Would-Be Outlaw

Would-Be Outlaw by hangdogMI August 2024

1887, somewhere out west

Morgan had been riding across the prairie for a few hours, and he and his horse were getting a little sun-baked. He took off his hat and tried to wipe some of the sweat away from the hatband and his forehead, then replaced the hat over his just-starting-to-gray hair. He spied a couple of trees up ahead, and he thought that would be a fine place for a lunch and water break. The closer he got, though, the clearer it was that someone was already there, sitting astride a horse. Morgan figured he could handle the company, and so kept going.

The guy under the tree was younger than Morgan, slender with medium-length, shaggy brown hair and clean shaven. He wore no hat and no shirt, just an unbuttoned leather vest on his upper body. He was also missing his pants, but he worenatural leather chaps so nothing covering his crotch or behind. I saw he had his boots on, at least, with spurs. He was fumbling with something in his lap – rope, maybe. And what the Devil gives all us men between his legs, which was fat and half-stiff already.

“Halloo,” Morgan called to him when he got close enough. The guy looked up and blushed quickly, stopping what he was doing. “Hello, Sir,” he said nervously. Morgan could see the rope in his hands was tied into a regulation hangman's noose, maybe 1/2” thick manila with a big knot of probably seven turns of rope.

Morgan took a moment, adjusting his hat before speaking. “Y'know, you could prob'ly get a sheriff or a posse to do that for ya.”

The guy chuckled. “I 'spose I could, if I stole a horse or somethin'.”

“Like that one?”

“Oh, no Sir,” he said quickly. “I've had Star here since I was a kid.” Star picked up his head and looked at me, showing off the white pointed blaze in the middle of his otherwise brown head. Then he went back to trimming the grass.

“Good, good,” Morgan replied, then paused. “So, either you're too sad to keep livin', so you're using this rope to check out … or …” He didn't fill in the pause, so I continued. “Or yer outfit is telling me you're a horny pervert, trying to make your pecker real happy.” The kid blushed way down his face and neck. “No worries, you ain't the first guy who likes wearin' leathers and nothin' else.” Then he continued, “I'm sure you've heard the story that a guy'll shoot his load if he's hanged.”

The kid chuckled. “Yeah, I've heard that, m'self.”

“What's yer name, Friend?”

“Tucker, Sir.”

“I'm Morgan. Tucker, I'm sorry to have interrupted things here, but maybe I can help. You think your noose is set?”

Tucker looked down at the knot laying heavy in his crotch. “Think so.”

“Why not try it on and see?” Seconds ticked by. Then Tucker slid the loop open a bit more, and with both hands put the noose over his head, past his face, and around his neck. He slid the seven-turn knot closed so the loop was close to snug.

“Looks fine to me. You did a good job with that knot.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Tucker replied.

Morgan sidled his horse up beside Tucker's. “May I?” he asked as he reached for the rope still laying in Tucker's lap. Tucker said nothing, just looked, as Morgan took the rope and tossed the long end of it over the tree limb about four feet over their heads.

Tucker remained quiet except for a few deep breaths. His cock stiffened, though. Morgan gently turned the noose around so the knot was more toward the back of Tucker's neck, and then he pulled the other end down. Now the rope had less slack to it and more of a threat to it. Tucker felt that and inhaled deeply.

“You want to pull your pud a bit, I ain't gonna object,” Morgan told Tucker. Tucker shyly took his cock in hand, and fairly quickly had it standing straight up and hard from his crotch. One of the horses snorted.

Morgan held the end of the rope steady for a couple of minutes. He even pulled down on it some, so the slack in the rope was gone and Tucker felt it get tighter around his neck. Tucker let go of his cock. “I'm about to shoot,” he said breathlessly. “I don't want it to end this quick.” Morgan let go of the rope, letting it dangle to the ground while Tucker had a breather.

“Saw a guy get lynched once,” Tucker said, softly. “From the back of a horse he'd stole. Five-six guys in the posse from the old Double A ranch. Watched them rough him up and string him up. When they spooked the horse and the guy swung, I felt all funny in my pants. I was, like, 12. Been thinking about that ever since.”

A couple of minutes went by. Morgan moved his horse a little out of the way so he could dismount. He grabbed the end of the rope and pulled it down, a good bit tighter than it had been.

