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"
But you've still got the hots for him, ain't you Corky?"
"Yeah I suppose I have, in a funny kind of way."
"Why funny?"
"I'd get my biggest kick ever seein' him stripped and broken."
"I can guarantee you'll see that, if' n you cooperate with me. Is it a deal?"
"Sure is mister," Cocky said, stretching out his hand. Elated, Viking gripped it. He had committed Corky to a vicious betrayal of his erstwhile buddy. He was engulfed in a hot wave of lust and grabbing the muscular red-headed Deputy flung him onto the mattress.
Chapter 8
Bradburn tucked the bottom of the rough check shirt around his balls and pulled on his levis. He strode out lof his room, buttoning up as he went, and rapped on Corky's door. He paused, and hearing no response knocked again. "Come on pardner, shake a leg," he bawled. There was still silence and he pushed open the door and peered in. The bed had not been slept in. That's damn strange he thought as he clumped down the stairs.There was no sign of Corky and he felt slightly uneasy as he put the battered tin coffee pot on the stove. He had no prisoners to feed so he made himself a bowl of grits before he headed down the street, in the bright morning sunshine, to the Telegraph and Stage office. There was no mail, as the stage from Red Butte would not arrive until well after noon, but there was a handful of telegrams He took them back, made himself some more coffee and read them, sitting at the Jailhouse desk. It was all just routine stuff and putting them aside, he sat back in his chair and lit a cheroot. As he exhaled a plume of acrid smoke, he stretched out his legs and his right hand dropped to his groin. He stroked his tumescent cock through the denim and, as he cupped his big heavy balls he thought of Jose. He'd planned to go out to the ranch after the stage had arrived but that wouldn't be possible if Corky didn't show up. Where the fuck was he?
The stage came and went and there was still no sign of Corky. At sundown Bradburn made his way over to the saloon for a drink. Sounding as casual as possible, he asked if anyone had seen Corky.
None had and Bradburn tried to convince himself that Corky was out at the river and would appear any minute, sun-reddened and ravenous. At ten o'clock , there was still no sign of his deputy and Bradburn, realizing that he'd had more than enough to drink, made his way back to the Jailhouse.
What awaited him, sobered him up instantly. A grubby piece of paper had been pushed under the door and he picked it up and carried it to the desk and turned up the lamp.
You ar instrukted to be at the Dayton ranch an ower after sunup. Come alone and unarmed. At the gate strip off yr shirt an drop yr hat. Then ride nis n slow with yr hands on yr head to the corral. I'm
gonna give you the whippin you bin askin for. If' n you don't show yr deputy will get your thrashin instead. He's stripped and hung up already. Tell no one or your cute litle buddy gets it, real good. Viking
Bradburn screwed up the paper as he dropped into his chair. As the numbness of the shock faded he felt fear for himself and Corky, anger and deep down, a strange excitement. Taking a deep breath he brought his emotions under control and reached into his shirt pocket for a cheroot. Her lit it and was about to flick out the match when he spotted the crumpled paper lying on the desk. Picking it up with thumb and forefinger, he put the flame to it. As he watched it burn, it was not fear that made his hand tremble but the compelling excitement deep within him. He became aware that his cock was achingly hard and he groaned as he looked down to see it straining against the denim. His hands dropped to his groin and as he began to unbutton his fly, he realized that, sitting at the Jailhouse desk, he was in full view of the street. Climbing to his feet, he took up the lamp and made his way upstairs to his room. The excitement flared up in him, fever hot as he put the lamp and tore at the buttons on his shirt. He flung the ripped garment aside and, undoing his levis, pushed them down over his hairy thighs. His breathing had been getting faster and, now panting, he fell back onto the bed and grasped his rigid cock. He pumped it a couple of times and exploded. As his orgasm engulfed him, he saw himself naked and spreadeagled his straining muscles lashed and bloody. Gouts of thick white spunk spattered his hair chest and face as more images of ropes, chains, bullwhips and a cock of super-
human size, tumbled through his mind. Slowly his wrenching spasms subsided and the pictures faded
away into the oblivion of deep sleep.
The night was cool and it was the chill of the wet spunk on his skin that brought Bradburn awake. He rubbed his hand over the spunk clogged hair on his chest and sat up. The lamp was still burning and he looked down at his spattered chest and belly before he climbed out of bed. He snatched up the torn shirt, unpinned his star and wiped the spunk from his body and beard. Looking at the clock on the wall, he felt a jolt in his guts. It was about three hours to sunup and time to go. Fixing his heavy metal badge to a fresh shirt, he put it on. He pulled on his levis and picked up his gunbelt. ..Come unarmed, Ohlson had said and Bradburn knew that when he neared the ranch, he'd be carefully scrutinised and watched. He felt certain that if he didn't do exactly as he was told, Corky would get it for sure. Suddenly in his mind's eye he saw Corky's naked muscular body writhing under the lash and threw the gunbelt onto the bed.
Bradburn saw no one as he left Tyler and hoped that nobody saw him. There was no moon but the stars gave ample light for him to see the well used trail. He had plenty of time and let his horse stride nice and easy. The excitement that had all but overwhelmed him last night was still there, laying heavy and dormant on his guts like a stone but he felt it stir when he thought of the ordeal ahead. He turned his mind to Jose and tried to convince himself that he'd rather be riding to the Rugero ranch. But he knew that this was something he wanted to do. He could argue that he was going to save Corky. And whilst this was true, it was not the whole truth. There was another reason, deeper and darker that had spawned the intense sexual excitement last night and which he could not admit to himself. Bradburn's cock began to harden and he heeled his horse into a canter. The sky was lightening and he always got a hard-on riding.
The sun had cleared the horizon when Bradburn reached the narrow track that would lead over the ridge and down into the wide shallow valley in which the Dayton ranch lay. At the top of the slope one of the ranch's hands sat on a rock, his shotgun across his knees. As he approached the man slid
down from his perch and brought the gun up to his stubbled chin.
"Geddown," he snarled, "nice and slow." Bradburn pulled up and raised his hands shoulder high.
"Sure but go easy mister," he said, looking down at the man who stood, legs spread wide, with the shotgun aimed at his chest. The dude was sporting a massive boner and his levis were so threadbare
that Bradburn wondered why the denim didn't split under the pressure. Seeing the direction of the Marshal's glance the man sniggered, then snarled again, "C'mon geddown, move it," and Bradburn complied, knowing what the man would see between his legs. "Jesus," the hand whispered, gawping at Bradburn's groin as he lowered the gun to waist level. "Ain't that some salami you're packin' there
Marshal." To his surprise Bradburn heard himself reply, "From where I'm standing it looks like a damn good day for salamis." The man chuckled and said, in a friendlier tone, Move away from your horse and turn round slowly." Satisfied that Bradburn was not armed he checked the saddlebags before saying, "Okay Marshal,you can remount and move on."
The ranch was a large white, rambling building surrounded by numerous outhouses and a big corral.
On one side stood a huge water tank on four iron legs. A wooden platform had been fixed to the cross stays just below the tank itself and Bradburn saw that two armed men sat on it, watching as he approached the ranch gate, really no more than a gap in the fence with two tall raised posts and a third forming a lintel. As instructed, he stopped, pulled his shirt out of his levis and stripped it off.
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