Roy LeRoy and the Most Cunning Mechanical Contraption in All Creation
One summer, there was a travelling man who came through the Gulch with a wagon full of what he liked to call "the Most Cunning Mee-kan-i-kall Contraptions in All Creation!" Now, most folks probably would have taken one look at the fellow and chased him clear out of town. But while our friend the sheriff, Roy LeRoy, was wise enough in the ways of the townsfolk and of the herds he once managed, gimmicks and geegaws he knew nothing about. When the travelling man began bringing out his toys, well, Roy's curiosity came a-prowlin' same as all the other folks in Whistler's Gulch.
The man, who called himself Morgan the Magnificent, only had to take one look at the eyes lit up all around him to know he'd struck gold. He'd only just unloaded the primity-mar-muk, and the fizzbangwizzinger, and already he'd got a longing look from the young lady across from him (whom we know as Miss Molly Princeton). The man behind her (that'd be Eli Lords, poor fool) was practically drooling as he craned to see what else might be in the wagon. Morgan the Magnificent knew that he was about to make a sale, and he was about to make a big sale, which would make up for the past three towns where he'd had to flee in a hurry for life and love. A practical man, he unloaded the poppyliplinger next to much oohing and aahing. The crowd doubled, and then tripled; Morgan let the flippity flyer wind up and go soaring into the air, then spread his arms to catch the applause.
He was almost sure that it'd be the flippity flyer they'd spend their hard-earned wages on, when there was a dry footfall behind him, a creak of leather and a jingle of keys on a belt. Wily old Morgan's heart sank; he knew that sound as well as he knew the smell of a crowd about to turn on him.
Now, truth be told, if he'd known our Roy he'd've known he had nothing to fear, but he didn't. So he plastered a wide smile under his curling moustache, and turned round to face the town sheriff, thumbs hooked under his suspender straps. "Howdeedoo," he said, with a little nod, as if he were an honest entrepreneur (which, in his own mind, he was perhaps). And before Roy could answer, he went on: "Why, you look like a man who knows how ta sit a horse. Amirite? I can see it in the way you walk. I bet there ain't a mustang in all the valley who could throw you."
Our Roy was a humble sort, so he took off his hat and mumbled something kind; the townsfolk of the Gulch weren't so modest, however. They were rightly proud of their sheriff after all he'd done for them, so they heartily agreed.
"Why, our Roy could ride a howling breeze if he took a mind to," said Doc Earl, to which Missus Duke replied,
"A howling breeze? Doc, you're underestimating the good sheriff! I do believe I once saw him come in on the back of a winter storm, I did."
Jake Duke, not one for holding back, leapt in with: "A winter storm ain't nothing for Roy LeRoy! He could mount a passing twister if he wanted!"
Roy LeRoy put up both hands to stop the nonsense, his face quite red. "That's kind of you all, and I thank you, but I don't think--"
Which was when Morgan the Magnificent saw his moment and made his move. "Well, I do think, and I think that maybe, just maybe, you're just the right man to put the windmeupsie saddle to good use. In fact, I'll go so far as to say I know it."
Now, don't you go thinking that just because Roy could be suckered into the curiosities Morgan had to present, that he'd be suckered by Morgan's fast-talking, too. The good sheriff wasn't a fool, as you ought to know by now, shame on you. Roy crossed his arms over his chest and he said,
"It's mighty proper of you to think so, friend, but I've no need of a saddle. Got me a fine one from ole Steve Darling not two months ago."
Morgan, being well-acquainted with this sort of response, merely shook his head sadly. He raised his voice a little, so that all gathered could hear it. "That so? Well, that's a shame then, but I understand. A real shame. Thought I'd finally found someone who was a fine enough horseman to conquer my little contraption; not even Buck Trimmings could stay on it, y'see, which broke my little heart. All I'd like is for the windmeupsie to go to good use. What's a machine good for, I say, if it can't be used? It's a shame, a damn shame. Unless there's someone else-- Naw, who'm I kiddin'."
As he'd hoped, the townsfolk of Whistler's Gulch began murmuring to themselves. Doc Earl started to shove Roy forward, while Molly Princeton whispered, "Not even Buck Trimmings? But I did see him ride in on a twister once!" to Missus Duke. Eli Lords, upon seeing the way Molly's eye lit up as she said Buck's name, raised a shy hand up.
