The Rustler

By Jonathan Quincy Graves

‘He can’t know much about the cattle business,’ Jasmine mused as she waited for the failed rustler to regain consciousness.  Anyone who did, and there were not many left, would have known the flatulence capture device the law required each steer to wear used the methane to power a wide range of instrumentation.  A constant stream of data passed through the central hub, including location, stress level, hormone balances, etc., etc., etc.

Beef prices, began to sore with the droughts in the southwestern United States back in the early 2000s, over a century ago.  They ultimately reached the point where actual meat was far too expensive for all but a small fraction of the population.  That, coupled with the ever more onerous laws and regulations governing the care and raising of livestock in general, led to the virtual collapse of the industry.

What was commonly referred to as “pink slime” replaced real meat at the local market.  It was probably for the best, all things considered.  Truebeef and Truepork could be produced in vats much more economically, with a much lower impact on the ecosystem, than the actual raising of live animals.  And with today’s processing methods, it could be molded to look, more or less, like any of the traditional cuts of a bygone era.  This was especially true if none of those actual cuts of meat were available on the store shelves for comparison.

Jasmine owned and operated one of only four free-range cattle ranches still in operation on the continent.  She’d inherited it from her father, as he had from his father, back as far as Jasmine cared to trace her ancestry.  It was still managed in the traditional manner, surviving generations of near constant struggles with PETA, the EPA, the IRS, and a myriad of other government and private agencies.  Jasmine maintained a tradition and a lifestyle from a bygone era, and now a rustler?  What was he thinking?

He was kind of cute though, Jasmine allowed, probably about 28 to her 35, tall with sandy brown hair and a shadow of reddish facial hair (another anachronism from a bygone era).  He was tall and slim, 6’ 2”, she guessed, although it was hard to judge with him lying crumpled on the ground where the electronic boundary fence put him down.  A tall bay mare, presumably his, was placidly cropping the grass nearby.

Jasmine herself was 5’ 11” with her boots on and possessed the rugged good looks of someone who worked hard and spent most of her life out of doors.  She was blessed with a narrow waist, wide but feminine hips, and a high, full bust line she sometimes cursed when she jumped her gelding, Maximillian.  She’d married at the age of 18, much too young in retrospect, for it hadn’t lasted.  Robert was from the city, and could not adapt to the rugged and demanding lifestyle on the ranch.  They divorced three years later, and he was now somewhere on the Coast, selling bonds or real estate or something; she no longer cared enough to keep track.

She’d had three or four lovers since Robert (depending upon how you defined “lovers”), but none of them stuck.  Some men were attracted to the idea of marrying into one of the few remaining cattle families in existence, until they discovered the work involved.  Then, they generally drifted on in search of an heiress of a fortune that required significantly less actual labor to maintain.  For that matter, even keeping hired hands on the place was a challenge, despite the generous wages she paid.  People were not as willing to do the work as they were in the old days when physical labor was more common and government support considered less acceptable.  And, to be honest, many men were not cutout to live with a strong-willed woman who expected her man to be industrious and disciplined.  And, was more than willing to provide the necessary incentive when they did not live up to her demanding standards.

At first, it surprised her so few of her “lovers” were willing to accept a bare-bottomed discipline session draped over a stall door, no matter how richly deserved it might be.  Jasmine was raised by her father after her mom died when she was seven, and he had not hesitated to apply a heavy leather strap to her own backside when he thought it would do her good.  She honestly believed his discipline, along with his unwavering love for her was just what she needed to prepare her for the life she now lived.  Somehow, the men in her life did not see it that way, even though a couple of them were more than delighted to bare her bottom and wield that very same strap when she’d been guilty of some minor misstep.

Her father died seven years ago, when their Black Angus bull, Mephistopheles crushed his ribcage against a corral gate.  Normally very alert and careful around the breeding bulls, it only required a moment of inattention to end his life.  He left a gap in Jasmine’s life when he passed, which may, in part, be why she had not yet called the authorities to come collect the would-be thief lying on the ground at her feet.  Besides, he was good looking, in an outdoorsy way, and she wanted to find out what the hell he’d been thinking before they came and hauled him away.

