She said, "Hiram, you know your pa told you not to wear that gun unless he was with you. Now, you go back inside and put it where it belongs!" I can't, Ma. It's time for me to go to work swamping at the saloon, and you know that Mr. Jones said that he would fire me the first day I showed up late." I then told her about the run in with Mr. Hawthorn and why I was wearing the gun.Ma said, "Well, I guess you do need the protection, and your pa did say that he was going to let you wear the gun all the time when he got home, now that you were a working man. Okay, go ahead and wear that gun, but don't you go picking fights just to show off your gun!"That settled, I went to the saloon. Mr. Jones, the bartender and owner of the saloon was not happy to see me come in packing a gun. He told me I had to take it off if I was going to work for him. I explained my problem with Mr. Hawthorn, and Mr. Jones agreed to let me wear the gun if it did not interfere with my work. I assured him that it would. My clitoris had already slithered from its lair. It was aching and I couldn’t help but soothe that ache by frigging it. But frigging it made the aching both better and worse. I rubbed harder and faster, watching Daniel as he pulled his foreskin right back and carefully washed the thin veiny skin. The vision remained locked in my mind as he moved on, washing his backside and thighs, moving down his hairy legs towards his feet. I was out of control. Mere moments away from an actual orgasm. The need was frightening. Rubbing frantically. Harder and faster. Almost there. But it was too late. Daniel had caught me. He was looking at me. All I could do was stop rubbing; the last thing I wanted to do. He looked down, seemingly uncaring that his cock – his whole body - was on display. “You want to pee?” he asked. That! That was why I was standing in the doorway clutching my crotch. “Do you mind?” I squeaked. “Be my guest,” Daniel said, throwing me a friendly smile as he reached for the.
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