"Why, I'm sure better than Buck. I mean, even Molly rides better'n him!"
"What's that supposed to mean, Eli Lords?" Molly Princeton demanded, putting her hands on her hips. Morgan the Magnificent, though, saw his opportunity renewed.
"It means, m'dear, that perhaps this fine fellow--Eli, was it--would like to take a look at the windmeupsie?"
Eli glanced at Molly, puffed up, and strutted forward. "I sure would, friend."
Morgan nodded, very solemn-like, and scanned the faces in the crowd. "Ladies and gents, this is a most momentous day. Pardon me a moment--" And he climbed right into the back of his covered wagon. He shuffled and shoved, rattled and dug, and drew that moment out loooong for the folk of Whistler's Gulch. Then at last he hollered,
"Someone care to give me a hand?"
Jake Duke and Doc Earl came up, craning their necks to see into the gloom of the wagon, but all they got was the sight of something big coming at them. They caught the end of it and brought it out easy as Morgan shoved it forward by his feet; it was no light thing, the windmeupsie, and the poor fools nearly dropped it before they had it out and on the ground.
The townsfolk gawked. The windmeupsie seemed to be a saddle of sorts sitting on a leathery box, or maybe more of a cylinder. Underneath it were metal feet, and on the side were two cranks, one gold-colored, and one silver. This Morgan seized, and wound with a vengeance; there were gasps all around as the windmeupsie slowly rose, higher and higher, until it was at about waist height. Morgan cranked the keys atop the feet, and the windmeupsie planted itself good and firm into the ground.
Then he turned to Eli Lords and said, "Trying's free, but I do have to charge a very minimal fee, you unnerstand, if I have to reset it. Costs me for the special oils and tools, you see? But I only got to reset it if two things happen. If you fall off the windmeupsie, or if you decide not to buy the windmeupsie, cos of course no man wants a used saddle, you follow? 'Course, no one's managed to stay on, so maybe I could let the fee go iffn you manage to ride it for three minutes. So, I'm just being honest with you, before you try it out and find you--you know, can't manage to hold on."
The last sentence made Eli Lords forget all the stuff that'd come before it, and he blustered, "I can hold on just fine! I rode Earl's bull for longer'n that! Lemme on there, and you'll see I won't owe you a penny because I'll stay on a whole five minutes!"
"I sincerely hope so," Morgan said with all the sincereness he could muster. It wasn't much, but it did the job. Eli stepped right up to the saddle; and then he was all puzzlement.
"How do I get up on this thing?"
"You just step up in the stirrup there, like a real horse," said Morgan, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
Eli's brow furrowed further. "And why's it got two saddlehorns? Ain't need for even one, with no reins, I'd suppose."
"Well, y'see, they're there to help you grip on. The windmeupsie's rather feisty."
Eli said, "That second saddlehorn's right there in the middle of the seat, how'm I supposed to grip that?"
Morgan cleared his throat. "Well, y'see," he said, and then he thought about it; and then he leaned over to Eli's ear and whispered something.
Eli's brow furrowed so deep Missus Duke could've planted some of her fine potatoes in the crease. "That how it works?" he said.
"That's how it works," Morgan agreed.
Eli went round behind the windmeupsie, and he did something that seemed awful peculiar to the folks gathered: he stripped off his chaps and his jeans; then he put his chaps right back on without nothing underneath them. Molly blushed a bit and averted her eyes, but Missus Duke solemnly stole an eyeful. Morgan handed Eli a flask of oil and he set about oiling the saddlehorn, "for easier riding," was what Morgan had said. At last Eli put a foot in one stirrup; he paused, wondering how much he really wanted to do this, and if there might be any way *not* to do this and save face. But there wasn't, so he climbed right up onto the windmeupsie, and sat. The peculiar saddlehorn on the seat, all stuffed leather and slicked up, went up right inside him. Eli felt a bit odd, but he gripped it tight as he could.
"You ready?" Morgan asked, and Eli, who was experiencing things he'd never experienced before, only nodded.
Morgan turned the gold crank this time: one, two, three winds. He said, "I'll start you up easy."
Eli nodded again, and he was awful aware of his lack of jeans, and that Molly had given up averting her eyes and was just staring at the "horn" that Eli had started to sprout. Mr. Morgan let go of the crank, pulling a pocketwatch from his jacket pocket, and then the windmeupsie came alive.
