I still remember my first job on a real ranch. It must have been in the early 1890s, I guess. I'd been working for a blacksmith in New York City for a few years, but I'd always read about the rough-and tumble cowboys out west in the penny dreadfuls, and I guess that stirred up the wanderlust in me. I scoured the ads in the newspapers looking for work out west, and eventually found an ad for a ranch wanting a skilled blacksmith, so I wrote. Just four weeks later, I got a reply. The mail services were sure getting faster! Shows what a difference those trains made.

Anyway, in the letter, Buckminster Brown, the owner of the Purple Sago Ranch, in Wyoming, south of Billings, Montana, said I was hired if I could be there within a month, so right then and there I quit my job, mailed off a reply accepting the job, packed my carpet bag, and headed west on the first train I could get. I didn't even scratch my head over the strange name for the ranch just then. That came later.

I don't think I realized before then how big this country is, and I rode that train and others for over three weeks just to reach Billings, Montana, the nearest railhead to my destination, but there was no coaches or anything to the Purple Sago ranch, south of there still more than a hundred miles further. I bought myself a horse – she was named Dolly – and saddlebags, and set off on horseback. That gave me plenty of time to wonder about the strange name – Purple Sago Ranch?

I passed through some pretty lonely, barren country in the next four days, with just low scrub, mostly the ever-present blue-grey sage, the occasional tree, and a few prickly-pear cactuses, but after getting lost a few times, I eventually found my way to The Purple Sago Ranch, Wyoming, north-west of Billings, Montana. There was a sign above the gate with the name and the letters PR. I guessed that was probably the ranch's brand mark also. I wondered again about the odd name. But there was no sign of the ranch-house, just a dirt trail leading to the horizon.

It was another hours' ride down the dusty trail before I first saw the ranch-house in the distance and the scattering of out-buildings. There was no sign of habitation whatever, though. It was not until I was right up the the ranch-house that I noticed a man sprawled back in a wooden chair on the verandah of the main house.

He stood as I approached.

"You'd be the new smithy, I take it?" he called.

"Yes, sir," I replied still sitting on my horse.

"Not sir!" he objected. "Jist Pete – Pegleg Pete, they calls me, although I ain't got a peg leg, just a gimpy one.

"Boss said he were expecting you. Didn't say what yer name was, though?"

I caught on to his implied question.

"Dave," I told him. "Dave Darling."

Pegleg Pete chuckled. "Oh, boy! The boys are gonna love that name. They'll sure give ya a hard time about it!"

"I'll live," I told him. "Been teased about it all my life."

"Boss said to tell ya to make yerself at home. I'll show ya 'round."

Pegleg Pete hobbled down off the verandah and led the way, limping ahead of me and Dolly, to the stables.

"Thought y'might want to swab down y'horse after that long ride, make the poor girl comfortable."

We both waited while Dolly drank her fill from a horse trough outside the stables, then I led her in, relieved her of her saddlebags, saddle and blanket, and reins and bit, then brushed her down with a stiff brush which Pegleg Pete had found for me. She seemed very relieved to be rid of some of the heavy coat of road dust matted into her hair.

While I cleaned up Dolly, Pete filled me in: "The boss and most of the men have rid up to Billings for the State Fair," he told me. "Gonna be a big do," he added. "Montana's only been a state a couple-a years now. Surprised you didn't meet up with the crew on yer way in if yer came down from Billings."

I explained that I got lost a couple of times, taking the wrong trail, and they must have passed me by while I was off on a wild detour.

"Happens," he commented. "Anyways, that's where they all are. Just me and you and Bucky on the ranch right now. I suppose y'll want to get some of that dirt off ya, too. There's a cold water shower under the water tank at the side of the barn."

I stabled Dolly in one of the horse stalls and made sure she had oats and plenty of water, and stowed he saddle and other equipment, and shouldered the saddle bags. Then Pegleg Pete led me around to the shower at the side of the adjoining barn. The shower area was just a wooden lattice floor off to the side of the rainwater tank tower. A pipe led from the raised water tank to a bucket suspended about seven feet above the latticed floor. The bucket's bottom was punched full of small holes for water to flow through. A rope system to a valve where the pipe exited the tank toggled the water flow on and off.

