Although he had dreamed about how the black cowboy would look naked, Kawa, standing at the window, himself naked, watched Isaac Washington sluicing himself off under the water pipe in the nude for the first time. The makeshift outdoor shower attached to the bunkhouse at the Santo Domingo Ranch on the Rio Grande southwest of Santa Fe in the New Mexico Territory brought water down from the cistern on the bunkhouse roof. Isaac knew that the young Apache, houseboy and bed partner for the ranch’s owner, Enrique—Rico—Abarca, was watching him, and he posed for the young man.
When Kawa had first come to the window, the sun was just rising and Isaac was a mere silhouette against the bunkhouse wall, but as the sun rose and its rays picked out the slowly undulating body of the black cowboy under the trickle of water from the pipe, the hard-bodied man’s physique was gloriously exposed. He was smoothed skinned, not more than a fuzz of kinky black hair rimming the crown of his head and the V of his pubes, and his smooth nudity exhibited a hard-worked body of steel, the chocolate-brown skin taut across hard-earned bulging muscles of perfect proportion. He was in his prime, his mid thirties. His cowboy duties worked every muscle of his body and they all were in gladiator condition. His torso and abs were as defined as a Roman soldier’s armor. His cock, the meatiest that Kawa had ever seen, was jet black, and his balls were low hung and the size of lemons. He was all man.
When he turned, Kawa gasped, seeing the welts from the lashes on the man’s back. They only accentuated Kawa’s arousal. The young man had known a taste of the lash himself, delivered for sexual pleasure and domination purposes rather than what had probably raised those on Isaac’s back. Like many other cowboys in the New Mexico Territory, many of whom were black and probably escaped slaves, Isaac had come West in 1870 to claim the full function of freedom. He was old enough to have been owned and mistreated to force, even after emancipation, more service in the fields from him somewhere in the South before coming to the Rio Grande valley.
The man had been used hard. Kawa—now that he’d seen the black cowboy in the altogether—ached to be used hard by him as well. The young Apache felt a kinship with the black man. Kawa would even be willing to take the lash of the man if it led to being breeded by him. Kawa felt a low rumbling in his gut as he looked at the engorging size of the man’s cock as Isaac soaped and stroked his shaft. Could he take that? Fuck, he wanted to try to.
It was as if Kawa’s gasp had signaled to Isaac that he’d been caught in his morning cleansing ritual, which he liked to do in the nude and thus came to the outside shower at the rise of the sun to be alone. He realized he wasn’t alone—that he still was being observed—and, in looking around, he saw the young—no more than nineteen—Apache youth in the bedroom window of the main ranch house. Isaac knew Kawa was the toy of the ranch owner, kept to house duties and Abarca’s bed. Every man in the bunkhouse—at a ranch where the owner, a man’s man—gathered other men who preferred men around him—wanted to cover and ride the Apache youth.
Many were the nights that Isaac or another one of the men crept up to the curtainless bedroom window and watched the beefy Rico Abarca dominating his Apache youth—and they all, Isaac no less than the others, wanted to get their cocks in the young man as well.
Isaac was not different from the other men in this regard. Having discerned that Kawa was watching him and that the youth was as much in the nude as he was, Isaac remained under the trickle of the water, posing longer than he needed to, to cleanse himself.
He’d already soaped himself up and rinsed himself off, but now he took the soap up again, stretched himself off, and soaped up his cock and balls. As he did so, he stroked his shaft. He was fully aware that he possessed the longest, thickest, blackest cock of all the men on the ranch. And everyone on the Santo Domingo cattle ranch was male, and all on the Santo Domingo ranch either covered or were covered by other men. This was the West in 1870. There were few women in the region. Men made do with other men in many areas, including on this ranch.
He stretched and posed and his cock engorged as he stroked it. He laughed when he saw that the young Apache, Kawa, remained at the window and that he too was stroking his young cock. His eyes were captured by the beauty of the black cowboy’s nude body, highlighted in the rising sun, and he was stroking himself off. The two were having sex at a distance, the glass of the window, the depth of the ranch house porch, and the length of the yard between them.
Isaac knew that he would be welcome to cover Kawa intimately—and marked in his mind to do so at a time and place where he could use the young Apache totally.
He came, arcing his prodigious cum out onto the scrub grass in the yard between bunkhouse and ranch house. Looking up, he saw that Kawa had withdrawn from the window. Had the youth seen him release his load and ached to have it released inside him? That was unclear. But what was clear, was that the Apache youth was aroused by him and that he would have his way with Kawa—in his own time and at a place where they would not be disturbed as Isaac fucked the young man hard and long.
