Wild Boys Read online

  “Must be hell.”

  “The very pit. I would not go after him at all if my job did not demand it, because I am not sure I can do any better around him now than I did back then.”

  “You are strong, Harlan.”

  “Strong men can fall harder than the weak.”

  “But this time you know what you are up against.”

  “I hope that helps.”

  Here we turn from personal things to practical matters, but Carl has no good information as Creed has not been to Globe. “If he’s flush, he’s in some town throwing money around,” he adds. “You just have to find which one.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Charleston maybe, or Galeyville,” he offers with a shrug.

  I stand and offer my hand. “Many thanks, Carl.”

  “Most welcome,” he replies.

  We ride on to Galeyville, but Creed has not been there so we keep going. We scout one town after another for two days, covering much of the county before I learn Creed rode into San Simon with his friends the day before but left there alone as he got into an argument and shot both. As I attempt to maintain a solemn tone, my insides are frantic and my cock is rising. I take off my hat and wipe my brow, attempting to divert myself.

  “What’s the plan, Sheriff?” I am asked by one of my men.

  “Let me think on it,” I say. “Go get yourselves some supper, get your horses fed, and meet me here at six. We’ll camp outside town and I’ll let you know what is next.”

  I have to get away by myself as the idea of Creed on his own is too much to bear. I see to my horse, then go into a saloon and throw back a few whiskeys. This eases me somewhat but I still cannot regain my composure, so I go out back to the privy and pull my swollen dick to a come. Of course I do this while thinking on Creed running naked and me roping him and getting him down and fucking him.

  Once relieved, I get a meal and as I eat I consider a plan. What I want is to trail him alone so my first concern is how to dismiss my posse without raising eyebrows. I am the sheriff, I remind myself. I run things, so they must do as I say. And five men are not needed to capture one, no matter how crafty. I can make my way quietly, I reason. I can slip up on him.

  At six the men and I ride from town and set up camp. Around the fire I tell them to head back to Tombstone next morning. “I am going on alone,” I say. “Better to slip up on him.”

  Nobody questions or objects though I do see a couple of skeptical looks exchanged. Early next morning I watch them ride away and I head east, as Creed is said to be going. When I find him, it is the stuff of dreams and I wonder if he planned it, knowing I’d likely come on my own. He lies sleeping on his bedroll beneath trees at a watering hole called Sandy Springs, a place I have stopped many a time while riding with a posse. It is late morning and his horse stands drinking from the spring. Creed is naked on his blanket, prick as stiff as a post. I tie my horse a few yards away, draw my gun and approach on foot.

  “I knew you’d be along,” he says without opening his eyes. “Caught sight of you early on. My old friend.”

  Here he begins to stroke his cock, which of course causes my entire self to seize like a noose is tightening around my neck. My prick cannot fill fast enough. “Get up,” I command. “I am taking you in.”

  “How about you fuck me, then we talk about it.”

  He raises his legs to show me his butthole. “Come on, Marshal, you know you want it and I sure as hell welcome that cock of yours. Pick up where we left off. Nobody around to see.”

  “So you can run off again? No. Now get up.”

  “I will not get to my feet until I’ve had your dick. You can see I’m ready for you. Been lying here thinking on you chasing me down and getting at me, so you sort of owe me. Come on, Sheriff, get it out. I can see you are hard.”

  “You are the devil, Paulie.”

  “Then why not enjoy a trip to hell?” He works a finger down to his crack and pushes into himself. “I need me a dick the worst way,” he adds.

  I know from first sight I will do as he wants but the lawman still argues the matter, empty shell slaving for justice. Creed keeps grinning all the while I do battle, not saying anything more as he knows he’s won. With my free hand I unbuckle my gun belt and let it drop. At this Creed eases his legs down, gets his hand back onto his prick, and starts to pull the thing.

  I do not strip naked as I refuse to let myself indulge too far. I put down my gun, undo my pants and push them down enough to free my hard cock. Then I pick up the gun. “Get your legs back up,” I say, motioning. “Around your ears.”

  He grins, wags his tongue at me and does as told, his butthole now there for the taking. “Fuck me, Sheriff,” he begs. “Put your dick in and fuck me.”

