The usual caveats:  if you're under 18 years old, you shouldn't be
reading this; so please don't.  If you like male-male sex but you don't
enjoy a man being roped and gagged for sex, you won't enjoy this.  If
you do like men roped up and gagged, you may like this story.  And
please to remember:  this is the "West" of the imagination, not the
western states of the history books.  Thanks and enjoy.


THE BANDIT AND THE BRAKEMAN
by Henry Pouchette

I met Jerry during the last robbery we pulled off with me still part of
the gang.  At least, I guess you could say we met.  Jerry always gave
me a look when I used to put it that way, but I don't know how else to
say it, really.  The Bell Creek Siding Robbery was back  in `77.  That
set up was such a natural, I couldn't figure out why nobody'd ever
pulled it off before. Of course, once we'd done it, they fixed the
place with a guard so nobody'd try it again and get away with it, but
it seemed like we was the first to see how the way they ran the train
made everything so easy.
	Bell Creek Siding was halfway up the mountains from Les Pubes down in
the valley.  Every couple of weeks, the night train carried the payroll
for the mining camp.  The train itself, of course, went on through and
down the other side, heading for the delta.  The train ran once a
night, passing the Bell Creek Siding a little after midnight.  Bell
Creek was nowhere.  The siding was just there for times when they
needed to put some worktrain off to the side to let the night train go
through.  They kept a brakeman there full-time, though, because two
months before some drunken pranksters had switched the tracks just
before the night train passed and sent it off onto the siding.  The
engineer was a good man and he got the train almost stopped before it
hit the end of the rails.  Nobody was hurt, thank god, but the repairs
cost the line a bundle.  They added a quarter mile of track for safety
and from then on they kept a man stationed all the time in the little
shack up there.  It was a boring job, nothing to do but make sure the
switch was turned the right way when the trains came through; they'd
put a man up there for a week and then take him off for a month,
rotating four or five fellows through like that.
	It was reading about the accident in the paper that gave Jake the
idea.  It hadn't seemed to occur to the bosses of the line, but Jake
saw right away that all we'd have to do would be overpower the
brakeman, turn the switch, and then the train would be off on a siding.
 Robbing the pay car would be easy.  Jake hung around the town for a
week or so, listening to the gossip here and there, sounding out what
the payrolls were like.  He had us up at the siding for that month's
payroll train, but we didn't do nothing, just watched the brakeman do
his job and the train go through.  Jake had heard that the next pay car
would be carrying a shipment of gold headed for one of the big banks
out on the coast as well as the mining payroll, so we waited for the
two weeks to go by.
	It was a cold, October night, a short while before nine o'clock, when
Stan and I road up the canyon toward Bell Creek.  We tethered our
horses in a little grove of live oaks a couple of hundred yards back
from the brakeman's hut.  He and I had pulled the job of taking the
brakeman prisoner and changing the switch.  We'd decided there wasn't
much to it, really, and we just walked easy as you please up to the
hut.  We both had our big bandanna neckerchiefs pulled up over our
faces as masks.  There was a bright three quarter moon that night and a
pretty strong wind blowing the branches of the trees with a rush in the
leaves, so I don't know if the brakeman heard us coming.  Stan stood to
one side and I went up to the door and knocked.  I heard the man's
footsteps as he crossed the floor and then he was standing in the open
doorway, his lantern in his hand and a puzzled look on his dark-bearded
face.
	"Evenin'," I said and pulled out my gun.
	"What the hell do ya want, mister?" the brakeman said.  "I don't have
no money out here."
	"Ya just do as yer told, son, and things'll be fine."  I found myself
calling the fellow `son', since, bearded or not, it was obvious he was
just a youngster, thirty or so, and I was fifty myself.  "Now, put that
lantern down."  As I spoke, Stan, his gun also drawn, moved into the
fellow's view, and, after looking at both of us for a second, the man
obeyed my order.  "Step outside, son."  He did, and I holstered my gun
and then took him by the shoulders to turn him with his back to me and
facing Stan and his gun.
