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.

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