"Make it quick," Pete cautioned me. "We ain't had much rain in these parts for a while, and that water has to do for eleven other guys. We mostly take our showers together. Bucky loves to take a shower with the guys." He laughed. "I don't blame him. He's a horny young buck."

I stripped down to my birthday suit, stood on the lattice, and pulled the rope. A sprinkling of sun-warmed water fell on my naked flesh, washing away the road grime. I did as I was told and soaped up and scrubbed down as quickly as possible, using a bar of soap which had lain on the wooden floor. From the shade of a side door to the barn, Pete watched. He paid particular attention while I scrubbed my cock and balls. I'm fairly-well proportioned in that area.

"Bucky's gonna love you," he commented.

"Who's this Bucky?" I asked. I couldn't see the point in getting dressed in my dirty, sweaty clothes, and I didn't have a towel handy to dry off, so I just pulled on my boots rather than walk in the mud or the red dust beyond the area of the shower. My saddle bags were way over by Pete, who was now sitting in the barn's side doorway.

"Bucky's the boss's son," he informed me. "Buckminster Brown Junior. He's nothing like big Buck. The boss is a real ladies' man. The son prefers the men. Gives a great blow-job. So do I, if you're interested," he told me, as I stepped into the shade of the barn where he sat on the doorsill. For the first time I noticed that he had undone his pants buttons and pulled out his cock, which he was caressing.

Pegleg Pete was not exactly my type. He was scrawny and somewhere in his 40s or 50s, a bit older than I like, usually. But I hadn't had any sex at all since I left New York, and my cock jumping stiff told both me and Pete that information.

When I came, he didn't even back off to swallow it, just let it flow straight down his throat. When he withdrew from my cock, he very thoughtfully wiped my cock off with the bandana he wore round his neck.

"Guess I should show yer to the bunkhouse now," he said, but I had him wait while I searched through my saddle bags for a pair of those new-fangled under-panties I had bought, baggy ones, the kind of shorts boxers wear in the ring.

"I'm sure Bucky's somewhere around," Pete told me as he led the way to the bunkhouse. "He's a little pissed off. His dad caught him with one of the Crow Injun boys butt-fucking in the barn. The Injun was chock-a-block up Bucky's ass. He barred the Injun from the ranch, threatened to shoot him if he ever came back, even though the Injun boy and Bucky'd been friends since they were kids. Joseph Two-feathers, the old chief's son, it was. And on top of that, he made Bucky stay home from the trip to Billings as punishment. Bucky's a bit pissed off about that. Guess he figured he was gonna suck some fresh cock in Billings. He's sucked just about everyone on the ranch except his dad – and I'm not really certain 'bout that."

He led me to a low wooden building behind the main ranch-house. "This here's where yer gonna sleep," he told me as he ushered me in. There was a small entry-way, actually a hall-way leading to four doors - two on each side. "Kinda modern," he commented. "Just four guys to a room in two bunk beds. Right now there's at least one empty bed in each room. Y'can pick any empty bed y'like as long as it's a top one. All the bottom bunks are taken right now.

"Which one are you in?" I asked.

"I sleep up at the main house," he told me, "because I'm the chief cook and bottle washer. In fact, I'm the only cook and bottle washer. An' I'm gonna need to leave yer now to go cook supper for you an' me an' Bucky. Just make yerself at home. Y'll hear the chow bell ring when I'm ready for yer."

"Before you go," I said, "tell me, what's with the strange name of the ranch?"

Pegleg Pete chuckled at the question.

"Well, that were my doin', in a way," he explained. "It used to be the Purple Sage, but for the Christmas Dinner a few years back, I intended to make a sago plum pudding for dessert. Well, I was running late with dinner, and didn't quite get round to making the pudding, hadn't added the flour yet, or steamed it, but the guys were yellin' for dessert, so I just added the canned plums and some sugar and vanilla to the cooked sago, boiled it fer a bit, then served it up that way – gooey, messy, rather tasteless sago, and a purple color into the bargain.

"But the guys loved it and ate it up anyway. Next day they were all pissin' purple. But in the days to come, they asked me to make it again and again. Eventually someone made a joke about the purple sago ranch, and the name stuck. Boss changed it officially later."

He left me to choose my own room.