“Urk--” Tucker sounded a little surprised by that move. Morgan let the rope slacken a little, and Tucker chuckled.Morgan ran the rope around the tree trunk and made a knot to keep it fast. “You sure guessed right on the length of rope you needed, Tucker,” Morgan said.

Tucker's eyes widened as he realized how snug the rope was now and how the big knot behind his head kept his head bowed forward. “Fuck,” Tucker said, and his cock was rock-hard again. Without prompting, Tucker's right hand slowly stroked his cock, while his left hand fondled his hairy balls. He could only stroke for a minute or so before he let go. When he did, he moved his hands to behind his back, the left grasping the right's wrist, above the belt of his chaps, and otherwise he sat, silently.

Morgan remounted his horse. “You make a sorry lookin' outlaw, sitting there with a hemp necktie like a guilty cuss,” Morgan said. Tucker didn't smile, but he didn't object either. “Ain't no one gonna question how you ended up swingin' from a noose . . . dangling from a tree, payin' for what you done.” Tucker's cock twitched. “Just like that hoss-thief you saw all those years ago.”

Morgan reached into a pouch on his horse's saddle and brought out a three-foot piece of cord. Carefully he reached over and looped it around Tucker's wrists and made solid knots. When Morgan was done, Tucker was really ready for hanging. He was breathing hard, and his dripping cock's purple head twitched. He couldn't stroke his cock, which needed it badly. He couldn't do anything at all with his wrists tied behind him.

Morgan urged his horse forward just a bit so he could reach over and grab Tucker's rod. Tucker quietly gasped. Morgan started stroking the full length of Tucker from balls to tip, feeling the hot pecker twitch everytime he returned to the hairy base. Tucker was trying his damndest to stay calm, realizing that any sudden moves would possibly hang himself. Morgan kept going, using Tucker's copious pre-cum to smoothly speed up the stroking.

“You tryin' t' finish me off?” Tucker asked breathlessly. Morgan said nothing but looked at Tucker's flushed face and kept pulling on Tucker's cock. Morgan knew Tucker was really close to shooting his load, maybe too close to stop.

Suddenly, Tucker jerked. His horse snorted and bolted. Morgan's horse reared, but Morgan pulled the reins tight with both hands and his horse spun just a little, getting out of the way. Tucker slid off the back end of his horse, free of any support from below, and he swung wildly from the noose. Star stopped about twenty yards away, looked back, but stayed put.

Tucker swung back, then forth, with a bit of a spin from how he came off the horse and from how he kicked. He looked spooked from the wild swinging. He was making choking noises from the rope grabbing his neck tightly. Meanwhile, his cock spurted thick ropes of cum into the air, some of it landing on his boots and the lower parts of his chaps.

Morgan just watched. He didn't expect this part of it, and he certainly hadn't done anything to make the horse bolt. Morgan realized Tucker must've spurred the horse just as his cock went off. He could've dismounted and ran to cut the rope and save Tucker. But Morgan stayed on his horse, eyeing Tucker. Tucker's swinging slowed and covered much less air now, his boots circling a smaller patch of ground about a foot and a half below the toes of his boots. Morgan noticed Tucker wasn't really struggling, not trying to get his hands free of Morgan's knots, and not really kicking either. Morgan looked up into Tucker's face and caught the hint of a smile. The smile relaxed, and Tucker went slack overall.

Even now, Morgan figured he could've saved Tucker. He'd only been hanging for a minute or so. But the seconds added into another minute. Tucker stiffened, then jack-knifed slightly, and then hung still again. He did that one or two more times. Morgan had seen that before in other lynched guys. Soon, Tucker dangled silently and limp from the rope. Only then did Morgan ride closer and look into Tucker's eyes, seeing the dilated pupils with no light at all inside.

“You crazy sumbitch,” Morgan said. He tried not to think about the hard pecker in his jeans.

A few minutes later, he rode out to where Tucker's horse had run. Star calmly waited while Morgan dismounted and approached, and accepted Morgan's lariat. Morgan took one last look at Tucker's dead body hanging from the tree and then set out for the Double A ranch to return their horse. He figured he'd let the ranch hands come retrieve Tucker after he had a good spell dangling like an outlaw.