Turning off the valve that brought the water cascading from the cistern on the roof of the bunkhouse, Isaac reached for the towel to dry himself off. He somewhat regretted that the young man withdrew before he could watch Isaac drying himself, but some day they would share in that. He laughed again at the thought of what he would do with the youth’s body, threw the towel over his shoulder, and strutted into the rising sun.
* * * *
Enrique Abarca, who everyone called Rico, woke with a start to a room that was lightening up. He groaned and rolled over toward the window to embrace the young Apache houseboy, Kawa, and pull him back into his belly. But Kawa wasn’t there. Abarca was this generation’s owner of the Santo Domingo ranch, on the Rio Grande southwest of Santa Fe, which had been in his family since his Spanish ancestor had ridden into the area as one of Hernán Cortés’s conquering Conquistadors. Solidly built, a hirsute Zeus of a man, pushing fifty, Abarca was a dominating force at the ranch and in the region. A man of rugged facile features and scared body from a hard life of hands-on ranching, Abarca had a full head of gray hair; a mustache and beard of dark hair, splattered with gray; and a darker matting of chest, belly, and pubic hair. Aging from the top down, he could still get it up and it was a shaft to be proud of.
He was lying on his back on the bed, in the nude, and he’d been dreaming of what he’d been doing on top and inside the Apache youth before he’d drifted off to sleep. He woke up with an erection in his fist. And he had reached out for Kawa, but the youth wasn’t there.
When he turned toward the window, Abarca saw that Kawa was standing there, facing the window, his slim, youthful body framed in the rays of the sunrise coming through the window. The descendent of the Conquistadors paused, admiring the nude body of the young man he had lured down from the Apache lands in the mountains to the west and had brought into his bed. Abarca had never been as satiated and content as he was now.
The youth was facing the window. The rays of the sun reddened his trim, bronzed body, the width of the shoulders growing into manhood, but the torso narrowing quickly to a thin waist and two pert buttocks and firm, but slim legs. The long, straight black hair cascaded down the young man’s back. In this light and pose he was more beautiful than handsome, and Abarca knew that this aspect carried to the young man’s strikingly comely face and the grace with which he moved. Abarca had no idea what the young man was looking at, but he knew that Kawa was stroking his cock because he was swaying slightly, his buttocks where clutching and releasing, and his soft moan transported to the bed.
The young man wanted to be fucked. Abarca had fucked him twice in the night, but he had recovered. He was hard again. He gloried in having such a magnificent youth in his bed. It made him feel young again. He didn’t mind a bit that the lad was an Apache. The Apaches in the mountain had expelled him for what he was willing to give a man. Abarca had gladly taken him in, given him a job and a life—and regularly put him to the cock. Kawa had been yielding and grateful.
“Kawa, what is it you see out there that arouses you?” he called out.
“It is nothing, Master,” Kawa lied. “Nothing arouses me but you.”
“I think you are in heat and want the cock. You do not have to hand yourself. I will take care of you. Turn around and see how much I want you again.”
Kawa turned, fully in the nude other than the beaded necklace around his neck, a family heirloom he clung to to remind him he was an Apache. He had his own erection in hand, but he dropped his hand as soon as he turned. “You are too good to me,” he said, lowering his eyes after seeing the powerful, hirsute body of the older man and the need of his shaft again. Kawa had lost a life in coming down from the mountains. He was lucky that a rich man had wanted and had taken him. He told himself constantly how lucky he was to have Enrique Abarca to protect, nurture, and cover him. He forced himself to flood his mind with that gratefulness whenever he saw another, younger, more magnificently built man such as the black cowboy, Isaac Washington, he had just watched wash himself in the nude.
Kawa was in erection. The erection was for Isaac Washington, but Kawa’s master, Abarca, need not know that—should not know that—could not know it.
“Please, Master, plow me again. Breed me. Take me and use me hard.”
“Come back to bed.”
It was time to be getting up, not going to bed. The daily chores on the ranch began early in the morning—for many they begin before the sunrise and the sun was already up. Enrique Abarca was a rich man, though, a man whose family had come to the area with the Hernán Cortés and the Conquistadors and had carved out a vast ranch. Enrique Abarca could stay in bed for as long as he wished. His work in establishing an empire had been accomplished. He could roam wherever he wished in the nude. He could command his houseboy to roam in the nude as well. Enrique Abarca could take who he wished to his bed. Enrique Abarca pulled the Apache youth, Kawa, on top of him, setting the young man on his loins, pulling the youth, groaning, down on his cock. Kawa, who was the ranch house houseboy who rarely roamed outside anymore as he had down on his pony on the Apache lands before coming here, rode his master’s cock in an undulating cowboy ride to a mutual ejaculation.
