The following story is a work of fiction set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If sexual scenes involving male to male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this by law. This is fiction. Don't forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety matters'; got condom?
"Out In The Wild, Wild West" 10 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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What started as an all out double fuck fest, began to wind down. The fucking that is, but for the eurphoria that spread around the camp, the indian braves broke into their reserves of seized pleasures, downing bottle upon bottle of whiskey. In their quest for pleasure, they mistook Stormy and Jake for members of the tribe and took them out by the campfire, offering them drink. Manning the primitive drums, a party ensued, by which both Stormy and Jake imbibed on the offering of liquid refreshment.
"Hey look, Stormy! I'm doing my first raindance!" Jake shouted, a bottle in one hand.
Shaking his booty around the high flames, licking at the moon, Jake's cock and balls bounced along with the others, as they made merry.
However, two had been left behind in the tipi. There, arms stretched high up, tied to the top posts, James West and Cheyenne Bodie sat on their knees, weighing their bodies down. Even though Cheyenne weighed in at two hundred and fifteen pounds, his sharp ribs stood out from his six foot three inch bear frame. Both men knelt in a pool of cum, as it continued to leak from their used asses.
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"You're a most superb actor," Artemis spoke, in admiration, fixing his tie.
Lying back, in bed, J.J. Sebastien lay, hands behind his head, flaunting his twenty-one year old body. His smile showed the contenment of their hot sexual play from the previous evening.
"Oh? Got news for you Artemis," J.J. said, waiting for a response.
It came in the form of a smile, reflected in the mirror.
Then Artemis replied, "News?"
"That wasn't acting."
Artemis remained cool, that cocky smile adorning his face. To everyone else, he might look like he has it together, but to J.J., he knew the real truth. By day, Artemis reflected the 'no shit Sherlock' pose, but when under the unfluence of his young master, Gordon shrunk down into a meek submissive toy.
With a favorable implication, Artemis replied, "That's why I always look you up when you're in town!"
Artie dropped a cufflink, bending down to search for it.
"Ah, here's the little devil!" He said out loud.
Turning, still on his knees, his head came face to face with the 9.5c that had been implanted in his rear, for most of the night. The twenty-one year old's hand remained wrapped around it, the base of his hand moving against his hairy pubes, as the sides of his index finger and thumb stroked under the flange.
"I really don't have time for this."
But before the thirty-three year old could think, J.J.'s hand latched onto his dark brown head of hair and forced his face into his pubic region.
"Yeah... oh yeah," J.J. groaned, as Artemis took the hint, opening his mouth and taking him deep into the recesses of his throat.
He sensed Artie's contentment as well, as the older man's groaning vibrated his cock.
"Yeah... yeah... eat me, daddy," J.J. coaxed him on.
Further appeasement surmounted, as J.J. felt Artemis' hands rub his thighs, then caress his two ass cheeks, massaging the deep crevice. After time passed, J.J. pulled out of Artemis' mouth.
"See what you gone and done, daddy?"
Artemis, still kneeling, waited for more of a clue to J.J.'s intentions.
"I'm waiting," J.J. replied, now lying back down in the bed.
Here, Artemis more than communicated his intentions of needing to make haste to end their one nighter. However, J.J.'s sopping wet shaft, now being stroked, to keep it erect, tempted Artemis beyond his will. He began disassembling his dressy outfit, beginning with the tie he just fastened around his neck.
"And oh, Artemis?"
"Yes....Sir?"
"Before you begin sucking me, bring the belt?"
Artemis, standing there, totally in the buff, hands on his hips, flaunting that hairy, bear body, looked at J.J., as if calling his bluff. Last night, he had used the belt to whip J.J.'s ass into fucking condition. Now he looked upon the request as a get even tactic. However, more than anything he yearned to submit, as he eyed up that tall impaling tool. His ass ached to have it invaded. Retrieving it from the floor, he tossed it on the bed, the buckle bouncing off of J.J.'s stomach.
"You'll pay for that!" J.J. warned Artemis, waiting for a response, of reluctance, that didn't come.
