The Wild Bunch 1 Stace

by O'Dare, Deirdre

  If he actually harmed a guest, he'd never hear the last of it, even if he managed to keep his job. He dropped to his knees in front of Jared, thinking a quick prayer. Be all right, man. Please be all right.

  "Hey, are you okay? You're kinda pale." After Jared straightened partway up, Stace went to work. With hands not quite steady, he reached out to release the two nipple clips. Then he maneuvered carefully to loosen the loops on Jared's cock and balls. "I should've given you a little more slack when you knelt."

  Jared looked at him, the haze of distress beginning to clear from his pale blue eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay. Hurt there, too much to be a good hurt for a minute, but I'm okay. It got better as soon as the tension let off."

  Stace got to his feet and then held a hand down to help Jared up. "I think you passed the ordeal and satisfied the spirits." He grinned. "One particular one especially, although we're not through with you yet. You ready for the next round?"

  When Jared stamped his feet a couple of times and grimaced, Stace figured the other man felt like he'd been staked on an anthill. At least up to about his knees. With a gentle shove, he urged Jared across the tipi to a thick pile of hides and blankets. "Take a load off and get down there," he said.

  When Jared sprawled forward onto the primitive bed, Stace glanced down to check how the other man's privates were responding now. Much to his relief, Jared's cock now stood up proudly, clearly ready for further action. His nipples still looked red but the skin wasn't broken and Stace detected no signs of real trauma.

  He stood for a moment looking down at Jared. For a city guy, the man had a good physique. Clearly, he must work out and at least make an effort to stay fit. Stace judged him to be about thirty-five, some six or eight years Stace's senior. The other man's skin looked very light, indicating he didn't get out in the sun too much. No beach boy or serious golf addict then. Wonder what he does for fun? He takes to a little domination anyway. Wonder what else lights his fires?

  Stace hung a battered enamel coffeepot onto the iron rack over the fire pit. In a few minutes, he poured some of the now-steaming water over some leafy herbs in a matching mug. The old Apache remedy handed down from his great-grandma should restore Jared's flagging spirits and ensure he was as up to the next round, although his cock already seemed to be.

  When the cowboy recognized the other man had suffered a few bad moments, probably been scared near shitless a time or two, he had to make things right. Some pain and fright were part of the game, but only if no real harm was done. So far, the Californian had been a good sport. The very least Stace could do was to help him along a bit here.

  Although the blue mug was barely cool enough to hold without burning his hands, Stace carried it across to Jared. "Here you go," he said. "This is not common tea, but a secret recipe handed down in the family from Great-Grandma Speckled Cub. Maybe a secret ingredient or two added by my Grandma Mattie, too. She came from a bijou voodoo family. It'll have you feeling fine in a few minutes."

  Jared sat up and took the mug, shifting it back and forth between his hands as he blew across the steam rising from it. "Hotter than hell," he muttered. "Smells like it, too."

  "Tastes better than you'd expect," Stace assured him. "Take a sip or two anyway."

  Stace knew from experience the brew had a gingery-mint flavor touched with a hint of red hot pepper. He had no idea what the mixture contained, only that it had powerful restorative and aphrodisiac properties, enough to jack up the most weary and flagging in both spirit and cock.

  Maybe someday he'd manage to convince his sister to share the recipe since the eldest female in each generation traditionally got it when she reached maturity. He knew his mother would never relent and allow him to obtain it. "No man thing," she'd mutter. "Women gotta have some secret stuff, boy, to make up for the bull strength we lack. This here ain't nothin' you need to know."

  Jared lifted the mug to his mouth, slowly, as if it was almost too heavy to hoist. He took a cautious sip and then a second one. Then he sat up straighter and flashed a quick grin. "You're right. It's not half bad. Strange, but not bad at all." After that, he took bigger swallows and soon drained the cup.

  He got up from the bedding and crossed to the fire pit. "Where does this go?"

  Stace took the cup from him and set the handle over a spike on the side of the iron fire rack. "This'll do for now."