Abarca took what he wanted as he wanted it.
* * * *
Kawa glided into the kitchen of the ranch house, having only now risen, nude, from his master’s bed, to gather Abarca’s breakfast tray to return to the bedroom. Chan gave him an appraising look. Chan too was nude other than an apron to protect his front from the sizzling bacon and eggs in the pans on the stove. Chan was a tall, gaunt, sinewy-muscled Chinese man of indeterminate age, but of the same sexual preferences and desires of the other men at the ranch.
Abarca had acquired Chan, needing a house cook and being tired of the dreary cooking of the general cook who fed the men in the bunkhouse, when on a trip to Topeka, Kansas. Abarca had been in the delegation of town leaders from Santa Fe that was seeking having a new railroad, which would become the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe, extended to Santa Fe. He and his colleagues had not been successful to bring that railroad line to Santa Fe despite the name it had been given, but he had acquired Chan. Chinese laborers were extensively used in railroad construction in the last half of the 1800s. Chan wasn’t working directly on rail construction, but he was cooking for the Chinese workers. He had a problem, though, in that he desired young men. Abarca was drinking in a saloon where Chan had brazenly entered, drunk—and unwanted because he was Chinese—and where Chan put the moves on a young farmer. Immediately, Chan was beaten, tossed out of the saloon, and fired from his job. Abarca hired him and brought him back to the Santo Domingo ranch.
Chan was an excellent cook. But he was a decent cocksman as well. He couldn’t have been working in the ranch house long after Kawa had been brought there without laying the young man, if he could. And he did so, with both Kawa and he agreeing that it would be a good idea for Rico Abarca not to know that happened.
This morning Chan was harried and not the least bit pleased, though.
“Cookie has had to go into Santa Fe for more provisions today,” he told Kawa, not in the least pleased. Cookie was the regular cook for the ranch hands. “And I have to do breakfast for the bunkhouse. After you have served Mr. Abarca, come back and carry food to the bunkhouse. And I suggest you put on your buckskins to do so.” Chan knew how the young Apache aroused him; he knew it would be as hard for the cowboys in the bunkhouse to keep their hands off the youth, whether or not that displeased the ranch owner. Chan was afraid that the ranch hands would gangbang the young Apache and not worry what the ranch owner would do about that until later.
In buckskin trousers, but bare-chested, Kawa carried a load of food to the bunkhouse. Maybe if he’d worn a shirt too he wouldn’t have been risking a gangbang. But he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
The cowboys were just rising for the day, this being a Sunday. They had chores to do on Sunday, but they were lighter than on other days and could be started later in the morning. The preference for nudity in the ranch house extended to the bunkhouse.
Nudity reigned in the bunkhouse when Kawa delivered the first box of breakfast—and it covered all of the six men there except for the one Kawa desired most to see in the altogether again. Isaac met him at the door wearing faded low-slung denim jeans and cowboy boots and about to pull on a dark-red cotton chambray shirt to feed livestock before breakfast. He’d been up since before daybreak, as Kawa could attest, having watched him sluice himself down under the water pipe by the bunkhouse wall.
The other five men, as the Apache youth could see when he’d entered the bunkhouse, were not as far along in preparing for the day. The first of the men who caught his eye, doing so, because Kawa could tell they were fucking, was the newest of the men—small, still slim and soft, barely a man, ginger-headed Clem, no older than Kawa was and recently sent to the ranch by his family in Santa Fe after he’d been found under the schoolmaster. He was with Black Tom, a hard-bodied former slave in his forties, who was senior in age and employment at Santo Domingo in the bunkhouse. Clem was on his back on a bed in the far reaches of the bunkhouse, under Black Tom, both under a blanket, which slipped away as Kawa stood inside the door, handing the breakfast box over to Isaac. The fall of the blanket on the bed revealed both cowboys to be nude, with Black Tom crouched between Clem’s thighs, Clem’s knees hugging the black stud’s hips, and the two rocking against each other in a deep fuck. Clem’s eyes were bugging out and his mouth was in a wide yawn, indicating he was being fucked hard and deep.
