Logan O'Dell Rides
Copyright© 2026 by Writer Mick
Chapter 3
Western Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Logan O'Dell was cut loose at a young age in the late 1880's. This is a portion of his story
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Western Cream Pie First Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Prostitution
“Clete, is this the new man?”
“Yes, sir, Mister. This is Logan O’Dell.”
“Has Missus seen him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Logan, I’m the big bull here. I assume that my wife laid a hand on you?”
I paused a second before I carefully answered, not knowing where this was headed.
“Well sir, she washed the wounds the Kiowa left on my back.”
“And?”
I looked at him and then at Clete and then back to him.
“Tell me the truth, Logan. I got no truck with liars or those that hide the truth.”
“Yes, sir. She took hold of my cock. Said it wasn’t as long as yours but it was fatter. Said she didn’t think she could get her hand around it if it was hard.”
“Really?” He asked. He reached down and unbuttoned his pants. “Show me.”
Now I don’t go around looking at men’s cocks. Just not something I do. I’ve seen big bulls and studs cocks. I’ve even seen the cocks of big horn sheep and grizzlies. I’d never stood there looking at a stud mounting a mare and thought how I compared.
But this man was much bigger than me. I mean taller, wider, and so on. And he was my boss and his wife had took up my cock in her hand, so I didn’t figure it was smart to argue. His pants dropped to around his ankles and he displayed the largest cock I’d ever seen not on a bull or horse. Maybe a small horse. He stood with his hands on his hips and looked at me. I looked at Clete and he just raised his eyebrows and smiled.
I undid the buttons on my pants and dropped them around my own ankles, exposing my own cock. Mine was indeed a little shorter than his. His knob was smaller than mine, although a bit redder. He reached down and took his cock up in his hand and hefted it like he was gonna guess the weight. Then it occurred to me that he might want to heft mine.
Just as I was about to shout out “Hell no!” he dropped it and nodded slightly before bending down, pulling up his pants, tucking in his cock which reached a few inches down his pant leg. When he began to button them, I took that as a sign that the comparison was over and did the same with my pants.
“Logan,” he said quietly, “I allow my wife certain freedoms at times. She won’t be touching your cock again so don’t try anything with her. She shot the last man who tried something. That was before I could lay hands on him.”
“Mister Tucker, I would never mess with a woman who was married or who had a man of her own. I’m not like that.”
“You do like women don’t you?” He asked with a slight frown.
“Well, sir, I like to look at ‘em and talk to ‘em, but I’ve never been with a woman. I had a girlfriend back home but she got in the family way with the preachers son before I could ask her to marry me, so I lit a shuck out of there. People told me before I left that she wasn’t sure if the preacher’s son was the father. We never did get together. I guess I held her to too high of a standard and was waiting for marriage.”
“Mister,” Clete interrupted, “Missus told me to take him to see Melinda when we get to town.”
Mister nodded and reached out a hand with a big smile, and said, “Logan, welcome to the Square T and good luck with Melinda.”
We shook hands as Mister left us to finished setting up the buckboard rig and to leave me wondering about this Melinda person...
And, finally, late in the morning, there we were. Two cowboys driving a buckboard to the nearby town. When two men, let alone cowboys, have to sit and ride in a wagon for any amount of time they start talking. Clete McCalister was six years older than me and was from someplace called Florida. I knew it was in the South but that was about it.
He began telling me the biggest lies I’d ever heard. Stories of lizards that would jump out of rivers and eat horses or men. Big giant pink birds that walked on long legs and ate fish ... And one of his biggest lies, of things he called sea cows that just moped around in shallow water and ate water plants.
Now I’m not in the habit of telling a man he’s full of bull shit but I had to call him on some of what he was saying. Clete told me that the gators were real as were the flamingos and the sea cows. He told me about the Seminole Indians and how Florida was about half swamp. He was so sincere in his tone and looks that I just had to believe him.
Sort of.