  He turned toward Jared as he straightened. "Get on the blankets, boy." He punctuated the order with a sharp swat across Jared's bare buttocks. The other man lost no time in complying. He strode back to the bedding and dropped to his knees on it, ready to roll over.

  "Stop right there." The red mark of Stace's hand on Jared's left butt cheek stood out like one of the painted handprints left by the ancients on cave walls. He wasn't sure why but the sight aroused Stace to the point of aching need. Shit, I almost came just now. What's goin' on here? I can get it back up fast most of the time, but this is a fuckin' record!

  It only took two fast strides to put him at the edge of the bed. Jared had halted obediently and waited, knees sunk into the soft heap of hides and blankets, his back still to Stace. With a hand in the middle of the other man's back, Stace shoved him forward. Operating on reflexes alone, Jared dropped to catch himself on his outstretched forearms.

  "Good, just like that."

  Stace sank to his own knees. He tore the breechclout and its sash off and cast them aside. His pose put his now stiff cock short inches above the tempting curves of Jared's ass. Just the right place to be.

  Jared looked back over his shoulder with a smile that looked almost coy. "What next, Chief?"

  "You've got an ass made for fucking, pale man. And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

  Jared's smile did not slip a bit. It looked to Stace like the Californian's mouth shaped the word yes.

  Rummaging under the edge of the heaped bedding, Stace collected a condom and a tube of lubricant. He lost no time in sheathing himself. He tossed a second rubber in front of Jared. "Get it on."

  While the other man complied, he drizzled a thin trail of the lube into the crack of Jared's ass. With one finger, he spread it downward and around the puckered opening. Once he'd put on the condom, Jared stayed stock still, steady as a statue except for the quickening pace of his breathing. Between the other man's spread thighs, Stace could see just the tip of Jared's cock, now ruddy with engorging blood and twitching with every heartbeat.

  Bending forward, Stace steadied his own prick in one hand and drew it up and down between Jared's cheeks until it picked up plenty of the slick lube. Then he poised at Jared's opening, teasing, but not quite pushing in.

  Jared moaned, just a faint sound on a stronger exhalation. He pushed back against Stace's upper legs and then reached back with one hand to pull his right buttock to the side, spreading himself for the coming invasion.

  At that, Stace smacked him again. "I'll say when," he said in a low, guttural tone. Jared put his hand back on the bed, but now fine tremors shook his body, anxious shivers he could obviously not control.

  Stace couldn't wait any longer himself. He grasped Jared's hips and steadied the other man's body while he drove into the waiting hole, all the way in with one hard, fast thrust. Then he let go with one hand and reached around to take hold of Jared's cock. While he pounded into the other man's depths, he began to stoke with steadily faster and harder motions. It didn't take long. They both tensed, trembled and erupted in the same second. Almost before the final shudders ended, they both collapsed onto the bedding. Stace rolled to one side so as not to fall squarely on the other man's naked frame knowing he was a good forty pounds heavier if not more.

  A lot of folks mistook Stace for a football player. At that, he'd just grin and shake his head. "Nope, I al'us played with bigger and meaner opponents than that--tough bulls and bad horses."

  After resting a few minutes, Stace got up and shucked the rest of his ornaments. By then, Jared appeared to be fast asleep. Stace grinned to himself. Looks like I di
d the job for now and wore our Californiano out real good. He lay back down, close but not quite touching the other man and dragged a blanket up over them both.

  At over a mile in elevation, nights were chilly, even in the summer. The small fire had nearly died and a slight breeze slipped under the lower edges of the tipi. They'd been raised to permit some air to circulate. Early next morning, they'd head back to the main ranch.

  Meanwhile, Stace started to plan the next encounter. This time he figured he'd get one of the others involved, too, even though the idea of sharing the newest guest didn't sit as easily as he expected.

  Whoa, man, what's this about? The more the merrier. That's our rule, the way the Wild Bunch always plays. I can't be thinkin' about keeping this guy to myself. That's not how it works.

