Thought I'd try my luck, having been bitten by the gold bug. Won't go into too many details of those first few months I spent as a prospector. Let it suffice I went cold, hungry, and tired many a night. Struck gold the second day of my third month out there. Must have been a gift from the heavens, because my food and supplies were just about gone. Wasn't much...I figured only a few hundred dollars worth...but good luck is not to be taken lightly, and I was gettin' desperate. Rode all day and half the next to get back to town. Rented a room above the saloon and allowed myself a long-deserved rest...was tired of sleepin' under the stars. Must've slept about eight hours, as it was dark when I awoke.

"Too late to exchange this gold for money..." I thought. Lights were out everywhere but the saloon. "...might as well celebrate my good fortune with the little bit of money I do have." Went downstairs, bellied myself up to the bar and ordered a bottle of their best whiskey. Tend to get talkative after I've had a few, and struck up a conversation with a cowboy that I had my eyes on. Don't remember much of what I said, and didn't think much of it when he just up and left awhile later.

Also tend to get a little stupid when I drink, and walked out the front door to relieve myself. Next thing I remember I was lookin' at the stars, with more stars spinnin' around my head. My vest pockets were turned inside out, my gold gone.

Damn! No one was in sight, except a man hastily walkin' toward a horse tethered about fifty feet from the saloon door. I saw him stumble once without fallin', then untie and mount the horse.

Pickin' myself up, I staggered toward him, too slow to catch him as he galloped out of town. Stopped, turned around, mad, mad at myself for bein' so stupid as to tell a total stranger I struck gold...just because I wanted him real bad. Wondered if I told him the exact spot I found it. Would serve me right. Walked back towards the saloon.

Somethin' flashed in the corner of my eye. Used to seein' gold flash that way in a stream bed, I went right over to it, picked it up. It wasn't gold...just the wheel broken off of some cowboy's spur. Don't know why, but I put it in my pocket, then dragged my beaten carcass back into the saloon, up the stairs, and into my room. The whiskey took over once again, and I slept, dreamin' of streams overflowin' with silver and gold.

Awoke late in the afternoon, with a helluva ache in my head. Don't know what hurt worse...the whiskey or the beatin'. It was too late to start back to my camp, so I went downstairs to pay for another night's stay with the few dollars I had left. Kept a few bills with my gear in my room, and they hadn't gotten stolen.

He was there, at the bar! That cowboy I wanted so badly the night before. An empty bottle sat on the bar next to him, a half full one in his hand. He was laughin' and carryin' on...and oh...I still wanted him, as bad as the night before.

He raised his arm to get the barmaid's attention, his elbow knockin' the empty whiskey bottle to the floor with a loud crash. I saw it shatter at his feet.

My eyes opened wide. This cowboy's right boot was missin' the wheel from its spur! I THOUGHT it was him! This outlaw bastard was gettin' drunk on money from MY gold!

He saw me, called me over, real friendly-like, offered me a swig. Told me I looked like I'd just fought with a tornado and lost. This cowboy actually thought I didn't know what he'd done!

I accepted the bottle, drew a long pull. Told him how I was robbed the night before. He acted like he felt real bad for me, and offered me another drink. All the time actin' innocent and dumber than a pile of rocks.

Told him not to worry...said I had lots more gold where that came from. You should've seen his eyes light up when I said that! Bought another bottle with the last of my money, and told him we were gonna drink this place dry.

He was already drunk, so he didn't notice I wasn't swallowin' every time I put the bottle to my lips. He finished that entire bottle, and was halfway through a third, when he muttered somethin' I didn't understand and fell headlong to the floor.

I got a few of the men to help me carry him to my room and dump him on the bed. I stayed at the bar with them for awhile, then left, returnin' only after they were gone.

The outlaw cowboy was still sprawled out on the bed, snorin' loudly.

I pulled my rope out of my pack, and went to work.

Tied his ankles tightly together, I did, then wound the rope around his legs and up past his knees, tying the ends in a knot. Grabbin' him by the boots, I pulled him until his feet were stickin' out over the cross bar that went between the posts at the foot of the bed, then tied his ankles securely to the cross bar. Then I tied a piece of rope around each wrist, stretched him out, and lashed his wrists to each post at the head of the bed. Completely immobilized him, I did. Then I sat at the desk, and waited.

Must've fallen asleep. It was light out, almost midday. Went down the stairs and looked around the bar. Empty. It was Sunday...everyone must have been at church at the other end of town. Knowin' I now had my privacy, I went back to my room.

He awoke with a start, and started yellin' loudly, demandin' to be let loose.

"What the HELL is goin' on here?!? Lemme go!!!"

"You robbed me the other night, and stole my gold. You were the only one who knew I had it...and I want to know where you hid it!"

"Yer loco, prospector. I don't know what yer talkin' about."

Rememberin' the spur wheel I had in my pocket, I pulled it out, and stuck it in his face.

"The man who robbed me lost THIS off his boot..." I walked to the end of the bed, looked at his feet. "...and yer missing one off yours!"

Grabbin' his right foot by the ankle, I gave a strong pull, and off came his boot. I showed him the boot and the missin' spur wheel.

"Look for yerself!"

"Hey! Put my boot back on!"

Tossin' the boot to the floor, I sat down again.

"Why? You're not goin' nowhere until ya tell me where my gold is."

"I told ya, I don't know what yer talkin' about. Now lemme go...and I won't have ya arrested. And put my dang boot back on!"

"You tell me where my gold is...or I'll MAKE ya talk."

Thought his voice started to falter.

