The Apache horse trainer, Tarak, young, tall, muscular, the long, black hair on his head flowing about him as he moved, danced around the palomino stallion, Diablo, in the corral at Clyde Daniels’ Almost Heaven ranch outside Albuquerque. Stan Jordan and his eighteen-year-old son, Jamie, eyed the handsome Apache as they rode up on their horses, one of which was the mare Daniels had agreed to let his prize stallion cover. The Jordan ranch lay a two-hours horse ride north along the banks of the Rio Grande River in the New Mexico Territory toward Santa Fe. The Daniels and Jordan families had been among the longest present ranchers in the territory and often socialized and traded livestock.
“Diablo has been rip snorting all day,” Daniels said, as Jordan and his son, a handsome, well-formed blond youth, dismounted. “I think he’s more than ready to go. Why don’t you put your mare in with him right off and we’ll see if he’ll perform.”
“Sounds good to me, Clyde,” the older Jordan answered.
Daniels smiled at the younger Jordan, “I’m glad you came along, Jamie. It’s been too long since I’ve had the pleasure.”
Jamie smiled back, knowing what Clyde Daniels meant by that and hoping, certainly, that his father did not. But his father hadn’t seemed to notice anything going on between his boy and the neighboring rancher since they started up with each other shortly after Jamie turned eighteen. Clyde Daniels was a single man. There was a very good reason for that. He was a wealthy, handsome, large-boned, virile man of commanding presence in his forties who attracted many of the few available women in the region in 1881, but he was having none of that.
Daniels called over to Tarak to hold Diablo while they opened the gate to put the mare inside and then to stand aside to see if and how soon nature would take its course.
“Even if it takes right away,” Daniels said to Stan, “we should leave them together until later this afternoon. Diablo’s good for several covers in a day and the more he breeds your mare the more likely it will take.”
“Sounds about right,” Jordan said. “That’s why I brought Jamie along. I have to get back to the ranch, but he can stay and ride the mare back later this afternoon.”
Daniels smiled. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, and, indeed, it did set really well with his own plans. He had been scheming how to get the younger Jordan separated from the elder and Stan had played directly into his intent.
As the mare, skittish and trembling, entered the corral and Diablo took notice and began to snort and hoof the ground, the Apache horse trainer went over to the side and perched on the fence, observing and ready to intervene if need be. The three others lined up on another side of the fence, Daniels between the two Jordans, to watch.
It wasn’t long before Diablo had nudged the mare out into the center of the corral and was moving around her. And it wasn’t too long after that that the mare, trembling but holding steady, legs splayed and head hanging in submission, was being mounted from the rear. A huge, pinkish shaft was unreeling itself from underneath the stallion’s hindquarters, and as the stallion covered the mare, his front legs hugging her flanks, and the men all watching closely, the shaft found position and penetrated, moving deep. throbbing, the mare’s flanks pulsating. The mare whinnied but held and the stallion snorted, moving deep inside her, pumping her full of his cum. Those watching could almost discern the rhythm of the release by the rippling of her flanks. It scared her, but she was in season. She wanted it.
Stan didn’t notice, but as the deed was being done, Daniels moved a hand to cup one of Jamie’s butt cheeks and squeeze. The young man didn’t move away from the hand, but Daniels might have had a little concern to have observed that Jamie’s gaze went from the stallion covering the mare to the young Apache sitting on the fence. Tarak was bare-chested, his musculature very fine and bronzed, and otherwise was only covered in low-hanging buckskin pants, with moccasins on his feet. As much of a stud stallion as Diablo was in his own realm, Tarak was a magnificent example of young male flesh, not more than twenty-five and in his prime. Sensing he was being spied upon, he turned his eyes toward the younger Jordan and smiled. Jamie smiled back.
Thus far it only had been the older, albeit quite fit, Clyde Daniels for Jamie and then only on a couple of occasions because of the miles of separation between spreads. The young man had lost his virginity—recently and willingly—to the man in a hay shed during a dance after a barn raising just south of Albuquerque, both men more than half drunk, Jamie ripe and ready. All it took was for the big, overpowering rancher to embrace the smaller guy, standing and swaying against each other, with Clyde freeing and frotting their cocks. When Jamie was panting and virtually begging for it, Clyde bent him over a hay bale and mounted and fucked his virginity out of him.
