Page 91 - Leather Blues

Leather Blues 79

Chuck fixed the noose in place. The hangman’s knot
rode where it should, up behind Arrow’s left ear.
“Rope his boots tight together,” Jex-Blake said. “When
this cowboy swings, I want to see him struggle and kick real
good.” He spit more tobacco juice into his slowly filling cof-
fee mug. “I’m gonna like pistol-whippin’ you, cowboy. And
there ain’t no stoppin’ me. I always earn my keep.” Jex-Blake
moved in toward Arrow. He put his saltsweat gloved hand
on Arrow’s rising cock. “Work the cowboy up,” he said to
Chuck. “Then tie the motherfucker off with this rawhide.”
He pulled a long leather thong from the bottom of his cup.
The rawhide was soaked with strong coffee, spit, and tobacco
juice. “Wrap the base of his dick and balls tight.” Chuck
moved in and played expert junior S: stroking and sucking
the big redheaded meat up to full hardon.
Denny felt a pang. He wanted Chuck’s mouth on his
own cock.
Jex-Blake haunched down into his saddlebags and, laying
some spur-making equipment aside, pulled a dozen heavy
metal rings he’d crafted at his forge. “Start show-dressin’
the fucker’s balls.” He handed the quarter-inch ring bands to
Chuck. “I want this cowboy ridin’ through the Twelve Gates
of Hell.” One by one, Chuck slipped first the left nut then
the right nut through each ring. He stretched the scrotal sack
down to a length that left Arrow swaying in pain on the box.
The rings formed a tight neck down the length of the balls.
The nuts themselves bulged big and cold and purple from the
neck of the twelfth ring. “Let ’im feel them saddle-sore nuts.”
Denny watched Chuck, without any order from Jex-Blake,
shove fresh popper mercifully up to Arrow’s nose. Jex-Blake
seemed not to notice; he was hard-faced as any rancher out
torturing an outlaw rustler.
“Hey,” Jex-Blake said to Chuck. “Y’all go on and move
back. I take over here.” Jex-Blake was twisting a length of
barbed wire in his gloved hands. “Whyn’t you take this

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