	Jerking the man's arms behind him, I took a short length of the rope I
had ready on my belt and used it to tie his wrists together, pulling
the rope snug and tying it off in a tight knot.  Then from my vest
pocket I took a wad I'd made out of two of my big bandannas.  Reaching
over the fellow's shoulder, I held the big ball of cloth in front of
the brakeman's mouth.
	"Open up, son,"  I said.  He hesitated, but a little lift in the
muzzle of Stan's gun convinced him.  He opened his mouth, and I stuffed
in the gag, forcing it in deep between his jaws until he moaned softly.
 Reaching into my hip pocket, I dragged out another of my bandannas.  I
folded it on the diagonal into a thick roll, and I tied that through
the brakeman's mouth, knotting if off as tight as I could behind his
head.
	"Good boy,"  I said, when I was done.  "Now,"  I continued, taking him
by the arm, "let's go back in yer little hut, shall we?"  I pushed the
fellow ahead of me, stooping for a second to take up the lantern, and
Stan followed us in.  There wasn't much inside.  a bunk with blankets,
a little table with a wash bowl and pitcher and a towel, the man's
denim coat and a second shirt on pegs in the wall, a  desk with the
telegraph key on it and some papers and magazines, a single wooden
chair, a little cupboard for his food and dishes.  In the corner was a
little round stove for heat and for cooking.  a low wood fire burned in
it, almost gone to coals.  I shoved the man over to the bunk and pushed
him onto it face down.  Taking more rope from my belt, I lashed the
fellows arms together behind his back, pulling the rope tight so he
grunted into his gag and knotting it off.  Then I tied his legs
together just above his knees and at his black-booted ankles.  I
finished off by dragging his feet up and roping them to his bound
wrists, putting the man into a tight hog-tie.  When I was done, I
stepped back and looked down at my handiwork.  The fellow lay on his
belly, his head turned to one side, peering back at me above the thick
bandage of the gag.  He looked pretty helpless, and pretty scared. 
Behind me, Stan put up his gun.
	"Let's get the switch turned," he said, and I nodded and followed him
outside.  We walked the twenty feet to the switch, our boots crunching
in the gravel.  I carried the lantern and set it down when we came to
the tall brake handle.  Stan had done this sort of thing before, and
after a glance to make sure he knew which way to set the rail, he took
hold of the handle and pulled the thing over.  With a glance over at
the hut, he pulled his bandanna down and grinned at me.
	"That's it, Bill."  I nodded. "So, ya wanna stay with that bucko or
me?"
	I shrugged, pretending I didn't much care.  "Ya go on and tell Jake
and the rest.  I'll stay here and keep an eye on the brakeman."  I
pulled at my watch.  "In two hours the train'll be along and I'll swing
the lantern like a good boy.  When it's time, I'll join you fellows.
	"Sure thing, Bill,"  Stan said, and he headed off to get his horse
while I went back to the hut.
	When I came in with the lantern, the brakeman looked up with wide eyes
from where he lay tied and gagged.  I went over and checked on his
bindings, but I know my work.  The fellow was still trussed up good and
tight, and the gag was secure.  I ruffled up the fellow's dark hair and
turned to set the lantern on his little desk.  I looked over the papers
that were there.  a few schedules and pay sheets was mostly all, and a
copy of the local newspaper.  There were also several copies of "Nick
Carter's Weekly,"  one of them open in the middle.  I picked that one
up and turned back to my prisoner.
	"Like this stuff, son?"  I asked him.  Craning his head around, he
looked up at me, his eyes a bit less wild but still scared and puzzled
above the wide band of the gag I'd tied through his mouth.  I grinned
under my mask and sat in the chair.  For a moment or two, I studied the
brakeman.  He was, as I said, only about thirty or so,  tall, husky in
build, with a thick head of dark hair and a thick and neatly trimmed
dark beard, and bright blue eyes.  He was a nice-looking youngster,
with a short nose and red lips.  He was dressed in a clean denim shirt
and clean overalls, a big blue bandanna knotted around his neck with
the middle hanging on his chest in a big triangle.  I could have used
his neckerchief as a part of his gag, I suppose, but I don't count on
fellows having neckerchiefs and I always come prepared with plenty of
bandannas to gag my man.  The fellow shifted a little in his bindings
as I watched and grunted softly into the gag. 
