Snowbound Laid

When Colorado rancher, Craig Thornton, entered the lawyer's office on the main, dirt-covered street of Granby, a quickly assembled gold-rush town inside the Rocky Mountains, he ascertained where the lawyer, Brad Hinley, was by the sounds of the deep breathing, groaning, and moaning from the room behind the office in which the bachelor frontier lawyer lived. Thornton wasn't surprised by the sound. He and the lawyer were members of the same fetish club in this Western town where female companionship was rare in the early 1900s, but men's libidos were as active as anywhere else.

One made do on the American frontier in 1908.

What surprised him when he went to the back of the office and opened the door was who he found riding the lawyer. Thornton had been trying for weeks to get his recent ranch hand hire, a handsome young white-black mixed breed named Clem, in his bed, and the young man thus far had evaded him. Thornton had almost come to believe the young man didn't go under other men. What he now saw, though, belied that. Clem wasn't under--he was on top--but he was the one riding the cock.

Hinley was on his back on the single bed, still in his shirt, vest, and even his boots, but his trousers and under briefs were off, puddled on the floor by the bed. On top of them were the trousers and underbriefs of the young ranch hand. Clem was still wearing his flannel shirt, but that was open to reveal a well-muscled light-chocolate torso and flat belly. The lad still had his boots, even with the spurs on, on his feet as he was saddled on a bit paunchy, older lawyer's pelvis. Clem's hands were grasping the lawyer's biceps and Henley's hands were gripping the young man's waist, as Clem rose and fell on the lawyer's cock, his spurs making a slight burring sound to accompany Clem's murmurs of "Fuck, yes. Shit, yes. Ride it good, boy."

Both of the men on the bed turned their faces to acknowledge Thornton's appearance in the door, but neither of them stopped fucking. Thorton reached down, unbuttoned himself, pulled out his cock, and the sex became three way--Thorton watching and stroking and Clem bouncing up and down on the lawyer's cock, his spurs jangling, a low groan rising up out of his throat as Hinley's shaft stretched and worked his passage walls and his rising and falling increased in intensity. One of Clem's hands glided down from Hinley's bicep and grasped his own cock, stroking it as he bounced on the lawyer's shaft.

Hinley reached down, grasped the young ranch hand's buttocks, and spread, rolled, and squeezed Clem's cheeks as the young man rode the cock. Thornton's attention was locked on the two on the bed, and they, in turn, were watching him beating himself off in the doorway. The three of them were sharing in the sex.

Clem came first, with a small cry, and falling backward onto the lawyer's legs. Hinley embraced the younger man, pulling him up into his chest as he sat up in the bed. He buried his face in Clem's throat. Thrust with his hips--one, two, three times--the lawyer shot his load. With a grunt, Thornton arced his cum onto the floor of Hinley's bedroom.

Hinley pushed Clem off to the side toward the wall, where the young man settled on his back, pulling the sheet up to his waist. He was looking slightly embarrassed that his boss, who had been working on making him for weeks, had caught him in bed with the lawyer. Hinley rolled to a seated position on the bed, facing Thornton, and reached down to pull his shorts and trousers from underneath Clem's. Thornton folded his cock back into his trousers and buttoned the fly.

Neither rancher nor lawyer showed any sign of embarrassment, although Thornton exhibited irritation.

"The lad came to me for legal advice," Hinley said.

"I can see that. So did I. Perhaps you can await me in the office for a minute."

"Just a minute? I know you've said what you've wanted him for yourself and hadn't--"

"Just a minute will do, Brad, thank you."

He waited for Hinley to pull on his trousers and move around him and into his office. He then stepped into Hinley's bedroom and pulled the door to. Clem lay in the bed, his lower body covered by the sheet, and looked expectantly at his boss, the owner of the Big T ranch to the northeast of Granby.

"Why him rather than me?" Thornton asked.

"I came to him on business. I didn't have the money for a fee," Clem said. "He said he would take this instead."

"You work for me. I pay you for your time. As long as you work for me, I own your body. I had come to think that maybe you just couldn't take a man's cock."

"Life would be intolerable in the bunk house," Clem said. "The other men wouldn't like me giving it to the boss. They would make me pay for the favoritism from you."

"I could cover you without showing favoritism. The men in the bunkhouse understand my ways--and they can live with it or move on. I suppose the men in the bunk house are fucking you."