It only rocked a little under Eli at first, which set him to wondering why Buck Trimmings hadn't managed to stay on. Perhaps he didn't like the manner of gripping it, or the embarrassment of a bit of breeze on one's privates, he mused. In fact, Eli began to think the windmeupsie rather pleasant; the seat-horn had really warmed up, and it was rubbing against a part of him he'd never really thought about before, that made his balls full and his dick stand straight up at attention. That was how he passed the one minute mark.
Poor Eli; he'd no notion that the windmeupsie was merely warming up. Now that it was greased and going, it began rocking faster, and faster, bucking back and forth. Eli's arse bounced a bit in the saddle, and the seat-horn pumped into his ass. At first this only set him a-moaning. Then his hand took a grip of himself and began working. A moment later he was whole-heartedly bouncing in a counter-rhythm to the thing, moving himself up and down on the seat-horn, giving as good as he got. The windmeupsie went even faster; Eli arched up off the saddle, standing in the stirrups, shouting as he gave up all that he got, three white shots into the wind. Molly Princeton went red as a beet, Doc Earl licked his lips and Jake Duke did his damndest to pretend not to notice.
Unfortunately for Eli, after he'd let loose he didn't care so much for the windmeupsie. He was spent and he was sensitive as a lady's feet, and the windmeupsie only wanted to buck harder; before he really thought it through, Eli swung his leg over the saddle and fell flat on his belly onto the ground. He lay there, panting, until Morgan the Magnificent's shadow blocked his light.
"Welp," Morgan said, matter-of-factly. "One-minute, fifteen seconds. That's a respectable ride, it's true, but I'm sorry, my friend, we'd agreed on three minutes, iffn you recall." Ever wise, he leaned over and modestly mentioned the size of the fee to Eli, who blanched a bit, then retrieved the sum from his jeans.
The money quickly put away, Morgan put his hands on his hips and sighed, surveying the crowd. "Damn shame," he said, sadly, like a heartbroken old inventor. "I really thought--this time... But there ain't no man worthy of riding my poor windmeupsie. I guess I outdone myself. There's no way there could be another who'd dare try--"
Hands shot up in the crowd. Morgan had to turn to hide his grin. "Oh, my. Well--I can't possibly. But--if you insist. How about you?" He pointed at Doc Earl. "Give me a minute to reset--"
Now, if you're wondering what happened to Roy LeRoy, he had been quietly watching. He figured Eli Lords could make a fool of himself if he liked; maybe it'd even teach him a thing or two. But he couldn't just stand by while the entire town was taken for a ride. He stepped out in front of Doc Earl and said, "I'll take my turn next."
Doc Earl started to argue, but caught the look in the good sheriff's eye and smartly shut his mouth. Morgan, however, was not so restrained.
"I don't know... You passed up your turn earlier, if I do recall."
"So I did," Roy said, evenly. "But I'm taking it again, now, and I don't think anyone here will protest."
"Well?" Morgan said, looking at the townsfolk; a few of them looked rather disappointed, but no one spoke up. Knowing his game was up, Morgan the Magnificent finished resetting and cleaning the saddle, then stepped aside.
Roy got out of his jeans without a bit of shame (by then he'd been naked in a lot worse places, if you recall, like the endless sunny shifting sands between the merfolk and the western well-endowed) and pulled his chaps back on over his naked skin. He accepted the oil from Morgan and polished up the seat-horn good and fine; then he took a deep breath and got on. Lowering himself slow and steady, he didn't flinch when the round, firm shape of the saddlehorn nudged between his nethers, then pushed on inside him. The leather was still warmed from Eli; Roy swallowed down a noise, kept his face stoic as his buttocks touched the seat.
Making it a point to put his mind on other things, Roy studied the saddle as Morgan wound it up. It *was* rather a marvel. The swell of the saddle was strange, soft and loose and concave so as not to ram into tender parts while the thing bucked; under his legs the saddle was firm, but had give, almost bouncy, nowhere near as hard as an actual saddle. Then the contraption began to move, slowly rocking. When it shifted down, the saddlehorn seemed to push up into Roy, and as it shifted up, the saddlehorn withdrew. Roy gripped the front saddlehorn with both hands and gritted his teeth. He refused to bellow, even though he would've enjoyed himself better to whoop and holler like a man on a bronco or a man getting good and plowed. He kept his knees soft as if riding a real horse, gently bouncing. But schooled as Roy kept his countenance, there was one thing that kept him from fully hiding his feelings: his cock began to swell up, growing thicker and redder, rising up towards his belly.