	"Mmmmmph."
	"Uncomfortable, son?"  I asked him.  His eyes flicked up to meet and
hold mine.  "Well, it won't be too long before the train comes past." 
I glanced down at the magazine.  "Chapter 14,"  I read aloud, "In the
Villain's Grasp."  I looked up at the brakeman who stared back above
his gag.  "Well," I said with a chuckle, "I reckon that fits yer case,
don't it, son?"  I flipped the magazine closed and then, with rising
interest, studied the cover. Obviously, the cover illustrated Chapter
14.  Nick Carter himself was shown bound into a chair with yards of
rope and gagged with a handkerchief tied tightly over his mouth.  He
was glaring up in defiance at the old man who was the villain, who
looked back with a gloating smile.  They were in the basement of some
building, with a lamp flaring down from overhead.  
	My dick had been stiff, of course, since we had approached the
brakeman's hut.  I always made sure, when we pulled a job, that I was
the man who tied and gagged our victims, and, since they knew I was
good at it, the rest of the gang never objected.  I don't think any of
them knew that I liked doing it.  They just knew I was good at it and
left it at that.  But I did like doing it, I liked doing it a whole
lot.  That some of our captives got abused while they were tied and
gagged, well, that was something else and it happened all the time, the
gang knew that.  Some of us liked the boys, that's all.  When some
good-looking fellow found himself roped and muzzled during a job we
pulled, well, if there was time, there were a couple of other fellows
besides just me who were likely to take advantage of the situation.  I
don't think the fellow being tied really added anything to what
happened for the other men in the gang who liked the boys.  But I liked
my men helpless, I liked my men tied up and gagged, and I liked being
the fellow who made them helpless, who tied them up and stuffed the gag
into their mouths.
	Stan wasn't one for the boys, but he had known that I would probably
have my fun with this youngster.  I planned on taking my time about it,
though.  I looked up from studying the picture on the cover of the
magazine and met the eyes of my prisoner.  He looked scared again,
those blue eyes of his wide above the broad swath of the bandanna gag. 
I grinned at him, not that he could see it under my mask.
	"Poor boy,"  I said quietly, "yer really all trussed up, ain't ya?" 
He stared back at me.  "And gagged pretty solidly, huh?"  He stared
still.  "Ya married, son?"  He looked at me for a minute more and then
slowly shook his head.  "No?  a good-lookin' boy like you?  Do tell,
son."  I grinned again, and then I turned to the magazine.  The
description of Carter getting captured and trussed and gagged wasn't
much, really.  I'd always found those tales real exciting and real
disappointing, both.  I liked it when the hero got captured and tied
and gagged, but they never went into enough detail for me.  It was
just, "The villainous crew tied our hero hand and foot and gagged his
mouth,"  and that was all.  I wanted to know how they tied him up and
how they gagged him.  Sometimes the pictures on the covers were a lot
more interesting.  The artist fellow had to make up what the writer
didn't say, if he was going to draw a picture of the scene.  Usually it
was clear, like on the cover of this one, that the hero was tied with
ropes and gagged with handkerchiefs, those white handkerchiefs dudes
and fellows from the East have, not big bandannas like fellows of my
sort carry.  But he looked good to me, trussed up and gagged like that.
	I opened up the fly of my trousers as I read about the capture and
then looked at the picture again, and slipped my hand inside to stroke
my dick.  It was rock hard from having that bearded youngster across
from me tied up and gagged and from the picture.  I heard the fellow
moan into his gag, and I looked up to find him watching me.  He looked
scared, but he was watching me real close.  I put the magazine down and
brought the chair over to sit beside him on his bunk.  I reached out
and played with the fellow's hair with one hand while I pulled my dick
out of my dungarees and slowly rubbed it up and down with the other.
	The brakeman stared at what I was doing with wide eyes.  I grinned at
him and kept on stroking my cock, careful not to let myself get too
excited but enjoying myself very much.  The fellow's hair felt soft and
strong in my fingers, and I enjoyed petting him while I rubbed my dick.
