Archive;'Odessa Ranch 1'{Ian Jacobs}( MM, sm, ws, scat, bd )[ 1 of ? ]
Odessa Ranch
Prologue
Odessa Ranch is an almost fully self-sufficient 10 square mile tract of west Texas scrub land. It is the brain child of a rather small man who suddenly appeared rather than grew from the area. Little is known of his past and because money speaks volumes, and he has enough of it, nothing need be said, at least as far as the nearest town is concerned.
The general hierarchy is simple and feudal. There is the man at the top, he is alternately called Sir, Master, Slave-master, depending on the context, but none of the men inhabiting the ranch know his legal name. Below him are the men he refers to as hands. They are like trustees in prisons, they have certain privileges but are still "prisoners." Below the hands are the field slaves. Their responsibilities are two-fold, they service the hands by being under their command, and they also have to maintain the ranch garden-the scrub will sustain the cattle, but not a garden, so it takes constant attention. The last level are the neophytes. They have neither names nor titles. They are at the mercy, or rather cruelty, of the field slaves, but their primary duty is to serve as toilets/gloryhole slaves for the hands. The numbers fluctuate a bit, but the general make up is 20-25 hands, 50-80 field slaves, and no more than 8 neophytes.
A neophyte earns his way to field slave, a field slave can eventually earn his way to hand, but a hand can climb no higher than where he is. When he reaches an age where the man-himself is no longer pleased with is looks, he is asked to leave-there is a bit more to it than that, but there is world enough and time for that ritual. The man who makes the decision on when a field slave can rise, when a neophyte can rise, and when someone wanting to enter can become a neophyte is the master field hand (the least racist way of viewing his position is like the master sergeant of the army, he is the highest ranking enlisted man, the master field hand makes all the movement decisions. Movement down the chain is always possible, either as punishment or for something more like a prison sentence, and the master field hand is the sole arbiter.
The hands concern themselves with the cattle, the field slaves with the garden. Their work provides the food for the ranch and to a smaller extent, some income. However the man-himself is not interested in profit, only continuance. As long as there is food enough, his only expenses are any luxury he wants for himself, and the typical utilities. He did once try to find a way to provide himself with power and water by the backs of his slaves, but it was a plan that would prove too untenable to control. The best way to view this man is as a voyeur who read Lord of the Flies as a piece of soft porn and wanted to create his own utopia on that design.
Part 1, Applicant
Nick left an abusive relationship in the middle of the night and got on a bus for Odessa, Texas. Nick stood just under six feet, was well muscled, had long but unkempt blond hair. He was pretty enough, but the scowl he wore from fear and exhaustion showed him as more mean than pretty. That attitude however can be a great benefit on a late night bus.
Nick wanted to be a slave. He went to all the bars in Atlanta that would be populated with master material. He attached himself to a man who was more interested just in control rather than that fine line between sexual use, and actual abuse. Mark risked severe punishment to sign on to the net when his partner (he could never bring himself to accept the man as master) was out for a while. He thought about trying to find someone locally, but realized his partner was one who would find him and hurt him horribly if he left for someone close by. What Nick wanted was to be bound, whipped, paddled, otherwise treated like a slave; he did not want to be beaten with fists and to fear for his life.
He waded through at least a dozen pretend masters on the net before he found something interesting. The man on the other end of the computer was intelligent and didn't play with the normal master/slave rhetoric. He actually seemed to care. After a couple of weeks of intermittent chat, where the man described the ranch, Nick decided he would be safe there to experience the fetish to a safe extreme without fear from an abusive partner. So the man whose screenname was innocuous enough, "AnswerMan," said he would have a truck waiting for Nick when he arrived in Odessa, for the hour drive to the ranch.
The man waiting for Nick was called Buck, he was Master Field Hand. He was only just 30 and had been at the ranch for 8 years. He was small, stocky, forceful. He was very tanned, brown haired, short but not buzzed. He was dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and boots. He was the only slave allowed off the ranch.
Nick looked like he wore every one of the 1300 miles when he got off the bus. Buck waved Nick toward him. When Nick started to say hello, Buck held up a stern hand. "I'll ask you a few questions later, you answer those, otherwise you say nothing."
Nick couldn't decide if he should say, "yes, sir" or not, so he just nodded and followed Buck to the truck, a typical beat-up, farm used vehicle. "You ride up front with me until we get out of town," Buck said. Nick was hard from a long trip with no chance even to jerk off, and this vague command made him harder.
The difference between "city" and the range was abrupt, there were no such thing as outskirts. Buck pulled off on a dirt road once the last of the city buildings had passed over the horizon. Mark had to piss and was glad that he was going to have an opportunity to piss while Buck did whatever he alluded to when they left the Greyhound station. He was ordered out of the truck.
"Permission to speak." Nick knew the drill.
"No. You only speak to answer my questions. I will tell you now that I keep a tally of transgressions you guys make and it all gets figured in your punishment when we get to the ranch, I overlook nothing."
