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 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 states 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" 04 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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These segments are written for my WWW archivist, Steve
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He bid farewell to the buffalo hunter, waving. His next destination had been prearranged, right before entering the town's railroad station. Two pairs of eyes, glued to sets of binoculars, watched, as James West hopped on the horse, saddled and running alongside the 1880's train car.
"When do you figure we should close in on West, Jesse?"
"In due time, Frank. Like Cheyenne says, we want to make the kidnapping a total surprise."
"I can't wait to get West back to the compound."
"Same here, but you know how I like it, Frank."
"Yeah, you do get off on surprising a guy, don't you, Jesse? C'mon, let's head into town and set this up."
Frank and Jesse James, two notorious men, in their late twenties, set off on a quest to rendezvous with James West. Like their bank robberies, both planned meticulously, in order to set a specific action in motion. Before this day was out, James West would be their 'guest' at their canyon retreat, for a few days of sadistic play.
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"Are you sure that is enough buffalo to stop train, Hastiin?"
"Enough to stop all of train, Kachada. Yes, soon we will have those in our hands that have hurt Ciqala. Are you ready for us to help seek your revenge, Ciqala?"
The eighteen year old replied, to Hastiin's great favor, "It has been two years and I am ready."
"The train approaches," twenty-five year old Kachada points out, his finger moving along the horizon.
As a decoy, a herd of buffalo have been formed, covering the tracks, as the government train approaches. Ready for the interception, a group of half-naked indians, assembled from many tribes; Hopi, Cherokee and others, uniquely gathered, as a result of their sexual preference, sit high on their ponies, waiting for the right moment.
On board, Steve Connors, the forty-one year old engineer and his son, Stormy, nineteen year old Steve junior, become alerted to the covered tracks ahead.
"Slow'er down, dad. Seems that nature is in the way of progress again!"
"Not again, dammit! If it isn't a washout, it's them damn animals!"
Stormy smiles, at the way his dad curses out the buffalo. The indians begin their descent from the hills. Halfway to the herd, they dismount and mingle with the two ton animals, trying to keep hidden.
"You better alert Mr. Bodie, son."
"Sure, dad. I'm on it now!"
Stormy hightails it through the parading train cars and knocks on the luxury caboose door.
"C'mon in!" Cheyenne yells out.
As Stormy enters, he adresses the half-dressed buffalo hunter.
"What'samatter, Stormy? You act like you never saw a barechested man before!"
"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Bodie, but my dad says we need to make an uncharted stop. Buffalo on the tracks."
"Oh?" Cheyenne questions Stormy, feeling his eyes on his naked stomach, chest, eyeing up his hairy body.
"Um... yeah."
"Want a lick, Stormy?"
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Bodie?"
Cheyenne laughs out loudly, at the nineteen year old's innocent reply. He's left off the hook though, as the train begins it's descending pattern of speed. However, the sudden jolt, sends Cheyenne forward, almost plowing into Stormy. The two stand inches apart.
"Hmm," Cheyenne gestures, looking at the blushing teen. "Another time, perhaps. Let me finish dressing and I'm help your father rid the tracks of these varmint."
Departing, not meaning anything sexual by it, Stormy replies, "I'd like to hear of your buffalo stories sometime, Mr. Bodie."
Cheyenne grins, watching the youth walk out, thinking how nice it would be to explain of his midplains travels, some evening.
By the time Stormy reaches the cab of the train engine, his father is nowhere insight.
"Dad? Dad? What tha....."
Kachada demands, "Where is James West?"
Before Stormy can answer, Hastiim has circled around Stormy's back and begins tying his hands behind his back, with rope.
"What have you done with my father?"
"Your father, eh?" Hastiim notes. "This could be something for us to play with!"
Before Stormy can invoke any more questions, he is gagged. Twenty year old Ahote and twenty-one year old Tocho, the two whom slept with Hastiin last night, manhandle Stormy off of the train. They throw his body over a pony and then make headway for the hills. They completely surprise and overwhelm Cheyenne, binding his hands and gagging him, then setting him on a pony and following the others.