Artemis crawled up on the bed. Automatically J.J. spread his legs, revealing his hairy thighs.
"You can start by licking my balls."
"Don't push your luck," Artemis dared to say.
"Don't push my hand," J.J. made the argument plain, winding the belt buckle around his hand, readying the long, leather talon.
Artemis sank to his belly, as his mouth enveloped J.J.'s 9.5c. J.J. felt a new sensation, as the length of the belt struck directly down Artemis' back. Several grunts followed, as he picked the belt up and flung it down. Not once did teeth touch his cock.
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Morning had risen on the plains, as well. The brave's camp remained quiet, except for some local birds.
"Ugh..." Stormy let out, trying to move.
Lying on a piece of buffalo hide, he tried to move, but something kept him from pushing up off of the ground. Looking over his shoulder, his head bopped into Jake's head.
"Huh?" he said to himself.
It's at that moment after impact that he remembered sort of what happened last night. His head sunk back down into the furry hide. He smiled when he felt Jake's breath blowing on his back. Sensing things a bit lower, he tried to move his waist. He giggled to himself, remembering the conversation last night.
"Oh shit! Haa ha ha ha ha haaaa!" Stormy laughed to himself, remembering how Jake had questioned him about having that wooden stake up his ass.
Keeping up his humor, even though he had a headache from the indians' firewater, Stormy thought about how Jake had beat around the bush for the longest time, til he dared him to penetrate his ass with his long pole. It wasn't as long now, but that pole still helped anchor Stormy's ass to the ground.
"Heey! Hey, Jake!" Stormy said, patting Jake with the palm of his hand.
"Huh? Oooooooh.."
Both nineteen year olds groaned, as Jake ground his pubes against Stormy's ass.
"Oooooh, my head," Jake said.
"Which one?" Stormy joked, but really refered to the one that still grazed his ass chute.
Half alert, Jake did a pushup, balancing his body on his pubes. Looking down his muscled abs, til he set eyes on his treasure trail, greeting Stormy's tight thin hairy bellyhole trail, he stare, as if not believing.
"I can't..." he gulped, then continued, "believe it!"
Stormy giggled again and replied, one hand poised up on his palm, as his elbow leisurely rested on the hide, "My ass can believe it!"
Going to his knees, his deflated cock exited his companion's ass chute. The small, mushroom head popped out and then resumed it's lanky posture, swinging around.
"Wow!"
Stormy began laughing his ass off, as he now turned, flipping his body over, faced up, under Jake's suspended chest. Reaching upwards with both hands, he didn't give Jake a chance to realize it, his palms against Jake's shoulder blades, pulling him towards him.
"Umpfff!" Stormy grunted, expectant of the non resistant Jake, falling, melding their bodies as one.
"Ooooh my head hurts so bad!"
"Some romantic 'you' turned out to be!"
As Jake thought more about his head, Stormy began pampering him. He rolled Jake more on his side, his body adhering to the side stance. Using the hand not caressing his body, he pawed the light brown locks away from Jake's face.
"God, you're beautiful!"
"Huh?"
Behaving more like in a drunk stupor, like being totally wasted last night, Jake couldn't help but ignore half of what Stormy said to him.
"What'd ya say, Storm?"
Knowing the fog Jake had himself in, Stormy smiled.
"Jake, you believe in love at first sight?"
"Do you believe I feel totally wasted?"
Stormy gave up on being romantic. Instead, he flung Jake off of himself and got up.
"Where you goin', Stormy?"
"Where you're going'!"
Bending over, Stormy took Jake's right hand in his, like he was going to shake it politely. Instead, he pulled mightily on it, yanking Jake to his feet. His six foot frame hauled Jake upwards, catching his stomach about on his shoulder.
"Heeeeeeeey, whatcha doin' Stormy?"
He didn't respond, but with a few giggles. Rushing out of the tipi, he headed for the little stream, faster than a Pony Express rider. Before Jake knew what was happening, he lay flat on his back on the coarse pebbles, water cascading over him.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooshiiiiiiiiit! It's cold!"