He was the new guy in the bunkhouse, though, still fresh and small and yielding—not yet steeled to the work of a cowboy and thus free game for the sexual relief of one and all of the senior cowboys. He had given it to the schoolmaster in Santa Fe, and although he gave it more often here on the ranch, he did not fight giving it as demanded. Someday there would be another young new guy and he’d move up in the fucking order.
Off to the side, the short, but solidly built Mexican cowboy, Manuel, had loaded water into a copper tub and was taking his weekly bath. The other two cowboys, the ferret-like New Orleans Frenchmen, Jacques, who had fled the riverboats on the Mississippi when being charged with card sharking and who was the instigator in the bunkhouse of all sort of sordid activities, and the big-boned, corn-fed, grinning, blond Scandinavian, Sven, from the Great Lakes region, were just rolling out of their bunks, where they’d been sleeping in the nude. All six cowboys other than the recently arrived Clem were hard-bodied and fully fit from hard ranch work. They varied in body stature, sexual endowment, and looks, but they all were sexually powerful men. They all were fully capable to grasping either Clem or Kawa and having their way with them, singly or in pairs.
Both Jacques and Sven zeroed in on the handsome young Apache standing just inside the door and moved to him, from different sides, bent on herding him into a corner and sharing him. All of the men in the bunkhouse other than Clem had wanted to get the young Apache under them since Mr. Abarca had brought him to the ranch and hidden him in the ranch house.
Isaac came to Kawa’s rescue, shouldering Jacques and Sven aside and pushing Kawa back out the door. Kawa gave him a grateful look, not being ready to be gangbanged by the bunkhouse crew yet, and Isaac returned the intense look, conveying that his motive wasn’t altruistic—that he wanted to fuck Kawa himself. The Apache youth wasn’t opposed to that intent.
Kawa returned two more times with boxes for the men’s breakfast, Isaac taking them each time, and ensuring that Kawa wasn’t pulled into the bunkhouse. By the third time, Kawa could see that the men had moved on in their Sunday orgy. Black Tom was standing now, with the Mexican, Manuel, kneeling in front of him. The big black was guiding Manuel’s head between his hands as the Mexican sucked him off. Clem was bent over a bed, with Jacques mounting him from behind, holding the young man’s hips between his hands, and plowing him hard and deep. Sven stood by, erection in hand, waiting for his turn with Clem.
“Is this the last load?” Isaac asked Kawa on the third trip.
“Yes, sir,” Kawa said, handing the hunky black cowboy the box.
“I’ll take it. Don’t come back here today. I will be working by the riverbank tomorrow afternoon.” This was obviously conveying a message and a command, and Kawa understood it as such.
Thinking of what could happen on the riverbank the next day if he could find an excuse to leave the ranch house, was adding to Kawa’s arousal, already piqued by the orgy he observed under way in the bunkhouse. He returned to the ranch house kitchen flushed and in obvious need. On the front porch, he passed Rico Abarca, dressed and ready to do some ranch chores.
The master would not be giving Kawa the release he needed at this moment.
Chan was cleaning off the stove when Kawa entered the kitchen. He had taken his apron off and was fully in the nude. He’d been thinking of Kawa, ogling him and imaging what Kawa could do for him each time the young Apache had come back for another box of breakfast for the bunkhouse. Each time Kawa had commented on what he’d seen going on in the bunkhouse and that had heated both cook and assistant and assistant up.
“Are you finished with the breakfast preparation?” Kawa asked.
“Yes,” Chan answered, giving Kawa a close look, knowing what the young man’s need was. Kawa’s gaze went to the Chinese man’s erection.
Kawa unbuttoned his buckskin britches and let them fall to his ankles.
Chan fucked Kawa from behind, bent over the kitchen counter.
Later, Chan was musing that he’d like to fix a blackberry cobbler for dessert that night—that it was blackberry picking season.
“There’s a patch of that down near the riverbank,” Kawa said. “I could go out there tomorrow afternoon and pick some berries.”
“Fine,” Chan answered.
* * * *
A fringe of trees ran alongside the sluggish Rio Grande River, with bushes bordering those both on the land and river side. As Kawa rode his pony up to the foliage, he saw that one of the ranch’s horses was tied to a bush and had a feed bag attached to its muzzle. Kawa’s pony was his own, ridden bareback, which he had brought down from the mountains to the west with him.
Someone from the ranch was nearby. Kawa hoped and trusted that it was the big black, Isaac Washington, as the man had indicated the previous morning that he’d be here.
