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 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" 14 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Couldn't wait till quitting time, could you Grady?"
"Huh?"
Standing there, behind the desk, twenty-six year old Michael Grady moved his hips back and forth.
"Oh... thought I would skip the fifteen minute break and..."
"No need to explain, Grady."
Braedon stood at the front of the desk, watching Foxworth's expression, as Grady slowly and steadily enjoyed the slow fuck.
"The man eyeing up the action, is Captain John Skinner," Braedon introduces the two.
"Haven't seen you in a long time, John," Grady offers his hand, keeping the vigilant fucking, going.
However, Skinner's hand is too busy rubbing Grady's smooth ass cheeks.
"I take it you two have already met?"
"Yeah," Captain Skinner lets on, "missed diving for sunken treasure, Grady!"
Braedon informs Skinner, "Ah, it's not Grady whom I was referring to, John."
"Oh?" Then, leaning in, sticking his tongue in Michael's ear, he asks, "How about taking a cruise with me, Mike?"
"He's married," Braedon informs John.
"Married?" Skinner shouts. "When the fuck you go and do that, Grady?"
"This past year."
"What a fuckin' total waste of man!"
Laughing, Braedon knows exactly what Captain Skinner refers. Even though he came here to show Skinner his new cabin boy, he's been eyeing up the twenty-six year old, with his extended fucking tool. He begins to get aroused, staring at the handsome, bearded security man, the medium brown patch of hair, midchest, swirling around the Irishman's nips, the defined trail cutting his muscled abs in half, fanning out over his deep bellyhole, the dark pubes, nestled around his implanted fucktool. Not being able to contain himself, Braedon opens up his pants, splaying the flaps back, removing his semi-soft ten-inch shaft.
Out of gratitude, Grady starts backing out, offering, "If you want, Brae, I can take an oral?"
Waving his hand, as if saying, `never mind', Braedon grabs Foxworth's head of hair, lifting his head off the desk, ordering, "Open up, scumbag!"
"Hey now, wait a minute!" Captain Skinner protests.
"Oh, that's right," Braedon replies, backing the tip of his now hard shaft out, "I promised you a sample, didn't I John?"
By this time, Skinner has rounded the desk, stroking his meat, getting it ready for a sensuous blowjob. It is apparent that Foxworth is more awestricken, as he watches the sea captain firm up his cock, which looks longer than Braedon's.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh..." Captain Skinner sighs, feeling the hot mouth on his shaft.
In the meantime, Braedon has circled round the other side of the desk.
"Like `the goods', John?"
"So far. Let you know when I fuck his throat."
"Yeah, you let me know, John. Bend over, Grady."
With a glint in his eye and a hand pushing against Michael Grady's back, Braedon winks. Michael freely assumes the position, his chest against Foxworth's back. Braedon spits in his hand then works Michael's ass with his fingers.
"Heeeey, that's not fair!" Skinner complains.
Laughing, Braedon begins poking Michael in the ass, with his ten-inch rod.
"I could've done that!" Skinner says, hands on hips, as he sinks deeper down Foxworth's throat.
"Wanna bet?" Michael informs the captain. "The only man that uses my ass is Braedon Murphy and don't you forget that, Skinner!"
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By the time Steve Connors nears the end of his tale, getting kidnapped by the band of white men, seeking their objective, mainly to capture James West, the two boys have traded the piss-soiled shirt back and forth ten or so times.
Calling up to his father on the horse, Stormy asks, "Pop?"
"Yes, son," Steve looks down at the two, answering his son.
"I'm not sure how to put this question to you..."
"Only right way, is to fire away, son."
Smiling, Stormy fires away, "Pop, I didn't know... Well, how did you... Hmm..."
"Is this about me being stripped, hanging by my arms and being used?" Steve Connors finally guesses the bdsm nature of his son's query.
"Um... yeah. I never had an idea that you could like something like that."
As the two nineteen year olds, walking side by side, lean on each other's shoulders, Steve explains, "Actually wasn't my first time, son."
The two teens look at each other, and then Stormy asks, "It wasn't. When did you first... do `it'?"