Pete was wrong about the bottom bunks. I poked my head into every room. Both bottom bunks were taken in all rooms but one. In one of the rooms a guy had opted for an upper bunk. Who knows why? Maybe the three of them were doing each other or something, but whatever the reason, they chose to room together. So I chose the empty bottom bunk in the room with only one other occupant. Why was he living alone? Did he fart or snore or something? Oh well, I could always take a top bunk in another room if that was the case.

I dressed in my only clean change of shirt and pants, and pulled on some wool socks. I had noticed a washtub and scrub-board and some bar soap out by the water tank and shower and a length of clothes-line, so I wandered out there with my other set of clothes and dirty socks and took some time giving them a bit of a cold water wash. I draped them on the line to dry. It wouldn't take long in this dry heat. Then I went into the stables to check on Dolly.

It was then that I got to meet the Bucky I'd already heard so much about. Pete had mentioned that he was a horny young buck. He hadn't mentioned that he was a handsome young buck. I decided right away that Bucky and I would be playing games together before too long.

Bucky had just finished stabling his own horse right beside Dolly. I think I might have come across him when he had just finished jerking off or something. He was dressed in just denims and a white stetson, but his belt was unbuckled, and his fly was undone. A nice bush of black hair showed at the V of the open fly. He looked to have a neat package of genitals tucked away in there.

"Hey, there," he smiled broadly. He had taken due note of the fact that I was eyeing his crotch. "I'm Bucky, the boss's son. You must be the new blacksmith," he observed. "I thought you'd be a much older man – but I'm glad you're not!" He smiled even more broadly. He fondled his crotch suggestively.

I'm not sure where the situation would have gone if the sound of the chow bell didn't come from the direction of the main house.

"That's supper!" Bucky noted. "C'mon. Ill take you up the house. What's your name?" he asked as he led the way. I told him.

"Dave Darling."

"Well, that's sweet of you Dave, but be sure to just call me Bucky when other guys are around." He laughed at his own joke. I'd heard thousands of variations on it in my lifetime, but I laughed along with him.

He led me in to the ranch-house through a door at one end of the verandah. It led directly into the chow room of the ranch. Two trestle tables and chairs practically filled the room. The tables would seat eight men each with no trouble; in fact, their were eight chairs at each. Right now, only three places were set with utensils and water glasses, the three closest to the kitchen door. Another open door led to the main hall, and I could see a closed door across from it, probably the front room, used for entertaining guests, I guessed.

We hung our hats on a rack by the main entry door.

Bucky told me to sit, he'd be right back. He left through the hall door and headed toward the back of the house, where I presumed his room, and maybe even a real bathroom, were. I sat, and moments later, Pegleg Pete limped in carrying a large, steaming pot, which he plonked down on the table close to me.

"Beef and beans," he announced. "A bit spicy. Got the recipe from down Mexico way. It'll make even the best men fart!" He went to a sideboard by the kitchen door and bought back three bowls and plonked them down at the three set places, then disappeared into the kitchen to return with a large, round loaf of hot bread on a wooden platter. He sat and attacked it with a knife, sawing great chunks from the loaf.

"Pitch in," he announced. "Bucky's just washing up a little. You two get to know each other yet?" He winked broadly.

"You're a nosy old git," Bucky stated as he came back into the room. "No, we haven't 'got to know each other' yet. But I'll bet you already beat me to it!"

At the thought of the earlier blow-job, I guess I blushed, because Bucky laughed out loud: "I knew it!" he cried. "I sensed you like men, and I guessed pervert Pete here would not waste any time getting into your pants."

We all laughed at this.

"I think you are I are gonna get along great," Bucky said, ladling some of the Mexican stew into his bowl, then handing me the ladle. "Want to meet me out at the barn after dinner?" he asked. "We could have us some fun."

"Sure," I replied. "I'm game for anything." I ladled myself some stew.

"Great," he smiled. "But keep this just between us three. Most the other guys on the ranch say they hate sodomites, as they call us – even though I've sucked or been sucked by every one of them. Gone further than that with a couple of them."

I took a mouthful of the stew. It was very tasty, very spicy, very hot! My mouth was on fire.

The other two laughed out loud at my reaction. I reached for a jug of water which sat in the middle of the table.

"Eat some bread," Bucky told me. "It helps cool it down."

