Show-Offs, page 14
“I was an optical engineer, specialized in optical coatings.”
“Like, holy shit!”
“I’ve supervised the coating of more than one large telescope mirror. And designed the coatings.”
“They could use you up there.”
“Well, those days are gone. Besides, it’s too damn cold at fifteen-thousand feet. I left the snow behind me when I moved from the mainland.” I shiver and pause. “I also fabricated minute mirrors, like for endoscopes.”
He roars, spits on his finger and goes for my asshole.
I sink into the pillows and close my eyes. Silence. I look up and he’s untangling one of the flat, red cargo straps dangling from the bedpost. He ties my wrists together with an evil grin. I smile and nod. He wraps the remainder of the cord around my ankles, pulls them to my wrists and hog-ties me on my back. He cinches the slack to the iron cross frame above my head and shoves a pillow under my butt. My hole is exposed, open, puckered, whatever. I’m a pretzel, not bad for my age, and almost embarrassed.
“Nice haole hairy hole,” he states matter-of-factly. He grabs a condom from the bedside table and lubes his dick and a few fingers. I again close my eyes.
A finger probes and enters, then two, then three. He chuckles.
“Could probably stick my whole hand up here.”
“It’s been done. Up to the elbow.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! So I don’t have to be gentle.”
“Well…”
He plunges in, and I swallow his fat dick. My cock rubs against his smooth chest. He’s fucking me, and I’m fucking the cleft between his pecs.
“Never done this before,” he gasps.
“Could’ve fooled me. Where’re you learn the rope trick?”
“Watched a few flicks. Now shut up, and screw, Puma!”
“Yes, Sir, boy!”
I have no choice, I can’t move. I revel in his having his way with me. Our eyes meet. Mine glisten over. Yeah, its good, it’s very, very good, I think. I tremble, almost shake, in my secure bondage. He smiles.
“Glad I can give you a good time, Puma. You deserve it, like, like…lots.”
Kalani wraps his arms around me, we can’t get any closer, can’t couple any tighter. We’re one sweaty ball. He wiggles and moans. He pauses, perhaps to savor the moment, his anticipation, his awe.
“Jesus, Puma, I love you,” he whispers. He comes in me—I feel his gentle shudders. But he doesn’t pull out. He massages my cock, and I groan and cover his throat with cum. He leans back.
“Mahalo for giving me this,” he says.
Who’s giving who what? I think.
“Thank you,” I manage to utter as he wipes off his neck.
Kalani unties me and we rest side by side, our inner hands clasped together. He looks over at me.
“You have a nice tan,” he says.
“Probably because I have a little Cherokee in me. Dad was from Georgia.”
“Holy shit! That sorta makes us, like, well, related?”
“Well, hardly.”
His kiss is slow but vigorous. Almost sucks the breath out of me.
“Will I see you again?” I ask.
“Oh, yes,” he answers. “Soon, very soon.” He pauses. “I’d like to give you a Hawaiian friendship bracelet.”
I sit up. “I’m honored, deeply honored. That’s, that’s very special.”
“Yeah, very. I’ll bring it over my next visit. Gotta get home now.”
Where? I wonder. And to whom? Well, no matter.
Kalani sits up and looks over his shoulder as he traipses to the living room. I follow. He gets dressed and I hold the door open. I trail him to his truck.
He punches me in the chest with his fist.
“Aloha, bro,” he says.
“Aloha,” I respond.
He hops in the cab. I watch my Hawaiian boy drive away, his left hand waving through the open window. I’m standing at the end of the walkway, naked, half hard. Jesus, what the hell would the Fed Ex driver think of this outfit?
In truth, I don’t care. I like showing off and look who it brought me today.
I stroll into the house.
CHISHOLM TRAIL BOYS
Dale Chase
We crossed three rivers on the Chisholm Trail while driving two thousand head of cattle from San Antonio to Abilene. Each time we got the herd across and settled, I allowed the men to bathe. At the Brazos River, two weeks out, we lay over a few days to rest both ourselves and the cattle as we had driven hard to tire them so they’d be more manageable. We also used this time to brand calves born along the way.