Clem didn't answer, which was, in itself, an answer.

"You find Hinley more to your liking than you find me?"

Clem snorted. "Of course not. You are a stallion compared to the lawyer. Do you want me now? I'll open my legs to you right now, right here, if you want." He slipped off the sheet, turned himself on the bed so that his butt was facing the door and on the edge of the side of the bed. He grasped his ankles and raised and spread his legs, showing his now-gaping hole. "Take me, if you want. Fuck me."

"I think not," Thornton said. "Seconds to Brad Hinley does not appeal to me. And I have business to do." He opened the door and turned to leave, but then spoke again. "Heavy snow is coming. I need someone to go over to the valley to my pastures between the foothills of the Rockies, to feed the cattle there. The snow is going to close the area down. I need someone who can stay snowbound there until a thaw or relief can be gotten up there."

"That will cover Christmas and the New Years," Clem said. "Usually, we get Christmas--"

"I need someone up there. If you wish to continue working for me, you will go."

"Yes, sir." Clem recognized punishment for what it was, and he realized he was getting off easy. He hadn't been fired on the spot for giving the lawyer what he hadn't been giving his boss.

Thornton moved into the office but went over to the door to the street rather than to Hinley's desk.

"You said you had business with me," Hinley said.

"Our business can wait. I think perhaps you aren't finished with Clem. You know why I bring young men like Clem to my ranch, and you chose to use him before I did. You can pay the standard fee then. Ten dollars."

"To be fair I didn't know you weren't using him yourself. He's a real honey and you usually move fast on young guys that good looking. I didn't know. So, no hard feelings? You will keep your business with me?"

"If you use him again now, and if I can watch. Ten dollars either way."

Clem was still lying on his back at the side of the bed when Hinley reentered the bedroom and stripped off his trousers. Seeing him--and seeing Thorton in the doorway, unbuttoning his fly again--Clem sighed, grasped his ankles, and spread and raised his legs again.

He cried out an "Oh, Fuck!" as Hinley nudged in between his thighs and thrust up inside him without further preparation.

Cock out, Thornton stroked and watched.

* * * *

Clem flexed his hand to the rhythm of the clutching and release of the grip on his wrist and of the thrusts of Lawrence's shaft in his ass. His head was hanging over the edge of the hay bale in the loft of Granby's livery stables, and his gaze was focused between the loosely set floorboards to the horse stalls below and to the two beauties Lawrence had told him he had bought before he stretched out on top of Clem on the hay bales, gathered the smaller-stature mixed breed under his Scandinavian-stock strong body, mounted and penetrated his passage, and moved into the rhythm of the fuck.

"Now that I have the horses, we could be in Hayden on Christmas Day."

"Heavy snows coming," Clem had answered, thrilled at the thought of as far away as Hayden--where no one knew who he was and what he did for men. "I'm afraid I'll be in the northeast valley on Christmas--under several feet of snow."

"So, Thornton is sending you to his north pastures then, as he threatened to do? Why don't you just give him what he wants until we can get out of here?"

"I tried, but I made him mad. He wants to make a point with me now."

"Do you think he knows about us?"

"Who knows in a nothing town like this?" Clem said. "Everyone seems to know what everyone else does. But that don't have to stop what we do."

"Well, then, sometime after Christmas when you can get back. We can meet here, like this again before you go to the valley."

"Your father might catch us."

"My father likes you. And I think he understands. He knows why I said I needed my own horses. He understands my needs."

He understands you are young, virile competition, Clem thought. He was well aware that Lawrence's father, Lars Jensen, liked him, Clem. He'd been snuffling after Clem himself. Clem knew what the father wanted from him. But it was the son who was young--a year younger than Clem--and handsome, muscular, hung, and full of vigor. It was Lawrence who revved Clem up to maximum and who filled and stretched and made Clem die a dozen little deaths of pleasure with every climax.

And he was doing it now, in the loft of Jensen's livery on East Jasper Avenue, waiting for his dreams to be fulfilled, lying on his chest, Lawrence saddled on his butt, doing grunting pushups and fucking him deep, his head hanging over the edge and looking through the floorboards into the horse stalls, and him eying the two fine, sturdy horses.

"I renamed them," Lawrence had said. "I named one Deliverance and the other Orbust." Clem hadn't had to ask what those names meant. Folks went through Granby regularly on wagons with "California or Bust" lettered on their sideboards.