I told him about my folks getting killed and about the Quincannons and then about Darlene. I explained about leaving the ranch and meeting the Kiowa and how that didn’t go so well. And then I was right up to when I met him.
“So you never been with a woman?”
“No, Clete, and let me tell you that Missus scared the hell out of me.”
“She did grab your cock didn’t she?”
“YES!”
“Yeah, she does that with all the new men. She and Mr. Tucker are good people but she does have her ways.”
“Does she mess with the hands?”
“Hell no. You heard what Mister said. He wasn’t lying and he’d know if she was messing with another man. You saw him. Mister is hung like a horse and Missus has no reason to go looking for another cock. But she’s a woman and sometimes women just like to play with the things. Last year a new hand thought she was getting after him when she grabbed his cock and he took hold of her teats. She shot him!
“Anyhow, Missus says I’m supposed to introduce you to Melinda over at the saloon. Melinda runs the sportin’ house next door. None of the hands like to be with her. They say that her pokehole is too big and loose.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I ain’t never been with her. The few times I go to Melinda’s place to see a different woman. I see this little red head.”
“I hear they’re dangerous.”
“She sure is for me!” Clete said with a loud laugh.
We drove on and exchanged a few more lies and he filled me in on the history of the Square T ranch. It seems that Mister and Missus Tucker came out west with a bull and some cows when they were newlyweds. Over the past forty years they fought off injuns, rustlers, ruffians, and cholera. The place had between eight hundred and one thousand head of cattle and seventy five to ninety head of horses, all depending on the time of year. This was a low year and that was the reason for the cattle drive of the small, purchased herd that I’d lucked into.
As for Missus and her apparent proclivity for grabbing the cocks of new cowboys, Mister thought it was funny. The hands thought it was strange. She only did it to the hands that were new and only the one time to get a feel of things, as it were. No one was messed with and that was because Mister was the biggest bull on the ranch. I’m tall at 6’3” and a bit wide. The Kiowa that captured me never got too close, even when I was tied and staked. But Mister made me look like a child.
Clete told me that the Tuckers had no children and that was something that they both missed. But Clete didn’t know why. They did support an orphanage in town and a few of the current hands grew up in that orphanage.
Our conversation slowed as we rolled into town. Clete pulled the buckboard into the livery and spoke to the hostler while I got down. I walked to the head of the horse on the right of our rig and waited. The livery was pretty big and had stalls for maybe thirty horses and more than half were filled. Clete came back to me while three boys began to approach the buckboard.
“These are boys from the orphanage, Logan. They’ll take care of the horses and the buckboard until we leave.”
“What about the supplies we need?”
“We’ll go by the store and order them. Then we’ll go back later with the buckboard and they’ll load it up and we’ll be on our way in the morning. In the meantime we can go to the saloon and have a drink.”
“OK,” I said trying to sound like I knew what he was talking about.
We walked out of the livery as one boy got on the seat of the buckboard and took the reins and the two remaining boys walked with the horses, speaking softly as they went. We walked into the street and up onto the boardwalk. A few men nodded at Clete as we passed.
Clete pointed across the street at a row of buildings.
“That’s the hotel and that’s the Golden Girl saloon and that ... is Melinda’s Sportin’ Club. That’s where that little redhead works and where you need to go to see Melinda before we head back. I’ll probably stay there overnight. You do what you need. The hotel is next to the store and that is our next stop unless you are in dire need of a drink.”
“I can count on one hand the number of drinks I’ve had in my life, Clete. So the store and the hotel seem like good stops for me.”
With Clete leading the way we walked further down the boardwalk. The town wasn’t huge but what did I know about the size of towns. Clete turned towards the door to the store and for an instant I had a vision of Darlene and her father waiting on people. And then of Darlene leading boys out to the seed shed so she could fuck them.
“Hi Clete!” A rough, gravely, voice said as I closed the door behind me.
“Hello, Martha.”
Martha? With a voice like that? I’d been looking around the store when we entered and now I turned my attention towards the owner of that voice. She was an older, stout, women with dark blonde hair.