The men bathed in shifts as some were required to watch the herd and see to branding, thus five or six stripped naked and waded in. As trail boss, I was free to enjoy looking on, which I never failed to do as young cowboys are a pleasing sight.
I kept myself in the saddle since it would not do for the boss to splash about with his men, not to mention the embarrassment at having his dick stiff while among them. I always bathed later on, alone, and as I was heated up by then, I always pulled my dick and enjoyed a good come.
This trip was my eighth as trail boss and I had lost count of how many drives I’d ridden before that, not only on the Chisholm but the Western and Goodnight trails. I knew the territory well and enjoyed life in the open. As I was in charge of the whole operation, I decided every stop we made and spent much time scouting ahead for good grass and water. My second man had some authority and kept things going while I was absent. This fellow was Wiley Robbins, until he was thrown and broke his leg in so many places he quit and went to live with a sister in Illinois. A new second was with me now, Duane Shafter, a fine-looking fellow who, at thirty, was four years my junior. A skilled horseman, he was also good at settling disputes and teaching the new men our way of life. At the Brazos he rode up alongside me as I sat on my horse watching the men bathe. “A fine sight,” he said.
I had never spoken of my enjoyment at watching but Duane seemed a good sort so I agreed. “That it is.”
“Look at Lovell,” Duane countered. “I think he’s doing himself.”
Lovell, a striking Texan no more than eighteen, had a familiar arch to him and the water churned at his front, no doubt due to a hand active below the surface. I noted the fixed jaw of a man having a come and this stirred me to no end.
“If we were closer,” Duane noted, “I bet we could see spunk on the water.”
I looked at him then and he smiled most wickedly and rode off. This captured my attention but not enough to keep me from the men, who had little concern at the boss looking on.
Some washed themselves while others lazed about. A few got to splashing one another and I always liked this as it usually led to a tussle, which had a good chance of getting stiff cocks into view. Occasionally, a fellow would float on his back, dick up like a pole, and I would suffer such intense arousal I’d shift in the saddle to accommodate my hard cock.
This was our first full day at the Brazos River and, as it was late morning, the men in the water were the first shift. My vantage point was well up from the shore but I could see it all. When Lovell moved to the shallow, ready to get out, I became most attentive, knowing what he’d done to himself. The sight of his spent cock added to my pleasurable unrest. That he tugged it most absently as he stretched to the sun caused my mouth to dry out to such extent I sought my canteen. He stood dripping, allowing nature to dry him while calling out to the others, all laughing and cutting up. Then Neal Beck swam to the shallow and stood, his cock hard, and I wondered what he would do with it. I leaned forward as he began to work his dick without caring who saw. The other men ignored him, save for Lowell who, still drying, looked over to watch. Soon Beck was spewing come and I became so aroused I rode off to a secluded spot up river, got down off my horse, opened my pants to free my throbbing cock and took about three pulls before letting go a gusher.
I got back to camp in time for the cook to call out dinner and I ate sitting next to my second, speaking of our work until he turned the subject elsewhere. “Fine bunch of men,” he said. “Hard workers to a one. Striking bunch, too. Fine specimens of manhood.”
I did not know his purpose in such talk as my former second had never spoken this way. “Beck is especially fine bodied,” Duane went on. “Don’t you think?”
Here I felt somewhat ashamed, as I had feasted on Beck’s pulling his dick. “Yes,” I managed. “He is strong.”
“Well, that too.”
I finished my meal and rode out to look at the herd, which was well settled and munching grass. I spoke to a couple of the men on duty, reminding them they’d be relieved shortly to get their dinner and have a bath.
“Sounds good, Boss,” said Johnny Roop, a youngster of nineteen on his first drive. He rode drag behind the herd and ate more dust than the rest of us, thus I knew he’d appreciate washing it off. All cowboys started at the back and all discovered how much trail dirt can accumulate on a man. Laying over was a treat for these fellows and Roop was most happy at present. He was dark haired but fair skinned, looking untried in every aspect of life. I wanted very much to see him in the water, as a young dick is hard more than not.
