DECEMBER 17, 2007

Roy LeRoy and the Man in Red by Kit Zheng

Here's one about Roy that might tickle your fancy, it being the same time of year as the sheriff of Whistler's Gulch had this little adventure. 

Now this all happened on Christmas Eve, if I recall correctly, and Roy LeRoy was just returning to his rooms behind the sheriff's office.  He was thinking fondly of Molly Princeton's delicious roast goose--which was now tucked safe and warm in his belly--while he fussed with the door.  Inside, his rooms were a bit dim and a bit chilly, but Roy knew a fire would fix all that in a jiff.  There was a little wisp of a tree in one corner of the main room--more of a branch, really--and underneath it a great big ole stack of presents from the townsfolk.  While he was certain they'd all be marvelous and pleasant and just what he'd wanted, the present Roy was looking forward to most was the gift he was giving himself.  He planned to light a fire, put his boots up, and then sleep in.  That might not sound grand, but for Roy LeRoy it was a luxury he didn't allow himself the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year (three hundred and sixty five on leap years).  He might even, he thought, sleep right through Christmas and not mind one bit.

Hanging his coat up, he shook the snow out of his rust red hair and picked up a few logs from the stack beside the door.  He dug out his tinder, and turned to the hearth intending to start that fire he'd been dreaming of. 

Now, Roy was no easy man to shock--he once found an entire chicken in his soup, feathers and all, and he plucked it out, sat it on the ground and shooed it away--but he was shocked at what he saw in that fireplace.  There, dangling in the open space, was a pair of lean, long legs wearing bright red trousers, two feet poking out the ends in a pair of fine-looking black snakeskin boots.  They were smudged a bit with soot, which Roy supposed wasn't a bit surprising.  And as Roy tilted his head to see if he might see where they'd come from, the legs kicked and twitched a bit, shaking a shower of ash from the walls.

"Well, how-do-you-do?" Roy said to the legs, scratching his head a bit.  "Can I lend you a hand there?"

"I do seem to be stuck," a voice came from the flue or thereabouts.  It had a bit of a muffled, echo-y sound, as might be expected.

"Izzat you, Eli Lords?" Roy said, trying to get his head in the fireplace and look upwards, but he couldn't see anything past the pair of nice-looking thighs.  They were mighty fine thighs, I won't lie to you, even in the lousy shapeless red trousers. 

"No it ain't," the voice said, a bit hasty, but Roy shrugged and took its word.

"Well, who are you then?" Roy asked, and so as not to be rude he added, "I'm called Roy LeRoy and I'm the sheriff of this town.  Suppose you picked a good place to get stuck, seeing as where ever you landed I'd be called to help you out."

"I'm, ah, well, I can't say," said the voice.

Roy shrugged again and supposed a man ought to be allowed his privacy. 

"How'd you get stuck in there?"

The legs kicked a bit and he heard a sort of hopeless noise echo down into the room.  "I slipped," the voice answered.  "Look, could you see what you could do?  I'm gettin' a bit restless in here."

Roy gave the man's boot a light tug, but the man didn't budge.  So he grabbed both the man's ankles, and said, "Hang on then, this might put you sore for a bit," and tugged as hard as he could manage.  Roy was awful strong--he could wrestle a grown bull down without breaking much of a sweat--but he only managed to get the legs out two inches farther before the man gave the sort of holler that might've woken the dead.

"That hurt, damn you!" the voice shouted when Roy let go. 

Roy sighed and shook his head.  "What I think is we ought to grease you up a bit, but I ain't sure how to get it down in there with you." 

"Maybe you could pour some a' Molly Princeton's cooking oil down the chimney," the voice said. 

Roy shook his head.  "Roof's not that sound.  Don't want to end up in there with you, do I?" 

"No," the voice said, and it sounded a bit sad.  Then more brightly: "Well, I ain't wearing a shirt; what if you heat me up and I sweat myself out?" 

"That'd take a lot of sweat," Roy said, doubtfully.  "And why ain't you wearing a shirt?"

"Aw, I can't say."  The voice sounded so pathetic Roy felt sorry, so he said,

"It might work.  I mean, once I had hands so sweaty from helping Jake Duke out in the fields the handles of the wheelbarrow I was using popped out from between my fingers like a greased up grape seed and damn near took out three trees."

"I remember!" the man in red said, excited, the legs in the fireplace almost doing a little jig.  "Thought you were just being naughty, but it turned out to be just an accident." 

"Are you Jake Duke, then?" 

"I ain't," the voice said, a little hastily again, which left Roy confused.  He decided it was none of his business anyway.

He started to pile logs in the fireplace when the legs kicked and the voice said,

"What's that you're doing?"

"Setting up to start a fire."

"A fire?" the voice yelped, and the man in red's boot heels drummed a little protest on the hearth brick.  "Don't light no fire, I'll burn up!"

Roy was usually a pleasant and patient man, but this fellow in red was coming close to testing his limits.  He put his hands on his hips and said, "How do you propose we get you to sweat buckets, then?"

The voice was silent.  Roy sighed. He dug in his pockets for the tinder box. 

"Wait, wait," the voice said, when he knelt to use it.  "Wait.  I've got an idea." 

"C'mon then, tell me," Roy urged. 

In low tones such as a man might use to invite another man "for a long ride," the voice shared its idea.  Roy considered what he was told, and in the end he couldn't think of any other way without lighting a fire so he said, "All right, guess I can manage that."

