Chapter 19: The end of the round-up
Patrick Loomis leaned against the trunk of a cottonwood next to Clear Water
Creek and watched young Wade Lewis, the wrangler, ambling his mount into camp
after being relieved by the nighthawk. It was near sunset and a few stars
already were sprinkled against the eastern sky. Low to the ground the west was
tarnished gold rising to a pale pink. A handful of thrushes darted above the
trees that bordered the creek flying toward some unknown destination.
He watched Wade Lewis dismount by the stove cart -- the boy's hard muscles
flexing and pushing against his cotton shirt as he tied his chestnut to a wheel
-- and head leisurely toward the chuck wagon where Cookie had saved him some
blanket steak and sourdough biscuits with plenty of hot coffee to wash it all
down.
Patrick tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with the heel of his
boot. He walked toward the campfire where his men sat relaxing, some stretched
out on their bedrolls.
The round-up was over. The last of the reps from the smaller ranches had
gathered up all their strays and headed home. The cowboys remaining were all
Loomis men. Tomorrow they would head back to the ranch, clean up and ride into
Red Rock where they would let off a little steam. There would be plenty of
whiskey and plenty of Lilly's whore transported in from Sackville.
Patrick went to his bedroll lying in the chuck wagon and took out a towel,
washcloth and a bar of soap. As wagon boss he was just as tired as his men after
putting in a full day of riding circle, bringing in a herd so the calves could
be branded; but he didn't like the idea of curling up in his blankets at night
smelling like a polecat if he could help it. Living back east with a cultured
wife had made him more conscious of the social amenities. And besides it was
good to set an example. Men always respected a leader who was more disciplined
than they were. It set you apart from them. Told them that something in you was
better, finer, than what they had in them. And if they realized that, you could
exercise more authority over them. The wagon boss must be like the lead bull
that all the other cattle follow: better in everyway, stronger in body and mind.
Made of iron.
It was growing steadily darker as he stripped by the water's edge; a reddish
glow off the sand allowed him to see far out across the gradual sloping of the
vast praire to the dark, jagged line of distant mountains to the west.
He waded in up to mid-thigh and began soaping himself all over. The recent rain
had left the creek bed swollen. His hands passed over his cock creating a
noticeable stiffening. He squeezed his soapy palm around it. Electric tingles
moved up and down his spine. He squeezed more tightly feeling his legs quiver.
From somewhere on the bank he heard a sound. Glancing to his side he saw the
wrangler standing by a cottonwood. His face was hid in shadows, but Patrick knew
he had seen him.
Patrick moved into a calm eddy away from the swifter center current until he was
waist deep. He submerged himself rinsing the soap away and stood up. In the
shadows of the cottonwood he watched the wrangler shed his clothes, carelessly
dropping them on the ground and slowly wade into the water. His heart began to
beat faster as the naked, muscular youth swaggered toward him.
In the ruby glow of twilight the wrangler stopped close to him staring him
straight in the eyes. His hand went beneath the water and gripped Patrick's cock
tightly, milking it hard. Patrick gasped softly and gave only a feeble
resistance as the youth pulled him against him and forced his tongue between his
lips.
Still holding Patrick's cock, he moved around behind him and pressed the length
of his thick cock against the ass crack. With his free hand on Patrick's belly
he pulled him to him and began kissing hotly at the nape of his neck.
Patrick felt the heat of the kisses spread throughout his quivering body. His
knees grew weak and threatened to give out on him. The youth moved his cock up
and down his crack, the head touching his asshole, nudging and bumping. He
grabbed Patrick's wrists in his hands and guided him toward the bank. As they
reached it Patrick sank to his knees; Wade forced him to his belly in the mud
and brought his arms above his head, holding him pressed to the ground.
Wade got between his legs and Patrick felt the tip of the wrangler's cock touch
the puckered hole of his ass. A firm hand gripped his mud-slick cock and began
masturbating him; from behind the wrangler's thick cock slowly spread him apart,
sliding deeper and deeper inside until taut balls were hard against his
asscheeks.
Slowly the youth worked his cock in and out while pumping Patrick's cock between
his belly and the muddy ground. To Patrick the sensation of fullness in his ass
and the tightness around his cock was overwhelming. The youth rammed him, their
wet flesh slapping wetly in the now near total darkness.
Patrick knew it wouldn't be long now for either of them. He couldn't hold back.
The tight fist milked him harder and harder driving him into a frenzy. He
squirmed wildly beneath the youth who began hammering into him.
Suddenly cum was spewing from him and into him. Wade let out a strained cry
almost of agony, jerking violently on top of Patrick and collapsed with his full
weight on him. Patrick could feel the boy's hot breath against his ear and hear
the labored gasps as the last of his warm cum filled him.