Jasmine’s ruminations came to an abrupt end when the man groaned and tried to rise.  She stepped back and tightened her grip on the three-foot cattle prod held along the length of her jeans-clad thigh.  He made it as far as his hands and knees, then rolled over, sat in the dirt and looked up at her.

“What the hell happened?” he asked with a big, embarrassed grin.  “There’s not a cloud in the sky, but I sure as hell was struck by lightning.  Damn that hurt.”

Jasmine caught herself thinking: ‘Even cuter when he grins,’ and shook it off.  “My fence took exception to you walking off with my property.  Did you actually think you could stroll onto my land and walk back out again with one of my steers?”

“Well it seemed like a good idea at the time.  I figured you wouldn’t miss one measly cow way out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.  Our telemetry monitors every head twenty-four seven.  They can’t fart without my systems knowing it, and when a predator or a stranger gets them riled up, alarms go off all over the ranch.  You were lucky to even make it as far as the fence before my wranglers arrived.”

“Wranglers?” he said, looking around, “I don’t see anyone here but you and me.”

“I sent them back to work when it was obvious you were no longer a threat.  Now, the question is, what do I do with you?  You realize, I assume, that you’re guilty of a felony.  If this is your first, it’s probably good for six to ten in rehabilitation.”

“Six years for a lousy cow?”

“It’s a steer, and how much do you figure a ‘lousy cow’ is worth on today’s market?”

“Hell, I don’t know.  Nobody actually eats cows anymore.  Can’t be worth more than a couple grand, at most.”

“Try fifty times that much.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said, and began to rise to his feet.

“Just sit right where you are,” Jasmine said, bringing up the shock stick.  “We’re not through talking, and I haven’t decided what to do with you.  What’s your name, and where are you from?”

“Ed Fuller, from this side of Midland.  Say, how about we work something out?  There’s no need to call the cops.  I’m willing to work off whatever this might have cost you.  Maybe we could negotiate?” he said, with a grin that spread to his eyes this time.  His eyes were big and an attractive brown.  ‘Funny how I just noticed that detail,’ Jasmine thought.

“Ed Fuller.  You’re Senator Fuller’s youngest, aren’t you?  Your dad used to sit on the porch with mine, smoke cigars and trade lies on a regular basis.”

“Yeah, that’s dad,” Ed admitted, “and he’s going to skin me alive when he hears about this, and I hate what it will do to mom.  She’s always had unrealistically high hopes for her ‘baby boy’.  Isn’t there a way to keep this between the two of us?”

“Well I don’t know, Ed.  I’d like to help you out—in memory of my dad and his friendship with yours—but what could you do for me?  You obviously don’t know cattle, and, you’re a thief.”

Ed winced at that, “I’m not usually a thief.  I was just riding along the trail next to your property and saw this lonesome cow grazing there and thought to myself ‘what the hell’ and I guess you know the rest of the story.  It was more of a spur-of-the-moment lark; I hadn’t even considered what I was going to do with it once I had it.

“But honestly, I’m willing to make amends.  I’m not afraid of hard work, and there must be something I can help you with around here.  I don’t want this to get back to mom; it would cause her more pain than she deserves.  Plus, working for you would solve two problems at the same time.  Me doing something worthwhile rather than living off the Basic Public Stipend would delight both mom and dad, and having honest work to fill my time would go a long way toward keeping me out of trouble.”

He seemed entirely sincere, sitting there in the dirt, looking up at me with those big, brown, puppy-dog eyes.  I know his mom, and there wasn’t a nicer woman in this part of the country; I hated to bring her grief.  ‘Ah, what the hell, there’s always more work to do on a ranch than you can ever get done.’

“All right, if you’re serious, here’s what we’ll do.  I’ll put you on the payroll at the entry level; you can start by mucking out the barns until we see what else you can learn to do.  Fair enough?”

“Absolutely.”  The grin was back.

“But first, you’re going to pay the penalty for this little ‘lark’ of yours.”

“What do you mean?”  The grin was still there, but more tentative.

“I mean, I am going to do to you what my father would have done to me.  And knowing your dad, what he would have done to you a few years ago as well.  I’ve got a good leather strap I inherited from my folks, and I’m going to apply it good and hard to where it will do the most good.”

