“Yeah. I kind of like it, too.”
Vaughn nuzzled into Flint’s shoulder, running his tongue over his earlobe, nipping it a little with his teeth. In each other’s arms they lay together quietly for a long while. In the close darkness, Vaughn pressed himself against Flint until the heat of their separate bodies melted together and they fell asleep.
Chapter Eleven: The Strong Arm of the Law
Work on the ranch kept Vaughn busy. In his free time, he occasionally went into the nearby town to shop or just to hang out. There was a long-standing tradition in the West of cowboys and farmers heading into town on Friday or Saturday night to drink. The men of The Burning Spur were respecting of tradition and made bar-hopping a weekly ritual.
Other than that, the town offered few diversions. Vaughn had guessed as much on the first day he’d driven through it on his way to report to work at the ranch.
It was a small town like hundreds of others scattered throughout the region. There was a main street lined with stores and offices. Vaughn didn’t see any buildings taller than three stories. He drove past one of the standard amenities in such a community—namely, an unpretentious-looking bar, which was open and apparently doing a good business, even though it was not yet noon. Farther along the street was another necessity of small-town life—a gas station and garage, with a parking lot large enough to accommodate large trucks. The third inevitable establishment was situated right next door. It was a diner, a popular place judging by the number of vehicles in its parking lot.
Vaughn decided to check out the diner.
It had a pleasant ambience. It was obvious that most of the customers were regulars who knew one another. A newcomer stood out and attracted attention, in the form of frank appraising glances directed at him. But the waitress behind the counter was friendly. Vaughn sat at the counter rather than take up one of the booths.
He was halfway through wolfing down a triple-decker burger with fries when a young man in the uniform of a deputy sheriff strode into the diner.
Several of the customers looked up and greeted the deputy by name. Vaughn caught it—”Aaron.”
The lawman indicated the stool next to Vaughn’s.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked.
“No, sir.” Vaughn had long ago learned the wisdom of treating law enforcement personnel with polite respect.
The deputy sat down. Vaughn felt a bit intimidated by the man’s close proximity. Vaughn was a husky young man and no lightweight. He flattered himself that, physically, he could take care of himself in a fight. But next to the hulking deputy he felt at a distinct disadvantage. Vaughn wouldn’t have cared to tangle with the guy.
Vaughn couldn’t help speculating that whatever other qualifications he might possess, the deputy had been hired mainly because of his striking and indeed rather intimidating personal appearance. He was a big guy in his early twenties, with steely gray eyes and close-cropped chestnut brown hair. He carried himself ramrod-straight. The uniform he wore looked as though it had been tailored to fit him precisely. It undeniably did a good job of displaying the man’s obviously weight-trained physique. One bulging bicep, protruding from the short sleeve of his shirt, was decorated with a tattoo. A Chinese dragon with its teeth and claws bared and its tongue protruding from its mouth writhed around the arm muscle.
After admiring the tattoo, Vaughn took a quick, furtive look at the name patch sewn onto the chest of the deputy’s shirt. The machine-embroidered name was Moncrieff.
Aaron Moncrieff. His name is Aaron Moncrieff. It suits him.
The deputy had finished giving his order to the waitress. Now he swung his stool partway toward Vaughn.
“Aaron Moncrieff’s the name,” he volunteered, extending a big hand. It was as though he’d read Vaughn’s mind.
“Vaughn Richardson.” Vaughn gave his fingers a hasty precautionary swipe with a paper napkin before he grasped the deputy’s hand and shook it.
“Nice to meet you. New in town?” Moncrieff asked Vaughn.
“Yes. I just got in today.”
“Just passing through?”
The deputy had the laconic way of talking that was so typical of Westerners who resided in small, isolated rural communities.
“No, sir. I have a job here.”
“Where’s that? If you don’t mind my asking?”
Vaughn had the distinct impression that whether or not he minded being questioned didn’t matter all that much to the lawman.
“The Burning Spur ranch.”