"I like the big one, Kachada. I torture him first."
"No, Hastiin. First we use men to lure James West to us."
"Then we torture?"
"You may use the older man and his boy. We use Cheyenne Bodie to lure James West."
As thirty-two year old Hastiim enters the indian camp, his cock zooms into rigid form. The other braves have worked quickly to strip down Steve Connors and his son, Stormy. They are tied eagle-spread between two wooden frames. The father sports a dark, hairy chest and stomach, with an embedded trail, running to his deep navel. There's hardly any dividing line between his stomach hair and that of his thick pubes. His seven and half inches hangs down over his pubes and rather large balls. Stormy, being young, has far less body hair than his 'bear' father. Yet, a patch of dark brown hair stains the middle of his chest and forms a decisive trail down the middle of his abs. Like father, like son, as far as the deep navel goes. His moderately hairy pubes give way to a nine inch cock and a nice set of orbs. Hastiim throws his leg over his pony, hops off and literally runs up to the bound captives.
"Can we burn them now, Hastiim?" Ciqala inquires.
"Burn them, Ciqala. Oh no. That is much later. No, for now we torture them slowly," Hastiim says with pleasure, taking a fancy to tweaking Steve's hairy nips.
"You like that old man, don't you?" Hastiim inquires of Steve, twisting his nips over and over.
Steve can't help but enjoy his nips, enjoying the sweet nip torturing, throwing his head back.
"You betray yourself, old man!" Hastiim replies, regrading Steve's immense pleasuring.
"When do we torture them?" Ciqala asks, feeling Stormy's smooth stomach, his finger following the trail up and down.
"Now," Hastiim replies, dropping both his hands and now staring into Steve's eyes. "Tocho, bring two rawhide leather strips, soaked in water."
Tocho follows Hastiim's orders. Last night, he would have much rather topped his lover, Ahote, but instead the twenty year old and twenty-one year old pleasured Hastiin in his sleeping area. Tocho serviced Hastiin sexually, while Ahote took the brunt of his body being manhandled roughly by Hastiin. This morning, Ahote remained in Hastiin's abode, as Hastiin shows Tocho how to have a good time with white men.
"Here is one, Hastiin."
"Good. Pull his nip out. Stretch it."
"Like this, Hastiin?"
"More so, Tocho."
Holding the forty-one year old's nip by the very tip, Tocho stretches it, grasping it tightly with his finger and thumb.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Steve whimpers behind the gag.
Stormy follows Ciqala's attention, watching Hastiin tie the wet rawhide lace around Steve's nip and pulling it tightly.
Stormy's focus begins to wander back to Ciqala, as the eighteen year old watches Hastiin choke Steve's nip eight, then left nip.
Etu walks up to Stormy, slapping him across the face.
"Why, Etu?" Ciqala asks, pertaining to his rude action.
"This white man look upon you, Ciqala," meaning Stormy was eyeing up Etu's lover.
Ciqala looks back at Stormy, his hand grazes along where Etu's hand made the red mark. Ciqala's hand falls to Stormy's chest, then down his stomach. Etu becomes jealous, slapping Ciqala's hand away.
"He is not for your favor, Ciqala. We bring him here for Hastiin to torture. We now torture him. How we torture white boy, Hastin?" Etu turns his questioning to Hastiin.
"We wait for sun to torture old white man!"
There Steve Connors stands, tied eagle-spread to two wooden posts, set into the ground. His nips are stretched away from his pecs, wet rawhide leather strips tied around each nub.
"This one?" Hastiin begins to say, but then looks back on Steve, "I leave for you to torture, Etu!"
Etu's raging hardon seconds that motion.
"Akkkkkkkkooooooooh!" Stormy yells out, even though he is gagged, as Etu drives his fist into his balls.
Steve snaps out of his eurphoric moment, showing concern for his son. He pulls at his bindings.
