man who had watched him while he bated a pleasured himself. When he had first sensed the presence and had confirmed it with the reflection in the mirror, he’d thought about going for his gun. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t; perhaps it was the strangely gentle look in the man’s eyes. Perhaps it was because of the odd excitement he felt, knowing he was the object of the secret watcher. Either way, he knew he’d see him again.

Before leaving the barber shop and heading back to the livery to retrieve his horse and hire another one for his prisoner he confronted the barber, “Was there a good lookin’ young fella here askin’ about me awhile back?”

“Let me think....Yeah, that’d be the Hollis boy. Billy.” He stopped cutting the hair of the older man in the chair. “Yeah, he was in here. I told him you were out back.” He pointed with his scissors in the direction of the bathhouses.

“Obliged,” Destiny said, moving to the door.

“Welcome, marshall. Shame what happened to him...I mean with that snake, Cooper and ‘is boys. Leavin’ him for dead and all.” Destiny had new understanding for his presence outside the bathhouse window.

*************************

It was near dusk when Destiny entered the sheriff’s office and the small jail adjoining it. On the way he’d seen Billy again, watching him timidly from an alleyway beside a less than prosperous looking General Store.

The unbearable heat of the day had almost gone and the setting sun had begun to paint the desert in soft, ocher hues. The sheriff had moved to a chair inside and now snoozed with his feet on the desk. Cultrane knew the man had heard him enter.

“You got him ready to go, sheriff?’ he asked.

The man stirred slowly, pushed his hat back and glared at Destiny with the same smirking grin he’d shown before. “Yep,.right back here marshal.” He rose from his chair, hiked his dirty pants up higher under his huge belly and led the way into the cell block.

The smell inside stole Destiny’ breath as if he’d been hit in the chest with a club. Stale sweat, urine and shit had loaded the stale air with a stench that dropped on him like a heavy net. Swarms of flies swooped and danced the rims of the uncovered clay pots set at the back of each cell.

“Jesus Christ, sheriff,” Destiny coughed.

“Don’t use it no more...see no use in cleanin’ it up.” He continued toward the back.

Britt Cooper was the only occupant of the stinking jail and was lying on his back on the narrow cot as Destiny and the sheriff approached. Cultrane lighted a cheroot and stood at the foot of the cot taking a long look down the length of the man who could be his deadliest challenge, trying to get a feel for the man’s strength. He appeared to be asleep, hands cupped behind his head and his face totally hidden by a black hat, decorated around the crown by a braided band of leather with silver medallions. A black and white checked shirt, partially covered by an open black leather vest, was drawn taut across his wide chest. It was open to his breast bone, revealing a triangle of tan flesh and coarse black hair. He was lying with one leg cocked up at the knee emphasizing the power in his thighs and cramming his genitals into a solid pouch that pressed against the fly of his black pants.

Destiny let his eyes be drawn back up to the sensuous curve of the trim, raised hip and the way it turned down into the round, dimpled ass cheek. A subtle craving tickled I the base of his body.

“Okay, Cooper, on your feet,” the sheriff ordered.

“Fuck off!” a lusty bass voice came from under the hat.

Cultrane drew one side of the duster back and tucked it behind his holster.

“Get up, you son-of-a-bitch or I’ll shoot you where you lie and save everyone a lot of trouble.”

Cooper slowly cocked his hat back with one thumb, looked into the brilliant eyes of the big, blonde lawman and knew instantly that the man was dead serious. The eye contact between them remained unbroken as he swung his legs off the bed and stood beside it waiting for the sheriff to unlock the cell door.

Britt Cooper was an strikingly handsome man. And with hard, dark eyes that sparkled and had the color of pieces of coal caught in the light of the sun. Before replacing his hat he pushed a calloused hand back through thick raven-black hair, trimmed just to the middle of his ears and swept back into a wavy mane that hung down onto the collar of his shirt. His nose and mouth were strong, classic features that were made even more attractive by the large mustache he wore and the several days growth of beard that darkened his face.

He was shorter than Cultrane but thick boned and heavily muscled out; a a body built lean, hard and strong.

A defiant, irascible smile sneer was set on Coopers sensuous mouth as Destiny produced the handcuffs and entered the cell. He seemed to know the routine, turning his back to the lawman and laying his fists along the contour of his firm butt.

“This won’t work you know, marshal.” He spoke over his shoulder while Cultrane locked the bracelets, and then surprised him by running a flat palm over one of the muscular cheeks.

“A fine ass,” whispered Destiny paying no heed to the unveiled threat.

“Go to hell!” Cooper spat

Destiny pushed him ahead, out of the jail room, though he office and out onto the dusky street. Once outside and sure there was no one around, Cultrane unlocked the cuffs and bound Coopers hands with leather thongs to the cattle horn of the saddle of the horse he’d hired. After helping him mount he secured his legs with heavier straps to the sided of the saddle; not wanting him to fall in case they had to run. Cooper was cooperating quietly, knowing that Cultrane would carry out the threat of gagging him if he caused even the slightest commotion.

The light of the moon cast an eerie glow on the town as dusk became dark and lanterns began to throw shafts of light out onto the darkened streets. The night was bright enough, though, for Billy Hollis to see, from his vantage point in the livery corral, the shapes of two men riding quietly out of town, toward the desert and Tucson. He mounted his bay mare and started off on his own, leaving town by a different street and at an angle that would keep his trail parallel to the lawman’s--close, yet avoiding discovery.