  I kneel down, look into his blue eyes and see the boy he once was, sweet faced, eager, happy. Except there also lies a serpent, that tongue poking out. As he tantalizes, I grip my pistol tightly, then slide the barrel into him. This causes him to gasp and I figure this is the first time in maybe ever that someone has truly gotten the drop on him.

  “You need to be done away with,” I tell him. “You are a curse to mankind and worse to me.” I prod the gun and see genuine fright come over him. “I figure the bullet will rip your innards to pieces but not kill you outright. You’ll die slowly, which I see as fitting payment for the lives you have taken.”

  The tongue retreats, the flashing eyes widen with fear. A shudder runs through him, but he does not speak.

  “Maybe I will fuck you after I shoot you,” I tell him. “Seal the deal.”

  We pass a good minute in this position. It is the first time I have felt any control in his presence. His expression remains stricken but at last breaks. He smiles. “Go ahead and shoot,” he says. “What do I care? I am wanted in three states, I have no life but robbing and killing, and if you do not kill me I will go to prison, which I do not want. So I don’t care if you end my life right now. And you are right, shooting me inside is fitting, a deadly fuck from the man who knows how.”

  I ram the pistol into him but he does not flinch and I see I’ve lost the upper hand. Doesn’t matter I have the gun. A man willing to die gains all the power, and I can see he is serious. My thumb pulls back the hammer, and I make ready to shoot. Creed shows no fear now. He gazes at me almost peacefully, and I see he has truly come to terms with his end. One squeeze of the trigger and I am rid of him. Arizona is rid of him, dead men avenged. The urge to get off the shot rises up and fires me yet falls just short. My finger weakens on the trigger and I ease the hammer down, then withdraw the barrel from Creed’s bottom. I look down to see it pop out of him and know my only recourse. I inch closer and shove my dick in where the pistol has been.

  SPARE THE ROD, SPOIL THE ADULT

  Landon Dixon

  What the fuck you gawkin’ at, old man?”

  Danny stared defiantly at the distinguished-looking businessman sitting across from him on the subway. And he kept his hand on the bulge in his torn jeans, rubbing his cock.

  Conrad shook his head and shook out his newspaper in disgust, chiding himself for not getting a company driver to take him home after he’d worked past midnight. He glanced up and down the car, but it was empty except for him and the nineteen-year-old. So he dipped his head back into the stock quotes, ignoring the punk.

  Danny slumped farther down on the plastic bench, sprawling his skinny legs out wider, stroking the long, rigid outline of his cock and glaring at the man in the gray trench coat from under his blond bangs. And when he caught Conrad’s eyes wandering up over the edge of the newspaper, he slid his other hand under his ripped T-shirt and pinched and pulled on a stiffened nipple.

  His green eyes flashed a What the fuck you gonna do about it! at the silver-haired gentleman on the opposite bench, as he openly felt himself up. And the older man watched.

  Conrad’s jowly face flushed red. He shifted in his seat as if he were about to get up to find refuge in another subway car where insolent
young punks weren’t committing public acts of indecency.

  “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, geezer,” Danny sneered, rubbing faster, harder, rolling his nipples. He fluttered his eyelashes and groaned for Conrad’s benefit, pushing his pelvis higher, his huge erection almost splitting his jeans.

  “Someone should teach you some manners, young man,” Conrad snorted. “Your parents obviously didn’t do a very good job of it.”

  “Maybe you can teach me some manners, old man?” Danny challenged, his body flooding with a tingling heat as he heavy-petted himself. “Or maybe you can just shut the fuck up and sit there and read your paper like a good old boy. Huh?”

  Conrad rose to his feet. “Now listen here, if you don’t behave yourself, I’m going to…call the conductor, the driver. Get you thrown off this train. Or arrested.”

  Danny laughed. He arched his lean body off the bench and pushed his jeans halfway down his thighs. His cock bounded into the open, head pink and swollen; a thick bush of blond pubes covered his heavy balls. “You ain’t in charge here, old man,” he taunted, lacing long fingers around his vein-ribboned shaft and pumping, grunting with pleasure. He fingernailed a clear pearl of precum off his gaping slit, stuck the finger in his mouth and sucked on it.