With a knee on Jake's stomach, Stormy's hand held Jake's chest down, as he tried to squirm free.
"Just what you need, my little friend!"
Stormy did outmatch Jake in height by an inch, weight by ten pounds, cock size half inch. Even though he seemed more the bear cub, to Jake's muscular physique, he won hands down, at trying to subdue the muscle man.
However, slowly Jake began to gain the edge. Stormy wasn't giving in, but his then slid down into the water, his crack mounting Jake's right leg. His hand and knee released Jake.
"What? Whatcha lookin' at Stormy?"
Slowly Stormy rose up, looking at the top of the riverbed. Sitting up, Jake looked up. Again Stormy was offering his hand. He took it.
As Jake stood, he again inquired, "What're you lookin' at, Stormy?"
"They're all gone."
"Who?"
"The indian guys."
"Huh?"
"My father...."
"Hey, wait for me Stormy!" Jake called out, as he ran after Stormy, bolting towards the place at the camp where they raised hell last night.
Catching up to Stormy rather quickly, Jake looked in the same direction his head pointed in. There, at the same frame Steve Connors' body had been trussed up eagle-spread, ropes dangled freely.
"What you suppose happened to him, Stormy?"
Turning around, Stormy's head hung down.
"I dunno."
"Where do you think they all went?"
"I dunno," Stormy replied, his body moving closer to Jake's.
Not one to show affection, Jake now seemed forced into showing something. Doing something, as gesture. He reached around Stormy, but delayed placing his hands to his body. Last night Stormy had detected the reluctance in Jake, to do anything 'touchy'. In fact, it bewildered Stormy, when Jake made the decision to fuck his ass. He attributed the action to the consumed elixir. Even though he, himself, had imbibed of the powerful whiskey, Stormy held it pretty good, as opposed to Jake who whooped it up, like the braves. Of course Stormy loved the ass massage. With the sweeping emotions over his father, Stormy felt a need for the human touch. Moving closer, he threw a strong suggestion to Jake, that he wanted to be held. Slowly Jake took the hint and lay his hands on Stormy's bareback. The two held each other.
"James West!" Jake called out, suddenly breaking their embrace.
"Yeah, I just wonder," Stormy seconded it, snapping his fingers.
The two ran to the tipi where they last saw Jim and Cheyenne. However, their natural high flatlined, as they peered into the empty tipi. However, the two did find something welcoming. Their clothing.
"Want to take that along?" Jake said to Stormy.
After dressing, Stormy had picked up the knobbed stake that had been implanted in his ass.
Even in the face of anxiety, Stormy could half joke, saying to Jake, "Nah. Don't need a wooden substitute, when I got the real thing!"
Dropping the sticky pole, Stormy embraced Jake once more.
"Stormy, I'm not real good at this man loving stuff."
"Yeah, I realize that, Jake. Don't worry though. It'll grow on you. I'll see to it!"
With his hands brushing Jake's hair, Stormy reinforced the tuteledge, bringing his lips to Jake's.
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"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Hastiin cried out, as the whip struck his shoulders.
The trail through the desert had been composed of a long line of men. Some captives, others leading the bound, pushing them on towards their destination.
Leading the procession had been the oldest of the indian braves, thirty-two year old Hastiin. Bound up, his loincloth clad body set the pace for the others. All of the men, braves, Steve Connors, James West and Cheyenne Bodie carried a long piece of wood on their shoulders, by which their biceps and wrists had been tethered to. With arms stretched upwards, their backs became perfect targets for the lash, if they dared slow down. However, all received a minimum amount of attention, with the exception of Hastiin.
Behind him, to his left, the leader of the brigade followed close behind the brave. Standing six feet and five inches tall, two hundred and twenty pounds, the massive black man wielded His long, leather whip, swinging it back and then tormenting Hastiin's back, accompanied by an evil laugh. More than once he fell to his knees. It gave the black overseer the chance to wreak even further havoc, kicking him between the legs, then grabbing him by his hair to pull him back into place, upright.