A few months later now, and after three sessions under Daniels, Jamie was ready to try out a younger, even more fit model. A couple of men in the region had made their interest obvious, but none of them stood out. Apaches intrigued him, not least because the mixing of the races was quite taboo in the New Mexico Territory at the time. Going with men wasn’t unthinkable, there still being a dearth of women in the territory, but an Apache who covered a white man was begging for a lynching. That didn’t, of course, lessen Jamie’s interest at all.
Having seen the young Apache, Tarak, at the Daniels’ ranch now had Jamie fairly panting.
Diablo was only mounted on the mare for a few minutes before he came off, leaving the quaking mare, legs splayed, holding steady in the center of the ring. Snorting and tossing his glorious blond mane, the gorgeous Palomino cantered around the corral, moving in circles around the mare. The mare, still shuddering a bit, remained standing in the middle of the corral. The stallion obviously was feeling his oats. He pranced and cantered and tossed his mane and it wasn’t long until he was behind the mare again, rising up on top of her from the rear, hugging her flanks between his forelegs, rolling out his huge shaft again, penetrating her and, with a gentle rocking motion, pumping her with his cum again.
The stallion was all proud business and the mare was holding for it.
“Well, if that don’t do it, I don’t know what will,” Daniels said when Diablo came off the mare. “Why don’t you men come in for a drink before you have to ride out, Stan? I’ve got some mighty fine whiskey—and I think we can find something to refresh Jamie with too.” He was talking to the elder Jordan, but his eyes were on the withering pink rod of the stallion, the last of its cum dribbling onto the ground.
Daniels knew he had the right to think of himself as a stallion in his own right. And a tasty little mare had been brought to him today. He had covered the young man in three different positions. For each fucking, their time and opportunity had been limited. He was already contemplating how he could do him—and how many times—when they were free with time and opportunity. He wanted Jamie naked and writhing under him.
Jamie looked sharply between Daniels and his father. He had no doubt what Daniels was thinking of refreshing him with. He had felt the trembling and rhythmic squeezing of the man’s hand on his butt while they were watching Diablo’s shaft throb and move inside the mare.
“Sounds good and then I’d best get back on the trail,” Stan Jordan said.
An hour later, Daniels and Jamie were standing close together on the ranch house porch, watching Stan Jordan ride off. Daniels was waving with one hand and squeezing one of Jamie’s butt cheeks with the other. The further away Jordan rode, the more intimate Daniels became, moving his hand up and then under the back of the waistband of Jamie’s jeans and then moving a finger down into the young man’s crack, reaching for and finding his hole. Jamie sighed and leaned closer into the much bigger man’s side.
“Let’s get you in the house and on your back,” Daniels growled, leaving no doubt what the next chore for the day was. “I’m horny as hell,” he added.
In the nearby corral, Diablo was mounted on the mare again, gently rocking, breeding her again. Tarak was sitting on the fence. He wasn’t watching Diablo covering the mare, though, he was looking at the porch, not a bit fooled by what Daniels was doing. Jamie, panting and moaning low, was looking at the Apache hunk looking at him.
Forty-five minutes later, when Tarak came off the fence, sauntered over to the side of the house, and looked in Daniels’s bedroom window, he wasn’t the least surprised to see the willowy, smooth-skinned, perfectly formed, naked body of Jamie lying on his back on the bed, his legs raised and spread, and Clyde Daniels, bare-chested, his pants flared and hanging low on his legs, hovering between the young man’s thighs. Jamie’s fingernails were dug in the man’s bulging biceps. Daniels’s fists were planted in the bedspread on either side of the submissive’s shoulders. His pelvis was moving forward and back and his plump butt cheeks were contracting and releasing, as he was doing to sweet-lay, eighteen-year-old Jamie what Diablo was doing to the mare out in the corral.