Once my mouth had stopped burning, I tried another mouthful. This time I was expecting the peppery spiciness, and it didn't seem so bad. A third mouthful and the sensation became enjoyable. A fourth, and I was thoroughly enjoying the stew.

"Delicious!" I stated. "What makes it so spicy?" I asked.

"Chili peppers," Pete told me. "I grows me own and dries them. Makes any dish taste good. But it'll make yer fart!"

"And it burns your asshole as bad going out as it burned your mouth going in," Bucky added. "I'd better show you where the outhouse is after supper!" He laughed again.

After supper, Bucky left the table before I did, with just a "See you in the barn in a little bit," and after grabbing his white stetson, off he went to the back of the house once more.

"Bet he's gone to clean out his asshole for yer," Pete observed. "Loves to be butt-fucked, that boy!"

I offered to help Pete with the dishes, but he declined. "That's part of m'job," he explained. "All I do since I smashed up m'leg twenty years back is cook and clean and wash dishes. And suck a cock or two whenever I can. Off yer go, and make both you and Bucky happy!"

Bucky heard me enter the barn. He was already inside waiting for me.

"Back here!" he called. I followed the sound of his voice to the back of the barn. I found him slouched back on some bales of hay, with a nasty-looking pitchfork in his hand. He was still wearing his white stetson, but he had changed into some denims with the legs cut off. As the first time I saw him, the fly was undone, but now the tip of his cock and his nuts were hanging out of the leg of the cut-off denims.

"What's the pitchfork for?" I asked. "Hope you don't plan using it on me!"

He laughed. "Just letting you know that I'm a bit of a devil," he chuckled, putting the weapon aside. "So, you ready to play some?

"You bet your boots I am," I told him, giving him my biggest smile and unbuttoning my shirt.

"Well, get those duds off and get on down here beside me," he ordered. Even as he spoke, he had shucked off his cut-off denims , and was busy spreading a horse blanket on the floor of the bar by the hay bales. As quickly as I could I got rid on my clothes, and was soon standing there in just my boots. Bucky was struggling with his own boots. "Help me off with these," he requested.

He hoisted a leg and I pulled off one boot. They we repeated the procedure for the other.

Bucky was one of those guys who don't have a lot to show when they are soft, but boy, did his cock swell once I started in on it. It was a good seven inches by the time it finished growing. I could no longer get it all down my throat without gagging. My own was growing to match it. Bucky tried to reached mine with his hand, but it was too awkward.

"Swing round," He said, "so I can suck yours, too." I didn't have to be asked twice, and in a moment I was on all fours over him, his cock in my mouth once more. I felt him grasping and squeezing my hard dick before he guided it to his warm, wet, mouth. Then we were both sucking on stiff cock, both in heaven at either end.

He was going at my cock so strong I thought I would cum before my time and was about to ask him to back off when he stopped of his own accord.

"Put your dick in me," he begged. "I haven't been fucked since I got back from Boston and that's over a year."

I didn't mention what Pete had said about Bucky getting fucked by the Crow Indian boy.

"Mostly getting fucked," he replied, "while I was supposed to be going to school. Pop sent me back there for two years to get a bit of higher education, he said, "and make a gentleman of me. All it did was teach me how to love cock in my ass. Love it better than I already did, that is. I'd already been fucked by a few of the hands long before that – including old Pete.

Bucky was now pulling his cheeks apart for me, and I saw that I didn't need to grease him up with spit. Something shiny and slippery was oozing out of his hole. I touched it with my finger. It was nice and slippery, so I pushed my finger right in.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Bit of axle grease," he told me. "We use it on the wagon, but it sure works good for fucking. Tastes lousy though." I placed the head of my pole against his puckered little hole which was winking at me, eager for me to open it wider. I gave a gentle push and helped by the axle grease, it slipped right in. His butt muscles felt nice and tight around my cock, and he squeezed even tighter. "Oh, that's so fucking good," he cried. "Do me harder and faster."

I began pounding the piss out of him, and the harder I went the louder he cried "More! More!" I paused for a moment to turn him over onto his back, lifted his legs over my shoulders, found his distended hole, and pounded him even harder than before. I was running out of breath by the time Bucky demanded "Cum in my ass! Cum inside me!" and was quite happy to let loose and feel my flood of semen pouring into him. Even though I had cum in Pete's mouth earlier, there was still loads of it. When I finally pulled out of Bucky, some of my cum followed and trickled down his crack and onto the horse blanket. It looked so good I was tempted to suck the rest of my cum out of his hole; I even told Bucky I was going to.

