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 person in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene 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 story by law. This is fiction. Do not forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety matter'; got condom?
"Out In The Wild, Wild West" 13 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Each time Robert Birch looked on back, behind him, he saw James West wince. He looked to Caligula, when hearing the same response, as West could not get the hang of walking properly, in order to keep his balls from getting twisted up, the
"C'mon, Mr. West, pick up the pace!" Caligula called out, looking to Robert, for his reaction, then grinned.
Birch and the dark man had a roaring laugh, as they sped up the pace of their horses. Jim had a choice. He could be dragged along, most likely either on his stomach, or take wider steps. With each of his balls, laced, stretched and tied to the opposite foot, around his big toe, the wideness of each stride caused his ball sacs to grow longer, with each footstep.
"Akkkkk! Akkk! Akkk! Akkkkkkkkkkk! Akkkkk!" He cried out, one grievance after another
Each ball sac took its turn at getting pulled downwards, crossing over the other and then alternating position. Not only did it signal pain to Jim, but as the large orbs rubbed alongside the other, if caused a churning within, keeping his cock aroused and lubricat
AfAfter awhile, the two slowed their horses pace. Their little joke on Jim played a role in keeping the other captives in sync with the torturous pace. That is, with the exception of Buck Johnson, Carl Rentfield and the three Indian braves, in their care.
"Alright, rest period," Birch called out.
"I see you `do' have feelings for Mr. West, sir?"
"Noooooo!" Robert claimed. "West? Shit! I cannot wait to see what is in store for West. It's the others that need a break!"
Birch began his rounds, checking to make sure the Indian braves had plenty of water. Caligula still smiled, sensing something there between the two. Dismounting, he told Hastiin to sit, however even the Indian brave held a curiosity about James West, drawing his attention, as his master ignored him, leaving him there on his knees.
"You take pain well, Mr. West."
Jim looked up at the dark man, who stood at least three inches taller, but did not say a word.
"I'm hoping that after they are finished with you, Mr. West, that they turn you over to me."
"They?" Jim finally broke his silence. "And who are `they'?"
"I'm sworn to secrecy on that, Mr. West, but I'm sure you will be treated most horribly well!" An evil grin followed.
Then Caligula began making some observations. Taking Jim's cock in his hand, he is stroking the nine-inch shaft. Right away, cum oozed out onto his hand.
"If I had the responsibility Mr. Birch has, I would make you eat this, Mr. West."
Knowing the rules plain, regarding the Secret Service agent, he proceeded to his Indian captive, instead.
"Slave, lick my hand off!"
As Hastiin promised himself, he would cooperate, until the time came, to make his move to escape. Sticking out his tongue, he began to lap the gooey protein matter off Caligula's hand. For sure, Hastiin would not wish to be in the same predicament as James West. While Caligula talked with him, Hastiin stole glances towards Jim, eyeing up the swollen ball sacs, their reddened appearance from being consistently stretched, rubbing against each other.
"C'mon. Let's mount up," Robert Birch called out, jumping on his horse.
Once again, they began their trek, James West and the other captives hauling their heavy bondage on their backs. Once again, they heard groans of pain, as Jim stepped lively, causing his ball sacs grief, as they stretched to his pace.
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"My ass feels so sore!" Stormy complained.
"It wasn't me that made it that way," Jake responded.
"Ooooh no... I wasn't blaming you. Those damn cactus needles," Stormy confessed, then went on to praise, "Oh no, Jake. I would never complain about your sweet cock fucking me. Greatest feeling, I tell you."
"At least you like something about me, Stormy."
Suddenly stopping their ride, Stormy pulls up the reins, and then says, "There are lots of things I like about you, Jake."
"Name a few."
"Well.... Um... ah...."
"Yeah? And, what else, Stormy? Hee heee..."
"I can't think of any right now, but there's more to you than that fucking tool of yours!"
There was more. More than Stormy could explain in words. It is those, feelings a guy can get, that are unexplainable. All Stormy could think of, when it came to explaining, is the physical. Turning as best he could, he grabbed Jake by the back of the head and made him kiss him. Jake didn't put up any resistance, offering his part in the loving gesture.
"Now, isn't this sweet!"
"Pop?" Stormy said, breaking the lip-locking action.
Then, in a fit of emotion, he jumped down from the horse and ran to his father. This time, Jake thought it wiser to let go. However, he followed the gesture, walking to where the two men, father and son, embraced.
"Who's he?" Steve Connors asked of his son.
"Jake," Jake replied, taking Stormy's father's hand in his, for a hardy handshake of introduction.
Stormy's dad was literally caught with his `pants down', during the raid on the sleeping camp. Jake made light work of studying the middle aged specimen.
"Here, Pop, take these," Stormy offered, unbuckling his belt.
"Reckon I don't have a choice, son, seeing that I don't wish to have a set of burnt balls!"
"Looks like you got'em already, Mr. Connors," Jake said, implicating himself to the fact of the body-study.
"Ahem! Yes, well no sense in getting them anymore red," Steve Connors replied, a bit embarrassed.
