Joseph Massey rolled up to a sitting position and looked out of the window beside the bed and down the hillside toward the animal pens on the subsistence farm holding in the folds of the northern Colorado Rockies. Joseph was a handsome, strapping Louisiana white-slave black mixed breed, who had come to the Rockies to scratch out a small farm living after the war between the states. He had deserted the plantation to which he’d been sold, a handsome young man, to warm the bed of his master, sold from his home plantation, where his father was the master and his mother a house slave, to join the Union Army, and, despite the Union having won, he hadn’t been welcome on either of the Louisiana plantations again.

This wasn’t his farm. His farm was twenty minutes away by horseback ride. This was where he laid his head on a pillow now most nights, all because of Little One—Ciqala by his Lakota name.

He reached over to the raw-wood nightstand, found his tobacco pouch, rolled a cigarette and lit up. Zitkula, Lakota for Bird, Ciqala’s mother, lay in the bed beside him, sighing in her sleep, looking content. Well she should. She had a belly on her now. Joseph had fucked a baby inside her and the worry lines she’d had before he’d first come here and lain with her had smoothed out. She was a lovely woman.

She’d lost a man—the German farmer, Klaus Fielder. Out here in the wilds of the northern Colorado Rockies that could have meant starvation and death for a widow—especially a native Indian woman, with a child. Women were at a premium here, but she was a Lakota and now stood between two worlds. The white settlers moving into the areas didn’t want a Lakota woman on their family tree, and she had been abandoned by her own people for having gone with a white man.

Joseph had done his bit. He’d taken the woman, lain with her, and gotten her with child. He’d signaled he would give her and her children the stability that Klaus Fielder had not been able to do. Despite her beauty, it was a chore, covering her and impregnating her, moving from taking care of his own small spread and helping to take care of hers as well. But it was worth the sacrifice.

As he stared out of the window down toward where the animal pens were located, he saw the reason why it had been worth the sacrifice. The fourteen-year-old boy, Zitkula’s son, half German and half Lakota, came into view, moving gracefully, like a dancer, down to the animal pens to do the morning feeding. He had grown into a beautiful youth, strikingly attractive with his small, well-formed body; the long, straight black hair laced with blond highlights streaming down his back; and his incongruous pale blue eyes. He was small of stature, having fought for life from the begging—hence the Lakota name, Ciqala, that had been given him, Little One, when his parents despaired of his survival. But survive he had, and with the will he had, he determined to continue so no matter what tragedy had struck the family with the loss of his father.

As Joseph watched the boy—a half-breed just as he was, and thus someone who had to take his pleasures where he could find them, Zitkula stirred, took his hand, and moved it to between her legs. She gave him the “Please, again,” look and he moved his fingers inside her. Panting and giving little gasps, she arched her back and rocked on the fingers.

“Again,” she begged. “Inside me again. Breed me again. You are so big, so manly.” She was aware, thinking it had been her own doing, that she was lucky to have gotten another man to move between her legs—and not just any man, a beautiful hunk of a young man like Joseph.

Joseph laughed, running his hand over her distended belly. “I’ve already breeded you,” he said. “You must pop this one for me to seed you again.”

“You can’t wait for that to happen to be inside me again,” she whimpered.

“No, we will not wait. But enough for now.” He wouldn’t reveal what a chore it was to get it up for a woman, even one as lovely as Zitkula was.

Zitkula sighed contentedly, moving a hand to hold Joseph’s in place, his fingers moving inside her. “You could be inside me forever,” she murmured.

“Not if we want to keep our two farms going,” he answered.

Klaus had been a good man, but he wasn’t the sensual god that his muscular, younger Joseph was. Zitkula had gone with a non-Lakota before. She was a highly sexed woman. She didn’t mind in the least going with a darker-skinned half-breed, who, like her son, had pale blue eyes, now. Joseph was big, powerful, and satisfying where it counted most. His thick cock was jet black and she melted to have it inside her. She reached around with a hand and grasped his shaft, finding him in erection, and giving a little moan.