"Don't" he ordered. "Axle grease really tastes foul. Next time I'll ask Pete if he's got any chicken or turkey fat. That always tastes good."

Bucky hadn't cum yet, so the two of us went at achieving that – Bucky jerking himself while I sucked on his knob and his balls. Soon his semen pumped into my mouth, and I was about to swallow it when he demanded, "Share it with me," so we had and open-mouthed kiss and some of his cum flowed from my mouth into his. This done, we swallowed it. But the kiss had been good, so we did it again.

Finished, I sat on one of the saddles which were laying on the hay-bales beside us. I didn't fancy straw up my ass.

"If this is ranch life, I can stand plenty more of it," I told Bucky.

I don't know why we bothered to dress, but we did, and Bucky walked back to the bunkhouse with me, stopping along the way to gather in my newly-dried clothes. He didn't ask to stay the night with me, and I didn't offer. I thought it was a little odd, but said nothing about it.

As we parted he told me, "I think you and I are going to get along just great. I'll see you tomorrow and we'll do some fun things."

"Sure," I agreed. "Tomorrow then." I was sure the "fun things" would include sex things.

Bucky wasn't at the breakfast table. Pegleg Pete informed me that he had rode out soon after sun-up. He hadn't said where he was going.

I was a little disappointed that it seemed we weren't going to "do some fun things," but it would give me a chance to check out my smithy shop. I'd probably have plenty of work to do when the boys returned with their horses from Billings. Right now there were only four horses in the stables, including my Dolly and Bucky's stallion.

I found the smithy out back of the stables no problem. The workshop was set back a bit from the stable and the barn, in case of fire, I guessed. I fired up the little coal furnace while I checked out the supplies that were available to me. There was plenty of coal and coke, and the bellows were in good shape. There was also a year's worth of horseshoe blanks at least, and a bunch of used shoes that could be salvaged. I worked up a sweat practicing my skills on a couple of these old shoes, pounding them into better shape on the anvil.

It was while I was hard at this I heard a whole bunch of yahoo-ing and kyack-ing from outside the barn. I recognized the voice as Bucky's, but what he was yelling and carrying on about, I hadn't a clue. Curious, I wandered outside.

There was Bucky, naked except for his boots, a belt with an ornate buckle, and his white stetson. He was showing off for my sake, playing at roping horses or steers, and had roped himself one of the hitching posts. He was pulling his lasso rope in. I thought I'd much rather be pulling on that nice cock of his.

"Howdy, new buddy," he called. "Thought you might like to ride out and have a look at the spread, maybe even stay out on the range overnight? I've got to check on some of our small groups of cows and calves, anyway."

"Dressed like that?" I laughed.

"Nah," he smiled. "This was just to turn you on, let you know what I have in store for you. I'd soon get saddle sores riding like this."

"Sounds like fun," I grinned.

"It's settled then. You close up the smithy and saddle your nag. I'll put up a couple of blanket rolls and get Pete to lay up some grub and utensils for our saddle bags. We'd better grab a couple of water-bags. too. There's not a lot of it out there in the area by the desert. "

Within an hour, we were headed out, fully dressed,and outfitted with saddle-bags with food and utensils, bed-rolls, and canvas water-bags. Bucky also toted a rifle – "just in case," but he didn't say in case of what.

The plains were just the same as the were when I rode in, but they seemed more hospitable now that I had some horny company along with me for the ride.

We took our time, and Bucky, true to his word, did check up on scattered small herds of five to ten cows of cows with their fairly young calves, born earlier this past spring, so probably now about five or six months old, but still trailing along with mama. Some of the small herds also had a guardian bull playing lord over them.

Bucky knew just where to find these roving herds, some in the plains close to spindly trees and waterholes, shallow creeks, or small springs, others in the low foothills of the Grand Tetons, which were still far to the west.

But every now and then, we'd take a rest and enjoy some playful sex, sometimes clothed, sometimes naked.

Bucky taught me how to use a rope to lasso things. One of the first things I roped successfully was him. I hauled him in, threw him down, stripped him naked, and threw him face down onto his own horse that way, as if he were a calf I'd lassoed.