Under his pants, Stormy wore briefs, resembling boxers. He made sure that his cock resided in a way, which did not have it poking out of the leg chute. Seems that he had to hike the briefs down, in order to accomplish the task. Since they did not have an extra shirt, the two nineteen year olds decided to share. Jake took the first shift, being bare-chested, as Steve Connors wore his. Stormy had offered, but his father said it `smelled' funny and refused. Jake had the feeling that if he wanted to spare his upper torso from the sun that he would have to take turns, as a result of wearing the pissAt this moment, he couldn't figure which would be worse off.
"So, what happened to everybody, pop?"
Stormy's questioned opened up his father to conversation that would last for quite a few miles.
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"And this is for the second time you raped my ass!"
"Akkkkkkkkkk!" Foxworth cried out, as Braedon shoved the full length of his ten inches of cut meat, up the middle aged man's ass.
The twenty-five year old lost track of how many times Arthur Foxworth fucked him over, always putting by him the excuse, if he didn't cooperate, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep immigration from deporting any of his family members. Braedon took the opportunity to get even, with every punch-fuck of his hard shaft. Eventually he could not hold his lust back and pumped his load deep into Foxworth's ass chamber.
Tied to the desk, arms eagle-spread, only pants removed, for the fucking revenge, Foxworth moaned from his ass being so sore. Braedon collapsed in the same high back chair that he used to coerce the signing of Foxworth's resignation. As he fell back into the chair, he grinned, watching his own cum juice seep out of Foxworth's ass canal.
`The first of many!' Braedon said to himself.
After resting for a spell, he got up and got himself dressed.
"Be back in a couple of hours. Don't go anywhere!" Braedon told Foxworth, still humped over the desk, in the fucking position, tightly tied.
Leaving, he encountered Michael Grady. He told the twenty-six year old, when he had a minute, to go upstairs and unload his balls. To some, Foxworth ruled with a will of steel. Michael Grady was one guard, whom received his share of humiliation, each time Foxworth approached the Secret Service building. Either his uniform was not clean enough, or his boots or a comment of his cleanliness habits brought up. Grady rubbed his cock, telling Braedon that he could not wait until his shift was up, in six more hours. He became informed that Foxworth would be waiting, but Braedon could not guarantee the tightness of the fu
Stepping inside the pub, Braedon was greeted by dozens of men. Many had had too much too drink, others just being buddy-buddy. He paid special attention to the young guy, sitting near the rear of the pub. A hand reached out, from the bar.
"You're beer, Brae?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Bart!" Braedon replied, grabbing the offered mug, frosted and bubbling o
Bart added, insinuating, "If you're not in a hurry, Brae. I mean? if y'ain't got anyplace to go?"
"Hmm... might be able to fit you in, Bart. Let's see what happens?"
The two, nearly the same age, Bart a couple of years older, had grown up in the same neighborhood. Many a time, Braedon had helped to fight Bart's battles with local boys, whom made fun of Bart's slight gut. Braedon did not mind performing an occasional fuck for all the free beer he could drink. Moreover, he always complimented Bart on a tight hole!
Some men offered their hand, shaking Braedon's hand, as others called him over to sit with them, but he kept steadfast on his target.
"Hey Brae!"
The young guy got up and gave Braedon a hug.
"How's my little brother behaving himself?"
"You know I keep my nose clean, Brae!"
"And how many have you had?"
"Two. Honest."
Braedon looked at his eighteen year old, giving him a wry look.
"How come I can never fool you?"
"How many?"
"Three."
"Bad boy!"
Sean Murphy knew the penalty for lying. Some looked over, as he peeled his pants down over his ass and leaned over the table.
"Yeeeeooooooooow!" Sean called out, as Braedon's hand swatted him on the bared ass.
"Dammit, Sean! You spilled my beer!"
Neither was very angry at the other, but Sean wound up bothering Bart for another, paying for it himself, out of the allowance Braedon gave Bart every now and then.
"And who might you be?" Braedon asked the other youth, whom he did not recognize as one of Sean's friends.
Sean didn't miss much, being back in a jiffy.
"Oh, Brae, this here is my friend, Cal McClintock."
Smiling, Brae took the youth's hand, shaking it.
"You involved?" Braedon asked, pertaining to perhaps some sexual innuendos, with his little brother.
"Damn, Brae! You're gonna embarrass the guy. We only just met tonight!"
"Watch that language, little brother, or you'll get another licking from this hand," Braedon threatened, holding up his big white palm.
"Yeah, okay."
"So, what's your story?" Braedon directs to Cal.
"I'm cabin boy for Captain Skinner."
Looking Cal over, Braedon asks, "You don't look more than sixteen."
"He's seventeen," Sean informs his brother.
"Hmm, I thought Captain Skinner didn't take boys, that young."
"It's on account of his father," Sean continues answering for Cal.
"Your father? What's this about?"
By his look, Braedon tells Sean that Cal can answer for himself. Sean sips his beer.
"Well ya see, my father owed Captain Skinner a sum of money. He jus' got fired from his job..."
