(I wrote another story about a cowboy called 'German Cowboy' A number of guys very kindly wrote to me saying that they enjoyed that story and could not wait for part 2. I had to say that there would be no part 2. But as cowboys turn me on big time, I thought I would have another go at a story with cowboys at their heart. I am afraid that this is also a standalone story.
If you enjoy this story - or any others - remember that you can only read them if Nifty remains online. For that they need our cash. If we all give just a little, the site won't disappear and take our stories with them.
I would welcome any comments. It encourages me to keep writing! I am also making some good friends that way.)
It's Almost Midnight, Cowboy
The heavy rains had meant that the basement and ground floor of the block in which Darren had his apartment was flooded. This meant that all the power was off, and the risk of further problems meant Darren was forced to move out of his apartment while the problems were fixed. He had not even been allowed back in to get any clothes. The property company and his insurers had agreed that he could stay in a hotel at their expense while the building was made safe and habitable again. The work was expected to take a couple of weeks. Darren was not happy. The problems had occurred when he had taken 2 weeks holiday to decorate his apartment and generally lounge around at home. But at least the insurers had put him into a good quality hotel that had lots of facilities. There was no point complaining. He had to make the best of it.
The hotel - about 25 miles from London - was part of the American 'Texas' chain. The most obvious indications as to its roots were the incessant Country and Western music in the public areas and the pictures of cowboy film stars on the walls and in all the rooms. Darren, who was 26, did not recognise many of them.
The hotel boasted a large gym and swimming pool and Darren decided that he would use his time at the hotel to improve his general level of fitness. He was not in bad shape - and sometimes even turned out for the works sports teams - but felt he should do better. So every morning before breakfast he spent one hour working out in the gym followed by a 30 minute leisurely swim. He then went to breakfast, getting in only about 15 minutes before it was due to shut. Much to the annoyance of the staff.
The gym was not used by many guests. There were a number of the inevitable women who seemed to think walking slowly on a treadmill while exercising their mouths and vocal muscles was the key to a slim waist and long life. The gym was also used by a few outsiders. Darren began and ended his session with a 10 minute run. On his third day, while doing his finishing run, a young guy of about his age got on the treadmill next to him. Darren took an instant dislike to him as he kept checking Darren's speed and the incline he was running up and turning up the controls on his machine to be a bit steeper or a bit faster or both. Darren didn't seem to think that he was being as bad by then increasing his pace or incline. But he was pleased when the machine indicated that his 10 minutes were up and slowed to a 'cool down' pace as he had ended up pushing himself rather too far. Darren acknowledged his neighbour in the mirror with a smile as he got off. He was glad to get to the pool to cool down and relax.
This happened again the next day, when the guy was even more blatant about trying to out-perform Darren, and Darren was equally brazen about trying to show that he was better. But as they went faster and faster the other guy just grinned at him more and more in the mirror wall in front of the joggers.
Darren spent his usual 30 minutes in the pool, but after the second battle on the joggers, he mainly relaxed and floated around. He was shattered. So as not to miss breakfast he went to the changing room to shower when the clock showed it was time. After showering he grabbed one of the large white fluffy towels off the pile on a table and dried himself. When dry, he put the key in his locker and opened the door. At first he did a double take, as at the front of the locker were a pair of cowboy boots that were definitely not his. But he could see his sweatshirt behind them and so knew it was the right locker. He got out one boot. It was tall (probably knee high he thought), with high 2 or 3 inch underslung heels. But most of all it was very fancy. The base colour was black. But the boots had fancy yellow stitching right up the shafts and gold sunbursts at the ankles. He looked for his Nike trainers in the locker. They were gone. The motive for the swap could not be theft. His trainers had seen better days. And from the look of the leather soles, the boots were new. It was a strange swap and a bewildering thing to have happened.