  * * * *

  Stace, who had just finished telling Spark and Casa about his night with Langford, looked from one buddy to the other. "So he likes it kinda rough and for sure taken out of his hands--I think our big executive man is a closet sub. Which one of you wants to come along for the second round?"

  Casa shook his head, clear reluctance in his expression. "I'm kind of committed to entertaining our Texan and his tag-along tonight. The man all but propositioned me, even though he's Spark's guest. Not sure what he has in mind, but when a guest issues a request, we're s'posed to honor it as best we can. I'm going to have to play this one by ear.

  "Last night we just came back to the ranch and everybody turned in, but when he handed his horse to me--instead of Spark--Mr. Fancy Boots said he expected something different for the next adventure. I'll probably take him and his shadow up to the line camp."

  Spark seemed to perk up. "I'm game, Stace. I think I took care of our Chi-town hombre for a day or two. He invited me to his cabin last night after we got back. Looks like Casa and I have switched charges--whatever they want, ya know. I think I gave him everything he wanted, and maybe a little bit more." The blond's grin spoke volumes that his words left unsaid. "Maybe two Texans aren't a good match anyway. Can't say for sure Mister Chicago is Mafioso, but he could sure stand in for one. He likes things a little rough." He grinned. "But on top of the regular ranch stuff, for now he's pooped."

  "Okay then, here's my idea..." When Stace finished outlining his plan, he could see Spark's enthusiasm for the idea.. This time there would be two bad hombres with big guns--one at the hip as well as one in their Wranglers.

  They passed the middle of the day with a drive up to the famous Gila Cliff Dwellings. The Texan's sidekick took lots of pictures and the others climbed around and peered into the restored remains of an ancient Native American pueblo. They went through the museum and then got back in the van to return to the ranch.

  Tonight, Dough-boy served the evening meal in the central courtyard area behind the main lodge. After everyone ate all they could of barbequed ribs with all the sides, the guests lounged around with beer or non-alcoholic cold drinks. Stace and Spark slipped away, while Casa again played his guitar for entertainment.

  Dusk had begun to fade rapidly to dark when they returned. With faces dulled with soot and dust and hidden behind bandanas, the two cowboys burst through the back gate. There they separated to approach the group from opposite sides.

  "Get those hands up. This is a stick-up."

  Although no one quite let go with a feminine squeal, a few sounds emerged from the startled group that didn't differ from that too much. The Chicago guest looked like he might piss his pants. Even the Texan could not come up with any bluster. They dug out wallets and cell phones, peeled off expensive watches and laid their valuables out on the tables. Perhaps they suspected the "hold-up" was all in fun, but no one was quite ready to put it to test.

  Even though Jared Langford complied by laying out his valuables, Spark made his way to the Californian, caught his arm and hauled him upward out of his chair. The old-fashioned metal patio chair tipped over, clattering down on the flagstone with a jarring clang. In the sudden silence, the sound reverberated from the surrounding adobe walls.

  "Yer comin' with me," Spark ordered, his normally low voice deepened to a near-growl.

  Watching from across the yard, Stace grinned to himself. His buddy was making the act look and sound pretty real. For a moment, he thought Langford might resist or protest, but then the fair man seemed to relax and let Spark lead him from the courtyard.

  Outside, they had three horses ready. Stace waited until Langford had mounted his steed, this time a dun gelding, before he swung into his own saddle and put spurs to his Paint. Spark was already up on his big flashy sorrel. Together they galloped off into the night.

  * * * *

  This has got to be a game, just make-believe. Jared told himself that several times, but despite his attempts to find reassurance, the action felt almost too real. He thought he had seen one of the two "desperados" scoop up everyone's belongings and dump them into a feedbag, but he was not sure. The minute one masked man's strong hand clamped onto his arm, he'd given in to the frisson of shock and excitement that surged through his body and let himself accept the scene as real. Why did they take me and not any of the others? Doesn't that prove it's all an act, a pretense?

  The three horses pounded along, twisting among the towering cottonwood and sycamore trees that lined the canyon floor alongside a stream feeding into the Mimbres. Soon the arroyo narrowed and began a precipitous climb. The horses slowed to a trot and then a walk. The man on the Paint--surely that's Stace's horse, isn't it?--led the way. The man who had grabbed Jared brought up the rear, making sure Jared did not swerve from the path chosen by the pinto horse.