Steve Connors went on to give a concise history of the discipline that enveloped his `growing up' years, the domineering father, in a motherless world. He touched on the subject of ways in which his father would deal out corporal punishment, for even the slightest of infractions. Migrating towards the subject of his early teen years, he told of being hoisting up in the barn and taking a whipping, while stripped from the waist up. As time progressed, the pants came down. Often, he would still be hanging there, by his arms, as the sun set, not receving released from his bondage until evening hours. He brought up the subject of how his father's drinking began to play a role in the abuse, even if an offense had not created the mistreatment.
"Gosh, I'm sorry pop."
Even Jake offered, "Sounds like you had it rough, Pop... I mean Steve... I mean, Mr. Connors."
Giggling, Stormy tells him, "You can call him `Pop'. Even guys that aren't his son, call him that."
"I think I'll stick with Steve, thanks."
"Suit yourself, then."
Stormy wondered why Jake shied away from the paternal greeting. Seemed like he struck a sensitive nerve, with his suggestion.
Rubbing Jake's shoulder, Stormy offered, "Talk about it sometime?"
"Yeah, maybe," Jake left it as.
"I think I see something!" Steve Connors shouted, jumping down from the steed, crouching.
In the distance, settled along the horizon, a huge compound, resembling a wooden fort appeared. It's obvious that the party ahead of Steve, Stormy and Jake, had already been taken in.
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All of the prisoners were led away, through passages unknown. Left at the entrance of the compound, stood Caligula and his slave, Hastiin and James West. Robert Birch returned, after a few minutes.
He informs Caligula, "Looks like you get your wish, Caligula."
"My wish?"
"We've been ordered to escort West to your torture chamber."
Caligula's eyes lit up immediately.
"Oh my! You have made me a very happy man, Robert!" He replied to the wonderful surprise, as if offering the gift of a lifetime.
Robert smiled, as Caligula rubbed his shoulder.
"You're going to like this even more, Caligula," Birch said, looking to James.
"Oh?"
"No limits."
Earlier, Caligula had sensed something casual between Robert Birch and James West. Now he wasn't too sure. The way Birch made it sound is that he looked forward to the torture session as much as the tall brown man.
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"Akkkkakkkkkooooooohhhhhahhhhhhhhhh!"
Braedon should have removed his shirt, instead of only dropping his pants, to implant his nine-inch fucktool in Michael Grady's tight ass. He sweated profusely, by the time he rammed it in and out, then shooting his second load of the day.
"Oh man...ooooh fucking man is your ass hot, Michael!"
Michael, following the gangbanging, the massaging his prostrate just took, had followed through on the same, shooting his load deep into Foxworth. A bit delayed, but still turned on by the display before him, Captain John Skinner unloaded his churning balls down Foxworth's gullet. A mixed scent of sweating men, permeated the office.
Removing his cock from Foxworth's impaled throat, Captain Skinner shooed the two `hung over' men from the rear.
"C'mon, move it, gents. Got another load ready for my new cabin boy!"
Braedon fell back in the tall leather chair, followed by Michael, sitting on his lap.
"Oooooh," Braedon sighed, as Michael's ass touched his soggy erection.
"Hottest break I've ever taken," Grady replied, turning his head, Braedon's lips matching up with his.
As the twenty-five and twenty-six year olds began making out, Skinner's hand worked his soft cock into a semi-erect stage, then fed it into Foxworth's already primed hole.
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The timbers left near the high, wooden double-gated door to the compound, two cuffed captives proceeded to a lower room, carved out of the walled-in canyon, ushered by their masters.
"What do you suggest first, Caligula?" Robert inquires, removing his shirt, exposing his fine display of chest hair, a wide trail of dark brown fur down his stomach.
"I think I suggest we work on West, first?"
It had been obvious, Caligula's intensions, as he watched the tall brown man take Hastiin over to a pole, lift his arms and hook his joined wrist cuffs over a metal spike, binding him, back to the wooden stake.
"No sense, being uncomfortable," Robert said, stripping off his boots, and then dropping his pants, removing them, as well as his undergarments, boxer-like briefs.
While the two men readied themselves for their play, wreaking havoc on Jim's body, he stood there, watching the two in their preparations, his leather cuffed wrists, joined, locked down to a large ring, embedded in a large, rounded trunk of wood. As he watched, he first noticed Birch's thick, juicy cock spring out, when he removed the undergarments. Licking his lips, Jim thought how tasty it would be, after the long desert hike. When Robert turned his back, as he chatted with Caligula, Jim's eyes began to wander about the chamber.