“Who’s your friend, Clete?”
“Martha this is Logan O’Dell. Logan this is Martha Sheets. She’s the wife of the owner. Martha, he’s a new hand. Had a run in with some Kiowa and lost his rig. He’ll need a whole outfit and I got a couple of lists from Cookie and Blue too. I got a buckboard over at the livery. When should I have it over here?”
“When are you leaving,” she almost growled.
“We’re leaving in the morning.”
“You gonna spend time with Silvy?”
“Martha,” Clete said sounding like he was slightly scolding the woman.
“Don’t you Martha me, Clete McCalister. You know as well as I do that you’d take her back to the Square T if she wasn’t one of Melinda’s girls.”
“Might be so, Martha. Might be so. But right now it ain’t. Besides, Logan here has orders from Missus to see Melinda herself.”
The woman looked at me with raised eyebrows and then dropped her gaze to look at the front of my pants. I was about to turn away when I heard a man’s voice from above me. I looked up to see that there was a balcony around the store and there was a man leaning over the railing.
“Martha, what these men do at Melinda’s is none of your concern. So leave that boy alone. Hello, Clete. How’s things out at the Square T?”
“Pretty much the same, Ryan. Logan this here is Ryan Sheets, the owner. We had a little excitement the other day, Ryan. Logan here came to us after being captured by Kiowa. He was in pretty bad shape. Then Asher Bolt and some of his bunch tried to cut a herd we’d bought and that caused a bit of a stir.”
“Asher Bolt. I heard that he was dead. Something about an Indian running a spear into him and then shooting him in the head.”
“Yes sir. Asher was stuck with a Kiowa lance. It drove him clean off his horse. Yup, that lance drove through old Asher and pinned him right to the ground.”
“You telling me that you were riding with a Kiowa?” Ryan said in disbelief.
“No, sir. Logan, here had it to do but don’t be spreading that around town. He don’t need any friction from the Bolt’s or their family.”
“You really did that boy? Not a Kiowa?”
“Mister,” I answered, “when that band of Kiowa grabbed me they took everything I owned. I caught up to one of them and took him down. When I came upon the Square T riders they were fixing to shoot me as an Indian until I called out. I was riding an Indian horse, wearing a breech cloth and carrying a Kiowa lance. I’m just happy that I didn’t get shot.”
“When we came upon the Bolts,” Clete continued. “Logan here rode straight into the group and leveled his lance at Asher. You know how those boys work. Asher was sitting to the left of the fella doing the talking and Logan figured out that Asher was the leader. Then one of the fellas drew his gun and Blue dropped him from the wagon with a shotgun and Logan kicked his pony in the slates and drove into Asher.”
All the while Clete was talking, Ryan was listening and walking down one of the two sets of stairs that came from the second floor.
“Clete,” I said quietly as Ryan was still out of earshot. “If we don’t want the story spread around why are you telling them the whole thing?”
“Logan, we do want the story to go around and this is the best place, next to the barber shop, to spread the word. The Bolts are gonna hear about it and should know that the Square T wasn’t playing.”
“But Missus said she didn’t want us getting into trouble with the Bolts.”
“That’s her way of letting us know that our version of what happened should be put out for all to know. That way the Bolts can’t make up a lie and get local folks fired up on the wrong side of things. No, this is what we need to do. But, now that the word is out that we’re in town we need to sit with our backs to the wall.”
Before I could ask what Clete meant, Ryan approached us and Clete turned towards him. Ryan seemed a bit agitated.
“Clete, you know the Bolts are not going to be happy with you in town. Let me have your list of supplies and I’ll have the boys bring your buckboard over here in the morning and load it up. No insult intended but I don’t want my place to be the place where you and the Bolts cross paths.”
Clete looked at Ryan and slowly nodded.
“OK, Ryan. I understand. Me and Logan will be at the Golden Girl saloon or Melinda’s place if you need us. We’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thanks for understanding, Clete. Good to meet you, Logan.”