When the shift had changed. I held myself back awhile as I did not want to appear eager. And holding back made it better as I thought on the naked men, Roop especially, washing himself, playing with a fresh pink cock. Finally I got back into the saddle and rode down to the river.
Six were in the water and two were up close to each other. One was Johnny Roop, whose gaze was fixed on Wes Flynn who was three years his senior. I knew Flynn as this was his fourth year with the outfit. He had a thick body, a big dick and was known to fuck anything that moved. As he spoke to Roop, the boy smiled. The two then moved to deeper water and I watched as Flynn got behind Roop, wrapped his arms around the boy and pulled him close. From their movements I knew they were fucking.
Roop wore a blissful expression as he took the big cock. Then one hand dropped down and I could see it working his own prick and churning the water. It took but a couple minutes for them to do it and I thought I would come in my pants at the sight. I did not notice my second riding up until the pair had parted. “Some fuck,” he said.
I wanted to agree but could not find words as it occurred to me only then that my new second had designs on me. I knew myself receptive but, much as I’d left come all up and down the Chisholm Trail, I had never fucked my second. Nor any of the hired men. I always cut loose at trail’s end in Abilene and there were some men back in Texas I did regular but on the trail I relieved my need by hand, what with being trail boss. It would not be good for the men to catch me fucking as this placed a man in vulnerable circumstances, I don’t care how big or how hard his dick. Now here was Duane making an advance when he knew me aroused at sight of the men.
“You like to watch,” I said to avoid what had become plain.
“No better sight than naked boys with hard dicks,” he said. “Best part of driving cattle.”
“I like to look,” I confessed.
“That all?”
“It wouldn’t do for the boss to get up to things.”
“Even if the men don’t know?”
Here I turned to him. “What are you up to?”
“Ride with me,” he said and he pulled his horse away and started up river. I looked back at the men lazing in the water. And I followed Duane.
He rode a short distance to a where a trail let to a rocky outcropping overlooking the water. On top was a roomy bluff of smooth stone. Duane hopped off his horse and tied it to a nearby tree, then squatted down to look upon the river. I watched him only a second before doing the same.
The men were a little ways off but the view remained good. I squatted beside Duane and together we looked on, the men now splashing one another, all of them at play. “I’d venture they’ll do more without you down there looking on,” Duane said.
“You think?”
“Well, looka that. Parsons keeps diving under at Zeder’s front. I’ll venture he’s sucking dick for as long as his breath holds out. Look how Zeder is pounding the water. Parsons is going to bring him off.”
Parsons then popped up and after some manipulation, began to hump his friend front to front. “Rubbing dicks,” Duane said. “Holy shit, I cannot stand it.” Here he stood and undid his pants, pushed them down along with his under drawers. His cock was stiff. “I’ll bend if you’ll do me,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll use my hand, but what’s the point of that as don’t tell me you’re not ready.”
I looked down at the humping men, then at Duane standing with his pants down and his dick out. And I did not have to weigh the situation. I bared my own necessities, turned and bent him, then shoved my prick up his butthole. As I had not had a proper fuck since we left Texas, I was most agitated at getting into another man and I rode him hard and quick to attain a powerful come. His knees nearly buckled as I emptied and I had to grab him at the waist to keep him from collapsing, but we managed and I spurted every drop I had into his passage. When I was done, I pulled out and stood breathless while he turned to me, prick still up. “Suck me,” he said and though I was still taking in breath to regain myself, I dropped to my knees and got my mouth onto him. He was ready to blow and I had but seconds of licking and pulling before he shot his stuff into my throat. I fed most eagerly as I liked to swallow a man’s cream and I kept on sucking until he went soft. Only then did I release him.
Soon as we parted, he looked down at the men. “All quiet now,” he said, “but still a sight.”