Kachada made the mistake of saying something, directed at the one whipping Hastiin. Even though it had been in a foreign dialect, the two white men guiding the procession, at this interval, questioned the audacity.
"Look like we got ourselves a smart injun here," a tall, dark-haired cowpoke said.
"The lot of 'em are a bunch of no goods."
He looked along the path, as if seeing whom watched them. Turning, he faced Kachada. He smiled at the indian, then put both hands on the pole and lifted his knee into the twenty-five year old chieftan's crotch.
"Uggggggggghhhhaahhhhhhhhh!" Kachada cried out, falling to his knees.
The awkward movement, arms tied to the pole, the left side digging into the earth, made way for Kachada's abs open for to receive further assault. The cowboy heaved the tip of his boot into Kachada's stomach.
"Oooooogggggaaaaa," the brave cried out, as his lungs expelled his air rapidly.
On the offensive, Inteus, whom had been in front of Kachada, swung himself around. The side of the pole he carried, hit the tortmentor in the side of the head.
A fight broke out, more of the braves joining in with the riff raff, manueovering their bound arms as best they knew how, to undermind the opposition. Some of the braves seemed quite agile at using the only weapon available. At first, their captors sought out the assault as entertainment.
Even though, a day ago, James West would have been considered the underdog, he went at it, siding with the indian braves. Steve Connors saw a better advantage, when he spotted Cheyenne back away towards the wooded area. He followed the buffalo hunter's lead, bending his torso in different directions, in which to cause the shoulder binding pole to evade bush and tree limbs. Possibly the indian braves, much like their big party last night, saw this as play. West figured the same with their aggressors. Seeing the absence of Cheyenne and Steve Connors, he followed suit, ducking out of the fray. Sleek, like that of a coy animal, he too disappeared into the jungle at the side of the desert, before it met the hilly region.
"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Jim cried out.
He didn't see it coming, not that his aggressor wanted his presence known.
"Ooooooooooooooh," Jim moaned, on his knees.
At the impact of the fist, gutting him above the navel, he collapsed, the pole across his shoulders, behind his neck, causing a more rapid movement, to bring his downfall.
"And where on earth did you think you could go, to escape me, West?"
Jerking back James' head, by his dark brown mane, Robert Birch stood, peering at his former bedmate. Jim still tried to gain equillibrium from the hard fist contact. Birch smiled, slowly moving his head downwards. Bending, his lips touched West's.
However, James didn't see this as the opportune moment for making out. Shimmying to the side, the pole, to which his arms and wrists had been bound, moved quickly and to it's target. Birch's zipper area.
"Ugghhhhhhhhhahhhhhhhhoohhhhooohhhooohhh!"
Rising up from the dirt, Jim actually got a jolt of laughter, watching Robert holding his crotch with two hands, dancing about before crumbling to a half standing position. He didn't hover about too long, before his mind thought of 'escape'.
Quickly, he found a tree composed of rough bark. He knew that if he could gnaw the end of the rope, it would come free, giving him the advantage of dismantling the apparatus containing his freedom.
A secondary thought, running loose, around and around in James West's mind, had been the reason for the cat and mouse game Robert Birch played with him. Thirdly, he knew Birch to be a tough character. Why wasn't Birch on him already? He kept up his guard.
"Oh fuck! Oh fuckin' shit!" Birch cried out.
Again, James laughed his ass off, stepping aside from the rough bark tree. Birch had tried delivering a punch to Jim's lower back, when he moved out of the way. Struggling like mad, this gave West the time to weasel out of his bondage. The motivation had already presented itself; get Birch before he recovers.
Like a panther, James used his Secret Service abilities to subdue Birch, quickly grabbing him from the rear, putting him in a full nelson.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Birch cried out, as West bent his body backwards.
"Feels good, huh?" West joked, resounding in a sadistic manner.
Birch yelled back, "Out of character for you, Mr. West, isn't it?"