"Oh shit!" He exclaimed to himself.
His surveying began taking into focus, the instruments of torture and the bondage furniture, made to hold a man's body in place, as his tormentor's `toys' would be utilized. West, even though he asserted his situation for escape, an impossibility for the moment, looked about to see where cracks in the security could be breeched, for the possibility of his quick leave. For now, he did not see many.
Where brought in, a heavy metal door stood and now it had been closed. The only other opening way had been another door, which he had no idea where it led to. He backtracked, looking towards a flat table, standing a couple of yards away. Attached to the sides of the table, a large set of wheels embraced one end. With a broad knowledge of history, part of his education for the position, he recognized it as a rack. Even though he pictured it, in his mind, as an instrument of great pain, he became edgy to feel his arms stretched out on it, high above his head, his body stretching beyond the limits. He began getting hard, thinking about the pain of having his body taut, bound to his captor's imagination. Suddenly, he broke from his fantasy, as he felt a hand on his cock.
"Ah, I can see that the rack fascinates you, Mr. West."
Jim didn't respond, not giving Caligula the satisfaction of knowing his feelings. His betrayal already came, in the leaky shaft; the slimy goo protruding out of the slit, at his tormentor's touch began milking the nine-inch shaft.
Unlocking the wrist cuffs from the block, Caligula called out to his thirty-five year old accomplice, "Robert, choose your weapon of assault and bring along the bullwhip for me!"
Not wanting to seem too willing, even though Jim's balls churned with excitement, he put up a fight, as Caligula tried subduing the secret agent. A quick double punch to the brown man's abs, proved futile, resulting in a chuckle. The opposite and more than equal response, Caligula's one big fist, driven into Jim's stomach, made him belch out loudly, sending him into a fetal position, on the stone floor.
"West, giving you a problem, Caligula?" Robert inquires, knowing the answer.
"I know West can take more than that. Now I toy with him. I give West a big problem now!"
Taking the bullwhip from Robert, the two haul Jim up off the dungeon floor. Taking over the handling, Robert Birch holds Jim's arms behind his back, his cuffed wrists separated, marching him across the room. At times stumbling, Birch's strength keeps Jim from falling flat on his face.
In an act of humiliation and intent to stun the imagination, Caligula cracks the bullwhip, snapping the leather tool of laceration, against itself.
"Here is good?" Birch calls out.
Arriving at the wide area, where two separate hooks hang from the ceiling, Robert calls out, "How do you want West?"
"Observe," Caligula calls out.
Looking deeply into James' eyes, Caligula searches down deep to his soul. After hanging the uncoiled bullwhip around West's neck, the tall brown captor breaks his gaze. Taking the left, leather wrist cuff, he pulls on it. Simultaneously, Robert releases James' left arm, as Caligula forces it up and over the hook. The same procedure done for the right leather cuff.
"I think we are all ready for West's torture!" Caligula calls out, intent on Jim hearing the words of threat.
His comments follow the hoisting of two chains, both separating Jim's arms, pulling them out both horizontally and vertically. He gears it so that Jim's feet lift up off the stone floor, the back of his soles off the cold pavement, his toes barely touching.
Caligula and Robert stand behind, observing James West's perfectly symmetrical features. A large hand caresses the shoulder blades.
"What a pity to waste such a smooth surface!" Caligula says, adding, "Are we Ready, Robert?"
"You're whip?" Robert replies.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" James cries out in pain, as Robert, standing in front of him, he cruelly pulls the leather torturing apparatus from around the neck, leaving a burning we
Chortling, Caligula, taking the bullwhip from Robert's gloved hand, speaks to the bound captive, "Oh, that's a weak sample of what you're about to feel, Mr. West."
If Jim only knew what the plan had been, he might have hoped he started his torture session on the rack. There, the thirty-five year old Secret Service agent remained, cuffed and restrained with his arms stretched wide and high up. His bondage position exposing every area of his body for possible torment.
Behind him, the tall brown man stood, eyeing up his first lash of attack, against Jim's smooth back. Standing in front, Robert Birch thought out his plan of attack, as well. As Caligula had explained, right after the lash of the bullwhip landed against West's back, he instructed Birch to heave his fist into West's stomach. He went on further to explain that he hoped to keep West's body in motion; the pain of the whiplash would keep the body swinging forwards and the impact of Birch's fist would return the body backwards, for another ensuing lash. In additional to all of this, Robert had picked out for himself, a pair of leather gloves, containing metal studs, visible on the knuckles area.