“Oh, that’s a fine outfit. You ought to enjoy working there. Don’t be offended if I seem inquisitive,” the deputy went on, once again as though he could read Vaughn’s thoughts. “It’s my job to keep track of what goes on around here. We don’t get too many strangers, obviously, so when somebody new does come into town it piques everybody’s interest.”
“That’s all right. I don’t mind talking about myself.”
“Good for you. That’s the sign of a man who has nothing to hide.”
Moncrieff was presumably joking. Vaughn wasn’t entirely sure.
“Well, I’ve got to get going,” Vaughn said. “I have to report to work—and see if they still want me, once they get a good look at me.” He was joking, but his humor masked a certain anxiety which he was feeling.
“It was nice meeting you. Good luck with the job.”
Vaughn decided he liked Deputy Moncrieff. Once the other man had progressed beyond his initial wariness toward Vaughn, he was friendly enough. They had exchanged only a few words, but Vaughn got a distinct vibe from the man in uniform. Vaughn’s instincts told him that Aaron Moncrieff could very well be either gay or bisexual. At the very least, he was the kind of freethinking straight man who felt comfortable in the company of gay men. Maybe this isolated rural town wasn’t such a cultural backwater after all. It was entirely possible that some degree of sexual sophistication had penetrated there.
To Vaughn’s relief, his first meeting with his new employer went well. He got settled in at the ranch, met the other men and had gone right to work.
He ran into the deputy on several subsequent occasions, always in town. The first time, when they passed each other on the street, the two men merely exchanged nods and smiles. During other encounters, they stopped and made small talk. Aaron invited Vaughn to call him by his first name. He’d asked the ranch hand how his new job was going, so far.
At odd moments, Vaughn found himself fantasizing about the lawman.
Vaughn liked to watch cop shows on television and cop-themed motion pictures. The sight of a handsome young police officer in action piqued his interest. It didn’t matter to Vaughn whether the cop was a real one in a reality TV show, or just an actor portraying a cop. Vaughn often found himself speculating about what the guy would look like out of uniform.
Sometimes when he lay in his bed at night masturbating his imagination conjured up quite elaborate scenarios in which a cop was not only detaining him for some alleged infraction of the law, but was actually roughing him up. The mental image of him being shoved against a wall and ordered to spread ’em! never failed to get Vaughn’s motor revved up. He’d get even more excited when he imagined what it would feel like to be frisked.
Of course, in these erotic reveries, the studs in uniform who busted him didn’t stop at frisking. They’d grope Vaughn’s crotch and ass through his clothes, poking and prodding him as though he was a piece of meat they were thinking about purchasing.
“Stop resisting, punk!” they’d growl. “Do not move!”
The bastards had a secret agenda, of course. They knew damn well that Vaughn didn’t have any weapons on him. The thorough fondling they’d already given him had already established that. No, these horny fantasy cops just wanted to get a sense of how good a fuck Vaughn would be.
Keeping his eyes closed in order to concentrate on his masochistic vision, Vaughn whacked himself harder and harder. He took things to the next level
. He pictured himself being strip-searched then shoved naked into a cell. There was a bare mattress on the narrow bunk. Vaughn didn’t even have a lousy bed sheet with which to cover himself.
It was at that point in the fantasy that Sheriff’s Deputy Aaron Moncrieff often made a guest appearance. He’d materialize out of nowhere. He’d stand there on the other side of the bars, looking hugely muscular in his uniform. He’d stare at Vaughn with those sexy gray eyes of his, which seemed to flicker with lust.
“You’ve been a bad boy, Richardson,” Aaron said.
“No, sir. I was set up. I’m innocent,” Vaughn swore.
“Innocent, my ass! Don’t you argue with me, punk. When you fuck with the law, the law always wins. And then the law gets to do the fucking. I think you need some discipline, boy. I think you need to learn some respect for the law.” Aaron’s big hands went to his crotch and began to unfasten his belt buckle. Next, he opened the waistband of his uniform trousers and unzipped his fly. “Lesson number one is going to begin right now, cowboy,” the deputy announced, in a soft, insinuating tone of voice which somehow managed to sound threatening, as well. “Come over here and get down on your knees. I’m going to shove my dick in between these bars, into your mouth and down your throat. And you’re going to suck me until I shoot off in your mouth and you’re done swallowing every drop of my cum.”