Even though, for the past few days, his mind had been busy on other things, he never lost the thoughts of what he would do if he ever caught up to Birch again. He never realised Birch's intentions, bound at his mercy, Birch's ten inches of cut meat forced up his ass. At first he figured him and his captor's session as a one time bdsm gathering. But when the cuffs remained, he had other thoughts. With the trail of indians, Steve Conners, even Cheyenne, the picture wasn't totally clear. Was he part of a slave ring or was Birch working for someone else? He needed answers and there wasn't much time to find out.
For sure, the others would be coming to look for Birch and he, so West managed to lace Birch's wrists behind his back, with the same cord from his own bondage.
"What the fuck?"
"Time for a little fun of my own, Birch!"
Keeping the upbeat humor, Jim, still naked as an indian, without the loincloth, forced Birch from the clearing. He pushed him through the woods. Then he got an idea, when a twig hurt his foot.
"Owwch..oooh...oooh..oh!"
He had Birch leaning against a boulder, while he pulled a boot from his foot.
"Oh c'mon West," Birch alluded to even a humorous approach, "you can take much more than that!"
With his hands bound behind his back, the thirty-seven year old bear used his words as a sword. As Jim loosed the boot half way off, his other hand steadied Birch's leg. Halfway is all it took, plus the hand on his enemy's leg, to make his cock stir.
Birch laughed out, toying, "Oh, I'd say you want more than my boot, James!"
Jim looked at the grin crossing Birch's face, then his eyes darted down to the clothed bulge in Birch's pants. Even though Jim knew the truth, his eyes shot to his own crotch.
"C'mon West. Give it up. There's only one man made, to ride your ass!"
It's as if reality faded, his surging cock and churning balls taking over his mind, ruling it. He licked his lips, his tongue remaining on the upper left portion of his lip. Forgotten was the reason he held Birch captive, as his ass twitched, as if it had a memory center of it's own.
"You want it, West," Birch gestured, pertaining to his own pent up erection, "go for it, West. Daddy bear needs it as bad as you do, West. C'mon. Desert can get mighty dry. C'mon, West, take a nice long drink!"
Birch's thespian skills paid off, making his cock sound like a deep, cool well, filled with nourishment, waiting for Jim's lips to caress it and draw out it's wet refreshment. Jim, too far gone, believed the words pouring from Birch's mouth.
"Yeah, but not here," Jim said, snapping out of his reverie somewhat.
"Nobody's going to bother us, James. You're mine."
Puzzlement overtook Jim. Here, he was the one in charge, as Birch sat up against the boulder, hands bound behind him, imprisoning him to Jim's will.
With a slight laugh, Jim informed him, "Only one problem with your theory, Birch...."
"Robert..."
This through a temporary wrench into the works, as Birch dropped the formalities.
"Yeah, um sure. Robert. Listen, Birch, like I was saying, you're in no position to dictate out the rules."
Was West ever wrong though. Much to what he said, contradicted what the feeling below his waist insinuated. He would find that it would be working against himself, winding down his willpower. Birch, more than a thespian, had insight to what roamed a man's mind.
"No, West, that's where you're wrong."
Jim laughed, but then keyed into more of what Birch had to present to him.
He lost the smile, as Robert continued his onslaught of meanings, "Like I said, West. I took your ass and made it mine. Like many a man, you put on a good show, trying to be a man, but you aren't your own man. You need another man to rule you."
"Rule me? That's fuckin' nonsense!" West replied, now sitting back on his legs, in the squatting position.
"I wouldn't call 'that' nonsense, West," Robert gestured his head, in the direction, below Jim's bellyhole.
Trying to move his knees together, had proved to be a tactic delivered too late. He knew Birch had already picked up on his nine inches, hard as a rock, hanging down over his full balls. It became too late to even scoop up the dribble from his piss slit, as his balls churned up, like a boiling pot. With all humor lost from his disposition, Jim looked first into Robert's eyes, then down his half buttoned shirt. A yearning grew in his mind. At first, the suggestion of the open shirt, drawing his attention to the thick, dark brown chest of hair, then a flashback to wanting to suck on the pink nips that nestled in the forest of hair. Not only did his cock twitch, but renewed interest made him salivate. Birch realized West's new found interest, the peering of his eyes at his own open shirt.
