Archive;'Odessa Ranch 2'{Ian Jacobs}( MM, sm, ws, scat, bd )[ 2 of 8 ]
Odessa Ranch
Part 2, The Honey Room
Nick remained attached to the whipping posts as the other men were led back to the bunkhouse. It was already about 95 degrees, but he shivered. His back stung deeply; there was no other word for it. It bore the brunt of the 15 or so lashes, but his ass and legs ached also, just not so much. He was sweating and knew it ran down him, but he feared looking in the sand beneath him. He feared seeing any trace of blood would send him running and he didn't want to know the consequences for that.
Buck returned from the bunkhouse, but passed by Nick and headed for his office. Nick started to speak, but checked himself. He began to feel an odd pride--one that would grow like an addiction in the coming weeks-at having learned something without being expressly told it. Not knowing when Buck would uncuff him, and with nothing other than the few limited sights he'd seen on his way to the post, Nick drifted into a standing nap.
"Wake up fuck." Buck slapped Nick's ass with a riding crop.
Nick yelped, "Fuck" before he could stop himself.
Buck without anger or hesitation, lashed Nick's ass 10 additional times before saying, "Try that response again slave."
"Sir yes sir."
"Were you given permission to sleep slave?"
"Sir no sir."
Buck landed ten more lashes on Nick's now tender ass. He had been paddled some in previous scenes with guys, but never with a riding crop, and never with this intensity. His eyes teared, his nose ran, all as if he had eaten something spicy; he wasn't crying, but his body seemed to know of no other way to react to that kind of unexpected pain.
"I told you in the office everything you will learn for free. All other lessons come by doing, by fucking up. You do right, you might get rewarded, you fuck up and you get what's coming to you." To Buck this was almost all business. If he gained any joy from this portion of his work, he kept it well to himself.
Nick found himself in an awkward moment. Socially, silences are just a natural part of conversation. But Nick was now a slave, attached to a whipping post and showing welts if not actual open wounds; Buck was for all intents master. Silences where the master expected words could lead to punishment. This was a fifty-fifty bet. He decided to keep his mouth shut.
It must have been the right decision because Buck said nothing further. But coming from behind the bunkhouse, Nick noticed someone. A naked man collared as all he had seen, save Buck, approached. He was very tanned, weathered, but still very attractive; muscled like a manual laborer, but one whose diet is controlled to keep fat at bay. Buck attached a leash to the back of Nick's collar. He handed the naked man (half a head shorter than Nick, brown hair, brown eyes) the other end of the leash and the crop.
"Have fun." Buck said wryly; Nick didn't know who was the intended.
The slave looked at Nick's back and laughed a little, "Didn't shit right off did you?"
"Sir no sir."
"Nobody ever does."
"Sir, may I ask a question?" Nick said in a low whisper. His cock ached and it was horny for more lashes, but the rest of him was more reluctant. But he was willing to risk more pain to quell his curiosity.
"Just one faggot. Any more than that and I'll have to whip you-either that or Buck finds out and I get yours and mine too." He was unhooking Nick's wrists from the whipping post.
"Is my back bleeding?"
The slave whispered in the nearest ear, "You missed 3 sirs just now, normally that would mean at least 30 lashes."
"Sir sorry sir."
"Look it's already been a good day for me, I'm feeling fine so I ain't gonna make you pay yet. Lashes are like gnats here, everywhere and always on you, you'll get enough from the hands. No, your back ain't bleeding, but," he pauses to take a closer look at the several diagonal stripes on Nick's reddening back, "if you didn't shit when you did, you would have." He yanked the leash forcing Nick on all fours. "Come on."
Nick was lead into what he thought was the bunkhouse; it was the building from where the audience for his flogging appeared. It turned out to be the common toilet and shower for this part of the ranch. It only had the one door, so anyone entering it had to do so from the outside. The actual bunk house for the hands was nearby but unattached; this was the man-himself's way of reminding them that they were still his slaves regardless of their status among the rest of the population. It was completely tiled and had no stalls, or barriers of any kind. There were 6 toilets, 6 sinks, several shower heads, and drainage holes in the floor. A hook hung from a chain dangling in the center of the room. It was attached to a rope nearby. The slave ordered Nick to stand and attach his wrists to the hook. Nick complied and the slave pulled the rope taut so that Nick was erect but not hanging. The same audience for his flogging was about to witness his shaving.
In a sort of dugout, running half the length of the wall with the toilets six men were chained by their collars. They kneeled in this recess in the floor about a foot lower than the rest of the floor. Their hands were cuffed behind each. Each man looked pale and exhausted. None were ugly, but none were attractive either. Nick looked at each man carefully in the full, tile increased glare of the florescent lights. They had welts on their chests and no doubt on their backs. They were all clean shaven, but their hair was all fucked up and none appeared to have slept. He thought he looked bad after a 1300 mile bus ride, and an hour in the back of a steamy and piss filled truck bed. They all looked worse.
The slave grabbed a bucket and filled it with cold water. He soaped Nick quickly, without care or grace with a scrub brush. Then he filled the bucket again with cold water and dumped it over his head to rinse the suds. Much soap remained, but this was pure necessity and pragmatics, not a health spa. Then the slave took a straight razor and shaved Nick. He shaved arms, legs, chest, face and neck. He left the hair on his head and, surprisingly to Nick, and at his crotch.
"I ain't shaving your ass. Your blood comes back clean, then you get your ass shaved."
"Sir yes sir."