A minute rolled by. Sweat slipped down Roy's forehead, not all of it caused by the noon sun--in fact, I'd venture to say none of it. His right arm gave a single tremble, his left leg too. Everyone gathered there in the square held their breath as the clickety-clack of the machine's inner workings began to speed up.
The saddlehorn went deeper into to Roy, and his whole body trembled. Still he hung on; the windmeupsie began to rock faster, buck harder. He gripped it with his thighs and his hands and he tried to ignore the leather shaft pushing faster and faster into his body. Now he was bouncing a good inch off the saddle; he had to reach down and cup his balls to keep them from slapping into the leather, the edge of his palm pressing against the base of his now-rock-hard dick. He wanted to give up, then, get a good hard grip on his cock and just come and come and come, riding this wonderful contraption into pure bliss, but he knew he couldn't, or the townsfolk would be sheared as easily as sheep of their wool in the springtime and it'd be hard times in Whistler's Gulch all over again.
Then Morgan held up two fingers to show that it'd been two minutes. Roy told himself to hang on just a little longer, but it wasn't easy. The saddle was moving as fast as a man about to fuck his way to heaven; Roy was as wet with sweat as if he'd stepped out of a steam room. And the windmeupsie had one more trick: the seat-horn began to tremble, in fact, the whole seat began to vibrate, sending a low buzz of pleasure from deep inside Roy and up from just behind his balls. That weird, sunk-in saddle-swell suddenly did swell; it inflated and nestled up against Roy's cock and balls, and the vibrating reached through it, too. Roy gasped and he moaned. He moved in the saddle, rocking down to meet the seat as it raised, one hand gripping the back edge of the saddle and the other the vibrating swell. His cock slid against oiled, swollen leather. He knew he couldn't last much longer, but if the count he'd been trying to keep in his head was right, he was nearly at three minutes. Roy chewed his lip till it bled, tried to think of anything except the pleasure machine bucking between his knees.
At last Morgan's voice seemed to come from far away. "Three minutes!" he yelled; and like the words were a trigger, Roy groaned and let himself go; he came all over the fine leather. The windmeupsie slowed and then stopped. Roy sagged in the saddle, still softly groaning, mopping his damp hair back from his forehead with one arm.
It took a minute, but Roy LeRoy slowly became aware of the sound of folk applauding. He looked around to see the townsfolk grinning and clapping and stomping. Even Morgan the Magnificent was applauding--well, between you and me, he'd gotten enough to get to the next town, anyway, and he really had never expected anyone to conquer the windmeupsie. Roy slid out of the saddle and waved the townsfolk into silence, blushing up a storm.
"Ain't done nothing you all couldn't've done."
"'Cept Eli Lords," Jake Duke snickered, but Doc Earl slapped him upside the head for it.
Roy felt weak as a kitten, but he was still sheriff, and he still had a job to do. He turned and cornered Morgan the Magnificent, who was attempting to pack up quietly and make his escape. "'Scuse me, Mister Morgan," he said, seizing the swindler's arm firmly. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate this equipment as evidence. And if I catch wind of you pulling similar stunts, I'm gonna have to find you and put you out of business again. We got an understanding?"
A look passed between sheriff and travelling man; Morgan sagged a little, then nodded. "I unnerstand, sheriff."
"Then you give Eli his money back and get outta here."
"But you got the windmeupsie--"
Roy scowled a little, and now more Mousy than Magnificent, Morgan hurried to do as he said. Roy and the townsfolk waited long enough to see his wagon retreating in a cloud of dust, then turned back to the windmeupsie.
"Well." Doc Earl finally broke the silence. "What'll you be doin' with that contraption, Sheriff LeRoy?"
Roy shrugged. "I got better rides, Doc, but I thought maybe the town might have use for such a contraption. Maybe you might find it cures a few ailin's that can't be cured otherwise."
So the windmeupsie went to work for Doc Earl, and was put to good use at last. As for Morgan the Magnificent, well, he didn't lay as low as he promised and Roy met up with him again, but that's a story for another time.