“Come on top of me, come inside me again,” she murmured, assuming his renewed erection was for her.

But it wasn’t it be. The renewed erection wasn’t for her. He had watched the perfectly formed, small Ciqala dance his way down to the animal pens.

Muttering, “Can’t now. There are chores to be done,” he pushed away from her, rose, pulled on his trousers and boots, and, bare-chested, suspenders hanging down to his side, left the bedroom, stopped in the kitchen long enough to swig a few mouthfuls of milk and pull off and devour a chunk of bread, and then he was out of the house, moving downhill, toward the animal pens, in the wake of his Lakota woman’s fourteen-year-old son.

Ciqala, wearing only a loincloth and deer-skin boots, as he did whenever he could on the isolated farm, turned his head, smiled enticingly at the approaching muscular, brown half-breed, and entered the shed attached to the pens. He knew what the man wanted, what he was coming for. The Lakota boy wanted it too.

Entering the dimly lit shed, Joseph saw the boy leaning back against a workbench, arms bent behind him, his hands palming the edge of the bench. His long, black hair streamed down has back. His slight, sensual smile was an invitation—an invitation that Joseph didn’t need. This was the deal. This was why he had covered and impregnated Ciqala’s mother and had promised to provide and protect them.

In two strides he was in front of the boy, unbuttoning his fly, and flaring his trousers. He was still in erection. This erection wasn’t for the woman lying in her bed up at the cabin, though. This erection was for his personal pleasure—his pleasure, his way, with a fourteen-year-old boy. Placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders, he pushed Ciqala down to his knees. The boy went down willingly, took the half-breed’s jet-black cock in his hands, two hands required to control it—and then into his mouth. The man gave a low moan, as the boy expertly gave him head.

When Joseph could take it no more, he reached down, grasped the small boy under his armpits, and raised him up to perch on the bench. He tore away the boy’s loin cloth. Wrapping an arm around Ciqala’s back to hold him in place, arched back to the wall of the shed, Joesph devoured the boy’s lips, throat, and nipples with his mouth, while the fingers of his other hand found, penetrated, and worked open the boy’s anal channel. Ciqala, no stranger to men’s cocks even at fourteen, stretched right open for him, which would be necessary because the half-breed was built large.

The boy arched his head back, exclaiming his pain-passion to the ceiling of the shed, as Joseph put himself in position, mounted and penetrated the boy’s ass, and began the dance of the fuck. The two moved together as if they were masters at this, which, indeed they were. Joseph thrust and Ciqala rocked back into him, taking him hard and deep. Their lips were locked together, the boy hooked the ankles of his deer-skin boots on the man’s muscular shoulders, and, while still grasping one of the man’s biceps with one hand, digging his fingernails in, Ciqala’s other hand went between them, found his own cock, and stroked himself off.

Tensing, jerking, and giving little cries, the two came almost together.

“Now to the needs of the animals,” Joseph said, pulling away from the boy perched on the bench. “Those at my spread need attention too. When we’re done here, we’ll go there. And we’ll have a proper bed there to fuck in.” And fuck in his bed they would. Joseph was a virile, vigorous man, and Ciqala couldn’t get enough of his cocking.

It was a lot of work taking care of two spreads in the unforgiving folds of the Rockies, no matter how small they were. And it was an added burden to keep a woman satisfied and pregnant when a man’s preferences bent elsewhere. But the allure of the fourteen-year-old Ciqala was worth it. And Joesph was determined to get as much pleasure out of the arrangement as he could.

For Ciqala’s part, he had found the means of survival for himself and his mother—and his mother certainly seemed to be content with the arrangement without knowing all that it entailed. And it wasn’t like Ciqala wasn’t regularly being fucked by men—many different men, strangers, strangers with money to pay.