"I don't know nuthin'. And I ain't talkin' even if I did. You go right ahead and beat me. I ain't gonna talk...and I'm gonna start yellin' for help...and then have you arrested! Yeah...I'm gonna show the ol' sheriff all the bruises and the marks you put on me! And then yer goin' to jail!"

He smiled, knowin' I wouldn't dare beat the truth out of him. "You're right...I can't beat ya. But I got OTHER ways to make ya talk...real cruel ones I learned from a Chinaman."

Thought he almost panicked there for a second, so I figured I might scare the truth out of him. "Yeah, the Chinese used all kinds of cruel tortures to make a man talk. But they never hurt a man...just slowly drove him crazy until he couldn't take it anymore. And they never left a mark...but their victims always talked, or went insane."

His eyes betrayed some fright, but his attitude didn't change.

"You don't scare me! Do yer worst! I'll yell for help!"

"No one's gonna hear ya, cowboy...so go ahead...scream." He yelled... no one answered, no one came. Had a cruel smile on my face, as I continued. "Maybe I should drop water on yer head, one drop at a time, until the noise inside your skull gets so loud you can't stand it...or maybe I'll make ya choke on yer own smell for awhile...." Gettin' up, I grabbed his other boot, yanked it off, and stuck it under his nose.

"Stop it! Yer crazy! Get that boot outta my face!" He shook his head from side to side as I tried to stuff it up against his nose. This cowboy hadn't taken a bath in a day or two, and his boots stank to high heaven. "Come on! Stop it! Just...lemme put my boots back on and go, and I'll forget all this ever happened! I swear!"

Droppin' the other boot, I walked back over to the desk to think, sittin' down again. The desk was empty, except for some writin' paper, a bottle of ink, and a quill pen. I smiled when I saw the pen, then turned around in the chair. "Or maybe...I'll give ya the cruelest torture of them all." His eyes opened a little wider, his mouth slack. "Yeah...the Chinese knew the most sensitive part of a man's body was the...bottoms of his feet." Gave his soles a playful whack. He tensed up, nervous.

"What's the matter, cowboy...you a tenderfoot? That why you were so anxious to get yer boots back on?" Smilin', I grabbed the pen and turned the chair around, placing it at the foot of the bed, just inches from the outlaw cowboy's socked feet. "Yeah...the Chinese could make a man talk usin' nothin' more than an ol' goose feather, just like this one." Holdin' the feather up, I grinned, evilly. "I think I'll...tickle yer feet with it...until ya talk."

His eyes opened as big as dollars.

"No, please, don't...I can't STAND to be tickled! I swear...I don't know where yer gold is! Please, don't." That was all I needed to hear. Slowly, I pulled the cowboy's socks off, as he struggled against the ropes. He was wild when the last sock slipped off his foot. "Please, please...don't tickle my feet! You'll kill me! I swear you will!"

"Then you better start talkin', cowboy, or yer gonna die laughin'." Slowly, I stroked the feather across the tips of his bare toes. He stiffened up, his voice risin' in volume and pitch.

"Ah haaaaaaaa! Oh, please, STOP!!"

"Talk!"

"I don't know! I don't know! I swear! I SWEAR!"

"Yer a liar!"

Slowly, I dragged the feather across the sole of his left foot, from heel to toes, then dragged it from toes to heel on his right foot. He started roarin' with laughter. Then I started my interrogation. "You gonna tell me the truth?"

"HA HAAAAAAAAAA! I don't know where yer gold is! Oh, please, STOP! I'm can't stand it! I'm gonna DIE!"

"Well, cowboy, since ya can't seem to remember where my gold is...maybe a few hours of ticklin' yer feet will help improve yer memory."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

I rhythmically began draggin' the feather up and down the cowboy's tender soles, causin' him to laugh harder and harder with each stroke. Ignorin' his pleas for mercy that he managed to choke out between all the laughin' and the screamin', I continued torturin' the sensitive bottoms of his feet with that feather. After about an hour, I noticed a distinct bulge in his pants. "You give up yet, cowboy?" He gasped for breath. "I told ya, I just don't KNOW! Please! I'm tellin' the TRUTH!"

I looked at him, lips tightly shut. "I can see yer not gonna talk usin' conventional means of torture... but that's all right...I got ONE method left." He pleaded for me to let him go. Standin' there with the feather in my hand, I stared him in the eyes. "I lied awhile back....I was hopin' I wouldn't have to do this, but ya forced me to....The Chinese knew ONE spot more sensitive on a man than the bottoms of his feet...." I unbuckled his belt.

"What're you doin'? Don't!! HELP!!!" I shucked his pants down, exposin' a beautiful stiff prick, drippin' with precum. I pulled the skin back from around the head, and slowly dragged the feather across the underside, right below the tip. He immediately began his hysterical laughter again. I tickled his stiff cock with that feather until his laughin' died down, and he started buckin' against the ropes.

"Y'all better start talkin' right now, 'cause I ain't gonna let ya come until ya talk...and no man can stand gettin' his dick feather tortured for very long." All he could do was moan and buck, as I continuously tickled him almost to the point of climax, then backin' off. This went on for about half an hour, until his eyes were wild, and all his words came out in screams.

"I'LL TALK!! I'LL TALK!!! Oh PLEASE, let me COME!"

"That's more like it, cowboy. Now...where'd you hide my gold?" He gave the best confession I'd ever heard a man give. Satisfied, I went to where he hitched his horse, and found my gold in a pouch. His erection was still standin' like a flagpole when I returned. He was waitin' with an anxious, desperate look on his face.

"Okay, cowboy. Now I'll finish ya off...with my tongue."