"Don't worry old man. You will see your boy tortured a thousand times over!" Hastiin replies to his struggles, smiling a wide grin.
Meanwhile, Kachada has taken Cheyenne to a more wooded area. His arms are suspended above his head and his totally naked body stands on toes, as Kachada reasons with him.
"You write to James West and tell him to come for you!" Kachada dictates.
While Kachada roughs Cheyenne up, slapping his face back and forth, with the palms of his hands, twenty-seven year old Adahy and Lootah, the twenty-three year old half Scottish scout, stir up a campfire. Twenty-six year old Huritt forms stones, in a circle around Cheyenne's bare feet.
Kachada reports to the campfire and tells the two, "When coals are hot, you bring to prisoner."
"He indian, like us, Kachada?" Huritt asks.
"Yes. He halfbreed like Lootah and Songan."
"Hairy indian halfbreed," Adahy observes.
"Yes, like Songan," Kachada makes his own querie.
"Coals hot!" Adahy then says, with excitement.
"Bring."
With a clay vessel, Huritt helps Adahy scoop up some charred wood. Some burn brightly like red hot coals. Returning to where Cheyenne is suspended by his arms overhead, Kachada has Inteus use his weight to pull Cheyenne's body higher, his feet above the ground. Huritt slowly overturns the clay vessel, pouring out it's burning, hot contents under Cheyenne's feet, which dangle about four feet above the embers.
"You write to James West now?"
Giving a nonverbal response, Cheyenne refuses.
"Now, Kachada?"
Kachada gives Inteus a nod. He loosens the rope and lets Cheyenne's body slip down a couple of inches, as Kachada's hand stops the descent. The suspended prisoner feels his feet warming, but not to the point of any burning sensation.
"More?" Inteus asks.
However, Kachada picks up a prepared limb, a thin, young branch, it's leaves and tiny branches sheared off. He stands in front of Cheyenne.
"You write letter now to James West?"
Again Cheyenne remained silent, even though he looked down upon the five foot long switch, knowing that soon it would be whipping his body, someplace.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkk! Akkkkkkkkkk! Akkkkkkkkk!" Cheyenne cried out, as Kachada whipped the white tree fragment across Cheyenne's chest, then stomach, leaving three deep red welts, standing out against his almost black body fur.
Meanwhile, Etu and Ciqala had taken Stormy back to their tent. He sits on the earthen floor, his arms tied behind the center post.
"Can I have white boy suck me, Etu?" Ciqala asks, his loin cloth set aside and the eighteen year old stroking on his eight inches of cut meat.
"Yes, we have fun with white boy now and torture later."
To insure that while Stormy nicely sucked Ciqala, Etu positioned his foot over Stormy's globes.
"You make Ciqala happy white boy or I do this."
Etu proved his point, after releasing Stormy's gag, pressing firmly, grinding Stormy's balls into the hard dirt. He cried out in pain, for the brief exhibition of force.
Stormy had never sucked cock before and it took Etu quite a few footsteppings to get Stormy to take the hint.
"White boy good like me, Ciqala?"
Lying, Ciqala reported that Etu treated his cock much more satisfying than Stormy. However, in reality Ciqala loved the way the guy, almost his age, swirled his tongue around the head and then took it deep into his throat.
On the other hand, Stormy's first encounter with a guy's cock, seemed highly pleasing to his palate. He loved the feeling of a raw cock touching his tongue and filling his mouth. Earlier, he feared for his life, but now Stormy centered his thoughts more on trying to please Ciqala, eliciting groans and moans of pleasure. Even Etu saw that he could remove his foot out of the ball torture phase. Like himself, he saw that the white boy was enjoying pleasuring Ciqala's cock. As Ciqala stood there, his cock being massaged so nicely, Etu crept behind the eighteen year old and held Ciqala's torso. Kneeling down, he parted his asschecks slightly and stuck his tongue in between. For now, Stormy's 'torturing' had reverted to the sweet nature of a pleasant blowjob.