	"Mmmmmummmph!  Mugulummmmmph!"  The youngster grunted into his gag.
	"Nobody out this way to hear ya, son,"  I said companionably.
	The brakeman suddenly struggled in his bindings quite desperately,
jerking and pulling at the hampering ropes and grunting into the thick
gag.
	"Mmmmmph!  Mummmmmmph!  Mmmmmmmmmmmmmph!!"
	I looked down at him, my hand still on his head.
	"Sorry, son," I said when he slumped down, defeated by the tight
bindings and the packed in gag, "yer tied to stay until I let you go." 
I stood up and bent over my prisoner, taking him by the shoulders and
hips to roll him over onto his side.
	"Mmmmmmmph!"
	I unfastened the fly of his overalls and reached inside to unbutton
his long johns.  He jerked in his ropes, trying to pull away, but he
was too tightly bound up to do more than squirm.  I put my hand inside
his crotch and got a welcome surprise.
	"Mmmmmmmumph!!"
	"Well, well, what have we got here, son?"  I said softly.  The
fellow's dick was stiff in  my hand.  Gently I stroked it inside his
clothes, and he moaned into his gag.  I stroked his cock more
vigorously and he moaned once more.  I grinned down at the man and he
stared up at me, eyes still scared.  After a moment, I pulled my hand
out and sat down in the chair, looking down at my prisoner the while.
	"My O my, son,"  I said.  "My O my.  Just what were ya doing when we
came up here, anyway?  Reading those magazines?"  I glanced over at the
stack of Nick Carter dime novels on his desk and his gaze followed
mine.  He looked back to meet my eyes.  After a moment, he nodded, and
then he shut his eyes hard.  I saw a tear leaking and I shook my head
as I bent over him, stoking his thick hair softly.
	"Hey, there, hey there," I said gently.  "Don't ya start crying on me,
son.  It's bad for a man to cry with a big gag in his mouth like ya
got.  It's all right to cry, son,, but not with that gag in yer mouth. 
Come on now, son, stop it."
	The sight of this big husky fellow, all trussed up and gagged and with
tears in his eyes, excited me more than I can tell you, but I didn't
want to have to take out his gag, and I also didn't want the boy to
smother.  I like  my men tied and gagged and I don't mind taking my
pleasure with a man who's my  captive, but I don't want him dying on
me, or even coming close to it.  Crying makes me want to hold the
fellow, though, take him in my arms and rock him like a young one, and
him all helpless and tied and gagged.  I can't explain it to you, but
there it is.   The tears of a man, and him bound and gagged, well, they
make me all excited and yet all friendly like, as if I were the
fellow's partner, his bunkie.  I took out my pocket bandanna and wiped
at this youngster's eyes.  He got control of himself and his tears
stopped.
	"Good boy,"  I said, and stuffed my bandanna back in my pocket.  I
studied my prisoner, but he refused now to meet my eyes.  After a
moment, I went over to the desk and leafed through the magazines.  They
weren't all the latest ones, like I'd figured they were.  Some of them
were from quite a few years past.  But the cover of every one, and
there were a half dozen or more of them, showed either Nick himself or
some other fellow tied up and gagged.  I was beginning to get an idea,
an idea that had to be just loco, but one that I couldn't stop myself
from having.  I was thinking that maybe my brakeman captive here liked
being tied and gagged the way I had him.  After all, he had all these
pictures of fellows trussed and gagged, and his dick was stiff in his
pants like mine was.
	I sat down in the chair, those dime novels in one hand.  With the
other hand, I gripped the brakeman's hair and gave his head a shake. 
He looked up at me, and there was something so hangdown puppy-like
about his expression that I wanted to pull him up into my arms and
stroke him like a little one.  Instead, I held the dime novels under
his nose and gave his head a gentle shake once more.
	"That picture there get ya excited, son?"  I asked.  "Ya like looking
at pictures of men all tied up and gagged?  I just bet ya do, don't ya,
boy?"  I gave his head another shake and then let go.  "Well, son," I
said, "I'll tell ya something.  I like looking at those pictures, too,
and better yet, I like doing what those pictures show, and then more. 