Lawrence's breathing had become heavier, his stroking more intense.

"Yes, yes, screw me!" Clem called out, his body undulating with the increasingly frenetic writhing on top of him. Lawrence's pumping intensified, the grip of his hands on Clem's wrists became like a tightening vice, the shaft was working hard, filling and stretching, punishing. The two beautiful, muscular, young bodies moved in consort.

Clem's "Shit!" in tenor, harmonized by Lawrence's "Fuck, yes!" in baritone marked how gloriously the two managed to release together.

* * * *

On December 20th Clem rode over the ridge to the northeast of Granby to the valley where the Big T ranch pastured its cattle.. He was leading a pack horse with enough provisions to hold him to the spring thaw, if necessary, but he was hoping to stay only a week or so before the next ranch hand Thornton wanted to bully was sent up. It took him all day to reach the outpost cabin. It had started to snow, but only lightly, when he reached the log cabin. Lanterns were lit inside, providing a welcome glow in the cabin's one window.

He was going to overlap at the cabin with an older, gnarly muscled ranch hand named John, who had already stocked the barn--much larger and in better condition than the one-room log cabin--with hay enough for a month and had brought some of the cattle in. There was more roundup work for Clem and John to do before John could take his leave.

John wasn't much for talking and they spent the days separately herding cattle into the barn. But John was like most of the ranch hands Thornton gathered to work for him on the Big T. Women were scarce in the Colorado Rockies valleys early in the twentieth century. Thornton hired men who made do with each other.

John made do with Clem in the nights. There was only one bed in the cabin, a double. Bundling was in order, because, as cold as the days were, the nights were colder. The men went to bed bone tired after a day of bringing the cattle in. But John had needs like any man and Clem was a handsome, fit young buck--and one who didn't say "no" to a man of experience. Clem had needs too.

Both nights Clem went directly to sleep turned on his side away from John. But it wasn't long before a muscular arm came over him, drawing his buttocks into John's crotch, showing that John was in full erection. The older, stronger man held Clem in a close embrace as he found position. There was a bit of a struggle at first, that first night, as John wrapped his arm around Clem and the younger man, exhausted from the day's work, swam drunkenly up from sleep into semiconsciousness. Before he was fully awake, though, John had a firm grip on him, was in position, and already had the cap of his cock pressuring the younger man's sphincter.

Clem gave a little grunt and a deep moan as the mushroom cap breached the sphincter and the older man pushed up inside him--both nights--and took him hard and deep with powerful thrusts as the two momentarily became fully awake and invested in the coupling, leading to a tensing and a jerk--and then another--and, having released, John turned on his side away from Clem and descended into snores. It was just release. It wasn't romance. It was release for them both.

John was no prize, but Clem was a sexually needy young man. The snow was coming down harder when John mounted his horse, took the reins of the packhorse Clem had brought into the valley, and moved off up the ridge toward Granby in the valley beyond. Within hours the snow was piling up to the base of the only window in the log cabin and Clem was already starting to feel like the last, lonely man on earth. He had to sleep alone in the nights now, and he already was feeling the isolation, the cold, and the lack of a man to keep him warm and well fucked.

By the afternoon of Christmas Eve, he had all of the cattle and his horse barned and in a feeding cycle. His loneliness and missing the season then sent him out into the forest on the ridge, in snow up to his knees. He found a small fir tree and cut it down. He brought it back to the cabin and searched around, finding anything that would serve as a shiny ornament reflecting light from the fireplace, and attached it to the tree. Once the tree was up and he'd fixed himself a rudimentary dinner and drank a double-day's ration of the whiskey he'd brought up from Granby on the pack horse, he stoked the wood fire in the fireplace to continue going to a smoldering morning, stripped, got under the covers in the bed, and masturbated himself to sleep, his mind going over all the recent men he'd lain under and comparing their relative prowess.

He went to sleep wondering how the best of them would measure up to his boss, Craig Thornton.

Where would he be the next Christmas Eve, he wondered. He hoped it would be in California.