It seemed he kind of like the bondage thing, because he got a raging hard-on while I was wrestling him down and tying him up a bit, so I went one step further. I got him down off the horse and tied him up hugging a nearby tree. I shucked out of my tight denims and let my hard cock leap free. I was gonna fuck him with some spit lube, but Bucky told me "No, Pete packed us a little jar of chicken fat. It'll make good lube and it tastes real good. It's in my saddle bags."

I found the little jar of chicken fat, no trouble. The heat had turned it liquid. I put a little on my finger and tasted it. Mmm, good! Tasted just like roast chicken. I smeared some on my rock-hard rod, and without any preliminaries, rammed it up Bucky's ass. He put on a big show of screaming in pain and outrage as I fucked out there under the prairie skies, but I knew it was all just sham, that he was enjoying every minute and every inch of the pounding fucking I was giving him.

When I came inside him and pulled out, I untied him. He probably could have got free himself. I was no great shakes at tying people up. I'd certainly had no practice at it.

"That was fun" Bucky observed. "Let me suck your dick clean now." I never turn down a blow job, even when I've just shot my bolt, and I didn't do so now. Bucky dropped to his knees before me and took my cock in his mouth. Between bouts of driving my semi down his throat as far as he could, he commented. "Mmm, nice. Tastes just like last Sunday's chicken dinner!"

That night, we camped out in the open because we were heading south into more desert-like country and trees were few and far between. Bucky lit a campfire and we spit-roasted some home-made sausages Pete had packed for us, and ate them with chucks of one of his thick, leaden loaves of bread. We washed it down with cups of black, smoky coffee Bucky had brewed.

Afterwards, we spread our blanket rolls one on top of the other. We knew automatically that we would not be sleeping alone. We stretched out on top of the blankets, under the millions of stars in the clear night sky, stark naked – except for our boots. There were all sorts of snakes, scorpions and other biting creatures in this area, not to mention vicious thorns and burrs which covered the ground.

"I'm glad you come," Bucky confided. "You're a man after my own heart. I really like you."

"And I like you, too," I told him. "I'm glad we've met." His hand touched my chest and wandered down my abdomen to grope for my cock. By the time his hand reached it I was already hard, and the squeezes he gave it only made me harder.

"Fuck me again," he begged, handing me the chicken fat jar. He had come to bed prepared. It didn't take me long to grease up. I lifted one of his legs in the air as he lay there on his back on our blankets. It raised his rear and exposed his hot little hole for me to enter. I kneeled behind him and placed my dick knob at the entryway and pushed gently. The chicken fat did its job and my cock slipped into Bucky's hot hole.

"Oh, that's so fuckin' good!" he exclaimed and my shaft disappeared into him. When I was fully into him, I lay forward on top of him. Our mouths met and we kissed long and longingly. We couldn't fuck very well like that, but we were hot with passion for each other and paused in our slow fuck repeatedly to taste each other's saliva and entwine our tongues.

I think we dragged that slow fuck out for the best part of an hour. We had to switch positions a couple of times, because the way we started was too hard on Bucky's back. We tried missionary position with him face down; we tried doggy style for a while: I lay on my back and he rode me, bouncing up and down on it; and finally ended up spooned together, his bum pushed back I onto my cock, and my arms around him. After I came in him. we fell asleep like that.

When I awoke during the night, I was no longer in him, and it was very cold. I pulled the blankets around us, and cuddled in with Bucky and slept again.

We both woke with piss-hards, so we fucked again. It seemed Bucky preferred to be fucked rather than to fuck, while I didn't much enjoy having my ass fucked, although I would offer it up to the right guy if he asked. I preferred to be the fucker, so Bucky and I were made for each other. He was quite happy just to have me suck him off or jerk him off, and I loved the taste of cum, so things worked out well all round.

But would the boss run me off the place when he found out I was fucking his only son? I'd cross that bridge if we ever came to it.

After a breakfast of beans and salt pork swilled down with coffee, we set off south again. "We're not going much further," Bucky told me. "Just a place I want to show you. We're getting into a little desert country now and the Devil's Peak's an interesting place to see." And so we set off on another hour's ride.