Sometimes the fantasy progressed far enough for Vaughn to do some cocksucking and get his face fucked. Often, though, he would succeed in stimulating himself only too well. The mental image of Aaron Moncrieff threatening to whip out his dick and abuse Vaughn with it guaranteed him a massive self-induced ejaculation. Gasping for breath, Vaughn would open his eyes and confirm that his cock had splattered its load of slippery wet semen all over his torso and his fist. Worn out, he’d wipe himself off and settle down in his bed to sleep.
Vaughn was too much of a realist to think that his fantasy could ever become reality. Aaron Moncrieff could be married, for all he knew. Or he might have some slutty, broad-hipped, big-titted girlfriend who sucked his cock and took it in her pussy on a regular basis, keeping the big blond stud sexually satisfied.
He doesn’t know what he’s missing. I’m a better cocksucker than any bimbo could be. And my ass—that manhole of mine knows how to please a man. I’m a better fuck than any cunt here in Montana. Oh, shit! If only I had a chance to show that stud what I can do for him. Once he’s had me, he’d never go back.
One Saturday night, though, things changed. Vaughn got ready to go into town.
Flint was pulling early morning duty on Sunday, so he begged off.
“I’m beat. I’m going to make an early night of it and get some sleep, since I have to be up at the crack of dawn. You go and have yourself a good time, though,” he told Vaughn. “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he joked.
“Now I feel guilty, going out on the town and having a good time without you.”
“Don’t be silly. Gimme a kiss, motherfucker. Now, go have your fun,” Flint insisted.
Vaughan went into town and headed for the bar.
It was of course a straight bar, so the majority of the male patrons were presumably heterosexual. It was a rowdy, hard-drinking, blue-collar crowd.
At the far end of the barroom a couple of guys were shooting pool. Others were gathered nearby in a loose cluster while they watched an ultimate fighting match on a huge widescreen television suspended from the ceiling.
Beer in hand, Vaughn wandered over to that area. He saw a couple of men whom he knew, and exchanged nods with them. But they couldn’t talk much in the noisy barroom, so they watched the fight on the TV. Vaughn had to admit that he found the sight of the muscular, half-naked men, most of whom were tattooed, grappling with each other highly arousing. And Vaughn didn’t seem to be alone in his response to the entertainment. A suspiciously high percentage of the ostensibly straight guys in the bar seemed fascinated by the spectacle as well. They commented candidly on the combatants’ physiques and techniques. Vaughn even overheard some of them arguing about which of the fighters were better-looking than their opponents, which would seem to be irrelevant to their athletic prowess.
Vaughn made his way back to the bar. Before he could get the bartender’s attention and order a second beer, the door opened and Deputy Aaron strode into the bar. He was in full uniform. He exchanged a few words with the bouncer, and then he too headed toward the bar.
“Any trouble here tonight?” he asked the bartender, glancing around the crowd.
“Not so far.”
“Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. I have an announcement to make,” Aaron said, raising his voice. “In one minute, I am officially off duty. I hope nobody intends to do anything that might make me have to go back on the clock and run you in. Because that’ll really piss me off!”
Laughter and cheers punctuated his announcement.
Aaron turned his attention back to the bartender. He consulted his wristwatch. “Okay, you can start pouring in twenty seconds. No, wait.” Aaron had caught sight of Vaughn standing farther down the bar. “Hey there, Vaughn! What’re you drinking?”
Vaughn held up his beer bottle.
“Let me buy you another one of those. And maybe I’ll stick to bottled beer, too.” Aaron got two beers from the bartender and joined Vaughn.
“Thanks, Aaron.”