Daniels moved an arm under the young man’s waist, raising Jamie’s pelvis toward him. He grabbed the ankle of the youth’s leg on the side away from the window and raised and spread the leg, giving him deeper access into Jamie’s channel and exposing his ass so that Tarak could clearly see the root of the thick, pulsating cock working the small, puckering hole. It seemed impossible for Jamie’s hole to take the cock of that size, but it did.
Jamie lay there, docilely, one hand palming the man’s hirsute, bulging chest and the other stroking himself off. His head was turned toward the window, a dreamy, slightly pained expression on his face. He was staring directly at where Tarak was positioned, watching the fuck. It was unclear whether or not the young man could see the Apache watching him being covered.
Daniels went into overdrive with the pistoning. Jamie rocking violently with him in the thrusting. Two more minutes of this and both man and young man gave a cry, and Jamie had been breeded.
The two collapsed together on the bed, in a close embrace. The man covered the young man with kisses, as he recovered his vitality. They fondled each other and murmured whatever it was they were sharing. After several minutes, the man rose, standing on the floor at the end of the bed, turned Jamie over onto his belly, his legs dangling toward the floor, mounted him from above and behind, and began the fuck all over again. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, the man fucked Jamie two more times in the afternoon before releasing him to ride the mare home. Tarak managed to watch each fucking.
* * * *
Jamie lay, in the night, in his own bed, unable to go to sleep. He was panting low, his mind racing. He thought of the breeding of the mare by the stallion, Diablo, earlier that day, of the stallion mounting the patient, willing, but trembling mare, the gigantic, pinkish shaft rolling out and entering, entering, entering her, and then both of them, holding there, shimmering, her flanks pulsating, as Diablo breeded her, pumping her full of his cum. And then doing it again and then again.
He shuddered and shimmered. His hand glided down his willowy, naked torso, to his smooth pubes, grasping his already engorged cock, and slow stroking it. He wasn’t really thinking about horses, though. His thoughts were going to Mr. Daniels. It was the fourth time the man had fucked him. He had fucked him real good this time, the opportunity being there to take their time and not be discovered by Jamie’s father. He had laid him out, manipulating him into different positions, and Mr. Daniels had fucked him again and again. The man had breeded him four times over the afternoon, just like Jamie had seen the stallion do with the mare. When Jamie had come out of the ranch house at last to take the mare home, Diablo was on top of her again—and she was patiently holding as he pumped her full of his cum.
Mr. Daniels was a stallion. He was big, hairy, and heavy, and he was strong. He had some fat, but most of him was muscle. He snorted and grunted as he fucked, but he stretched and filled Jamie, making him feel fully possessed and wanted. Jamie knew they’d do it again if and when they could meet. And Jamie would do it with others as well. This is how he wanted to do it—with men, being mastered by men.
He was panting and moving, arching his back, doing a slow writhe as he went harder and harder and the juices swelled within him. Inevitably when thinking of others, men more beautiful and younger than Mr. Daniels, the face of the Apache horse trainer, Tarak, spiraled up into his mind, filling his consciousness. Tarak sitting on the fence, his bronzed chest magnificent, an intriguing bulge at his crotch. Was he hung like the horse? Tarak following the cantering Diablo around the corral, Tarak’s silky black, straight hair swirling around his handsome head just as the blond mane of the magnificent palomino, Diablo, swirled around his. The size of the horse’s shaft. Imagining Tarak having a huge one too. Tarak looking at him, undressing him with his eyes.
Jamie’s heart was racing, his body was moving, his hand was beating his cock faster and faster. He gave a little cry as he fired off and then collapsed back on the bed with a deep sigh.
It was then and only then that he realized he wasn’t alone. The moonlight streaming in the now-open window silhouetted the figure of a man—a muscular, body beautiful man. Tarak, the Apache, was standing over the bed, looking down at him. He had unbuttoned his fly and was flaring his pants, releasing his erection.
Yes, he was hung huge, just like Diablo was. More than Mr. Daniels was. He was all hard muscle. He was stripping the pants off.