However, his father's plight wasn't as nice. The sun had begun to dry out the leather laces around his nips and slowly they shrank.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkk! Akkkkkkkkkkkkkk!"
Steve's nips began to get squeezed, worse than any pair of thumbs and index finger could pain him. The ends of his nips turned a deep purple hue, as the laces continued to dry out. Hastiin and Tocho enjoyed hearing Steve's pleas to stop, but they had busied themselves too much into the next torture that they would bestow upon Steve. Gathering very small rocks, the size of small potatoes, each began tying thin twine around them, leaving an approximated foot long lead. Hastiin had given Tocho and Adahy each the task of choosing stones that had been differentiated of size and weight.
Tocho joked to Adahy, "This stone heavy as my balls before I fuck Ahote!"
Adahy, not believing Tocho for real or wanting not to believe, stares at Tocho, as he reaches in between his treasure trail and loin cloth. He finds that Tocho speaks the truth, finding two orbs, hanging in their sacs, much like the stones the twenty-one year old holds for comparison. To Hastiin's dismay, he finds the two making light of the gathering of stones, when they should be bringing the stones over to where Steve Connors awaits torture, bound eagle-spread.
Grabbing each of the brave's necks in a grasp of each of his hands, they get the message as Hastiin remarks, "If you two do not stop this, I will be hanging you both up by your balls!"
Hastiin now stands deserted, laughing, as the two young braves run off to the bound captive, toting an oversized nugget in each hand. As Hastiin returns, he sees something the two braves notice, which he has already found out for himself.
"Look, Hastiin!" Adahy proclaims, pointing his full hand towards Steve's pubes.
"Yes. I see, Adahy," Hastiin retorts.
Tocho exclaims what the other two know, "Whiteman's cock tell he like it!"
The three stand there, looking at Steve's drooping balls, as one of the stones hangs from twine, connecting the stone to the two orbs. Steve's fully loaded seven and half inch cock stands almost straight out from his pubic region. In turn, Hastiin instructs Adahy to tie an additional stone around Steve's balls. He screams in agony, but then as it subsides to a dull ache, the euphoria of that 'good feeling' crosses over, sending Steve's mind in continued overload. A long strand of goo begins to stretch from the tip of Steve's cock, after the bead of precum breaks forth. One by one, they take turns adding the stones to the forty-one year old's stretched balls, until five stones of different sizes are attached. Steve follows the pattern of the first; immense pain, dull ache and finally, pleasure.
"Now let us play our game," Hastiin says to the two.
"Game?" Tocho asks.
"Come. Let us gather more stones."
They follow Hastiin back to the dried up riverbed. Each picks out five much larger stones. Returning to Steve, they look upon their tortured captive, the five stones just above ground level. His balls are stretched far below his cockhead, which still leaks cockjuice.
"How do we play this game, Hastiin?" Adahy wonders.
Tocho adds, "And what is the prize for the victor?"
"We stand back here," Hastiin fills them in, drawing a line with his boots he stole off of a calvary soldier, his last captive he made sport with. "Take a stone and throw it. Hit hanging stones only."
"What happens if we strike balls?" Tocho asks.
"No count. Only hit stones. Whomever hits most stones is victor."
"And the prize?" Adahy reiterates.
"Victor gets to fuck other two!"
Tocho and Adahy could read between the lines. No way would Hastiin make such a wager, if he didn't intend on winning it! Sure enough, Tocho and Adahy hadn't the advantage of practice, striking Steve's balls, or missing altogether. However, everyone of Hastiin's rocks struck the stones hanging from Steve's balls, setting them in motion and making him the victor of the contest. Then he threw a curve their way.
"I will release one of you from your promise to me, if you decide that one of you will fuck the other, while I watch!"
Then the five foot ten warrior stood their, arms folded across his chest, just under his nips, waiting.
"How do we choose whom gets fucked, Hastiin?"
"Throw stones. I go make yellow water for thirsty captive."
