Mascot

The young man looked familiar. It was only after searching his brain that Chief realized he’d seen him out at the Loredo Ranch—a place where men went to meet other men and maybe to get a little action. Most of the guys at the firehouse liked to go out there. They were comfortable with each other—having the same interest bonded the men into a good firefighting team. They were considered the best in the region. They all kept in good shape, which encouraged appreciating the bodies of other men, and they backed each other well—and you could say they backed each other up real close. But there was no particular need for the other firehouses to know why they jelled as well as they did.

For the life of him, however, Chief couldn’t remember in what capacity he’d seen the young Hispanic man at the ranch. Chief certainly hadn’t paid for time with the guy there. Although he would have been happy to. He was a real sweet piece of tail. And those doe eyes of his. Chief ducked back into the firehouse and continued the inventory he was taking of the equipment—a job he performed every three days to make sure that everything was right there where it might be needed in an emergency.

Chief fantasized about latching his eyes onto those of the young Hispanic’s while he was fucking him—watching the change of expression on the guy’s face when he realized that he was being mined deeper than usual and that the man riding him had the stamina to fuck him into the ground. Firefighting made a MAN of a man. Chief liked to watch for the point at which the guy he was fucking realized that—and realized that he was in for one royal fucking.

An hour later and the guy was still there. Chief thought that showed a remarkable stamina itself, as the day was scorching hot and the Hispanic guy had been out in the sun for hours just from the time Chief had first seen him.