3-Shot Jealousy

"Jess lies with me frequently. If it happens, I'll have yet another magnificent boy. Jess will never know."

Damon thought rather that Jess would know. There was a hell of a difference between a normal-stature blond and a tall, husky brunette. But this would be the woman's worry. He had done her originally to get the job and was doing her now mostly to keep her on his side. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, laid her down on her back, lowered himself between her spread legs, and thrust his cock up into her cunt. She arched her back and moaned and began to move with the stroking.

"You're so big," she moaned. "Bigger than he is." Damon thought Jess was plenty big enough, but it was still flattering to hear her say so.

He remained holding her, inside her, and was stroking her hair and kissing her on the nipples when they were finished.

"My dinner."

"I'm sorry about that, Damon. I think Jess would be suspicious if—"

"That is not it. I want James to deliver my dinners to me, if you please. I sense his father doesn't want him talking about farming, and it would give us some time to converse. I think, if I'm not wrong, that you support James in his wish to become a farmer."

"Yes, yes, of course," Mary answered. In the back of her mind there was a bit of question there, but his cock had regained its hardness, and his resumed stroking took all other thoughts from her mind.

Later that night, when Jess approached the old homestead cabin en route to putting out the cattle feed in the north pasture, the cabin door was open and lights were on, but Damon was not waiting for him at the door.

Jess heard the moaning as he entered the cabin and moved silently over to the door into the second room. He could see James' bare legs, bent, and the young man's heels caressing the backs of Damon's calves, and James' arms around Damon's neck. James was on his back on the lower bunk, and a naked Damon was lying between James' thighs. James was moaning and Damon's body was straight as a board, risen off of James' body, his long thick cock pounding James' ass in long, deep strokes that clearly showed several inches of cock coming out and then reentering James' channel with each thrust.

Jess turned and fled the cabin.

For the next several days, whenever Damon wasn't plowing the field, looking so sexy as he worked, Jess came upon him fucking James. On a haystack in the barn, behind a haystack in the field, twice more in the old homestead cabin bunk, and while they were cavorting naked in the creek. Damon didn't seem to making any effort to hide what he was doing with James from Jesse.

James took Damon on an overnight ride up into the mountains, looking for stray cattle. Jess followed them at a distance and watched Damon fuck James bent over a saddle next to the camp fire for an hour or more.

They were young and virile. Jess no longer was. But, after that first night, Damon hadn't come for Jess again. He spent his time fucking James—at least as far as Jess knew.

This couldn't continue. Jess knew he had to put a stop to it. The situation came to a head one Sunday morning when Jess and Mary had gone to church. Mary forgot the pies she'd made for the church picnic afterward, and Jess came back to the house for them—and found Damon fucking James in Jess and Mary's bed. Damon was lying flat on the bed, his beefy hands encasing James' waist, as James rode his cock.

Jess went crazy.

* * * *

"I keep telling you that it was an accident," Jess said wearily to the sheriff.

"I understand the grief of a man losing his son, Mr. Tharp," the sheriff said as the men sat in the ranch house parlor, Mary so taken with grief that she was in another room being consoled by women from neighboring ranches

"But you have readily admitted that it's your rifle and that you fired the shots."

"But it was an accident."

"A man doesn't get off three shots that hit home by accident, Mr. Tharp. It's not an accident when a man shoots his son dead with three shots in the back."

"Don't be afraid, Jess. We will manage."

Jess looked in the direction the voice came from. His eyes were having difficulty adjusting through his tears and the dull ache behind his eyes. He knew the voice, though. Damon had somehow managed to dress again and cover the blood that must be on his chest and thighs before any of the men in the bunkhouse had reached the house. No one had suggested that Damon was even in the house when James got shot. The dull ache moved—to more than one place. It moved to Jess' heart but also, in humiliation and frustration, it moved to his groin as well. Now, even now, he wanted Damon.

His eyes focused enough to see that his younger son, John, was sitting beside Damon. Damon's arm was around his shoulders and he had a hand on the young man's thigh.

"We'll manage," Damon answered, a look on his face that Jess couldn't understand escaped the scrutiny of the sheriff—although Jess didn't want the sheriff to suspect Damon of anything. There had to be a way, somehow a way, for he and Damon to be together again.

"I'll take good care of John," Damon said, "And Mary has already said it would comfort her if I moved into the house while you were away facing this trial."