The blackberry bushes were there in the stand of bushes between the trees and the sandy soil descending toward the river. He could see a pile of clothes and leather saddlebags lying on the sand, including faded denim jeans, a dark-red shirt, and a pair of cowboy boats, but it took him a few minutes to locate Isaac. The magnificently built black cowboy was swimming in the river.
Kawa made enough motion and noise in settling down in a squat by a blueberry bush and beginning to pull the fruit that he knew Isaac would see him. This was all under the black cowboy’s command now. The Apache youth would respond to however Isaac wanted to do this. He hoped that Isaac would do this.
Blackberries plunked into the tin bucket Kawa had brought with him for a good ten minutes without him daring to look around at the river below. He stood to pluck some from the top of the bush. He gasped and dropped the tin bucket in surprise as a rope lasso buzzed over his head, slid down his shoulders and to his waist. The tug on the rope made him fall on to his back and he found himself being dragged backward, down the sand, toward the river.
He managed to look around to see that Isaac, nude, his muscular ebony body that of a god, had risen from the river, had retrieved rope from his satchel, and had roped him. Laughing, Isaac dragged the young Apache down onto the sand to his feet and crouched over him. He used his cowboy skills to hogtie the young man just as he would a heifer he was going to brand.
Kawa recovered from the surprise assault and became mouthy, telling Isaac he didn’t have to be restrained—that he didn’t want to be restrained because he wanted to fully respond to however Isaac wanted to use him. But the black cowboy declared, “This is how I want it to be. I want to cover and fuck you totally captive.” As Isaac stripped the moccasins and buckskin britches away, making Kawa fully naked, and bound the young Apache into total control, wrists bound to ankles on either side and rope pulled taut behind Kawa’s neck so that his legs were spread, the Apache youth moaned and whimpered. He’d had no idea it would be this way, but it put him in high heat.
He lay, hogtied on his knees, cheek pressed into the sand, as Isaac stood over him and worked him over with a riding whip. The blows were not too painful. They were enough to redden the skin of the young man’s exposed and raised buttocks and of his back and thighs, but they weren’t applied hard or long enough to break the skin and raise blood. The flogging continued until the young Apache lay, curled up and completely docile. The whip was dropped and Isaac was on his knees between Kawa’s thighs, working his tongue and fingers into the young man’s ass, opening him up, and pulling on Kawa’s cock, making the young man come for him and spill his seed on the sand.
When Isaac was fully aroused and erect himself, he threw a leg over the young Apache’s hips; mounted and penetrated him, working hard to sheath his massive, black cock in the young man’s channel; and rode him hard and long to his series of jerky and shuddering releases. Then, pushing a moaning Kawa on his side, Isaac went to his saddlebags, retrieve a bottle of liquor and sat on the sand beside the young man’s trembling and trussed body, drinking and running his hand over the smooth, youthful body if the Apache.
“You are my slave now,” he growled. And then he laughed.
When the cowboy was in erection again, he tossed the liquor bottle to the side and reached over and turned Kawa on his back on the sand, his legs pulled up into his chest and spread, his privates vulnerable and fully accessible. Crouching between Kawa’s trussed and spread legs, Isaac hovered over the young Apache, capturing Kawa’s eyes with his to enjoy the expression of his prey in pain and pleasure, squeezed Kawa’s balls until the youth cried out in pain and begged for mercy. Then he stroked Kawa off again, and when the young man came, he mounted and penetrated him from the front and rode him to another of his own ejaculations.
Kawa couldn’t help but cry out at the cruel taking, but most of what he mouthed off about was how well he was being fucked and how magnificent the black cowboy’s nude body and huge, jet-black cock were.
“Ah, ahhhh. Aoo, aoo—Yes, YES! Joderme—Fuck me!” he cried out as he came again.
The ranch was vast and few had reason to come down to the river, so there was no concern that the noise they were making in their rutting at the river’s edge would be noted. But as luck would have it, Enrique Abarca was out riding the range near the river that day and did hear to sounds of rough sex. He wasn’t all that surprised what he would find by checking the commotion out. He had seen the looks that Isaac and Kawa had shared of recent times and knew he would have to do something about that. He was loathe to lose either one of them, though, and had been putting off the inevitable. He also knew the horse Isaac rode and the pony Kawa owned and the two were tethered together on this side of the river as he approached. The ranch owned a string of horses, but both Isaac and Kawa, as was the case with most of the cowboys working on the ranch, owned their own as a well.