"What was his job?"
"My father's a decent man. Does a good job. The boss didn't likem, that's all it was."
"And the job?"
Cal replies, "He works over at the fish market. He helps clean the fish as they bring it in."
Sean, not minding his own business again, adds, "Cal's father is real good with books, Brae."
This time, Braedon listens to Sean, asking Cal, "Books?"
"Yes, sir..."
Laughing, the twenty-five year old suggests, "It's Braedon, alright?"
Smiling, Cal continues, "That's what my father did before he got fired from Grundion's Hardware. Mr. Grundion didn't like my father. Has something against us Scots, father says."
"He does, does he?"
Braedon filed that fact away for future reference.
Sean again, supplies, "And he works to feed nine brothers and sisters."
Braedon gives Sean the look and smiles.
"Alright, I'm minding my own business."
Cal says, "Thanks for the help, Sean," in Braedon's little brother's defense.
"They all younger?" Braedon inquires.
"I'm the oldest and I'm... well, when my father couldn't pay Captain Skinner, he offered me to sail with him."
"Damn shame," Sean pipes up, "like me, Cal should be going to college!"
"Another beer, Sean?"
"Oh c'mon Brae!"
"What'd you say, little brother? You don't like going to college?"
The bribe worked and Sean got up to get his big brother another round.
"Sean told me how ya pay to send him to college. I can only dream about something like that."
"And what would you take up, if you did, Cal?"
"Damn! oh, excuse my language, Brae," Cal replied, with the apology, remembering `the hand' Brae held up to Sean.
Braedon smiled. If it were Sean, there would be hell to pay!
Cal picked up where he left off, saying, "I think I might like to study science. Medicine, most likely. Find a cure for something."
Not dwelling on the subject, Braedon asked, "Where is Captain Skinner? I didn't see him when I came in."
"You and Captain Skinner good friends?"
Just at that moment, the sea captain enters, with the same warm welcome that Braedon received from the patrons. Spying him at the back, with his cabin boy, he makes his way to the rear table. Passing the bar, like Braedon, he receives a frothy one, on the house.
"Hey, what you doin', with my boy there, Brae?"
"Fuck you, Skinner!"
Almost as if brothers themselves, the two hug tightly, Skinner reaching down between them.
"If I were you, John, I'd get my hands off the jewels!"
"Hee hee heee... same ole Braedon Murphy!"
"You think two years has changed that, John?"
"Hey boy, go get me a beer...two," Captain Skinner changes his mind, taking the seat that Cal has just vacated.
"I'll help," Sean offers.
The two teens walk away, towards the bar.
"Picking them kind of young, aren't you John?"
"Didn't have a choice in the matter, actually. The man owed me and I had to collect, Brae."
"Don't bullshit me, John. How much?"
Captain John Skinner, in his late thirties, sat there, pondering the question, as he stares at Braedon.
"Shoulda known I couldn't jerk your balls, Brae. Okay, five thousand."
"Hefty sum."
"The man was broke. He has a family to feed. Besides, looks like I'm getting a nice young pair of lips that'll last me for a long time to come, if you know what I mean?"
"Oh, I know exactly what you mean, John. Only I have a better proposition for you."
"Hey, I paid good money for that boy. I am not gonna fall for any of your cheap deals, Brae!"
"Oh, now that hurts, John. Really hurts."
"Yeah, okay. You always been fair with me, John, but I like this boy and..."
"I like him, too."
Captain John Skinner knew, from years back, since the two dates back to nearly grade school, that when Braedon Murphy wanted something, he got it. Seems that in the last five or so years, the principle of the matter of wanting and getting became more of a reality for Murphy.
"However," Braedon replies, "I'm not out to cheat you, John, so here's what I'm going to do. Give you your five thousand, plus a cabin boy."
"You got a nicer boy for me? Younger maybe?"
"Older."
"How much older?" Captain Skinner says, showing signs of a swindle.
"Well, don't judge him yet, till you've tried out the goods?"
"Nice, tight ass?"
"Very. Was a virgin till an hour ago."
"Don't suppose you opened him up?"
Braedon smiled, readjusting his crotch.
"You ole dog, you! So, what's he like?"
Braedon got into a little of the history, but Sean and Cal showed up with the beers.
"Here, you go Captain Skinner, sir."
"Hmm..." Captain Skinner sneered.
"It's too quiet," Sean said, his hand on his hips.
Sean assumed the stance he always took, when he knew his older brother was hiding something from him.
"Looks like you got a new owner, boy," Captain Skinner replied, smirking at Braedon.
"I'm not going to see with you, Captain Skinner?"
"Owner?" Sean asks quizzically, apparently the only one not informed of the deal.
"Yeah, um... there's something I forgot to tell you, Sean," Cal replied, looking down, as if down the front of his own shirt.
Braedon replies, in Cal's defense, "It's not as bad as it looks little brother. C'mon, John, let me introduce you to your `new' cabin boy!"
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Continued....
Copyright 2005 T. Luke McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.