Darren got the boots and everything else out of the locker and started to get dressed while he pondered what to do. His first thought - that quickly struck him as stupid - was that this was some gesture or joke on the part of the hotel management, maybe to comment on his scruffy trainers. His thoughts were distracted when he pulled up his blue jeans and found that in place of his perfectly serviceable leather belt was a thick black belt with a large decorated silver coloured buckle. He checked that they were his jeans by pulling out his wallet. They were indeed his jeans and his wallet contained all that it should. Theft again could be ruled out. But how did whoever it was get into his locker? And why do this? He pulled on his sweatshirt. If he took the boots and belt to reception they would no doubt take charge of them and then he would have even less clothes than the few he had either brought with him, borrowed or newly purchased. In the end he decided to try on the boots and if they fitted him, he would say nothing and wait for someone else to reclaim them.
They fitted him like a glove and went right up to his knee. Yet even with the high heels and sharp pointed toes, the supple leather meant they were quite comfortable. He put his gym clothes into his sports bag and headed for breakfast. To get to the dining room he had to cross the large marble floored reception area and was acutely conscious of the boots on his feet not least as the horseshoe metal heel plates that had been fitted beat a staccato across the floor. He tried walking more on his toes. Though that cut the noise he suspected that he probably looked faintly ridiculous (or should it be more ridiculous?) and went back to walking normally, clicking his way through the lobby. He sat at breakfast trying to keep his feet hidden under the table. But when he went to help himself to the buffet of meats and cheeses one of the rather camp waiters said "Love the boots, cowboy." Darren smiled weakly and went back to his table with a plate of food.
When he finished eating he went to reception to ask if there were any messages. He was not expecting any but wondered if the 'boot fairy' might have left him some clue as to what was going on. The receptionist checked his pigeon hole and came back with a small white envelope which he gave to him. It had his name as well as his room number on it. Darren took it and opened the sealed flap with his finger. Inside was a white card with the crossed 'Stars and Stripes' flags at the top and the name of a local US air base. It announced that 3-5 July were open days and visitors would be welcome. 'Fun for all the family', it proclaimed.
Darren did not believe that the boots and the card could be a co-incidence. In any case he had nothing much else to do and so decided to go to the air base that afternoon. After a walk around the grounds of the hotel, he went back to his room. He read for a while and watched some truly gruesome daytime TV that was so bad it would have been brilliant if billed as satire. At a little after noon he decided to leave for the airbase. He opened the wardrobe door and amongst his few clothes was a pair of pale sandy grey cotton twill trousers. He got them down and examined them. They still had a sales label that showed that they were his size. He sat on the bed and pondered some more. Then he made his mind up. He pulled off the boots and jeans and put on the new trousers, after removing the labels. He had been forced to wear the boots when his trainers were taken and he assumed that whoever was behind this wanted him to wear the trousers with the boots. If that made any sense - which he was not sure it did. He got a denim shirt out of the closet and put that on over a white tee-shirt. He put the fancy belt through the belt loops of the new trousers and did it up. He pulled on the boots and looked in the mirror. As he stood there he just shook his head. Although it was a warm day he grabbed his cotton bomber jacket and left for the lift. He took the lift down to the garage. He programmed the Sat Nav with the address of the airbase and followed the bossy directions of the Margaret Thatcher sound alike.
It took him nearly an hour to get to the base. He queued for the car park and was shown by a very polite uniformed guy where to park and then where to go. He walked around the base in the sunshine with his jacket slung over his shoulder. He only spent a little time looking at the planes which did not much interest him. He watched some of the sideshows such as shooting galleries and 'throw the hoop over the prize' that provided entertainment for the young and the old. There were a couple of shops, one of which was a men's outfitter. In the window he saw a pair of boots identical to the ones on his feet. His mouth fell open at the price. They cost more than he would spend on clothes in a year! But at least it supported his suspicion that the boots and the invitation to the airbase were somehow connected.