Ed started to open his mouth, but I interrupted him with: “And, if you agree to this deal, I’ll keep applying it whenever you screw up, or I otherwise think it’s needed.  Still interested, or should I call the cops and be done with you?”

Ed closed his mouth and looked up at me with those big browns, judging whether I was serious.  “Fair enough.  I’ll take your job, and your discipline.  I appreciate your offer of employment, and there’s no disputing I’ve earned the punishment.  When do I start?”

“There’s no time like the present,” I answered.  “Mount up and follow me back to the barn.  There’s still plenty of daylight.”

I swung up into the saddle and watched as Ed did the same.  He seemed to know his way around horses, at least, and he had an easy, athletic way to him that, coupled with his trim waste, spoke of a body kept in shape.  I’d also gotten a good look at his ass in his tight jeans as he’d walked over to his horse.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.

I led Ed to one of the barns, mostly empty this time of year while the cattle and the spare mounts were out on summer pasture.  It was an old wood structure probably built well before my father was a youngster.  Most of my outbuildings were plasticrete, of course, but I preferred the warmth of this old barn and spent much more on a yearly basis than it was worth to maintain it.  I dismounted and loosely tied Max’ reins to a ring bolt.  “You can take care of the horses,” I said, “put Max in the end stall there and you can use the next one for your mare.  I’ll go up to the house and collect my strap.  Don’t wander off while I’m gone.”

Ed nodded and began to strip the tack from his bay.

I strode to the house, glancing back once to see that Ed was following me with his eyes as he swung the saddle off the back of his mare.  Not sure why, but I enjoyed the attention of the younger man.  It was gratifying, I guess, to once again confirm I had not lost all attraction to the opposite sex.

I took my time and cleaned up some before I collected the heavy leather strap from where it hung on a hook inside my closet.  I had taken over the master bedroom years ago, and that hook was where my father always kept that strap.  One advantage to being in the cattle business is you still get access to real leather; but this artifact had been passed down through the generations, and each new owner took possession with full knowledge of its intended use.

I pulled the thick leather through my fingers.  It had grown dark with age and with the many applications of saddle soap and bear grease that kept it supple.  It’s three inches wide, a little over two feet long, and burns like hell when applied briskly to a pair of naked buttocks.  Like the generations before me, I knew that last part from personal experience.

When I got back to the barn, Ed was standing there waiting.  I looked into the stalls first and was satisfied to see he’d taken the time to wipe down both our mounts and tossed them each a flake of hay to help them settle.

“Let’s move a little farther down the row so we don’t disturb the horses,” I said.

Ed, who had been giving his full attention to the length of dark brown leather dangling from my right hand, brought his eyes up to mine, turned and started walking further into the dimly lit barn.  I hadn’t switched on the overhead lights; there was plenty of daylight for our purposes.  Besides, I preferred the mood engendered by the dark shadows broken by the occasional shaft of direct sunlight through the dust motes in the air.

“That should be good,” I said once we were well down the alley way.  “Now here’s what we’re going to do,” I continued as I draped an old, heavy saddle blanket over a nearby stall door.  “You are going to drop your jeans to your ankles, followed by whatever you’re wearing underneath, then drape yourself over that door, presenting me with a clear target.  I will apply this strap, good and hard and for as long as I think is necessary to get the lesson across.  Any questions?”

There was a distinct pause from Ed, then he answered, “No ma’am, no questions,” as his hands moved slowly to his silver belt buckle.

I watched Ed closely, keeping all expression from my face as he slowly unfastened and lowered his jeans as instructed.  There was a slight delay while he looked back into my eyes, then he worked his boxers over his hips and down past his knees.  I couldn’t help admiring his member, which looked as though it did not mind being displayed before me.  It was either partially tumescent, or Ed had one of the largest I’d seen, at rest.  I suspected the former, but the latter was a pleasant possibility.

Ed waited a moment to give me the full effect, then shuffled to the stall door and boosted himself up to lay belly-down over its top.  He was tall, but the toes of his boots did not quite reach the ground in this position.

I admired the ass thus displayed.  The promise of its shape in his tight blue jeans was fulfilled in the naked flesh.  Ed had a lovely, well-shaped bottom that I could not resist running my hand over, before taking a position off to his left side and squaring up my stance for the task ahead.