On they rode, faster and faster. It was important to put as much distance between him and the town of Serena; since Cultrane knew he would have only a few hours before th sheriff informed Miles Cooper and his boys of his plan. Although he had chosen a route they might not expect it was certain that they would be after him and they knew this terrain much better than he did.

In the night the desert became an eerue landscape; all around him objects that had no life of their own, tumbleweeds, mesaquite branches and even rocks seemed to be animated, rushing at them and reaching out to obstruct their path. Cultrane’s peripheral vision caught the slithering and darting of the night animals the rider’s surprised.

It was before dawn that Destiny slowed the horses to a slow trot and finally to a stop near a thick stand of mesquite. Far off to his left the low, rocky crag was probably hiding the single rider he’d seen following along in an arroyo since first light.

Billy was on foot now, leading the mare carefully into a hollow among the rocks. She’d tripped sometime during the night and was limping but hadn’t broken the leg. He’d rest here for awhile since it appeared that the lawman had also stopped. He knew he’d taken a chance in the early light, letting his path become too close to the lawman’s but he needed the shelter of the rocks to rest his horse and avoid being spotted.

“What are ya’ stoppin’ here for”? Cooper asked. “They’ll be right behind ya’. If I was you, I’d keep riding.”

“Thought you might like a chance to get off that horse. And suppose you let me worry about what we do.” Destiny dismounted and took a few steps toward a low hanging Joshua tree, unbuttoning his jeans as he went. With the reins of Cooper’s horse still tight in his grip, he dislodged his cock and fed a long stream of piss toward the trunk of the tree. It was when he had finished and had shaken the last of it into the sand that the seeds of an idea regarding his own brand of justice sprang into his mind.

“You like violating young men with that cock o’ yours, huh, Cooper?” Destiny had turned toward his prisoner; his not-quite-hard tool still hanging from his pants.

“What the hell you doin?” Shock and fear washed across Britt Cooper’s face. He struggled against the marshal as he untied him but the bigger man had the deciding advantage.

“I think you should get a taste of your own medicine, boy, and I’m gonna give it to ya’.”

Cultrane dragged the thrashing man from the horse and toward the tree he’d just watered. Two sturdy branches provided the perfect place to attach Cooper’s wrists well above his head. In minutes he was stretched out wide in among the dead wood.

“Get your Goddamn hands off me!” Cooper cursed. “I’ll kill you, you bastard!”

Destiny ignored Cooper’s cursing and wildly kicking legs as he reached around to find the front of his pants. One violent yank with both hands split the fly open and he forced the material down to trap the flailing limbs. Cooper’s whole body began fierce contortions, but gradually quieted as he tired and the reality of his imprisonment took hold.

“Ever have a big cock up there, Cooper? That’s a right nice ass, I’df say.” Cultrane spread the solid, furry mounds with his rough hands until the dark pucker was visible and his strong male odor rose to his face.

Cooper made ugly gurgling sounds when he felt the lawman’s spit-slicked fingers at the clenched opening, stretching the membrane and gradually gaining entry, then soft moans when the probing digits began massaging his hidden gland.

“Like that, huh, boy.” Destiny reached to the front of his quarry and closed his calloused fist around the base of Cooper’s hard-on and the bloated nuts that were already tight against the base of his body. He skinned back the long foreskin and felt the intense heat of the member and the juice that drooled out on his hand.

“Uuhhh...,” Cooper moaned and thrust his hips back toward his violator anting...needing more.

Cultrane used both hands to spread the hard cheeks wide open while he laid the engorged head against Cooper’s enflamed rosette and pressed it in. The sphincter popped around his head and the channel was mist and warm around him as he sunk inch after inch into it; the hungry portal working furiously along his veiny erection, as if trying to draw moiré of it inside. As soon as he felt the prickle of pubic hair against Cooper’s ass cheeks, he withdrew until hthe glans was once more visible at the distended ring. And, without hesitating he drove it back in.

Cooper yelped and writhed beneath the rutting blonde lawman; dripping with sweat that poured off his body and ran down his legs, soaking the pants bunched around his ankles. The cock that was pistoning in and out of his bowel threatened to rip him apart but the pain was secondary to the ecstasy that had built to a boiling point in his groin.

Suddenly, his cock became harder still and he felt the familiar; the fire that began at his prostate, raced through his testicles and along the heavy cord on the bottom of his penis to the long slit at the tip. “Oh...shit, OOOHHH!” Cooper’s dick lurched uncontrollably, flinging globs of his seed off the end into the dry branches where it clung to them like thick, milky rain. He felt he had no control of his mind, his pleasure was so intense.

“OOOOHHHHH....SHIT...!” The clenching of the ass muscle around his dick drove Cultrane to his own orgasm; spasms raced through him and he clung hard to Cooper’s back burying his cock in the virgin ass. His head went back on his shoulders and he howled into the still dawn air. A final thrust of his hips drove him in even further where he felt the blasts of his seed filling the chute until it overflowed around his cock and spilled down the quivering legs of his pinioned prisoner.

***************************

When Billy awoke it took him a moment to orientate himself to his surroundings. He was in the rocky crag his mare was grazing beside him on a sparse clump of grass growing in a cleft of the rocks. The sun had already climbed high into the azure sky.

“Oh Shit!” He whirled around and looked out at the desert. He’d last seen the two men entering the stand of mesquite several hours ago, and then he must have fallen asleep. Now their horses were gone and there wasn’t as much as a trace of the on the dusty horizon.