He saw a food stall, and as he was feeling a little bit peckish he bought a surprisingly delicious hamburger. In true American style it was so huge he could not finish it all. He was depositing the remnants into a bin when a man, wearing a red 'Bud' baseball cap pulled hard down on his head, grabbed his arm.
"Come and try your chances in the Wild West shooting gallery cowboy" he said. He took him by the arm a few feet to the left. There he could see a video wall showing a street from a Wild West town (as immortalised by Hollywood). A man was standing in front of the wall. He had a western gun belt round his waist. And when someone, for example, came out of the saloon in the movie on the wall and took a shot at him, the man pulled his pistol and shot back. This went on for a minute or so, with the guys score, which was displayed in the top right corner, increasing. Then the wall went blank and his turn was over. He removed the gun belt and gave it to the man with Darren. The guy gave him his prize - a small metal American flag pin. He fixed the heavy gun belt around Darren's waist and tied the cord around his leg. He relieved Darren of his jacket and showed him where to stand.
"You have to try to shoot as many people as you can. They will appear from all over the place. You must return the gun to the holster after shooting each one. You don't have to reload. In this game, as in many Cowboy movies, you have an infinite number of bullets. He ran a short demonstration scene to let Darren check he understood the rules. Then he stood back and 'the cockney kid' was on his own. Darren soon got into the game. He was quick to spot new adversaries and quicker to draw and shoot them. When the wall went blank he put the gun back in the holster for a final time.
"Are you a professional shootist? That's a great score."
"I assure you I have never so much as held a gun before" Darren replied.
"Well here is your prize." He handed Darren two plain silver coloured objects about 2 inches long.
The showman quickly realised that Darren had no idea what they were. "They are toe caps for your boots and they will look really great on your fancy footwear." They both looked at his feet and then the guy pointed to a man about 100 yards away sitting in a representation of a Wild West blacksmiths shop. "Go over there and that guy will be happy to fix them for you." The guy kept watching as Darren walked in the direction of the blacksmith. Darren felt unable to ignore the command he had been given while he was under surveillance.
Darren went to the blacksmith and gave him the silver toe caps. "Put your boot up here son" the ageing blacksmith said, indicating a wooden box. Darren did and the smithy took one of the silver objects and pushed it over Darren's left boot toe. He carefully fixed it on with tiny nails. He then did the right one. Darren looked down at the result. It made the boots look even fancier and made him feel even more self conscious. But he shrugged and thanked the blacksmith.
A young boy of about 11 or 12 ran over and said "Mister you forgot your jacket." He handed Darren a jacket and ran off. The jacket was not his burgundy cotton bomber. It was a pale brown suede jacket with long fringes across the back and arms. Like the boots and trousers before it was clearly new, and when he tried it on it was his size. "What the hell", Darren said to himself.
He decided to go back to the Menswear store and ask about the boots in the window. He was not sure what he could reasonably find out, but maybe they might tell him if they had sold any recently. He went in the door and was warmly welcomed by a middle aged lady in cowgirl gear. "I know exactly what you are looking for cowboy - a pair of spurs to go with those boots." She took his arm and led him to glass covered counter inside of which were a large selection of spurs. Darren went to speak but she stopped him. "I know just the pair to go with those beautiful boots."
Darren stood there open mouthed. Was everyone - or at least every American - conspiring against him? She got out a pair of spurs with silver coloured shanks and large gold coloured spiked rowels that were about an inch and half diameter. To Darren they looked somewhat lethal. The lady got some black leather straps and attached them to the spurs and told him to put his boot up on a nearby chair. She fixed one spur, and then the other, to his boots. "They look real dandy" she said.
Darren walked around with the spurs jingling. He looked at his feet and legs in the mirror deciding how to say he was not sure he wanted them. What came out of his mouth was "How much are they?"
"You're not from round here are you?" the cowgirl asked. Darren was tempted to point out that actually he was from around here and that she was probably the interloper. What came out was
"No, I'm from Sussex. How did you guess?"