“Stay in position, Ed, I plan to raise a considerable fire in those cheeks of yours, and if you get off that perch before I’m done, we’ll start over from the beginning.  Are you ready?”

“Yes ma’am,” Ed answered with an admirably strong voice given his vulnerable position.

I took careful aim, brought my arm all the way back, flexing my torso and legs to get full extension and snapped the strap back hard against Ed’s defenseless bottom.  A wide, red line suddenly appeared across Ed’s pale cheeks, and a grunt escaped his mouth, no doubt due as much to the surprise of that first strike as from the fire it ignited.  In my experience, the first application of the strap is always a shock, no matter how prepared you think you are.

I took my time, and laid that heavy leather as hard as I could at an even pace across Ed’s reddening cheeks, working it from the mid-point of his buttocks towards the crease where they met the thighs.  The first real reaction I got after that initial grunt came when I reached the sweet spot just above the thighs.  I’d swept the strap up to get it well under his globes.  A definite yelp escaped from Ed’s lips and his boots came up and kicked in a staccato rhythm against the stall door.

‘I’ve got his attention now,’ I thought with satisfaction, as I applied the next stroke equally hard, an inch or so further down.  Ed became more vocal as I continued to draw that evil leather back and bring it forward with my whole body behind it.  I was starting to work up a sweat with the exertion, and noticed my nipples had hardened as the motion caused my breasts to rhythmically shift within their restraining clothing.  I also noticed a definite tightness below, not just due to the flexing of my abs as I continued to discipline this good-looking young man.

I did not count the strokes, but after several long minutes, Ed’s reaction to the strap peaked then begun to taper off as exhaustion set in.  I was sure each stroke still burned almost unbearably, but there was no doubt I was now getting diminishing returns for my effort.  Besides, the debt for Ed’s “lark” had probably been sufficiently paid.  So, with one final, heavy stroke to his sit spot, I stepped back and lowered the strap to slap lightly against the side of my leg.

I was surprised at how winded I’d become.  There was something about this young man, draped so invitingly over the stall door, that got my juices flowing.

Once I had my breath back, I said, “You can climb down now, Ed.  We’re done.  You took it well.”

Ed slowly pushed himself up and off the top of the stall door.  His legs almost didn’t hold him when his boots met the ground, but he righted himself, and without making too big a deal of it, turned toward me while casually moving his hands back to rub his bottom.  I noticed there were unshed tears in his eyes, and his face was red from the position he’d been in, but otherwise he gave little outward sign of the distress he felt.  I noticed his cock had withdrawn only marginally from the prominence it held before we started.  Not bad.

“You really know how to swing that thing,” Ed said, when he’d finally regained his composure.  “I haven’t been strapped that thoroughly since my dad last took me to task for getting shit-faced the night of my eighteenth birthday.”

“I’ve had my share of practice.  You might remember that the next time you are tempted to do something stupid around here.  I won’t hesitate to repeat today’s lesson if I think it will keep you on the straight and narrow.”  I grinned at him and stroked the leather strap through my fingers as I delivered that last admonition.

“Oh, I won’t forget this anytime soon; don’t worry.  I’m going to have to lead my horse home tonight.”

“Well as to that, there’s plenty of room in the bunkhouse if you want to stay here.  A bunk and meals come with the job.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer.”  Ed continued to stand there in front of me, partially naked, gently rubbing his backside.  The sight of him was definitely having its effect on me, and I’m not sure whether he knew, or was just reluctant to pull his tight jeans up and over his tender, swollen cheeks.

It’s been a long time since I had a naked man in front of me to admire, and I was definitely taking the opportunity to admire this young man.  I was having real trouble keeping my eyes focused above Ed’s waistline, and almost didn’t hear him when he asked, “So who is it keeps you on the straight and narrow these days?”  When the question registered, I looked up to see he had a crooked smile on his lips and an eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“Why do you ask?” I responded.  “Considering auditioning for the job?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Ed responded.  The grin was back in all its glory.

I looked at Ed in silence for a moment, then with a deep breath began to unbutton my shirt.

END

Copyright © 2019 by Jonathan Quincy Graves. All right reserved.  Please do not repost or use for any commercial purpose without written approval from the author.