“My pleasure.” The deputy took a hefty swig. “Damn, I’ve been looking forward to that all night! Sure tastes good. You been here long?”
“Not long enough to put away as much of this as I intend to,” Vaughn joked. “Although this is a pretty good start.”
“Are you planning on getting drunk tonight?”
“I’m not planning on driving drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll sober up before I head home. Maybe stop at the diner for some coffee.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to sound as though I was interrogating you. I am off the clock, remember? I was just curious. So many of you ranch hands like to come into town on Saturday night and tie one on. Most of the time you manage to stay out of trouble. But I can never understand how you get up on Sunday morning to go to church, let alone do any work.”
Vaughn laughed. “I’m afraid I’m no churchgoer. But you’re right about the work on a ranch. It never seems to end. There’s no break, not even on Sunday. I don’t know how they do it on other spreads, but on The Burning Spur we’re on a sort of rotating system. If you’re scheduled to work on a Saturday or Sunday morning, then you’ve got a curfew on Friday or Saturday night. This weekend I don’t have to drag my ass out of bed and report to work until noon tomorrow. So I can afford to treat myself to a late night if I want to.”
Aaron nodded. “Yeah, we deputies are on the same sort of a rotation. This week I’m off tomorrow. I’ll be good to be able to sleep in. Of course, it’d be even better if I didn’t have to sleep alone,” he joked. “But I guess that’s my problem, not yours.”
“I find it hard to believe that a guy like you can’t rustle up some company when he’s in the mood for it. After all, you’re one hell of a good-looking dude.” Vaughn caught himself, and fell silent. He took a sip of his beer to cover up his momentary confusion.
It was acceptable for two men to talk casually about each other’s looks up to a certain point. Beyond that, some comments might be misconstrued. Vaughn was afraid he may have said too much.
But Aaron was smiling.
“I could say the exact same thing about you, Vaughn,” he said. “And yet here we both are, alone on a Saturday night. There just ain’t no justice in this world. Well, let’s have another drink while we commiserate.”
“This round’s on me,” Vaughn insisted.
Aaron didn’t object. As he got the drinks, Vaughn’s thoughts wandered back to the last time he’d seen the deputy—not in the flesh, but in his imagination.
It’s a good thing the guy can’t read my mind. He’d be pretty grossed out by what
he’d see there.
But now that I think about it, I almost wish he could tell what I’m thinking. I wish there was some way of letting him know how hot I think he is. How much I’d like to have sex with him.
I wish I had the nerve to come right out with it and make a pass at him. But if I’m wrong about him, I could end up being punched in the mouth.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Aaron said.
“Huh?” Vaughn snapped out of his reverie. He realized that he’d handed Aaron his beer and that Aaron had thanked him. But instead of taking a sip from his own new bottle, Vaughn had been just standing there, lost in thought. “Sorry. I was thinking about something else for a moment there.”
“It must’ve been interesting. You had this really intense look on your face.”
“Did I?” Flustered, Vaughn came up with a lie. “It was nothing, really. I was just thinking how noisy it is in here tonight. Kind of hard to carry on a conversation. Why don’t we grab one of those tables over there, where it’s less crowded?”
“Sure. I wouldn’t mind sitting down and taking a load off.”
They went over to one of the small, high tables, each with two stools, which were lined up against one wall.
“This is better,” Vaughn said.
“Yeah, from here I have a good view of the whole bar. I can tell if anybody starts getting rowdy and looks as though he might start a fight.”
“I thought you were off duty.”
“I am, but if there were any need to put a call in, I’d feel honor-bound to stick around until my replacement arrives. But I’ll probably head on home soon. After that, they’re on their own.”
Vaughn was disappointed. He’d hoped to engage Aaron in a lengthy conversation.
“So you’re not a night owl?” Vaughn asked.
“Not except when I’m working the graveyard shift. Other than that, it’s usually early to bed for me. I need my beauty sleep. All kidding aside, this is actually kind of nice, just sitting here drinking and talking to you.”
Bondage Ranch Page 12