He slowly moved through the bushes and then the trees and held up on the other side of the stand of blackberry bushes from the river. He saw what he expected to see as far as Isaac fucking Kawa, but the circumstances—Kawa being hogtied and fully taken as a captive—surprised and aroused him.
Abarca didn’t interrupt or disturb the two naked men in full fuck. This was a new way to him of one man taking another, and since it already was in full rut and he hadn’t prevented it from happening, he decided just to enjoy watching it for now. He unbuttoned and flared his jeans, freed his engorging erection, and stroked himself off while he watched the coupling. He came before either of them did their second time, stuffed himself back into his jeans, buttoned them up, and stole away, giving the two fucking men no idea he had been there and had watched them.
He would take care of this later. He couldn’t say he was surprised it had happened.
* * * *
“You know that blackberry cobbler you fixed the other day was delicious,” Kawa said to Chan. “The best I’ve ever had.”
“Was it? It was the cobbler that was the best you’ve ever had?” Chan asked, giving Kawa a pointed look. In terms of young men and covering them, the ranch owner, Enrique Abarca and Chan were buddies. Abarca had told Chan what he’d seen by the riverside—the black cowboy Isaac fucking the hell out of Kawa—and had asked Chan what he should do about it. Chan had told Abarca just to ride it out if he wanted to keep the Apache youth in his bed. Chan understand the power of younger, fitter lovers and the appeal of black cock to a young man. He was afraid, though, that Abarca wanted to hear different counsel. Chan was disappointed that Kawa had said nothing to him about it. There were some realities of life he could tell that young man as well.
“If I picked some more blackberries, would you make the cobbler again?”
“Having too many blackberries isn’t good for you,” Chan had said, talking bout something different than blackberries, but the Apache wasn’t listening, Chan could tell. Kawa was taken with obsession and it wasn’t about blackberries. The balance here on the ranch was changing, and not for the better—and none of them at the center were seeing it coming.
Chan sighed. “If it’s blackberries you must have than, yes, we can have the cobbler again.”
Kawa smiled. “I will go pick some by the river this afternoon, then.”
That afternoon, of course, was when Isaac Washington had summoned Kawa to a tryst by the Rio Grande.
Later in the morning, Chan delivered a cup of coffee to the desk where Enrique Abarca was doing some paperwork. He set the coffee down on the desk and then just stood there, without withdrawing, until Abarca noticed him.
“Is there something I need to know, Chan?” he asked.
“Kawa has been quite cheery this morning—floating around and humming.”
“I fucked him good this morning,” Abarca answered, and laughed.
“You fuck him every morning. But he is especially happy this morning. He has asked for more cobbler. He’s going out to the river to pick blackberries.”
“Is he?” Abarca answered, giving the Chinese cook a gloomy look.
Kawa rode out to the riverbank to pick blackberries—and to do other stuff—that afternoon. He waited until almost dark before coming back to the ranch compound and going directly to the bunkhouse. From there, he went to the barn, led out his pony, mounted, and rode into the sunset.
Enrique Abarca came out onto the porch of the ranch house in time to see Kawa ride off but not in time to try to stop him. Chan joined his boss at the porch rail to watch Kawa riding off toward Albuquerque in the southwest.
“Did you two have words?” Chan asked Abarca.
“We didn’t have occasion to, no,” the ranch owner said.
“What happened? You didn’t take my advice, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. And I’m sorry about that. I sacked Isaac.”
“You couldn’t share?”
“No, I guess not.”
“And now you have to do without,” Chan said. It certainly had been wise not to let him know that Chan had been fucking Kawa too then.
“He’ll be back.”
“No he won’t,” Chan said. He could have added that his boss had miscalculated the combination of younger, black cock and cruel use, but that would be rubbing it in.
“Any ideas?” Abarca asked.
“There’s the new young man, Clem. I don’t think he’s cut out to be a cowboy. You could bring him into the house at least until you have found something you like better.”
“I suppose,” Abarca said. “But that Apache was one sweet lay.”
“Yes, yes, he was,” Chan said, but quickly added, “or so I could tell from him being in your bed.” Abarca still didn’t need to know that Chan had been using Kawa too. No need for Chan to be sent packing like Isaac was.
“You know you aren’t getting any younger, Mr. Abarca,” Chan said.
“No, I’m not. But are you telling me—?”
“That that time has come when you need to be willing to share to have what you want? Yes, I’m saying that.”
“I suppose you may be right,” Abarca admitted, wishing he’d taken that on before he’d lost the sweet Apache, Kawa.