"Go for it, James," Robert said, smiling.
West moved his hand along his beard. Everything seemed to be moving too fast. He still heard the braves squabbling, fighting off their aggressors. Yet, he wondered by nobody bothered to seek out Birch and himself. Then his mind turned from that, back to the hairy, V-shaped mass of hair. His mouth began to salivate again. Suddenly, he felt a great responsibility to either choose between his mission in life or the first man, in his life, that he really had desires for.
"Take your time, West, but hurry before my cock loses all it's pent up emotion!"
For West, lust won out. He wasn't sure of the implications, but he went for the heat of the moment. Reaching forward, he undid the third button of Birch's shirt. The same brand of white shirt that Birch wore that night he seduced Jim, cuffed him and raped his ass. With Birch as his captive, he easily opened the shirt, pushing it back over Birch's wide shoulders, exposing his hairy chest and stomach.
Robert Birch leaned back against the boulder, which made his pecs stand out even more. He knew, as well as James, that his nips begged to be touched, wet down, licked, sucked.
"Ooooooooohhhhhhoooooh..." Birch sighed, throwing his head back.
Grazing his hairy left nip, James licked twice. Then, taking his thumb, he cleared away the wet, dark brown follicles of hair, revealing Birch's pink nipmeat. Reaching forwards, with both hands, James steadied his body, now on his knees, holding Birch by the sides of both pecs. His cupped lips leaned into the left side of Birch's chest.
"Ooooooooooooooohhhoooohhhfuck yeah!" Birch cried out in ecstasy.
After awhile, Birch began to use his persuasive words on West once more.
"Feels great, James. I know you want my cock and you've made it nice and ripe for your ass. C'mon now. Untie me so that I can give you what you crave."
Mesmerizing James, he reached behind Birch, feeling for the laced wrists. Being coy, Birch slowly removed his arms from behind his back, moving them towards his crotch.
"Help me get my cock ready, James."
As Birch spread his legs with his hands, Jim's hands busied themselves, unzipping. He looked down, as he did this. One thing he noticed, that he didn't before, is that Birch's pants had been sewn out of piece of leather. Not the typical rough kind, but like polished boots. The aroma of the leather helped him along, to unleash Birch's fury between his legs.
As their eyes met, Robert Birch said, "You need this up your ass James, don't you?"
Almost as if in a hypnotic state, James replied, "Yes. I... I need your cock fucking me deep."
Birch pressed his hands behind him, against the boulder. As he rose up, so did James. However, his leather pants fell to his ankles, revealing his ten inch spike, almost ready.
"No, James. On your knees," Robert said oh so softly.
The palms of his hands gently rested on James' bare shoulders, guiding him into position. Jim's mind now evacuated his thoughts from the wiry chest, the untouched right nip and dwelt on the embedded, dark trail, stretching down Birch's stomach. His knees resting on the ground, brought his head even with Birch's deep bellyhole, covered in luscious hair. He lowered his head, ready to slurp up the bead of precum at Birch's piss slit.
"No, James. First tongue out my sweaty, ripe bellyhole," came the directive.
Looking straight ahead, Jim followed the order. As James leaned forward, tongue out, ready to stab the deep innie, Birch leaned over. Already having unlatched a pair of metal cuffs from his beltline, his hands reached down. Taking James' left forearms, one hand felt up the soft arm fur. He clicked one of the cuffs around James' wrist. Jim broke away from his licking.
"Easy, James. Go with it. You know you crave to be owned by me."
Not much time had been given for future thoughts, as the second metal cuff surrounded West's other wrist. All he knew, at this moment, is indeed, he wanted Birch to rule his body, at the ensuing moment, his tongue. Eventually and most important, his ass.
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Continued.....
Copyright 2005 T. Luke McPhee All World Rights Reserved
This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness!
dont strike a fault, unless you can admit you've slipped..T Chase McPhee