I like taking a nice-looking fellow like you and having him my prisoner
and tying him up like I tied you and gagging him like I gagged you and
then getting my pleasure out of him while he can't do nothing but
wriggle and moan like you can't.  Ya get me, son?"
	The brakeman stared up at me.  He looked scared to death now, but,
when on an impulse I reached back into the front of his overalls, I
found his dick was still stiff.  I rubbed it slowly, excited by how I
could get him excited.  He shifted in the ropes and moaned softly into
his gag.
	"Yer a real prize, son,"  I told him softly.  "Big, good-looking man
like you, all man, ain't ya, but tender-hearted like a little boy, too,
ain't ya, and all excited by being my prisoner and having them ropes on
ya and them bandannas stuffing yer mouth.  Yeah, son, yer a real prize
for a man like me who likes to have men like you in my arms."  As I
spoke, I took out my knife.  The brakeman's breath hissed in his
nostrils and he struggled.
	"MMMMMMPH!!!"
	I cut the rope that tied his feet to his wrists.  As I put away my
knife, I stroked the man's hair.
	"Hey, it's all right, son.  I'm not minded to cut ya.  Hell, I've
never cut a man in my life.  Never shot one, neither.  And I like ya
whole and handsome, just the way ya are."  I eased his legs down and
helped him to stretch out on the bunk.  His arms and legs were still
tightly bound, but I wanted to release him from the cramping hogtie I
had used on him at first.   I put the fellow flat on his back.  There
was some rope hanging on a nail on the wall, and I cut off a length
with my knife, that boy watching me with scared blue eyes above his gag
all the while.  I tied his shoulders down to his bunk, threading the
rope under his armpit, up over his shoulder, and down around the board
at the top of his bunk, then back up, over his opposite shoulder and
under his other armpit.  I pulled the rope back up from behind his
shoulder, down once more to the bed frame and then back to where I had
begun.  I'd kept the line drawn tight, and now I tied it off as hard as
I could, lashing the boy down securely.  With a wink at him above my
mask, I took another length of the rope and used that to fasten his
feet down, passing the rope between his boots above the bindings at his
ankles and snubbing it down firmly around the bed frame at the bottom
of his bunk.  When I was done, the poor fellow was completely unable to
move, his hands and arms tightly bound behind and under him, his legs
tied at the knees and the ankles, and his shoulders and feet lashed
down firmly to the bed frame, keeping him stretched taut from head to
foot and pressed down hard to the thin mattress of his bunk.
	I sat down on the edge of the bunk beside my captive brakeman and
leaned over him to gaze into his blue eyes.  With a rough hand, I
caressed his thick head of hair a moment, and then I took his chin in
my fingers and shook his head from side to side.
	"Got ya, don't I, son?"  He stared up at me, utterly helpless.  "What
do ya think I should do with ya, till that train comes by in a hour or
so?"  He simply stared at me, his eyes wide and frightened above the
brutally tight bandage of the bandanna I had tied through his mouth.  I
let my hand slide down him in a slow caress, feeling the firm muscles
of his shoulder and arm beneath my fingers.  Still holding his gaze, I
brought my hand down to his groin and slipped it inside the open fly of
his overalls.  His dick was stiff, hard and warm and tight up to his
flat belly.  I wrapped my fingers around the thick shaft and squeezed.
	"Mmmmmugulummmmph!  Mmmmmmummmmph!"  The man moaned into his gag and I
increased the pressure on his cock, sliding my grip up the shaft and
back down.
	"Like that, do ya, boy?"  I said quietly.  "Like having that cock of
yers played with while yer tied and gagged, don't ya, son?"
	The poor fellow simply stared at me.  I enjoyed having the youngster
under my control that way, tied up so tight he could hardly breathe, a
big gag of my bandannas stuffing his mouth full, completely my
prisoner.  I would have liked having the boy bound and gagged that way
even if it hadn't excited him as well.  But the fellow's own
excitement, surprising as it was to me, increased mine tenfold.  The
man couldn't tell me himself, not in words, anyway, not with that big
wad of gag filling his mouth, but it was clear that he was excited,
frightened, oh yes, but also excited by being my trussed and gagged
captive.  His hard cock in my hand said what he could not.