Jamie opened his mouth to cry out in shock, but Tarak was covering his mouth and nose with a strong hand, cutting off the cry and the young man’s breath at the same time.
Jamie had called out the Apache’s name while Tarak was standing there. Tarak knew who Jamie was having a wet dream for.
The naked Apache came up on the bed on his knees, pulling Jamie off his back and turning him onto his belly. All the time he was controlling the youth’s breathing with a hand over his mouth and nose. He would release the hold for a few seconds to allow Jamie to gulp in air but not long enough for him to cry out. Running the other arm under the young man’s waist, the Apache pulled Jamie up onto his knees.
There had been no preliminary preparation with Diablo and the mare. The stallion had just circled her a few times, gotten behind her, mounted her, and breeded her. There was no preliminary preparation for the Apache breeding Jamie either. Tarak mounted the young man’s hips from above and behind. Jamie briefly writhed under the stronger man as the Apache penetrated and filled and stretched and moved down into his core.
When he was fully saddled, he held there. He released Jamie from the strong embrace he’d been in to be put into position. Panting hard and whimpering, but holding steady now, lying there, chest and cheek to bed, tail in the air, cock deep inside his gut, Jamie stretched his arms out from his body in a “take me” sacrificial pose.
Mounted high on his ass, Tarak clutched the young man’s hips and began to move. Forward and back, up and down, in and out. Faster and faster and faster. With a little cry of his own, the Apache breeded the eighteen-year-old rancher’s son, tensing and jerking and flowing again and again.
Tense, jerk, flow; tense, jerk, flow. A boiling river of cum.
Jamie lay under him, panting and moaning. He jerked slightly with each blast of cum. Then his knees gave out and he collapsed on the bed.
Ten minutes and it was done. But it wasn’t finished being done. Not by any means. The night was young and the night stallion was in charge. The young man was ripe and in heat, and the night stallion was in lust.
Tarak pulled out and turned Jamie over on his back. He remained there, knees between the young man’s thighs, hovering over the young man’s torso, fists buried on either side of the young man’s chest, staring down into Jamie’s eyes. They both were panting. They both were moaning low. Tarak, young, virile, strong, and lusty, was recovering. He did so quickly.
Jamie gasped, turned his head to the side, groaning, and arched his back as Tarak penetrated again, stretching, possessing, digging, plowing, pistoning, breeding. Jamie hooked his knees on the Apache’s hips, clutched Tarak’s shoulder blades with his hands, rocked with the fuck, and became one with the red savage. He lay there, in Tarak’s arms, his body elevated under the Apache, who held him up with a strong arm wrapped under his waist, while they both concentrated on Tarak pumping his cum into the youth, deep in his core. Flow, flow, flow. Arms and legs splayed, fully open and vulnerable to the assault, Jamie moaned, held, and received the Apache’s cum.
Jamie was Apache fucked. Breeded.
They dozed and fucked again, and as the world outside Jamie’s bedroom window was beginning to lighten up for the new day, Tarak withdrew and melted away, leaving Jamie not all that sure if it had been real or a figment of his imagination.
But he knew it was real. And he knew that it was 1881, and that an Apache who fucked a white man in the New Mexico territory at this time would be ceremoniously hung from a tree.
All Jamie had to do would be to raise the alarm, even now, and none of this would be on him. He would be the innocent victim.
But would he call the Apache out for having taken him so fully and as if by right? All Jamie had to do was call out. His father was just in the room next door. Mr. Daniels, in his possessiveness, would probably be outraged. He’d lead the lynch party and come back so steeped in blood lust that he would ravage Jamie mercilessly.
Jamie would, of course, do nothing. He was the docile submissive. He would leave it to the men sniffing around him to take their opportunities and risks with him. He would just hold there, steady, and take the shaft of any man who could get to him and mount him.
Jamie gave a deep sigh and turned over onto his side, welcoming sleep, glad it was a Sunday morning and he could sleep a bit later and didn’t have as many chores as on other mornings. He was sore all over. His body had been gloriously ravished.
He could not wait until the next time. From either the Apache or Mr. Daniels. Or any other man with a hard cock.