* * * *

Before dawn, Clem woke, dressed warmly, stoked up the fire in the fireplace again, caught a mug of coffee, and trudged out to the barn to feed the cattle and the ranch's horse he'd ridden up to the valley on. The animals were fine, their body heat making the barn more comfortable than the lonely cabin was. Clem returned to the cabin, cooked up his breakfast, and stood in front of the Christmas tree while he ate it. It was Christmas morning, and he was all alone at a snowbound cabin. If Thornton was punishing him for not being more enthusiastic about going under the man, he'd made his point. Thornton was a robust man--more fit and good looking than most of the men Clem had let fuck him. He had plans of just not being here in the mountains of Colorado any longer, but if Thornton want him to, he'd...

But there was no reason to dwell on that now. There was only doing what he had to do here, wait for the thaw from the snowfall, and hope that relief was sent up to the valley sooner than later.

This had certainly disrupted the plans he'd made with Lawrence Jensen.

He stripped, washed himself off with a cloth and the water he'd put in a pot over the fire to heat, and quickly climbed back into the bed and covered himself with layers of blankets. The cabin was warming up to where the temperature would be tolerable toward noon.

He'd just sleep here until he could comfortably move about the cabin naked. He liked moving about free of any clothes. He liked exhibiting his body. He was in magnificent shape. It was just a pity there was no one to exhibit himself to up here in this isolation... on Christmas Day. No one to share Christmas with. No one to be with him, inside him, stretching him... taking him to heaven.

He sighed and pulled the covers close. He should have brought one of the bottles of whiskey over to the bed. He should drink himself into a stupor and stop feeling sorry for himself. He had to ration the booze, but it was Christmas Day. He deserved something to put him into the spirit. He'd get out of bed and fetch a bottle of whiskey.

He went to sleep thinking about getting up and also gauging when it was feeding time for the cattle and horse again. He had nothing to do but sleep--and drink if he managed to get up to fetch the whiskey--until then.

* * * *

Clem woke to the sound of activity--a horse's neigh, someone shushing in the snow and stomping his boots on covered porch at the front of the cabin. When he heard the man's voice, he knew that it was Craig Thornton.

"You in there, Clem? We'll get the horses in the barn; then we'll have ourselves some Christmas."

Clem's boss hadn't just sent him out here for punishment, Clem realized. He'd arranged something special for Christmas--something very private, with no one to disturb them.

When Thorton came through the door, Clem was on top of the blankets on the bed, naked, on his back, legs spread and bent, with feet flat on the bed. He'd placed a pillow under the small of his back. He was ready. He didn't want Thornton to think there was any reluctance in him--no struggle. Unless, of course, that's how his boss wanted to do it.

Thornton laughed when he saw the handsome young mixed-breed cowboy all set up for mounting and fucking. He moved into the center of the room, stripping off the layers of snow-covered clothing. His gaze went to the somewhat bedraggled Christmas tree, with the small collection of tinny kitchen utensils hanging on it. He laughed again.

"Now if that isn't the sorriest tree I ever did see..."

"It's lonely up here," Clem said. "I wanted something to know it was Christmas by."

"I brought you something to know it's Christmas by," Thornton growled.

That was when Clem saw the others enter the cabin, filling the small space with the bodies of robust men, all bundled up but becoming unbundled. So, this wasn't going to be a private Christmas party after all.

There was the lawyer, Brad Hinley, and Lawrence's father, Lars Jensen, the owner of the livery stable, and there also was Judge Hardy. These were the men of the special Granby fetish club. Clem, speechless at the sight of the four men milling around in the cabin, ogling him on the bed, and stripping off their coats and down to their BVDs, with the crotch flaps that allowed them to go quickly into action, gasped at the sudden loss of isolation.

Thornton obviously was in charge. "Here, Judge, here's the bag of grub we brought up to celebrate the day with. It was a tough ride up from Granby. Maybe you can get a meal started. I know I'll be hungry after I've done our boy here. Lars, you could bring the box of whiskey bottles in from the porch and then get the fire going good. We're gonna be running around this here cabin naked for a while. No reason to freeze our peckers off before we get good use out of them. I'll do him first. You can watch, Brad. You let me watch you do him. I'll return the favor."

With that, and with Thornton now down to his skivvies, he unbuttoned the crotch flap and let his long, thick erection flop out. He came over the side of the bed, grabbed Clem by his shoulder-length head hair, and pulled the young man's face down to his erection. The other three men bustled around the cabin, getting comfortable with the small space, and tripping over each other in taking on their assigned chores. All of the time they did their individual assignments they were watching the bed, where Clem was giving Thornton head.