	I gently drew the boy's dick out of his fly.  It was so stiff it
slapped back against his belly when I let it go.  I shook my head at
him as I reached into a pocket and pulled out some soft leather strips
I always carried.  I used one to tie up the youngster's privates. 
First I made a couple of loops around the base of his dick and balls
together.  Then I pulled his balls out from his cock and wrapped the
soft leather over and over between them and his shaft, drawing them out
into a round globe with the thin skin stretched taut and tender over
them.  I tied the leather off tight, looking up at my captive, who had
his head craned up painfully, trying to watch what I was doing.  Gently
I took his dick into my hand, rubbing with my thumb at the spot just
under the cleft in the head.  With my other hand I cupped his balls,
squeezing them slightly and rubbing the taut thin skin over them with a
light touch.
	The man's head fell back and the breath hissed in his nostrils.  After
a moment, a soft, guttural moan trembled in his throat behind the cruel
gag.  I watched, my own arousal increasing, as he writhed in the tight
ropes that bound him down to his bunk.  He strained hard at his
bindings, plainly trying to move from side to side or up and down or
any way that would let him have some release from the tension.  I saw
with satisfaction that he could do no more than twist slightly from
side to side.  He moaned again, and, suddenly aroused yet more by the
sound, I let go of his cock and balls and moved up to bend close over
his head, pulling out my bandanna and stuffing it between his red lips,
in front of the bandage tied savagely tight between his jaws.  He
stared up at me, the fright plain in his blue eyes.  I untied the big
bandanna neckerchief from his throat and pulled it free, folded it
roughly, and bound it over his mouth in wide band from nostrils to
chin, sealing his mouth up over the double gag.  For a long moment,
then, I stared down into his eyes, and he stared back, unmoving and
silent.  Then I reached behind me to take his cock once more in my hand
and began to stroke it in earnest.
	The youngster stared back at me, trying, I knew, to control himself,
but it was no good.  The insistent friction of my hand on his shaft was
too much for him, and his eyes lost their focus on mine.
	"Mmmmmmmmmmm.   Mmmmmmmmph."  The double gag further muffled his moans
and I grinned down at him before turning my attention more properly to
his privates.  I spat into my hand and began to work on his dick,
sliding my tightly encircling fingers up and down the shaft with a
slowly increasing speed while the fingers of my other hand pressed and
stoked the taut globe of his bound up balls.  
	"Mmmmmmugulmmmph!  Muuuugummmulummmph!"  Beside me, the youngster
strained and struggled in his bindings and groaned and grunted into his
thick gags.  I brought him close, I could feel the juice trembling in
his balls, and then I eased off, and he moaned pathetically.  After a
moment of simply caressing his taut and heaving belly, I went to work
on his cock and balls once more.  Again he strained and groaned, and
once again I took him just to the brink.  But not over.  I was enjoying
my control over the fellow, the way he was so completely helpless, tied
up so completely, brutally gagged, at my mercy and command.  His
breathing was ragged, his deep chest heaving, the sweat was beaded on
his forehead and cheeks, and he looked up at me fuzzily, as if he only
half knew where he was or what was happening. 
	The man moaned as I started in on his privates a third time.  I worked
more slowly this time, bringing the boy to a height of pleasure and
then easing off for a few seconds before bringing him back up once
more, each time drawing him a little closer to the point of no return. 
I used my thumb below the head, I rapidly twisted my finger and thumb
in a ring beneath the head, I tickled the opening of his pisshole, I
ran my fingers lightly and then tightly up and down his shaft, I
tickled his balls, I squeezed them hard, I squeezed them gently, I
rubbed them like slick jewels between my thumb and fingers, I cupped
them and pumped them and twisted them ever so gently on their
leather-wrapped stem.  The brakeman struggled in agony beside me. 
Sweat and tears ran off the sides of his face into his thick beard.
Through the thick layers of bandannas gagging his mouth, his moans
became a continuous whimper of desperation.  He lifted himself all he
could against my hands, straining to bring himself off.  I brought the
fellow closer, closer, then eased off one more time.