"Now you're teasing me young man. But I guess I deserve it. You can have those spurs for $50. That's the best price I can do. But you must take them as they look so great on those wonderful boots."
Darren got out his credit card, not sure what the price was in pounds and whether he had spent a lot or a little. The transaction was soon completed. Darren could not see how the spurs fitted into the boots, belt, trousers and jacket. He might not have come into the shop. But if they were not part of plot it was one hell of a coincidence.
"One more thing, young man. All our customers over the Open Days have a chance at the bran tub." She took him over to a barrel full of sawdust and she told him to plunge his hand in and pull out a ball. He did as he was told and pulled out a golf ball with the number 17 on it. The lady consulted a list. "You've won a silk shirt, sir. Congratulations."
The lady went out the back and returned with a shirt box that she proceeded to open. It contained a deep green silk shirt with fancy silver and gold stitching across the shoulders and lapels embroidered in silk thread. "I've been in this business many years so I know it will be the right size. But you can try it on if you wish."
"No, that's ok. I am sure you're right. And if you don't mind I shall take the spurs off so that I don't do someone an injury with them out there" Darren replied. He removed the spurs and gave them to the lady who put them in a box, and put the box and the shirt into a carrier bag for him. They said goodbye and he went outside. He had completely forgotten to ask about the boots. He decided not to go back in.
He walked around some more but no one came to speak to him and no one asked for the jacket back. At about 3.00pm he headed to his car and then drove back to the hotel. He had never bothered to give his key in so did not need to go to reception. But the receptionist called out his name and he went over. "A package has arrived for you" he said as he got out a quite large carrier bag from below the desk, which he handed to Darren. Darren had ceased to be amazed by all that had happened that day. He took hold of the bag and carried it to his room.
He took a rectangular shaped box out of the carrier. He opened the box and found a black cowboy hat that had the name 'Stetson'printed on the label in the crown. He put it on his head and looked at his puzzled expression in the mirror. Darren stood their looking at it, and once again shaking his head.
He went over to the mini bar to get himself a drink. He needed one. Before he opened the fridge door he saw a card propped up against the water jug. He picked it up and read it. It had the hotel name and emblems on it. It read 'American Themed Gala Event in the Big Steer Dining Room. Put on your fanciest outfits cowgirls and cowboys'. Underneath was written in pen his name and 'Table 17, 8.00pm'. At last, he hoped, some answers. He helped himself to a drink, which he quickly followed with another.
At 7.00pm he stripped and went into the bathroom to shave and shower. He came out, and having put on clean underwear, which were at least his own, he pulled on the fancy green silk shirt, the cotton trousers with the fancy belt, the fancy high heeled boots with silver toecaps and the fringed jacket. He got the spurs out of the box but decided that was a step too far. He stood looking at himself in the mirror and put the Stetson on his head.
At just before 8.00pm he left his room and headed to the 'Big Steer Dining Room' which was on the roof. He had not been there before as its prices seemed rather high for his budget and he had to pay for all his own food except for breakfast. When he ate in the hotel at all it was usually at the concessionary pizza place or burger bar. A waiter dressed in cowboy gear, although very much less fancy than his and without a hat, met him at the door. He examined the card and showed him to a table for two on the back wall. The room was half full of guests, many well into their main courses. Some, though by no means most, had made some effort to meet the 'American Theme'. Darren declined a drink and looked round. The table was set for two people, so he assumed that someone else would be joining him. He pondered who it might be. The sight of a grizzled old lady in tennis shoes came into his mind and he wondered if she might be setting him up as some kind of gigolo. The thought made him shudder. He carefully watched each person as they came in, while sipping a glass or water. At about 8.10 a young guy of about Darren's age, resplendent in cowboy gear, came in. He was wearing blue jeans with fancy chocolate brown high heeled boots, a big western belt with brass buckle, a faded denim shirt under a soft brown leather jacket and a light brown cowboy hat.