Hastin left the two twentyish braves, as he went to find a clay pot to piss in.
In a tipi, the younger Steve Connors, nicked 'Stormy', still remained sitting at a post, his hands tied behind his back. He did his best at sucking Ciqala's cock. Etu's foot remained planted on top of the nineteen year old's rather large ballsac, for security, if Stormy happens to bite down. If Etu was paying attention, he would have seen no need of the restraining foot. For the second blowjob that Stormy's ever given, he sure knew what he was doing. Sure, two years ago, the son of one of James West's friends, had been sent off his son, to find some activity with Stormy, a year younger. One thing led to the other and Stormy wound up on his knees, sucking young Michael Albright's cock. He often wondered whatever happened to the most enjoyable friend, a year older than himself. After the flashback to how Michael coached him, Stormy recalled the way to make Ciqala's eight inches feel awesome. At times he would swirl his tongue around the extended head of Ciqala's cock, or impale
his piss slit, or move his head forwards and backwards, replicating a pair of asslips.
'You get too much liking of this', Etu said to himself, jealous of how good Ciqala enjoyed Stormy's oral performance, over his own.
Stormy had figured it out, way before the cock was forced in between his jaws, the fact that Etu and Ciqala seemed very attached. He also sensed Etu's jealousy and felt that the reason Etu's foot applied the pressure, grinding his ballsac into the dirt. In an act of rebellion, Stormy swallowed the pain and kept up the pleasuring. He knew Etu was waiting for him to bite down, from the pain he experienced. Finally Stormy couldn't take it any longer. Etu's plan backfired, though, as Stormy stretched his mouth wide open, to scream from the unbearable pain.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!"
Ciqala reacted, loosing the awesome sucking motion and pushed Etu away.
"You like white boy more than your own brother, Ciqala!"
All Ciqala knew is the awesome feeling his cock endured, to be cut off from that immense pleasure. Etu hightailed it out of the tipi.
"You shouldn't have done that," Stormy told Ciqala.
"Why you care, white boy?" Ciqala commented.
Stormy told him the first thing that came to his mind, in the fleeting moments.
"I um... don't know if you can understand this, but I like sucking your cock."
"You not suppose to like sucking indian cock, white boy!"
Something disturbed Stormy. He wasn't brought up with bigotry.
"My name isn't white boy. It's Stormy."
Ciqala stood there a moment. There had been something about this man of different color skin that struck him as nice, even though white men tortured him.
He surprised himself, in back down, saying, "I am called Ciqala."
The name was batted back and forth, as Stormy tried pronouncing it several times. Stormy helped Ciqala with his name.
"Hey, my wrists are hurting. Do you think you can untie me?" Stormy asked, not expecting to receive, but nonetheless exerted his perogative to ask.
"I untie you, you escape, Stormy," Ciqala replied.
"No, I give you my word I'll stay put. I wouldn't fight you. I'll stay here, inside with you, until you let me go free."
"White man can't be trusted."
"Not true, Ciqala. I can be trusted. Whatever happened to you, came to you from bad white men. We are not all the same."
Ciqala hesitated, then his recognition, that Stormy could be trusted, as he found in a gut feeling, Ciqala knelt down behind Stormy and slashed through his bindings with a crude knife. Stormy didn't make a move, except to bring his arms forwards and rub his wrists. Ciqala jumped up, his knife ready.
Looking upwards and behind him, Stormy told him, "You can put that away, Ciqala. I gave you my word that I wasn't going to do anything, like run away."
After looking down, into Stormy's eyes, Ciqala slowly changed the position of the knife in his hand and put it away, slipping it into a rawhide case. As per his word, Stormy sat there.
"C'mon, sit down here beside me."
Slowly Ciqala came around. He began trusting Stormy.
"I want to tell you, Ciqala that your cock is only the second cock I've ever sucked."
"It feel good, Stormy. Very good."
"Why don't you lay down on that buffalo hide over there and I can suck you some more?"