The slave used no shaving lotion of any kind, just the sweat and soapy water remaining. Nick felt skinned. He was burning and itching lightly from face to ankles. The slave lowered the hook, allowed Nick to remove his wrists, then he cuffed Nick's wrists behind him. He then led Nick to the spot in the dugout nearest the toilets. Ordered to kneel at attention, Nick complied and a chain was attached to his collar.
Nick saw immediately why he and the other slaves were in a dugout. His face was exactly on a plane with the slave's cock.
"Open up faggot."
Nick opened his mouth and the slave started pissing. This wasn't entirely new to Nick, but he had had more than a second of warning. He tried to swallow, but the piss from the uncut cock, meaty even when flaccid, came out far too fast. Trying to swallow with an open mouth with piss still flooding in, Nick choked and coughed most of what had been in his mouth onto the floor and some onto the pissing slave's dusty boots. The slave immediately stopped pissing though he hadn't finished.
"Major fuck up faggot."
"Sir sor . . ."
"Shut the fuck up faggot." The crop crossed Nick's chest the mandatory 10 times. Where Buck knew how to get attention with his lashes, this slave knew how to cause pain. He'd probably been whipped that day or the night before and he pushed that feeling through every stroke of the borrowed crop. He released the chain at Nick's neck. "Now lick my boots clean slave."
"Sir yes sir"
The slave finished pissing on the back of Nick's head while Nick tongued the musty boots. They were suede boots which had probably never been cleaned. Nick's only liquid since being hosed off was the piss he coughed up. His cat dry tongue made no real difference on the even more dry, piss specked boots. And the piss poured down his shaved face and stung like no after-shave ever did. It also rolled down his back intensifying the pain there he had still not gotten over.
"Back to attention slave."
"Sir yes sir." Nick complied, the slave attached the chain as before. "Have fun." He mimicked Buck, but this time Nick knew what he meant.
Nick waited for the door to close. It was eerie like being chained naked in a David Lynch movie. All sounds increased because there was nothing to absorb the noises except the 7 chained bodies. Dripping water and somewhat labored breathing were at the same heightened volume as the buzz from the lights.
"My name's . . ." Again he was cut off before he could finish.
"Shut. Up." The slave at the far end said very quietly but very tersely. "One talks, we all pay."
Nick was going to apologize, but thought better of it and just blushed slightly in the simple shame growing out of putting others at risk.
A few minutes later, a healthy looking man, less weathered than the slave who shaved him, wearing cut-off denims, cowboy boots, and a hat entered. He walked over to Nick, heels clacking deeply on the tiled floor. Rather than say anything, he just unzipped and pulled out his cock. Nick opened his mouth. Fortunately he had begun to prepare himself for this. But this one helped because he stuck his semi-hard cock all the way into Nick's mouth before he started pissing. As he pissed he hardened.
"Now suck, honeyboy, any teeth on my cock and that other honeyboy'll bite your cock off for me."
Nick's mouth was full of this man's cock so words were superfluous. Sucking was equally unnecessary as the man just fucked his face, pounding away, doing all the work himself. Nick had only to keep his jaw slack and his lips tight and enjoy the focused feeling he had longed for. This man wanted to use him only for one thing, whatever pleasure he could get. Nick didn't have to play any games, he was literally captive, but would not have needed the chain to keep him in the recess in the floor. The man came quickly, but not in his mouth. He shot the load on his face and chest. Nick had no idea just how badly cum would sting on severely stressed skin. He must have looked disappointed (and his tongue was hanging expectedly out like he was just millimeters from an ice cream cone) because the man said,
"You think you deserve to eat my cum you fucking honeyboy?"
"Sir no sir." Nick said very meekly. He thought that was the whole point. He thought swallowing was a sign of submission. The honey room was now his university.
"I ain't done with you anyway, you'll get some of Hand Tim here."
Hand? This was the second time Nick had heard the word, but still didn't know what it meant. But Tim dropped his denims to the floor and unceremoniously shit in the nearest toilet. The smell was not awful, but when dealing with shit, one's not ranking perfumes. But the smell was strong and quickly filled Nick's part of the room. Tim stepped out of his denims, leaving them in front of the toilet, and walked over to Nick. He put his ass in Nicks face and bent just slightly forward.
The hole was hairless, but it wasn't clean. And Nick was going to have to work to lick this one. He couldn't use his hands to separate the muscled ass cheeks which Nick noticed were lightly striped too. He moved his face in as far as the chain would allow and began to lick. The taste was pretty awful, but not quite as bad as he though. Sour and earthy. It wasn't something he'd pick from a menu, but he wasn't going to puke.
Tim moved back a little, so Nick didn't have to stretch so far. "Need lessons on how to clean a hand's ass?" Nick stopped licking. He knew what the expected answer was, but he didn't know the consequences for admitting it.
"Sir yes sir."
"Honeyboy number two, right, you turd, how does this new honeyboy clean a hand's ass?"
"Sir sticks tongue up hand's hole until hand is satisfied that he is clean sir." The slave immediately to Nick's right yelled the words. They still echoed when Tim stuck his ass back into Nick's face.
Nick did as instructed. Tim made it a little easier by pushing a bit. Nick was beginning to think it was a courtesy, but his tongue found the last remains of what should have been in the toilet. "That's right honeyboy a little present for you."
The turd was small, but very gooey and intense. It was far more sour and bitter than the track marks Nick licked off of Tim's ass. Tim was satisfied after he saw Nick swallow the shit. "That's what a honeyboy deserves." He pulled up the shorts and left.
Nick remembered the words after his own shit "a few more weeks of this boy," or something like that. Weeks? Nick again started to shiver.