True to Caligula's hopes, when the bullwhip struck the target, about five inches lower than James West's shoulders, it wrapper around, caressing his body, nearly connecting with his ribs.
"Now!" Caligula shouted out, directly after the sound of the bullwhip striking Jim's back.
"Ugggggnnnnhhh!" Jim belched, his body slacking backwards.
Then the terrifying scream came from Jim's vocal chords, right after the sound of the bullwhip slashing across his back, "Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!"
Birch's fist made another impact.
"Ugggggghhhhhggnnnn!" Jim cried out, as his stomach caved in.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" He screamed, as the bullwhip cut his flesh, swinging his body forwards.
Sometimes Robert would anticipate the lash, punching above Jim's navel too soon. No loss, he figured, getting in two punches. Instead of one, giving him the old `heave-ho', gut punching him with his right fist, then heaving the left metal studded glove into his abdominal cavity. It didn't put a dent in Caligula's continual onslaught, with the bullwhip.
Robert had gotten in far more than Caligula's twenty or so lashes, leaving West's back a bloody mess of gashes and welts. Interested to know how West's gut fared, he joined Robert at the chest side of West's body.
"What do you think? West's had enough?"
"For now," Caligula reported, picking up Jim's head, by his sweaty hair, and then letting it drop to his equally sweaty chest fur, beaded with the salty matter.
"Gloves worked nicely," Robert complimented.
"Yes," Caligula replied, feeling up the bruised areas of Jim's gut.
"Of course," Robert commented, "with hands like yours, you most likely don't need the assistance?"
"Would you like to see for yourself, Robert?" Caligula gestures, smiling.
"Oh no. I'm only a `giver', if you know what I mean?"
"If you would like, I can give you a demonstration?" Caligula states, hinting at his bound slave.
"Rather see how that new `rack' contraption works?" Robert replies, throwing an even bigger hint.
"Oh no, as per orders..."
"Oh yeah, forgot that the first time it is used, we have to wait for West. Okay, why don't you show me something else, with your boy?"
"Yes, but first. We don't want to leave Mr. West so `comfortable', do we?"
Robert wondered what Caligula meant, but went along with the idea. He watched as the tall brown man brought over a cone like piece of wood. It resembled a gigantic bullet. The top came to a dull point, the volume of the rest, cylindrical and widening, till it reached the stone floor.
"Do Caligula a favor, Robert and place this under Mr. West's ass?"
"Under?"
"The tip," Caligula placed two fingers on, "at the entrance to his hole?"
Smiling, Robert went right to work, obliging, as his cohort had gone back to a cupboard. Setting the object slightly off balance, Robert rolled it over to where it set, behind Jim's ass. Parting his ass cheeks, he worked it in between. Utilizing his own torso, as a battering ram, he forced the bullet like object in West's ass crevice.
Very near passing out, he heard James' faint sigh, "Ooooh..." which made Birch smile.
Returning, Caligula's hands had a slick, greasy look to them.
"Robert, raise West up a bit?"
Going off to the side, Robert turned a crank, which made James' arms pull apart from each other. With the last few ounces of strength Jim had, he flopped his head back, his eyes wincing at the pain.
Caligula commented, "Hold on, Mr. West. The best is yet to come!"
Slathering his hands over the top of the cone-like bullet, Caligula also inserted two, then three fingers into James' ass, well greasing his chute.
"Now, lower Mr. West," He instructed Robert.
Slowly, Robert turned the crank, asking, "And let me know when enough is enough!"
"Never enough for West!" Caligula joked.
To help with the ass impalement, Caligula bent down, lifting a ring from the floor.
"What do you have there?" Birch asked, securing the chain for the arm movement.
"I think we need to help the `bullet' along. It's not advancing as much as I had planned!"
To continue the harassment of Jim's ass, they attached leather cuffs to his ankles. Then, attaching chains and feeding them through the two metal loops in the floor, the two busied with attaching the loops from the ends of the chains to wheels, at the sides of the wall. Each turning a lever caused the chains to pull at the ankle cuffs. Slowly Jim's feet began to stretch downwards, towards the floor, driving the `bullet' upwards, between his ass cheeks.
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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.