  They climbed for perhaps fifteen minutes and then continued along a trail that ran just under the ridgeline of a long hill extending from the dark bulk of a higher mountain ahead. For what Jared thought was about a half-hour, no one spoke. The only sounds were the muffled thuds of the horse's hooves and an occasional sharper sound when a steel shoe hit a stone. Jared had begun to tire when the Paint's rider finally slowed and then stopped. Just ahead, Jared could make out a low structure that appeared to be a rustic cabin of stone and logs built against the hillside or even into it.

  The man who had grabbed him rode up to his side. "We're stoppin' here. Get down."

  Jared glanced at his captor, his face still hidden behind a triangle of red bandana.

  The other man drew his pistol and jabbed Jared in the side with the barrel. "I said get down. Quit farting around."

  Not inclined to argue with the business end of what looked like a hand-sized cannon, Jared obeyed. Meanwhile, the other man dismounted and tied his flashy gelding to a picket line between two juniper trees just outside the cabin door. He then came back to where Jared paused at his horse's side.

  "Git on inside," he said. "Partner'll take care of the horses. You can help me count the loot." He laughed. "Not that you're going to get any of it, but we figure maybe someone will pay us a little extra to get you back in one piece. You seem like a big, high-priced executive type of guy."

  "You should've taken the Texan then," Jared protested. "He could probably buy me with pocket change."

  The outlaw stepped behind Jared and jabbed him about kidney level. "Quit jawing and get inside."

  The jab could have been no more than a stiff finger, but it could also have been the barrel of a six-shooter. Jared did not dawdle.

  He had to duck to step beneath the low frame of the door and sensed the man behind him did, too. Inside, it was darker than the pits of Hades. Jared took a step, a second one and then stopped. He couldn't see anything and did not dare to move farther, no matter what the man behind him might do.

  "I can't see," he protested. "I don't know what I'm about to run into or fall through or anything."

  The other man snorted. "Awright, I'll make us some light." He pulled a cigarette lighter from some pocket. The click when he flicked it sounded very loud an instant before flame blossomed. The flare cast a small pool of light. Within that glow, Jared saw an old-fashioned
kerosene lantern sitting on a table less than an arm's length to his right. His captor reached past him to pick it up. Soon it blazed brightly, illuminating the cabin's one-room interior.

  To their left, one side was taken up by a massive stone fireplace equipped with several iron hooks, one holding a battered enamel coffee pot above the neatly laid fire, ready to be lit. Two other walls, at the back and on the right, supported rough shelves holding canned goods, items of tack, and a variety of hand tools, branding irons, fence pliers and such. A crude log bedstead sat in the right rear corner, while the plank trestle table with four mismatched chairs completed the furnishings. Turning slowly to look around, Jared saw two narrow windows broke the front wall, one on either side of the door, which the second man had just slammed shut behind him as he entered.

  "Got the horses settled," the second man said. "Want me to light the fire?"

  Jared caught the first man's shrug out of the corners of his eyes. "Yeah, I reckon. Not that we need the heat right now, but some coffee'll be good later." He turned then to Jared and dragged off the bandana mask.

  "Don't get funny now, dude. You know there's no escape from the Wild Bunch. Me and my partner can do anything with you we please and all you can do is say, "Yes, sir," and do your best to obey to the T."

  Jared nodded. He recognized Stace now, even as he'd suspected, yet the cowboy seemed like a different person. The jovial and pleasant man who catered to the whims of the guests was gone again. Last night he had morphed into a savage warrior. Tonight he'd become a merciless outlaw with the hardware to back up any threat he made.

  "I think we oughta tie him up just so he can't try to escape or cause us any problems. What do you think, pard?" Without the bandana mask, the second man again became Spark, the blond cowboy, but with his face smudged and stern and his hat pulled low over his eyes, he still looked fierce enough to make a very believable bad guy.