  Conrad advanced on the jacking young man, his newspaper rolled and raised like he was going to swat him. But he stopped himself in time and tried to compose himself. “You’re a filthy little punk, aren’t you?” he growled, looking down his nose at Danny, the words dripping with contempt. “Your parents must be very proud.”

  Danny stomped his rainbow-laced black boots down on the floor and sprang to his feet. And before Conrad could even react, he shot a hand between the flaps of Conrad’s open trench coat and grabbed the man’s cock. “Yeah, I’m a fuckin’ filthy little punk,” he spat into Conrad’s shocked face, squeezing swollen cock through pin-striped pants. “And you’re a fuckin’ dirty old man.”

  Conrad’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came, his erection surging in the vise of Danny’s hot hand, his body flushing, like his face, with heat.

  “Fuckin’ hypocrite!” Danny jeered. “Complaining about me pullin’ pud while you’re pullin’ boner. Maybe I should teach you some manners, old man. About carrying this thing around in your fancy pants when you’re dishin’ out the morality lectures.”

  He jerked up on Conrad’s cock. Conrad jumped onto his toes in his Oxfords. Danny pumped the man’s clothed cock with his left hand while he pumped his own bared cock with his right, both throbbing in his hands. The men were only inches apart, breathing hard into each other’s face, until Danny roughly shoved Conrad back into a metal pole.

  The businessman banged his head against the connecting overhead bar. Before he could recover, Danny spun him around, tore the trench coat off his shoulders and down his arms and smacked his pin-striped ass. “My god!” Conrad gasped.

  Danny stepped on the tailored coat where it lay on the dirty floor, grasping Conrad’s cock with his left hand again, smacking Conrad’s ass with his right. “This how you discipline your well-behaved, well-mannered kids at home, old man?” he hissed.

  “What—what do you think you’re…” Conrad began to protest. But he never finished the thought, never commanded the angry young man to release him. Or tried to push him away. Because Danny’s gripping hand on his pulsating member, pumping hard, felt so very good. And Danny’s flattened hand on his flabby ass, smacking hard, felt even better.

  Conrad flailed for the overhead railing and hung on, a solid, successful, middle-aged corporate executive getting spanked and jerked by a punk kid on the subway. And reveling in it.

  “Now you’re gettin’ a taste of your own medicine, huh?” Danny rasped. “Like you deserve.” The power in his hands, the pulsing of the older man’s engorged cock and the trembling of his buttcheeks, filled him with a wicked eroticism that turned his own bobbing meat electric.

  Every blow, every pump stoked the fire higher in the both of them. Conrad’s hands slipped on the metal bar, his palms bathed in sweat, his body shuddering with the impact of Danny’s blade of a hand smashing down on his stinging rump, the pulling pressure on his cock building to the boiling-over point.

  “Oh, god, yes, spank me!” he gasped, just before his cock exploded in Danny’s pistoning hand. He shook uncontrollably, dancing to the younger man’s tune, hot, sticky semen spurting out of his cock and soiling his silken drawers.

  Danny kept up the pressure on Conrad’s clenched buttocks and ruptured cock, feeling the inferno of the man’s orgasm, hands fanning the flames. His own cock went steel-hard and numb, bubbling precum, aching to be jacked.

  “Okay, what’s going on back there?” a voice crackled over the intercom. It was the driver, finally intervening after getting an eyeful of the strange scene—even by subway standards—through the train’s CCTV system. Either he seldom paid attention to it—or he’d been transfixed…

  Danny released Conrad, pushing the flustered, flushed man onto the hard plastic bench. He took in the stain on the front of Conrad’s suit pants, panting, grinning, his big cock tenting his jeans again. “Guess you’ll remember this lesson for a while, huh, old man?”

  They met again on Train #18—financial district to the suburbs—two weeks later; same time, late at night, same car. It had taken Conrad that long to work up the courage, to come to grips with what had happened to him.

  Only this time there were two other passengers in the car with them. Which didn’t bother Danny one little bit. He rubbed his bulge through his denim skater shorts and toyed with his nipples through his Black Flag T-shirt. Conrad, in his gray trench coat—open again to show off another five-thousand-dollar charcoal suit—pretended to read his newspaper as he warily eyed his fellow travelers and the blond-haired punk blatantly playing with himself on the bench opposite.

