Chapter Three
Mischief
After a long day’s riding, we came upon a promising spot at the edge of a mountain stream, in the thick of some brush.
We watered and fed the horses, took a quick dip ourselves and sat down to eat some of the beef jerky, bread and cheese that we’d brought with us.
Tomorrow I’d see if I could hunt us a rabbit or a fox for some fresh meat, but this was good enough for our first night.
I brought out the whiskey.
This time we had two tin cups—one for each of us—and after I poured us each a dram, I proposed a toast.
“To what, Jimmy? To having to leave our nice home and worry about a friend in trouble?”
“Oscar, I know things ain’t perfect right now, and we’re heading away from a place of safety and friendship, but”—I settled a hand on his knee and gazed into his dark eyes, where the reflection of the campfire’s flames leapt and twisted, while owls hooted and frogs chirped, and the comforting smell of wood smoke surrounded us—“we’re together, and that’s what counts.
When I met you in Dawson, I expected to spend a day or two with you, then see you off with a full belly and a good sight cleaner, but I never expected what happened. ”
Oscar gave me a leer as he was reminded of that fateful morning.
“You never expected to wake up with your cock in my mouth.”
I blushed, still conflicted about it. I’d not known Oscar’s age at the time, and I’d suspected he might be awful young.
Yet, I’d not protested when he’d thanked me the only way he knew how, and that had led to other questionable but thrillin’ things.
He’d told me later he was twenty-one, a fact I’d accepted at face value with relief, e’en thought he didn’t look it.
And not too long ago he’d admitted that he didn’t exactly know the year he was born, so how could he even know how old he was?
Oscar was a man, sure enough, but he was a young one, and eight months ago when I’d hauled him o’er my lap and spanked him for kicks, he’d been even younger.
“No, I didn’t. Not at all.”
Oscar chuckled. “Didn’t take you long to adjust, though.”
I raised my eyebrows at him and sipped my whiskey, enjoying the burn as the amber liquid slid down my throat.
“That’s a fact, though it ate at me for a few days. I didn’t rightly know what had happened.”
“Well, I did. I’d woke you up to what you wanted…and needed. And I’d only hoped ’twas me and not simply the fun of bein’ with any other man.”
I smiled and cupped his chin. “Oh, ’twas you all right. I suppose I might have figured it out eventually with someone else, but I’m glad ’twas you who did the deed. I thank God every day for sending you to me and giving me a chance to do the right thing.”
We sat gazing into the fire and remembering those early days of insatiable passion.
Oscar cleared his throat. “You, uh, you…remember how you laid me o’er your saddle that time, when we’d barely started out?”
At those words, my cock, which was already half-hard, went to a full stand in about three seconds, and I nodded.
“I think so.”
Oscar gaped. “You think so?”
I grinned wide at his outrage, but I had a plan.
“You tell me what I did, if you remember it so good.”
An expression of understanding dawned on his features, and he grinned.
“Oh, well, I-I remember eating that roasted fox, what tasted so good. And I might have made more of a mess with it than I needed to, because I wanted—”
Oscar licked his lips, eyeing me up and down.
“—because I wanted you to start thinkin’ of other places I’d put my mouth and slobbered.”
I gaped at him. “Why, you little devil. I thought you were just real hungry and messy.”
His grin widened. “Well, I was hungry—but not only for the meat on that bone.”
My breaths sounded loud now, and I shook my head in disbelief.
“You had me all figured out, I guess.”
“I thought I did. I didn’t think about the saddle .”
I grunted. “Hmm. Good thing I got a practical side and a healthy imagination.” I tapped my finger against my forehead.
Oscar’s face went sober, and his eyes lit up with the fire I knew so well.
“You got the best imagination, Jimmy. I loved that so much.”
“I know,” I said, smiling. “Me, too.”
We sat there, caught up in remembering, both of us aroused and wanting.
“Jimmy, I wanna do that again.”
I almost choked on the whiskey I’d sipped. “You do?”
“Yeah. Only, which saddle would be more comfortable? Dixie’s or Onyx’s?”
I stared at him, holding my tin cup in trembling fingers, but amused all o’er again. “Which saddle would be more comfortable? ”
Oscar frowned and rubbed his chin. “I figure maybe we should use Dixie’s saddle, since that was the one from before.”
I stood, and Oscar followed me with his eyes.
“Or is it because you don’t want to mess Onyx’s fine saddle with three loads of sorry spunk?”
Oscar’s eyes went wide, and a shudder went through his whole body.
“Three?” he whispered with a reverential air.
