Way off there's the morning round up. The fillies come here with names like Amber, and Brandy, Brittany, Chelsea, Daphne, all the way thru to Tiffany and Vicky. But we've given them names based on their attributes, you know like Big Tits, and Little Tits, and Freckles, Whiner, and Maverick.

(Nothing sublime about doing ranch chores from sun up to sundown, naked, ankle hobbles, arm-neck yokes. There's hard rocks and thorns and sunburns galore. And then they think its fun to sting our butts and bellies with horse whips. Today we get to run out to the high pasture, thru a gully. Last one thru gets bull whipped. Of course they'll find a reason to bull whip all of us by end of day.)

Old Paint snickers as the first gal comes running. I can look down and see her climb over the pile of broken tree limbs and down into the last big water hole. It will be mud by time the sun reaches down there and begins to dry it out. Don't matter to me, something sublime about seeing mud drying on a gal's legs, even better on her other parts. Wish I had Stubb's job, herding the gals thru the pig pens. That must be fun.

( I see the old guy sitting up there in the shade of the tree, waving his hat as if that will drive us thru this obstacle course any faster. Difficult climbing when your hands are up around your collar bone, already got a cut on my foot, maybe the mud will salve it.)

Something sublime about watching the female form as it turns and bends and even falls over. The way the breasts hang when the gal is bent over, the way the body shines when she's got a good sweat going, the way they try to hide their pussy. From up here don't see the pussy much, not like Charley in the blacksmith shop setting the ankle chains to different lengths every day just to make mischief with the gals walking.

(There's a ravine, the last storm has opened it up where it joins the gully. I think I can make it up and out of here. Got to try, they don't call me Maverick for nothing.)

I been riding herd on big city fillies for three decades. Started here when it was still a cattle ranch, then thru the Dude Ranch period, and now the “Pet Ranch”. Got to call the fillies pets now. A few stabled for a month or so, but mostly weekenders, their owners up in the guest lodge. Yep, 499 other times I been out here early. Sublime, you know, waiting for the first bare flesh to come along and need urging into the five miles away. Ain't lost a filly yet. There was talk of giving me a party tonight on making 500.

( Ha, I can climb up the ravine and make my escape back to the ranch house where I'm suppose to be unchained and given a reward. Hope that fool on the hill keeps on day dreaming.)

Yep, sublime. But also exhilarating when I spur Old Paint on and ride down a running filly, forcing her back towards the herd, Sometimes having to rope her and drag her a ways, making sure she ain't going no where we don't want her to. Like that one scaling up the ravine. Wondered who might see that. Not surprised that it is Maverick.

(The climb up was more tiring than I thought and the old buy has seen me, riding his horse down into the gully and up the ravine. Got to make it to the tree line first.)

There is something wonderful about watching a woman run, the way her bottom shifts with each step. Seen runners in them women marathons in their tight spandex suits, but a naked bottom is so much better. Specially when I get out my lariat and snap its tip along the underside of those cheeks.

(Sure feels good to watch him fall off his horse when I let the tree limb go as he tries to ride up on me. His horse whinnies and comes to a stop. No way I can climb up on it with this damn yoke, but a good slap of it against the poor animal's rump scares it a good half mile away. Now the old guy and I are both on foot.)

Something grand about the way a woman leans over a resting man, letting her boobs sway. Sweet smile, nice pussy too, think it's the first time I've had a good look.

(Something great about kicking dirt into the old guys face. I'd spit but I've got to be going. I can see the weather vane of the main lodge. Not all that far from here.)

I've got a record to maintain and no maverick is going to keep me from it. Old Paint ain't answering my whistle, too busy nibbling the new grass shoots. Well, I do know a shortcut.

( I run around the bushes and trees, my feet getting use to being bare and sore. I soon lose sight of the one man posse. The main lodge starting to come into view. Past the east end corral where they had us undress that first day, past the barn where we were chained, past the stables where we sleep, past the whipping post, and the gibbet where we get hung by our feet. And past the bunkhouses where we spend a few hours each night waiting for the poker winners to come and poke us however they like. Sublime, my ass. Although quite a few of the ranch hands have expressed satisfaction with my ass. Compliments out here are few. Now I only have to cross the yard to the front porch where a crowd is already assembling to greet me. “All you have to do is get up on this porch and you've won your reward.” The foreman says, the others nodding their head in agreement. I start to take the first step.)

Something satisfying in hearing a filly yelp, this one falling onto the steps as I reach out from under them to grab her leg.

(They stand around me talking in whispers. Then the foreman declares it a tie.)

The maverick gets her yoke and hobbles taken off. And I still get my party and a gold watch for my vest. Yep, been looking forward to that.

(A tie? What does that mean? My chin was resting on the front porch. I won.)

Something invigorating watching a filly lifted up, hands getting good grips on all parts of her, then taken over to the gibbet to be hung by her wrists while all the other ranch hands and guests gather round. But there's Old Paint walking in to the water trough.

(Seems the reward is every man here puts in a dollar and gets ten minutes use of the whip. Damn, hadn't noticed how many of them there are here. Even ranch hands from the other ranches here for the old guy's party. I'll be here for hours, in the hot sun, sweating, screaming...)