  They were a mother and her daughter, making the connection home from a visit to a relative in an outlying area. And while the girl was trying to enjoy the show, craning her head around her mother’s blocking body to get a glimpse of Danny, the woman muttered, “Disgusting,” under her breath and stared at Conrad, silently urging him to do something.

  Conrad crossed his legs and coughed uncomfortably, his newspaper shaking, until Danny belligerently slid one hand down inside his shorts, the other hand up under his tee. And he felt obligated to act.

  “Now, see here, young man,” Conrad said, folding his paper over his lap. “You, uh, behave yourself…while there are other people on the train.”

  Danny pulled his hand out of his shorts and shot Conrad the middle finger, slick with precum at the tip. “Make me, old man.”

  The woman harrumphed.

  Conrad rose to his feet, keeping the newspaper over his crotch. “That’s it! You’re getting off at the next stop.” There was pleading in his gray eyes.

  Danny glanced at the sign showing the next stop, then back at Conrad. “I’ll fuckin’ tell you where we get off,” he stated. “And when. And how.” He stuck his hand back into his shorts, regripped his cock and tugged.

  They traveled along in strained silence for two more stops, the mother clasping her daughter tightly to her side and glaring at Conrad, who’d slumped back into his seat. He hid behind his paper, face burning red, erection engorged all the more by Danny’s public putdown.

  The sign flashed ARLINGTON STREET. Danny kicked up his boots and jumped to his feet. He grabbed Conrad by his two-hundred-dollar canary-yellow tie and jerked him to his feet. “We’re gettin’ off here, geezer.”

  They waited, Conrad swaying on the end of his leash, head down and shoulders slumped to loosen the pressure, Danny grinning contemptuously at the heavily breathing executive. He yanked Conrad’s head close and kissed him hard on the mouth, then bit into the man’s lower lip, drawing blood in a hot, salty spurt, like cum. The woman screamed and the girl giggled.

  The train slid to a stop, and the skinny punk strolled off, dragging the brawny businessman after him. Up the
steps and out of the subway, along the sidewalk of the cool, quiet, darkened street. When they arrived at the huge stone staircase that led up to Arlington High, Danny pulled Conrad up the steps, the older man stumbling to keep pace, wheezing, coat flapping in the breeze.

  “Fuck, I hated this fuckin’ place!” Danny spat, when he’d reached the top step. He glared down at Conrad. “Too many fuckin’ tight-ass authority figures like you, old man.”

  Conrad looked up at Danny, waiting.

  Danny dropped Conrad’s wrinkled tie and ordered, “Take off your coat. Pull down your pants.”

  Conrad glanced at the street and surrounding buildings. “But—but someone might see us,” he said in a strangled voice.

  “Fuckin’ do it!”

  Conrad shucked his coat and let the wind take it, unbuckled his pants and let them drop to his patent leather shoes. He stood, knobby knees and pasty legs shaking, as Danny dug his dirty fingernails into the sides of the humbled man’s striped shorts and yanked them down.

  “Oh, god,” Conrad whimpered, his hard cock bobbing up and sniffing the night air, vibrating in the breeze for all to see.

  Danny laughed at the business emperor with no pants. He slapped Conrad’s cock, and the man groaned. Then he sat on the top step and told Conrad to lie over his knees. The older man rushed to comply, and his bare ass was instantly jolted by the wooden ruler Danny had stashed in his shorts.

  He smacked one flabby cheek, then the other, then both at once. The crack of hard, unbending ruler against hot, flaccid flesh echoed off the stone walls of the school and out into the street, the blows coming faster, harder. Danny shoved Conrad’s head down and wielded the whistling ruler like a judgment, sweat shining on his forehead, his own hard-on throbbing under the man’s squirming bulk.

  Whack. “You dish it out,” whack, “you better be able to fuckin’ take it!” he screamed. Whack!

  Conrad’s body jumped with every stinging blow, face blazing as crimson as his beaten bum. He could barely breathe, his blood was boiling, his heart was beating in his ears. His straining cock pressed against Danny’s leg, and he gulped, “I’m—I’m going to come!”