“Isn’t that what I said, son?” I used my sternest voice to give him what he wanted.
“Yes , sir.”
I nodded. “Now you go get Dixie’s saddle and lay it out here by the fire. Not too close, ’cause I reckon we’ll be providin’ our own heat.”
Oscar scrambled up and strode to where I had laid Dixie’s saddle. He picked it up, along with the saddle blanket, and brought it o’er to a spot I indicated, where we’d be close enough to the fire to be warm but far enough not to worry about getting scorched. At least, not by the campfire.
“Now what?” he asked, breathing hard from exertion and a different kind of hunger.
I gestured in an offhand way. “Take your trousers down. I won’t make you go buck naked, ’cause it’s a mite chilly still, and I reckon it’s more scandalous if you’re half dressed, anyhow.”
Oscar’s mouth quirked into a grin.
“Oh, it is, Jimmy. It is,” he said, pushing his suspenders off his shoulders and shoving his trousers down to his calves, then unbuttoning his drawers and pushing them down, too. I’d persuaded him to wear underthings on our journey, to protect against chafing and keep him warm enough at night.
I let my gaze run o’er him, feeling the desire surge in my gut. “Look at that silly little thing, tryin’ to stand tall but lookin’ small still. It ain’t nothin’ but a nubby.”
Oscar closed his eyes and made a sound like he was in Heaven itself. “Oh, God.”
“Now you turn around, go down on your knees and bend yourself o’er that saddle.”
Oscar’s forehead creased like he couldn’t handle the way he was feeling, but he turned around and did as I’d told him, like the very good boy he always was for me—at least when it came to personal handling. This was about the only time he didn’t give me cheek, and I was thankful for it.
And there he was, laid out for me on the smooth, hard leather, with his elbows in the dirt and his shoulders tense under his shirt.
I nudged between his knees with the toe of my boot, none too gently.
“Spread ’em. You know how.”
“Yes, sir,” he panted, moving his knees wider, the dark cleft between his cheeks beckoning me with promised pleasure.
“Now, you’ve been a good boy, Oscar, but I reckon you need to be shown your place still, don’t you?”
His breath caught and he jerked. “Yes, sir. I reckon so.”
“Oh, I know so,” I said, kneeling down behind him and running a palm o’er his fleshy bottom—a good deal plumper than it had been when I’d done this the first time.
I’d succeeded in putting more meat on his skinny bones and now he was perfect—not fat in the least, but filled out and muscled properly, like a grown man should be.
He’d blossomed and bloomed in my care, and I couldn’t help feeling a bit puffed up about it.
If I’d done one thing to make up for my sorry life as an outlaw, it was this.
But ’twasn’t the time for maudlin emotion, so I tamped those feelings down and got to business.
“You ready?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, with a hiccupped breath of anticipation.
“All right. You say your word if you need to.”
“I won’t.”
“You might.”
He gave a small laugh and nodded in obedience.
But when I brought my hand down on his right buttock, he gasped. “Oh…Jimmy!”
“You like that?”
“Yes,” he hissed. “Oh, yes.”
I slapped the other cheek, causing a similar reaction. I went back and forth, taking my time and being casual about it, so he didn’t know when another was coming. And in between, I’d tickle the inside of his thigh or run a finger down his crack, until he could barely contain himself.
“Oh my God. Oh fuck! Oh fuck .”
“You’re a good boy, Oscar Yates.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And I’m gonna reward you for bein’ so good.”
“Please, oh, please. Sir!” His breaths were ragged in his throat, he widened his stance, and I couldn’t hold off anymore.
I fucked him o’er my saddle then, using the grease I’d set beside us, easing into him like ’twas my mission in life, which it felt like ’twas, to be honest. A deep, intense groan tore outta him and echoed in the darkness like the cry of a wild animal.
And he was wild, my Oscar—wild and free and beautiful.
After I spent inside him, I turned him o’er and sucked his cock like ’twas all I’d ever wanted, as he splayed out with his arms on either side and his face turned up to the stars.
His head and shoulders rested on the saddle as he lay there, his chest rising and falling with his slowing breaths—a willing sacrifice to my hunger and my worship.
When we’d recovered, I crawled forward so I hovered o’er my precious boy, and I leaned down and kissed his forehead, what was slicked with a sheen of sweat and sparkling in the moonlight.
“I love you so much. You’re mine and I’m yours, and nobody’s ever gonna part us.”
His eyes opened and he gazed at me, lying there all wrecked and well-fucked. He quirked his lips into a lazy smile.
“Yes, sir, I am. And you’re mine. And I ain’t never leaving you.”