Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

Rodeo Bob was on his back on his bed and Howling Hank was saddled on his cock and riding it—and doing a little howling, unrestricted by any thought that anyone could hear them, because the wagon sat on a flatbed railcar riding the rails overnight between Laramie and Fort Collins.

The older man was holding HH by the waist and slamming him up and down on his cock. His head was turned to the side, his eyes focusing on nothing until he saw the slight movement in the door under the counter across from the bed as it opened a crack and then closed and then opened again. It registered in RB's brain that this wasn't natural. Once the door had opened, it should just swing open and move with the lurching movement of the train. It didn't. And what should be in that cabinet—a chamber pot and piss bowl and a stack of towels—were sitting on the floor of the wagon. They were lurching from side to side, with the porcelain bowl in imminent danger of being shattered. The perilous bowl clicked with him first; the opening and closing cabinet door only later. He leaped from the bed, pushing an "ooofing" Hank aside; held the bowl steady with one hand; and opened the cabinet with the other to return it to where it belonged.

"What the fuck?" he and Hank exclaimed almost in unison.

Kit was folded up into a tight ball inside the cabinet. It was only with effort that Rodeo Bob managed to haul him out of there. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"You gave me a ticket to the rodeo in Fort Collins," Kit answered sheepishly. "And I was told this here train was going to Fort Collins."

Rodeo Bob laughed and Hank gave a snort from behind him. The two were horny in an interrupted way, and were frisky to boot.

"Well, you gotta earn your ride to Fort Collins, boy," Rodeo Bob said.

Kit didn't seem to object, although he got in a lot more howling than Hank did.

Rodeo Bob settled on his back on the bed again, and Kit was set down on his cock, facing him. They really started going to town, though, when Howling Hank crouched down behind Kit over Bob's thighs, pushed Kit forward onto Bob's chest and worked his cock in above Rodeo Bob's inside Kit's channel.

They fucked him good and for nearly an hour together as the lurching of the train and monotonous clack, clack, clack of the rails they went over helped with the rhythm of the fuck.

In the morning, as the wagons were being taken off the flatbeds in Fort Collins, Rodeo Bob sat up on the edge of the bed and scratched his balls languidly. Howling Hank was already gone. Curled up on the floor, though, was Kit. Bob nudged him with his foot.

"Gotta get up, kid. We'll put you on a train back to Laramie. Sorry about last night. We got carried away." He didn't sound sorry, though. He sounded quite self-satisfied.

Kit sat up on the floor and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "I don't want to go back to Laramie. I want to stay here with you. And you gave me a ticket to the rodeo here."

"How old are you, kid?"

"Nineteen."

"Don't look like it, but I'll take your word for it. No parents looking for you in Laramie?" The young guy looked good naked, even in the daylight streaming through the wagon windows. He'd been a good, willing fuck last night. Weird about doubling him, but he'd gone with it.

"Raised in an orphanage. Can I stay here with you?" Kit was looking up at Rodeo Bob with eyes full of worship.

Bob fucked him again on the bed, with Kit on his back, and Bob laying on him between Kit's spread thighs and Kit rubbing the heels of his feet on Bob's calves. He was as good a fuck one on one as he had been as a double.

"We could see if Stan can find a job for you. But you can't stay in this wagon."

"Why can't I stay with you?"

"Hank sleeps in here with me most nights."

"But there are other times, other nights?"

"Yep, there are."

Stan, who was the manager of the rodeo, was happy to sign on another hand when Kit didn't balk at feeding and cleaning up after horses.

"We always seem to have need for help, especially working with the animals," he said. "Gotta find me a second ringmaster too. It's about to wear me out with all the rest I have to do. You look fit, but I don't want to take on anyone who is going to be more trouble with sickness than help. Go see Doc Pender. Tell him I want him to look you over real good. A job here depends on him saying you're fit."

Kit worried about that on the way to the doctor's wagon. He sure wanted to be fit. He didn't want to go back to Laramie. He wanted to be close to Rodeo Bob. He wanted to be declared fit. And he wanted to use that free ticket to the rodeo here in Fort Collins. No one bothered to tell him that employees of the rodeo got in free.

Doc Pender gave him a complete examination, with Kit stripped down to his birthday suit. So impressed with the young man's physical conditioning was the doctor that his hands were trembling as he felt and probed, and his cock was hard and throbbing. Kit was squatting down on the back edge of the bed in the doctor's wagon, his fists pressed into the bed in front of him, leaning a bit forward. The doctor was standing close behind him, supporting Kit with a hand on his belly and listening to his heart beat through a stethoscope pressed between Kit's shoulder blades.

"Am I OK?" Kit asked for the fourth time. "Gotta have you say I'm fit for me to get this job." This was the sixth time he'd mentioned that.

"Am I embarrassing you, young man?" the doctor asked. "You seem to be tense. You've gotten hard, I see. That's a good sign of health in a young man, though."

"Naw. It's just that Mr. Lattimore, he puts me like this a lot when he fucks me. I'm just anxious that you tell them I'm fit to work here."

Doc Pender took in a gulp of breath at the casual way the young man had talked about being fucked. He dropped his stethoscope, which was on a string around his neck, so it didn't hit the floor, and his hand went to his crotch, where his cock was painfully pushing at the material inside his fly. He unbuttoned the fly and let the cock flop out, fully erect.

"If . . . if you let me pretend to be Mr. Lattimore, I'll tell them you're fit," he whispered into Kit's ear.

"OK, that's good," Kit answered cheerily, happy he could work here—and would get to use his ticket to the rodeo in Fort Collins. "But you don't have to pretend you're Mr. Lattimore. You can fuck me as you; that's OK."

With a little laugh and a sigh, the doctor pushed Kit farther forward, with Kit's fists pressing into the bed farther up toward the head, and started to work his cock into Kit's hole. Kit grunted a bit, but the cock went in without too much difficulty. The kid had fucked often and quite recently too, the doctor realized. He was still open. He was still wet inside. Someone had fucked him right before he came here.

The doctor lost all inhibitions and plowed Kit hard and deep to an ejaculation.

Kit just grunted and groaned and took it. Afterward, with the doctor still embracing him closely and letting his cock go flaccid in his own cum and that of at least one other up in Kit's channel, Kit asked his important and hopeful question again.

"So, you're gonna tell them I'm fit to work here?"

"I'll tell them that if you sleep here in my wagon with me while we're traveling."

Kit gave no consideration to the fact that the doctor had told him yes before, even without that stipulation. He was more happy that the dilemma of where he was going to sleep—although that was really the hiring manager's problem, not his—was so easily solved after Rodeo Bob had said Kit couldn't sleep with him.

"OK," he said, as if the doctor had solved his problems rather than raised other ones. Kit really wanted to be with the rodeo to be close to Rodeo Bob. It didn't occur to him that moving into the doctor's wagon would mark him in the rodeo community as being the property of the doctor.

"You understand what I mean by sleeping in my wagon with me, don't you kit?"

"Yes, I think so. It means you're going to fuck me in your bed but then not make me sleep on the floor."

"Oh, jesuzzz, Mary, and Jehovah," Pender exclaimed.