Date: Thu, 28 Dec 2023 15:33:54 -0600
From: Sweetheart <rocococock@gmail.com>
Subject: Roscoe (Chapter 1)

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This is the first chapter of an erotic novel I'm working on, enjoy!
Happy New Year!


The day was grey, and the Sun was setting for the night over a thick cast
of dark clouds. Sir Marshall Walters swept the floor of his train
station, whistling to himself. As he made his way to platform B, he was
startled to find he wasn't alone; there was a pair of feet hanging off
of a bench accompanied by a soft sniffling. There on a bench sat a young
man, whose eyes were puffy and whose clothes were tattered. Startled, Sir
Walters greeted the boy, whose name was Roscoe, and grew to feel a great
empathy for the poor kid and his life of misfortune.

The son of an outlaw, Roscoe's father left him at the station with
nothing but the clothes on his back. He was terrified, never having been
without his father before, unsure why he was abandoned. Sir Marshall
Walters, known for being a good and pious man, decided to take the young
man home and give him a bed for the night. Roscoe was a cute thing but
devious -- he always had an interest in men, and he felt no shame in
acting upon it. When Sir Walters brought the boy home, he was horrified
to find Roscoe waiting in his bed, naked as the day he was born. Roscoe
insisted on thanking the man who'd shown him such decency, and when Sir
Walters refused, Roscoe split out the window in a flash, not a stitch of
clothing on him. He ran and ran like a horse, the young, rock-hard
muscles of his legs carrying him wherever he wanted to go.

Roscoe ran all night, eventually hitting a dirt road that brought him to
the swinging doors of a saloon: The Stallion. It seemed to be the only
place around with life in it, with swinging music coming from inside and
a warm, flickering glow pouring from its open windows. Roscoe didn't
note much about the outside, apart from the hand-painted sign and the
second story of the saloon. The second floor had three small windows
covered by lace curtains, two of which had lamps on inside; the third was
dark. Roscoe pushed one of the swinging doors open, and as soon as he
did, the music and commotion fell silent, every patron of the bar turning
to stare. Roscoe didn't know what to do, he was completely naked and
didn't even know what state he was in, and now he had to defend himself
to a saloon of drunk westerners.

He started to think of what to say when a woman who looked to be quite
old came and put her arm around him.

"Willie, get this boy a quilt and a tea!" she said, ushering him to her
table and pulling out his chair.

"Thank you, ma'am," Roscoe said, shivering.

"Of course, sweetie. Now, you're gonna tell us where you came from, but
first, we'll let you warm up," the kind old woman said gently.

After a few minutes, a man brought Roscoe a quilt to wrap himself and a
tea to warm himself.

"Hello, son. My name is Sir William Morgan, and you've already met my
wife, the lovely Madame Morgan," Sir Morgan said as he took a seat next
to Roscoe.

As he sipped his tea and felt the cold start to leave the tips of his
toes, Roscoe told the old couple who evidently owned the joint about his
journey up until this point. They knew he was scared, and they could see
in his eyes he was a good boy, so the Morgans decided to take him in as
if he were their own. As Roscoe's eyes filled with tears of gratitude,
he was told the arrangement he would have to agree to if he wanted to
stay.

"Now, son, this here is a true and honest saloon, the cops have no place
here and we do things a little differently. Our clientele are miners,
criminals, soldiers, and cowboys that pass through, looking for a piss
and a drink. Now, do you know what a brothel is, son?" Sir Morgan asked.

"Yes sir, my father told me he met my mother at a brothel. When she got
pregnant, they threw her to the street," Roscoe answered.

"Well, then, you won't be too unearthed to hear that we've got one
upstairs, and we like to cater to a large audience."

"I don't understand, sir," Roscoe said, hoping for more information.

"Well, there are three rooms upstairs, two of them have women inside,
and the third, that one is for those with a different taste," Sir Morgan
explained.

Roscoe's stomach turned, his heart leaping into his throat, unsure if he
understood what the Morgans were suggesting.

"You've got a boy in there?" Roscoe whispered, leaning as far into the
table as he could.

"Yes, dear. Well, we did, but the poor kid got swept up with some
outlaws and we haven't heard from him since." Madame Morgan said,
sorrow in her eyes for their lost employee.

"Then you've got an open room, for another boy?" Roscoe asked, nearly
jumping from his chair at the thought of it.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, son?" Sir Morgan asked the boy.

Roscoe nodded, assuring the man and wife that it would be a dream come
true, he'd been doing it all his life, only for free.

"And I don't want you two fussing over me. I can handle anyone that
comes through those doors," Roscoe assured his new bosses.

"Good man. You'll keep half of what you earn, and we expect you here
every night. Everything else is up to you," the Morgans said, finalizing
the deal.