After a moments chat to the waiter, who pointed to Darren's table, he walked over. He took long slow strides and had a kind of swagger to him that made his hips roll. When he got to the table he held out his hand and said in a soft American accent "Hello Darren, my name is Dwight". Darren got up and they shook hands. The waiter came over as they sat down and Dwight ordered 'Two Buds', without consulting Darren. He had a commanding presence and was clearly used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
"You don't recognise me do you?" Dwight asked. When David shook his head, he laughed. "I am your running buddy from the gym. I am also the guy at the shooting gallery this afternoon." Darren pictured him in his running gear and the memory clicked with the guy in front of him. But he did not recognise him from the air base. "You want to know what has been happening", Dwight said. He continued without waiting for an answer. "I use the gym here sometimes as it is quieter than the one at the base. I told some of my buddies at the airbase when I got back about how you tried to outrun me. They know - and which you could not - that I am one of the best runners on the base. I told them that I had not wanted to show you up too much as you looked at bit like the young Jon Voight when you smiled, although you ran more like Dustin Hoffman." The names meant nothing to Darren. Dwight realised his confusion and turned and pointed to a large colour picture on the wall which showed a cowboy in full regalia and the word's 'Midnight Cowboy' underneath it.
"That's Jon Voight - well as he was in the late 60's. Have you not seen the film? It's one of the great movies. Anyway my friends, as guys tend to do, told me I was nuts. I told them it was true. In the end they told me to prove it. They made me a two part bet. The first part was that I had to get you dressed as the 'midnight cowboy' and give them a picture to prove that you looked like the guy in the film." Darren took another look at the picture on the wall and recognised the green shirt and suede fringed jacked and fancy black boots sticking out of the grey trousers as the ones he was now wearing. He nodded his head. "I thought taking you to dinner would make amends for the jerking about I have done to you today. The bribe might also make you agree to let me take some pictures of you and win the bet. If I don't get the photo then I will have to pay for all your fancy gear. I would much rather they paid for it."
Darren smiled. At least he now knew he was not going mad and that his dinner date was not the grizzled old lady he feared. "Sure you can take the picture. Shall we eat first?"
The waiter came with the Bud's and Dwight, again without consultation, placed their orders for giant rare steaks with all the trimmings. Darren wondered if that was how it was done in the States when the other guy was picking up the bill. But steak would do fine and he liked it rare.
"You must let me return the favour another night. I am staying here for another 8 or so days."
"I am not sure that will be possible" Dwight replied. "I am returning to the States next week. My folks both died last fall and I am going back to take over their small farm in Texas. It is not much of a place but it was where I was born and I would like to keep it going if possible. I know my folks made very little money at farming. But I wondered if, as a sideline, I might turn it into a dude ranch so city folks can come and play cowboys for their vacation and give me a bit of free labour. Looking at you, I seem to be pretty good as an outfitter. You should come with me as an advert. You make a great looking cowboy, even if the accent is a bit strange."
Darren smiled knowing that the offer was not serious. "Two questions" he said. "Do I have to give the clothes back and how did you get them to me in the first place?"
"No you can keep the clothes. By the way you really know how to wear them, cowboy. How did I get them to you? That was very simple. I thought about putting the whole outfit in your locker, but felt sure you would not take it and put it on in one go. And I know it is a bit cruel but I have enjoyed playing with you all day - as I enjoyed playing with you in the gym - and watching your reaction as you became more and more perplexed. It was great watching you tap dance your way across the marble hall floor this morning. As you looked pretty much my size in the gym I was sure I could pick clothes to fit you. I knew you went for a swim after the gym, so I just picked the lock on you locker - not exactly difficult - and replaced your own belt and trainers. I persuaded the chamber made to let me into your room to leave the trousers. I told her that I was from the hotel shop downstairs and that you had ordered them. I just gave the invite to the airbase to the receptionist. The guy running the shooting contest is a buddy of mine and in on the bet. He let me drag you up to have a go. That was the part where I thought it might all come apart if you recognised me. That's why I had the baseball cap on to hide as much of my face as I could. You were a surprisingly good shot, although your score was rigged so that I could give you the toecaps for your boots."