	"Mmmmmmmmmmmmugulmmmmmmmph!"  He moaned hopelessly into the gags,
tossing his head from side to side and jerking at the ropes that bound
him.
	I took pity on him at last.
	"That's it, son,"  I said softly, "that's my good boy, come on, I'm
gonna take you over the cliff now, come on, that's a good boy."  As I
murmured on in a coaxing whisper, I stroked his cock with increasing
pressure and massaged his taut balls.  The man jerked his head up and
stared into my eyes and then down at his own privates, bucking into the
ropes that held him down to his bunk.
	"Muguuuuuuguuuuummmmmmmmmmmph!  Mumummmmmmmmmmugummmmmph!!"  He
shouted helplessly into his gags and then, with a great shudder shaking
his whole frame, he shot his cum up and out in an arc that flung over
his shoulders and onto the wall above him.  His cries were choked off
by his gags, and his body lifted up into a taut bow, held rigid by his
bindings.
	"MMMMMMMMMMUGULUGULMMMMMMMMMMMMPH!!!!"
	I held his cock in my hand and felt it shake with his jetting cum half
a dozen times.  It was all I could do to wait for him to sink back with
a muffled groan as the last spurt of his cum fell onto his belly before
I jerked my own cock out of my fly.  With a speed learned with much
practice, I bound up my own cock and balls as I had bound my
brakeman's, and then I spat into my hand and began to pump my cock. 
Beside me, the youngster lay in a daze, and I gloated over him in my
mind, taking in the sight of him so tightly bound up, so cruelly
gagged, so much my helpless captive, and one I had just made to cum at
my beckoning, at my pace, at my command.  I felt the juice rising in my
own cock almost immediately and I would have slowed and enjoyed my
pleasure for longer, but my own excitement was too much for me and
almost before I knew it, my gism was jerking out of my cock in a long
ribbon of thick white, spattering on the blanket of the bunk and on the
wooden floor. 
	"OH MY GOD IN HEAVEN!!!!"  My shout of pleasure startled the youngster
out of his cum-daze, and he stared up at me, those blue eyes wide above
the taut blue and white band of the bandanna sealing up his mouth.
	"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god in heaven, oh my god."
	I sank back onto the brakeman's bound form, my breath gasping, my
hands slick with spit and cum, my head ringing with a sound I couldn't
hear but which drowned out every other sound I might have heard.  After
a moment, I felt the boy stir under me, and I slowly dragged myself up
to look down into his face.
	"Mmmmph?"  he mumbled into the gag.
	I reached down and loosened the knots in the leather strap that bound
up the fellow's privates, easing if off and then gently tucking his
cock and balls back into his pants.  I did the same for myself.  The I
stood up and got the towel from his wash stand, damped it in the water
in the pitcher, and came back with it.  First I wiped the youngster's
sweaty face with it, pushing back the thick dark hair from his
forehead.  Then I cleaned up his privates as best I could and then my
own and my hands.  When I was done, I threw the towel into a corner.  I
pulled out my watch.  The train was due in ten minutes.
	Stoking my bound captive's hair, I looked down into his blue eyes. 
"Good boy,"  I said softly.  He stared back at me.  "I tell you what,
son.  The train's due here in a few minutes, and I'm gonna be out there
to swing the lantern, just like you would yourself.  I don't think
you're in no position to do it your own self right now, are you?"  
	"Mmmmmph!"  For the first time, I saw anger in those blue eyes of his.
	""Mmmmmmph' is about all you can manage through them bandannas gagging
you, ain't it, boy?  Well, don't you worry none, cause we don't aim to
hurt nobody.  The boys'll probably tie and gag the engineer and the
fireman, and if the fireman's good-lookin' like you, well, what's
happened to you might happen to him, knowing some of those boys and
what one or two of'em like, but that's all.  We're just aimin' to take
the loot and skedaddle out of here, son."  I stroked his hair, gentling
him like a spooked horse as I talked.  He kind of relaxed under my
hand.  "I'll come back some night, but I got to go now."  I stood up
and picked up the lantern.  When I reached the door, I looked back. 