“Look at Parsons and Zeder lying on the bank,” I replied. “You know they’ll want to get at it again. If they go back into the water, it will be to fuck.”
We continued such conversation awhile, then lay down on the smooth rock so we could be comfortable together and keep looking. We did not pull up our pants and I got a hand on Duane’s dick, tugging as I lay behind him, my own cock parked at his rear. I knew we would need another go if we kept the current view.
A good hour had to have passed with no more action below than men rolling about in the water. Some even took time to wash themselves and we decided this was appealing as the men ran their hands over themselves at length. “They spend more time washing their dicks than anything,” Duane noted.
“Except their cracks,” I replied.
One fellow, I think it was Ames, had his legs spread and was washing just that place, running his fingers up and down until, I swear, he started to fuck himself. “Look, he’s got a finger in,” I said.
“Wishful thinking, Bud. He’s just washing.”
“The inside? Look closer. He’s spending way too much time in his butthole.”
“Maybe it’s full of spunk,” Duane ventured.
“Maybe it needs to be.”
We kept on like this, our talk downright filthy, which got me stiff again. “Ease back,” I told him and as he pushed against me I got my prick up him. We then lay watching the men and fucking at the same time and I shot another load while he worked his cock to spew onto the rock. After this, I said we had best get back. “Not good for first and second to be absent too long.”
Back in camp we separated and kept well apart the rest of the day. The last shift of bathers hit the water after supper as it was a warm night. Dusk was already upon us but there was still enough light for me to get a good look as I especially wanted to see Dobson, who stood well over six feet and carried a bulge in his pants. Sure enough, he stripped to reveal a horse cock and I could not tell if it had a natural girth or was starting to get hard. Either way, I was most impressed and wished Duane was beside me so we could comment.
Much as I thought about making up a double bedroll with Duane, as men sometimes did, I made myself act like we had not gotten up to anything. As I lay under the stars, I could not help but handle my dick as I recalled both the sight of the naked men and the feel of fucking my second. I had a good idea he was occupied much the same.
“How long we gonna lay over?” the cook asked me when a week had passed at the Brazos. Though many of the men chose not to bathe every day, enough did to make watching a pleasure. Duane and I did so to excess, both while on our horses at the river and also while fucking like rabbits atop that bluff. In such circumstance, I did not want to move on yet knew we had lost enough time. The calves were branded, the cattle docile, and a long road lay ahead. “Tomorrow,” I told the cook.
He studied me which I did not especially like as cooks tend to be good judges of men. On the other hand, if he found out I’d been at Duane, he would hold the confidence. Still, I did not want my dick business known to anyone but the man I was putting it to.
Since I’d trapped myself into breaking camp next day, I told Duane the decision, then rode ahead to scout our next stop. I sent Duane to a farm I knew to trade a calf for whatever vegetables and fruit the farmer might spare. This was common practice on the trail and, as we had a surplus of calves, it helped the farmer as much as us. As I did my scouting while already knowing the next likely stop, I thought about the men back in the water, picturing them all standing in a row pulling their dicks for me while I fucked Duane on the shore. This got me so worked up that when I stopped at a creek to water my horse, I got out my prick and pulled it to release. I then went on to the planned location and, finding it agreeable, rode back to camp.
That afternoon I rode down to the river to see what was about and found four men circled in shallow water, all working their pricks as if in competition. Backs were arched, legs were spread, and it was a sight to behold. And there was Duane on his horse, watching the show.
“Look at them, seeing who can shoot the most.”
“Like to be in that circle with my mouth open,” I ventured. Just then three other men came down to the shore and shucked their clothes. “Let’s go up to the bluff,” I suggested. “I need to get at you.”
“Suits me fine since this is likely our last.”
“Until I find us a spot on the Cimarron.”
This was our next river to cross and therefore the next place for the men to wash. It would take several days to get there so I wanted to get at Duane good and long. He turned his horse and started up river and I followed, my prick already getting hard.