Buck ordered Nick to strip and to go to the back of the truck. Buck opened the tailgate and cab door and took five dog collars laying loosely in a tight cage. Nick knelt when commanded and Buck put the largest, plain leather collar around Nick's neck. Mark presented each wrist when told, then each ankle, after he was told to sit on the tailgate. Buck locked each of the collars with very small locks. Buck ordered Nick into the cage which would have been a tight fit for a boxer sized dog. "'Bout an hour now." Then he closed and locked the cab.
It was stifling. The afternoon sun heated the confined space very quickly. There was a slight breeze, but only enough to bring in a little air and to stir up human smells of piss and what might have been shit and vomit. Nick was on his hands and knees which were drawn closely to his chest. The cage was made from welded iron and held the heat like good insulation. Nick's mind was on one thing though, his penis. He had to piss. The odors told him he was not going to be the first to piss here, but he knew there would be punishment at the end of it. Still, that was going to be part of it no matter what he did. So he pissed. The earthy smell of processed coffee filled the cabin. It felt so good that the piss hard-on remained even after the long stream ended. He knew he was going to be whipped, confined, fucked, anyway, so he wiggled around so he could jerk off. It was not easy, but he squirted his load very soon after beginning. He either was able to doze a little before arriving at the ranch, or was near delirium from the heat. He was shocked back to awake when hit with a rush of lukewarm water. Another man stood next to Buck and hosed down the inside of the cabin and Nick.
Buck unlocked the cage and allowed Nick to exit. Nick moved slowly because he was cramping. He expected Buck to manhandle him, but he just waited silently as Nick slowly stretched himself to vertical.
"Follow me."
Buck walked quickly, so Nick didn't have much opportunity to see the extent of his surroundings. He was led into a garage that sufficed as Buck's office. Buck sat in a rocking chair while he rapidly asked Nick questions: name, why he left, what he expected, did he have any limits. Nick paused at this last one and Buck interjected: "It doesn't matter, whatever limits you think you have now, you wont after a few weeks." Predictably, Nick's cock stiffened. After a few other silly questions just to keep Nick confused, Buck explained the process.
"If I let you stay, you will spend at least 3 weeks as what we call a honey boy. After that, you have hard field work to look forward to. There might be more after that, but it is all up to me. There is fucking here, but we frown on relationships. If I see one forming, I will squash it. I will now ask one last question, it will be the last opportunity you will have to chose: do you want to stay?"
"Sir, yes sir."
"Fine". Buck explained a couple of finer points as he examined the new slave for any signs of disease. He checked for a hernia, and even drew blood saying, "we have this tested, and then we test you again in 6 weeks, you can put two and two together to see you will not be getting much in the way of dick unless both come back clean." Buck explained that lessons learned at the ranch were learned from the lash not from the mouth. Buck slipped on a medical glove ostensibly to check Nick's prostate. What he was really looking for was a full colon, which he found.
"You are about to have your first lesson and to pay for pissing and cumming in the back of my truck." Buck attached a leash to the collar and pulled Nick to a wooden post near the office.
"See these flanges?" He was pointing at flanges that allowed loops to be easily clicked in, but which required intervention to release. "When you are ordered to attach yourself to a post, a wall, whatever, you hook the loop on the collar on your wrists or wherever into these things. It saves me time." Nick complied. He figured he was going to be lashed and his penis became fiery with the anticipation. He was half right.
He was surprised when Buck left for a bunkhouse. It really looked just like the bunkhouses in the westerns Nick would watch when nothing else was on. Buck returned with six naked men who looked much like Nick. Each collared in the same places, naked and unkempt. Nick decided it was best to stare straight ahead at the grain on the weathered post, he was not comfortable being naked in front of more than just one. Buck tersely grabbed one of the six and pushed him to the ground, the others he arranged in a rough semi-circle all facing Nick.
"Same drill, fucks, you just watch and be glad it ain't you." After that Buck took the grounded slave and pushed him towards the post. He made Nick spread his legs to allow the slave to move under him. He commanded the slave to attach himself to the short leash nailed to the base of the post.
"Alright, shit."
Nick thought it was an expletive, not a command. Then,
"Shit, you have thirty seconds to shit or I will literally whip you til you do, and shitting while being whipped is damned hard. All your muscles clinching every time the leather lands and you trying like hell to push it out. You got 20 seconds now."
Nick was panicked. He did have to shit, but he had never done it in public and the threat froze his bowels.
"5 seconds."
Before five seconds were up the first blow landed. Nick couldn't see it, but knew it was a horse whip. It was one swatch of pain and heat an inch thick and all along the top of his shoulders. He couldn't really scream so much as just yelp. He was fiercely trying to figure out how to shit while not knowing when or where the next blow would land. Buck just lashed every few seconds, no further commands, no concern where the whip landed, wherever it landed it would hurt and that alone mattered.
Nick started baring down wildly. Finally, it was like pissing in a public toilet, once started the rest comes out pretty easily. He was able to send some little turdlets out and finally able to send a sizable enough amount onto the back of the slave between his legs to satisfy Buck.
Buck allowed the slave who'd been shit on to detach himself. He stood and gathered up the now sandy shit in his hands and walked a few paces where he buried it in the loose dirt. Buck grabbed another slave who knelt at Nick's ass and licked his whole, simple as toilet paper, not inserting it, just passing over it.
"For the next few weeks boy."