There were few trees now, and in this flat country we could see Devil's Peak long before we came to it. I guess it may have been a mesa or something way back when, but now it was just a pinnacle of tumbled rocks around a central core which rose above the desert floor for maybe four hundred feet. When we got closer, near its base there was a lone tree, existing because of a small spring which seeped out of the ground, enough to make a permanent small pool sheltered by a cluster of fallen rock. The horses were grateful for this. We had been giving them just cupped handfuls of water from our water-bags for the last twelve hours. We left the horses in the shade of the solitary tree and, taking just Bucky's rifle – "just in case" – we went forward to the base of the Devil's Peak on foot.

Nearer the base, two enormous cactuses stuck up from the desert floor, pointing to the sky.

"This type of cactus don't normally grow this far north," Bucky told me. "These two are the only ones of their kind in this area. I call them the Twin Pricks. Sticking up like that, they remind me of our two cocks."

"You talking of cocks is making me horny," I told him.

"Good," he replied, "I'm ready for another fucking if you are."

"I'm always ready to fuck a tight ass," I assured him. In a trice, Bucky had shed his clothes. He presented his bare ass to me.

"Stick your huge, prickly saguaro in me," he ordered. So there under the desert sky, between the twin cactuses, standing up because there were so many dry, thorny shrubs around, I fucked his ass once more. As I was doing so, I thought I saw a flash of sun on metal from high up the Devil's Peak, and wondered if maybe someone were up there, looking down on us fucking. But it didn't recur, and I figured I must have imagined it.

"Want to climb it?" Bucky asked when we were finished with our sexual gymnastics. I realized he meant the peak, not the cactus, and I agreed.

It was a lot tougher than I thought. Part the way up, a few small rocks and pebbles clattered down the rocky slopes, bouncing harmlessly past us. I wondered what could have dislodged them. "Maybe a mountain goat," suggested Bucky. "There are a few around here."

It took us about half an hour to climb to the top, but when we did, it was worth the effort. We could see clear to the horizon in every direction – not that there was an awful lot to see, other than the plains, purple with sage-bushes, and the high blue sky.

Bucky was complaining of thirst, but we hadn't brought the water bags.

"Even a mouthful of cum would help," he suggested, winking at me. I knew that was a broad hint – a very broad hint, so I whipped out my cock and jerked off for him as he sat below me, between my legs, ready to catch my juices. When I blew he sucked it all down and licked his lips. Kinky, but true!

"Mmm, that did the trick," he observed. "Why don't we make ourselves comfortable and take a quick nap here in the shade before we head back down? This breeze that's blowing is right cooling."

Bucky was right, and we both shed the rest of our clothes. The gentle breeze wafted round my heated nuts, cooling me down. It seemed Bucky really was sleepy, because in moments he was sound asleep there in the shade of the topmost boulder.

I remained standing, admiring the scenery. Suddenly I heard more falling rock, and other crashing and rustling noises. Maybe a mountain goat, I thought. But do they have mountain lions in this area? Or other wild beasts I'd never heard of? I snatched up Bucky's rifle from where it lay and tried to look menacing, even though I'd never even held a gun of any kind before today.

Actually, I felt a little ridiculous, standing there on top a a mountain with a rifle in my hand and stark naked.

But I never got to really examine just how ridiculous it was, because suddenly there was a blood-curdling scream from above me. Before I could even look up there was a swishing sound and a heavy body struck me, driving me to the ground. I seemed to be engulfed in feathers. My first thought was that I had been attacked by an eagle.

But when I recovered my breath, it was not an eagle standing over me brandishing Bucky's rifle. It was an Indian brave, just as naked as Bucky and I, except that he was wearing a full ceremonial headdress – not to mention a full woody! His uncut penis pointed at me just as ominously as Bucky's rifle did.

I couldn't understand how, but Bucky seemed to have slept through this noisy invasion, oblivious of the fact that we were now at the mercy of a hostile!

"You my captive," he stated. "You now my slave. Now wake other white man!" he ordered. I kicked at Bucky with my booted foot.

Up till that moment, he must have been having an amusing dream because he had a big grin on his face. It disappeared when I kicked him in the ribs.

"Ow! Ow!" he cried. "What's happening?" He looked up at the redskin. "Oh, horrors," he cried. "We've been captured by a man-eating savage!"

"Me not man-eater!" the Indian objected. "Me not savage. But you two now my slaves. Get clothes on!" he ordered.