Roscoe stood up and extended his hand, shaking Sir Morgan's to thank
him, and leaning down to kiss Madame Morgan on the cheek. He said
goodnight and excused himself to go inspect his new home: that third room
he'd taken notice of from the road. The room was small and smelled like
dust but had a charming character to it. The wallpaper was decorated with
flowers and the bed was made with all sorts of linens. It was one of the
nicest rooms Roscoe had ever seen, and he could hardly believe it was
his. He ran his finger along the furniture, studying each object in the
room and growing acquainted with the space that he hoped to spend a long
time in.

It was late now, though Roscoe had no idea what time it was. He laid his
head down on the only pillow he'd ever been able to call his own and
drifted to sleep almost immediately. His eyes opened as quickly as they
closed when Roscoe was disturbed by a loud, aggressive bang on his door.
He jumped to his feet, terrified, before remembering what that knock
meant: his first client had arrived. He quickly made his bed and scurried
to the door, completely naked, opening it slowly to find a man standing
in the hall. As Roscoe opened the door, the man slipped inside, stepping
into the light of the room. The man was some sort of soldier, but he
looked decorated as if he were a sergeant or general.

"Hello, sir. My name is Roscoe, how may I help you?" the young boy
said, unsure how this was supposed to go.

"I don't fucking care! On your knees, son," the man said.

Roscoe did as he was told, cursing himself for acting like this was more
than it was. Roscoe was a true prostitute now, a working whore, and the
men that paid to use him would regard him as such. The man stood with his
fists on his hips, not helping as Roscoe struggled to unbutton the
complicated army pants the man wore. A burning hot strike from the back
of the man's hand grazed across the side of Roscoe's face, startling
him, and making him shriek. The man huffed under his breath, frustrated
at Roscoe's failure to undress him, but nonetheless freeing his waist
for the boy. Roscoe eagerly pulled the man's trousers down along with
all of his undergarments, freeing the man's thick cock.

Roscoe knew not to waste time admiring the dick before him, closing his
eyes, and getting right to work on the man. As Roscoe's warm mouth
enveloped the man's dick, he let out a long sigh, throwing his head
back. He swallowed the man's length, getting him wet and slippery and
sticking his tongue beneath his foreskin. He bobbed up and down, as he'd
done with so many of the men he'd seduced over the years, and swirled
his tongue around the tip of the man's cock. Roscoe was so pleased to
service a man's cock, and the man seemed to quite enjoy having a boy's
mouth wrapped around him. Roscoe was at home with a cock down his throat,
swallowing the entire thing until his nose was buried deep in the
sergeant's musty pubes.

The man gripped either side of Roscoe's head, mercilessly fucking the
boy's mouth like it was a pussy begging to be pounded. Roscoe didn't
gag or protest; in fact, he preferred to let men use him like this. The
officer pumped his cock into the boy's throat, not losing even a beat of
his rhythm as he fucked Roscoe's pretty face. Once the man had had
enough, he ripped his cock out of Roscoe's mouth, picking the frail boy
up by the armpits and throwing him on the bed. Roscoe said nothing, his
body limp and pliable for the man to use. The man gripped his hips and
lifted Roscoe, so his butt stuck up in the air before hacking a glob of
his spit onto the boy's smooth, pink hole. With only that to lubricate
his thick cock, the man shoved his length into the boy in one go.
Surprising to the soldier, this was not abnormal for a boy like Roscoe,
who took the man's dick without issue, lying still and silent. With no
reason to hold back, the man pounded Roscoe's ass, wrecking his hole
with his impressive girth, and gripping the boy's hair making his back
arch. Though Roscoe felt no pain from the man's cock stretching his
tight hole, he did feel a great deal of pleasure, moaning loudly out of
the open window before him, the sound echoing down the street.

The bed rocked and slammed against the wall, the banging mimicking the
rhythm of Roscoe's screams as the man swiftly shoved his dick in and out
of the young boy's hole. The man was grunting like an animal, unleashing
a barbaric rage into Roscoe's ass, who could take the man's fury
effortlessly. The man pumped into him a few more times before collapsing
around the boy's body, his cock shooting a load deep into Roscoe. The
man said nothing, dismounting the boy and gathering his clothes. Roscoe
rolled over, quite pleased with himself for already proving to be quite
the talented whore, and as the man redressed, he slipped Roscoe a massive
tip.

As the man left, Roscoe lay where he was as his eyes grew heavy, and he
slipped into a deep and peaceful sleep. It was an incredibly difficult
day, but Roscoe felt in his soul that this was where he was meant to be,
and what he was always longing for. He knew that he would lead a much
happier, safer, and more fruitful life here at The Stallion than with his
dad, committing petty crimes and sucking dick to get them out of trouble.


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