With a hint of skepticism, Ciqala first eyed up the rather large animal hide and then looked back at Stormy.
He coaxed Ciqala, "Go ahead. I liked sucking you. Believe me. I'm good for my word."
The more Stormy talked to the brave, using almost a quiet monotone syllable, the more relaxed Ciqala began feeling towards Stormy.
"Hey, I'm not going to do anything, okay?" Stormy tried breaking Ciqala of his uneasy feelings.
To show his word was bond, Stormy made his way over to the buffalo hide, covering half of the tipi floor. As if still a bound captive, he knelt, putting his hands behind his back, as if a slave trying to please his master.
"By the way, how did you get that mark on your chest?"
If another white man had ventured to inquire, Ciqala might have angered his way up to striking him down, but he sensed something strangely warm in Stormy's asking.
"Okay, don't tell me, if you don't want to Ciqala."
Even the way in which Stormy said his name, Ciqala began to back down from his jittery nature, moving more into the realm of acceptance. Walking slowly, he kneeled onto the soft animal fur, until he faced Stormy. As he had done with Etu, Ciqala leaned forward, his head moving close to Stormy's chin. Soon their lips weren't too far distant. Stormy backed off, leaning backwards, so that the dark trail on his stomach jutted outwards.
"Oh, I never kissed a guy before!"
Ciqala didn't know what the word kiss meant, however Etu acted in the same manner, so he did the same as he saw Kachada do to Hastiin one night. Roughly, his hand grabbed the back of Stormy's neck and he forced their lips together.
"Heeey........." Stormy exclaimed, til his act of surprise became muffled.
At first, he braced himself, hands on Ciqala's shoulders, pushing himself away, but then, as the sweet eurphoria of the oral kiss became like honey, the pressing gave way to pull. Stormy made Ciaqala's chest align with his own. They fell sideways, shortly breaking their kiss.
"See, I told you that you can trust me, Ciqala?"
However, Ciqala's cock was too hard to stop for smalltalk. As Stormy had promised, he did take him up on the trusting part and fell over onto his back. Stormy, already stripped, bent over from the right side of Ciqala and licked the tip of his cock.
"Feel good?" Stormy questioned.
Lke the kiss, Ciqala's hand to the back of Stormy's neck, once more proved that he did indeed like the tongue swipe across his cockhead. As his head descended, Stormy could sense where all this was headed and widened his orifice, taking in the jumbo sized shaft. It's at that precise moment that the tent flap flipped upward and Etu entered. He spied Stormy, his mouth forced over Ciqala's mighty shaft.
Etu, madly in love with Ciqala could see the favoritism. In fact, while sulking, walking around the camp, eyeing up all the goings on, he couldn't think of anything but Ciqala. Not even Cheyenne's feet getting roasted, nor Steve's balls being contorted and the thrashing of the switch across his back, could take his mind off of his Indian lover. One thing kept coming back to him. If Ciqala wanted the white boy, he was willing to share. Half of Ciqala was better than none.
Stormy figured that this is where the shit was ready to hit the wagon wheel. Ciqala freed his head, as he dug his own elbows into the buffalo hide, raising his back up. Stormy remained half bent over. Both eyed up the intruder. The nineteen year old walked over to where Stormy and Ciqala rested from their pleasures. He stood across from Stormy, locking eyes. He then fell to this knees. To show signs of calm and acceptance, Etu placed a hand on Ciqala, on his pubic area, just above his cock. The other hand rubbed his thigh.
Etu said to Stormy, "We eat like brothers!"
With that out of the way, Etu bends to his left and lowers his head, sticking out his tongue, swiping it across Ciqala's ballsacs. He stops, turns his head, looks up at Stormy and reiterates, "Eat," gesturing with his hand for Stormy to finish what he started. After Stormy goes for Ciqala's cock, once more hugging it with his lips, Ciqala does a sit up, placing his palms on Etu's, as well as nineteen year old Stormy's back. He rubs both the white and deep golden skinned backs.
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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