Without dilly-dallying any longer, Roy grabbed the ankles dangling in the hearth and gave another tug, yanking until the man in red couldn't stand it any more.  He managed to pull the man far enough so his boot soles were planted firm on the hearth floor and his knees a bit bent and his belly button just showed under the roof of the hearth. 

"Don't look too comfortable," Roy apologized, but there was only the sound of heavy breathing from the direction of the flue.  He supposed being uncomfortable might only make the man in red sweat faster, which was what they wanted, so he let it be. 

Roy unbuttoned the strange, bright red trousers and yanked them free.  They had wide legs and came off easily, straight over the black boots.  Roy left those on, wanting to give the man some sense of decency.  Then he took a deep breath, and found he didn't entirely mind the task he'd been set, not after having a good look at what he was meant to work with. 

The man in red had fine, long thighs, shaped nicely and dusted all over with pale blond hair.  His knees were maybe a little blocky, but Roy was fine with that, and his calves were strong and like twin knots in a branch.  All this was fancy framing for Roy's task at hand, already half-mast and rising fast: a thick, ruddy cock long as Roy's hand and thick as Molly Princeton's overstuffed sausage, with a gracefully curving helmet and a single winking eye.  Roy thought he'd never seen such a cheerful bit of a man's anatomy.  The man in red's balls hung low and full behind this pleasant picture, completing it. 

There was a little slick drop making its way down the curve of the helmet, hanging like a Christmas icicle, and Roy licked it away: a bit experimentally at first and then enthusiastically. The man in red tasted and smelled like a man who'd just left a Christmas dinner, salty and rich, musky warm and savory, a hint of woodsmoke and a clinging memory of rosemary.

"Well I don't think I'll mind this a bit," Roy said to himself, and gobbled the man in red all the way down to his balls and the little thatch of curly blond hair.  He sucked a while on the hard, throbbing cock, finding himself not at all keen to let go, exploring with his tongue all the little curves and bumps.  The man in red's knees hugged his ears as he eased back a little, rounding the fat knob of the head.  He flicked the tip of his tongue against the salty winking eye and teased out more and more of the delicious flavor of the man, until the long legs gave a kick and the hips bucked forward and pressured him to keep moving. 

"Are you sweatin' much yet?" he asked as he broke away, and he heard a muffled noise he thought was no.  Least, he took it for a no, because that meant he could lean in and take those two blushing balls into his mouth, feel their round shape with his tongue, suck on the loose skin between them.  He felt it drawing tight, pulling the testicles up towards the man in red's body, felt the cock resting against his cheek twitch and pulse.  The long legs wrapped around his shoulders, crossed booted feet against his back, and he liked the way the warm snakeskin felt against his spine.  He leaned a little into them, so that the heels dug against him just the slightest bit.

Roy found he was getting sweaty, so he pulled off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt.  He was a fine man to look at, the sheriff of Whistler's Gulch, had once seduced the three demon bears of Hangman's Bluff to win his own freedom and on another occasion slept with the tree-singers of Selasia, who were famed for having no interest in something as lowbrow as sex.  He worked hard every day and ate heartily every eve, and he had a good will about him that was most attractive of all. 

The man in red got a sample of his enthusiastic spirit as Roy slid between his legs, kneeling down in the ash and moving just behind him.  Roy put two hands on his inner thighs and two thumbs on the bottommost part of his bottom; and spread him wide.  Then the sheriff of Whistler's Gulch licked up the man in red like he was the most delicious gravy, from perineum to puckered arsehole.  He moved one hand up to stroke and rub and fist the ruddy-red pole of the man in red's dick and moved the other on back to open him up even more. 

By this time the man in red had begun to sweat, and Roy could feel it damp against his cheeks as he buried his face between the man's buttocks, pushed his tongue and his fingers too.  He felt the body above him twitch and bob, grind down on his mouth and then pull away.  He was getting hot himself; Roy wanted to open up his trousers and take himself in hand. But he was a dedicated man, our Roy LeRoy, he was the sort of man who'd plough ahead even when the field turned to solid mountain.  So he unbuttoned a few buttons so his cock could spring free, but otherwise kept on sucking and licking, kept on tugging, moving back and forth between all the cheerful parts of the man in red; swallowed his now cherry-red cockhead and suckled his round tight balls and pushed his tongue into the gripping embrace of the man's arsehole.  He could have gone on forever, if the need was there, but fortunately--or unfortunately, maybe--it wasn't.  With the man in red all the way down his throat and three fingers up the man's ass, there was suddenly a wet pop! And the man in red came tumbling out of the flue and down into Roy LeRoy's lap.

Now I know you won't believe it but I'll swear it's true; the man in red popped right out of the chimney and landed straight on Roy LeRoy's standing shaft, and he was so slippery-slick that he slid all the way down, took the whole of it inside himself.  And both Roy and the man in red gave a holler, because it felt so good, and they let loose a double shower of hot, white come.  They were both so slick by that time they slipped out of the fireplace and straight onto Roy's bearskin rug, where they slept a good while before they came to their senses. 

Roy looked out the window as the man in red stood up, and he saw it was midnight so he said, "Merry Christmas."  The man in red grinned, tipped his bright red hat and said the same agreeably.

He cleaned himself up, pulled his red trousers back on and buckled up his belt.  "I'll see you next year," he said gamely, his hand on the door, and Roy said,

"That so?"

"If you're nice," the man nodded, and let himself out. 

After that Roy rolled over and went to sleep, and he did sleep in; he slept all the way to New Year's Day, in fact, and he didn't mind one bit. 

***

Kit Zheng's Arcana, Exposure, will be on sale at 15% off until 12-20-07