The brakeman lay staring after me, his eyes bright and wide above the
tight wide band of the gag.
	"Some one from yer train company'll be along, after they get wind of
the robbery, son, and they'll come get ya loose.  Ya just lie there for
now, youngster, and don't bother to struggle none.  Ya can't get loose
yerself, I promise ya that, and ya'll just hurt yerself if ya try."  I
paused a moment.  In the distance, I could here the train on the
tracks.  "Ya sure are a nice-lookin' boy, brakeman,"  I said.  Then I
went out, leaving him behind me, trussed and gagged.
	Of course, that wasn't the end of it.  Oh, the holdup went smooth as
glass, there wasn't any problem there.  I swung the boy's lantern and
the train went off onto the siding, just like we planned.  By the time
the engineer got the train braked, the gang had the engine surrounded. 
They jumped up and took the engineer and fireman prisoner, tied their
hands behind them and stuffed and tied bandanna gags in their mouths,
and took them off the engine.  The guard in the pay car put up a bit of
fuss, but not for long.  We were in and out in less than half an hour,
leaving the guard trussed and gagged beside the engineer and his
brakeman.  The conductor found them there a quarter hour later when he
and a few of the male passengers got bold enough to stick their noses
out of the passenger car and see what had happened.  Someone ran back
to the brakeman's hut and found my poor brakeman bound and gagged the
way I'd left him.  Of course, I learned all what happened after we left
from the accounts in the newspapers.  We always got a kick out of
reading about ourselves.
	"Daring Robbery of the Midnight Pay Train,"  the headlines read.  I
didn't think it was so daring, just sharp.  They were just trying to
cover up how dumb they'd been to let a setup like that happen, if you
asked me.  They mentioned my poor brakeman, too.  "The brakeman was
overpowered and left in his hut brutally bound and cruelly gagged." 
Well, I guess he was, too, but then, he enjoyed it, as it turned out. 
I knew he had, and I remembered that real well two days latter, when
Jake and I had our final falling out, and I took my split of the take
and left.  I headed back to that canyon in the hills where the
brakeman's hut stood.  It was after dark on the second day of riding
when I got there.  After tending my horse, and leaving him in the same
grove of live oaks Stan and I had used the night of the robbery, I
walked up to the shack.
	When he opened the door in answer to my knock, he had the lantern in
one hand and a gun in the other.  My gun was in my holster, and my
bandanna was down on my chest, not up over my face
	"Evenin', son,"  I said softly.
	He stared at me for a long moment.
	"I said I'd come back, " I went on.  Slowly I reached out and took the
muzzle of the gun in my hand.  "Ya don't really wanna use that fool
thing, do ya, son?"  He let me push the gun down, and I grinned.  "Hope
ya ain't too sorry to see what I look like under the bandanna."
	He shook his head.
	"Ain't ya gonna ask me in?"
	He just stood there, staring at me.  After a moment, I stopped
smiling.  I let my gaze fall, and I realized my chest felt funny, sort
of hurting and hollow.   I turned and started to walk away.
	Behind me, I heard his footsteps, and there was his hand on my
shoulder pulling me around.
	"Wait," he said, and as I turned, I found myself in his arms.
	There's not much more to tell, or else, yes, there is, long years'
worth to tell, but not in this story. I'll just say that a couple of
hours latter I was walking that good-looking fellow back to where I'd
left my horse.  I had  his hands bound good and tight behind him and a
gag of a couple of his own bandannas stuffed and tied in his mouth. 
After I'd gagged him but before I'd tied his hands, I'd made him send a
message on the telegraph, saying I'd taken him off and not to follow or
he'd get hurt.  Of course, the train company never did and maybe they
wouldn't have bothered.  He was just some lonely brakeman, orphaned
young and put to work not much older.  He wasn't valuable to them.  But
he was valuable to me, more valuable to me than I can say, and he
stayed that way for more than twenty years after, till he died in my
arms of a fever.  But like I said, that's another, longer story.   This
one's just about how him and me met.  And that's how we did meet, when
I tied him up for that hold-up, and found the best man I ever knew in
my life.	
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Complaints or compliments, e-mail the author:  dbrown@ggu.edu