"Looking at the picture that is not authentic", Darren said.
"No, but I couldn't be 100% authentic. You should have a green neckerchief on, but if I left it with the shirt I thought that as a lim... as a Brit, you would probably stick it in your top pocket." With that he got a green silk neckerchief, that matched the shirt, out of his pocket and handed it to Darren, who looked again at the picture and tied it in the correct manner round his neck.
"I thought the toecaps would look good. I have them on all my boots" Dwight said lifting a booted foot and putting it on Darren's knee. "Great aren't' they?" Darren nodded and Dwight moved his boot down to the ground. "The toecaps were also the best way to distract you and make you leave your jacket. A $5 bill paid the kid to deliver the new jacket to you and to run off before you could say anything. I felt pretty sure that you would go into the clothes store when you saw the same boots in the window. I have to say that I was surprised and a bit worried when you didn't. I was about to move the bran tub outside in order to give you the shirt. I was relieved when you went back. The spurs was Martha improvising. She knows I like to see a guy with spurs on his boots. She was in on the bet as well. She does not like to let anyone out of her shop without buying something so she just hustled you. Sorry if you think that was mean, but I saw you wearing the spurs over the shops CCTV and they looked pretty damn hot. I got the hat to you by just taking the bag to reception. All very simple."
"It is when you explain it, but I thought I was going nuts. I also half expected to be arrested for wearing clothes that were not mine. But my stay here has been very dull and it has at least brightened up one day." Darren explained about the flood and his apartment as they ate. Once again Darren could not finish the meal and they decided to skip dessert and have coffee and a brandy at the bar. Dwight paid the bill and they got up and left the dining room.
After ordering the drinks, Dwight said "Can we do that picture now?" Darren agreed and posed up against the back wall which had the black and white film poster of Midnight Cowboy with both Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman in it. Dwight tried to get Darren to pose in a midnight cowboy fashion. He reviewed the pictures and was happy.
They sat down in the corner at a couple of arm chairs separated by a low table. The waiter brought the coffees and brandies. Darren then remembered something else that Dwight had said.
"You said it was a two part bet. What was the second part?"
Dwight looked up at Darren. He crossed his right leg over his left knee and played with the heel of his boot. "It was just a bit of nonsense. Don't worry about it." Darren thought he looked embarrassed. Maybe this was a chance to make him squirm.
"If it concerns me, I think I have a right to know." Dwight decided that he might as well tell the truth as he had a feeling that Darren would not give up on the matter.
"OK we had a side bet of $100 that I could not get you into my bed." Dwight saw the wide-eyed look of surprise or maybe shock on Darren face. "It's OK, as I say it was only a bit of silliness." When Darren did not immediately reply he added "It really is OK, I am not going to jump you."
Darren recovered. "I don't call $100 'silliness'. But do you also have to take photo's to prove that part of the bet?" Darren said with a broad smile. It took Dwight a moment or two to understand his meaning. Then he broke out laughing, closely followed by Darren.
"I am afraid the answer to that question is yes. The picture has to have you naked except for your boots." Darren's mouth dropped open. "You can put your hands over your naughty bits - that's if your hands are big enough" he said with a wink.
Dwight suggested that they go to the cottage he was renting and they drove to it in Dwight's car. They touched and groped each other all the way so that once inside the cottage they were both feeling pretty horny. They just grabbed each other once the door was shut. As their heads came together their cowboy hats pushed each other to the backs of their respective heads. Dwight kissed deeply and took Darren's crotch in his right hand and rubbed and squeezed it fiercely. Dwight moved his lips to chew Darren's neck and left ear. They kissed and groped each other as Dwight manoeuvred Darren to the bedroom. They continued attacking each other's bodies as they removed their hats, jackets and shirts. They broke their embraces to sit and remove their boots. Dwight reminded Darren that he must put his boots back on.