We just had time to pull our denim pants on before he ordered us to march. He didn't even give us time to do up our belts. I had to hold my pants up with one hand, because the red man was ordering us to start down. We slung our shirts around our necks and headed down the Devil's Peak with a real naked devil with a rifle prodding us on. His cock was just as hard as when I first saw him and waved back and forth as he walked. Scared as I was, I could still appreciate a beautiful cock.

It took us a lot less time to come down the mountain than going up, especially with the naked brave prodding us on.

Bucky seemed to have become quite craven, saying things to the native such as, "Oh, please don't hurt us, mighty chief," and "My father will pay you many fine fat cows to have me home safe." He seemed quite unlike the devil-may-care Bucky I had come to know.

When we reached the lone tree and our horses, the Indian took my rope from the saddle of my horse. He ordered me to stand against the lone tree, hugging it.

Quickly, but not very skillfully, he tied me to the tree with my own rope. It was so sloppily done, I could have easily escaped, and considered doing so at the first chance I got.

He didn't tie Bucky up, but just left him wander loose. It struck my odd that Bucky didn't run, but just stood watching as the Indian tied me up.

It suddenly struck me that maybe the Indian had tied me up before scalping me – or even worse, burning me at the stake. I had read of the savages doing both these things. Or even filling me full of arrows like Saint Sebastian – although I had seen no sign of a bow or arrow, or even a knife or tomahawk, come to think of it. And I thought of it! In fact, the Indian had attacked us with only one weapon: his mighty cock!

And at the moment I had that thought, the Indian uttered a pronouncement that proved my premonition right.

"Now me fuck you!" he announced "Me watch you fuck boy earlier. Me watch him suck you earlier. You make me very horny. You make dick very hard."

Ah, now I knew why he had such a woody. He was a Peeping Tom and had gotten horned up watching Bucky and I going at it.

As I have said earlier, I normally don't like to be fucked, but this wild man had a beautiful cock, and the whole situation was turning me on. I also had a woody. And because I was no longer able to hold up my pants, they were slipping down, baring my ass.

Still sporting his glorious headdress, the Indian moved in behind me, spat on his hands and rubbed his spittle on his dick, parted my legs and butt-cheeks, found my asshole with the head of his cock and gently drove into me. Penetrate by his large cock as I was, I still found time to wonder why the savage had not just forced it into me, raped me savagely. There was nothing stopping him.

It also struck me that Bucky had said nothing, but just looked on. While the native fucked my ass – and I have to admit I was enjoying it – I sneaked a glance in Bucky's direction. His own cock had popped out of the open fly of his sagging pants as he watched us, and he had taken it in hand, masturbating himself gently. And was that a smile I saw on his face? The situation was getting stranger and stranger.

"White man like Indian cock in ass?" demanded my captor.

As he drove his rod into me again and again, making his headdress wave and rustle, I nodded "Yes." I was actually enjoying being raped!

"Good, me fuck you really hard now!" he stated and began pounding me.

Finally, Bucky spoke up:

"That's the way, Joseph. Give Dave a fucking he'll never forget!" And both of then laughed out loud!

Then it dawned on me! Joseph? This must be Joseph Two-feathers, the Indian Pete had told me about. Bucky's boyhood friend and fuck-buddy. This was all a big joke on me!

"You bastards!" I exclaimed. And that was enough to set Joseph Two-feathers off. He pulsed and pushed and shot his cum deep inside me before pulling out. I wriggled free of my badly-tied restraints and whirled to face the other two, angry and wanting to pound both of them in their faces. But their laughter took the wind out of me.

"You planned this!" I accused Bucky.

"Yep," he nodded. "That's why I rode out yesterday morning – to set this up with my old pal Joseph Two-feathers here. Your father's headdress was a brilliant stroke," he told his Indian buddy.

"Dad'll kill me if he ever finds out," the Indian brave laughed, all trace of broken English gone.

"It's great to meet you," Joseph Two-feathers greeted me warmly. "Bucky here tells me you're a great ass-fucker. I'd like to find that out for myself as we get to know each other better. I already know you're a great fuck!"

In spite of myself, I grinned and shook hands with Joseph.

"That's the way," approved Bucky. "Now who's for some three-way fun?" Neither Joseph nor I declined the suggestion!

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