Chapter 1 – Chapter 1

Lattimore stopped at corner of the cookhouse as he was crossing from the main house of his ranch outside Laramie, Wyoming, to the corral to train the quarter horse he'd bought on the last cattle drive to Omaha. He leaned on a fence and watched young Kit chopping wood. The young man was stripped to the waist while he chopped.

Bulking up real good, Lattimore thought. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to agree to give him a job out of that special school in Rawlins. Kit was slow of thought and Lattimore had been afraid that he'd be more of a hindrance than help around the ranch. But he sure was a looker. And with the two months of manual chores under his belt since he'd gotten to the ranch, he was shaping up to be a hunk of a good looker.

Kit looked up and saw Lattimore looking at him and gave him a shy smile. "Hi there, Mr. Lattimore."

"You pay attention to what you're doin' there, boy," Lattimore said gruffly. "You slice that ax in your leg, and it will be a long, painful ride into the doctor's in Laramie."

The gruffness didn't bother Kit. Gruffness was pretty much all he'd faced in life so far, and he knew Mr. Lattimore didn't mean it. He had reason to believe that Mr. Lattimore liked him—a lot.

"You still taking me with you to the rodeo down in Cheyenne tomorrow, Mr. Lattimore? You said you would. You still taking me?"

Kit had a puppy dog look about him. Lattimore could almost see the tail wagging. And Kit had a very nice tail. Still, Lattimore gritted his teeth. Kit had asked for the same reassurance three times a day for the last week, ever since Lattimore had said he'd take him. He looked around to see if any of the other hands were about. None were. They all were supposed to be off at far corners of the ranch today anyway. He looked back at Kit.

"Well, that depends, Kit. It depends on how nice you can be to me today."

"I can be real nice to you today, Mr. Lattimore. Does this mean you want us to go into the house now?"

"Yes, Kit, this means I want us to go into the house now." The quarter horse could wait, Lattimore thought. His current need couldn't. Kit looked damn good stripped to the waist with his new muscles rippling from chopping that wood.

Kit sucked him about to bursting, kneeling between his knees as he sat on the end of his bed.

"Enough, Kit. Want you to ride it now. Ride it and think about that rodeo in Cheyenne tomorrow."

Kit stood, unbuckled and unbuttoned his trousers, let them drop to the floor, and kicked them away. He stood there, looking shy, waiting for instructions.

"Want you to sit on it right here, Kit. Knees up on the bed."

Kit went up on the bed, crouched over Lattimore's sitting body, and slid his knees past Lattimore's buttocks on either side.

"Sit on it now, boy. Think about the rodeo. Pretend you're on a bucking bull. Bounce on it. Yes . . . yes . . . yes!"

Lattimore grabbed Kit's waist to keep the young man from careening off onto the floor and grunted while Kit groaned at the effort to fuck himself on Lattimore's tool. Lattimore pressed his face between Kit's pecs, sniffed in the scent of honest-work in the youthful sweat, and tongued the young man's pecs and nipples while he waited for his send off.

Later, in the night, Lattimore entered the small lean-to shed built against the side of the barn, where Kit's sleeping pallet was located.

Kit was lying, naked, on his belly, softly snoring. He woke, still drowsy, as Lattimore lowered himself at full stretch on Kit's back, fingers that he'd greased before entering the shed going to Kit's hole. With a groan, Kit automatically spread his legs and moved the top of his feet to lay on top of the backs of Lattimore's ankles. Lattimore had already been here several times since Kit had arrived on the ranch. Kit at first had worried about this special attention Lattimore gave him—but he had settled down to accepting it in exchange for how nice they had been to him on the ranch. A couple of the other ranch hands had been nice to him too—as nice as Lattimore was being.

The fingers were exchanged for something bigger, thicker, and Kit groaned and whispered, "Mr. Lattimore."

"Shush, Kit. Just lie there and take it. Think about the rodeo we're going to tomorrow. Think of yourself as a bull. A big, sexy bull. And I'm the rodeo rider. You can buck your butt like the bull, if you like. Yes, like that. That's nice. That's so nice."

Lattimore leaned over Kit's back, pressing the heels of his hands into Kit's shoulder blades, and raised a bit up on his knees, because, from the power of suggestion, Kit had gotten into the rodeo image Lattimore had woven and was bouncing his pelvis up to Lattimore's groin now, stroking himself on the cock Lattimore had buried in his channel. He was doing most of the work of the fuck.

"Wooeee!" Lattimore exclaimed, as Kit bucked underneath him. "Ride 'em cowboy. Ain't we havin' us a barrel of fun now! We got our own rodeo right here."