"I will but only if you wear yours" Darren replied.
They both pulled their boots off and removed their trousers and underwear. Each looked at the others cock and balls that were standing proudly to attention. Dwight reached across and took Darren's black boots and put them on. He handed Darren his brown boots. It gave Darren a tingle as he pushed his feet into the still warm boots of the cowboy next to him. Dwight went to a closet and pulled out a pair of brown leather chaps that had long fringes down the outside of the legs which he handed to Darren. Darren put them on finding out how to fasten them by following how Dwight did it as he put on a pair of plain black chaps. They faced each other, standing about six feet apart. Both looked at how the chaps emphasised their partners erect and throbbing cocks and their balls. Dwight made a slight turn and stroked his arse surrounded as it was by thick leather while Darren licked his lips. The cowboys came back together to kiss and Dwight took both of Darren's arse cheeks in his hands and massaged them vigorously. At the same time he rubbed his booted foot up the inside of Darren's right leg. He seemed to love being rough with Darren and did not object when Darren was equally rough with him.
Dwight backed Darren towards the bed, pushed him down on his back and fell on top of him. He moved his right hand between Darren's legs and pushed his middle finger up Darren's hole, feeling his inside and probing for his prostate. "Your arse is mine cowboy", Dwight said. Darren groaned as Dwight found the point.
Darren moaned. and said "Yes, take it cowboy. Fuck me as hard as you can. I really need it."
Dwight moved Darren's leather covered legs over his shoulders and arched his back as Darren rubbed the metal plates of his under slung heels down Dwight's back. "Oh that feels good", he said. It was as if Darren had spurs on his boots as Dwight pushed his cock against Darren's hole. With a single thrust he plunged into Darren's darkness. They both gasped as a surge of pain and pleasure waved over them. Darren used his boot heels to urge Dwight to thrust far into him. Dwight obliged by thrusting at a furious pace. They climaxed almost simultaneously - Dwight deep in Darren and Darren mainly up and onto Dwight's chest. Darren urged Dwight down onto him and the sticky mess rubbed between them as their chests met and they kissed eagerly.
After a while Dwight rolled off of Darren and lay on his back. "That was good. The way you teased me with your boot heels felt like we were both riding each other." Darren swung round so that he was facing Dwight and moved his boot towards his cowboy's crotch. He pushed the silver boot tip under his balls and teased his sweet spot. Dwight reciprocated. They both groaned in pleasure. Their cocks came back to full mast and they began to slowly rub them. Each felt and played with the boot and the leather covered leg alongside them. Dwight turned his head and began to lick the boot that Darren moved towards his face. Dwight again reciprocated and they both enjoyed each other's boots with their mouths and indeed with their whole bodies. First Dwight closely followed by Darren came to a shuddering climax and spunk sprayed over their chests.
They hitched themselves up further onto their elbows to look at each other without moving away the boots that were giving them both so much enjoyment. "You are my sort of cowboy" said Dwight.
"I never knew boots could feel so good and give a guy so much pleasure. And I mean both me and you. I don't think I shall ever take these off. They are awesome", Darren replied.
"No you won't ever wear anything else. I won't let you. I am going to take you back to the States with me. "
"That's not possible. I don't belong there", Darren replied.
"Oh you will. I will get out our family branding iron - which is a spurred cowboy boot - and burn my ownership of you onto your arse for all to see. You belong to me, cowboy."
Darren stroked his left arse cheek wondering what it would be like to be branded and owned, and deciding that he would like it.
They cleaned up a bit, still keeping booted. "I think we should get some sleep" Dwight said. "After all it's almost Midnight, Cowboy."
(Did anybody guess the plot from the title?)