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" 05 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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These segments are written for my WWW history archivist, Steve
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Stormy couldn't believe all that was happening to him.
"You sit here!" Etu more or less commanded Stormy, patting Ciqala's stomach.
Taking his word for it, or rather guessing that perhaps Etu and Ciqala have had much more gay sex experience than himself, he lifted himself up so that his ass rested on Ciqala's stomach.
Ciqala trusted Etu, even though he had had a bit of a temper tantrum moments ago. Stormy sighed in pleasure, his head falling backwards, as Etu lined up his own nine inches of cut meat, with that of Ciqala's eight inches. An even greater amazement came, as he gawked at Etu trying to fit both of their cocks in his mouth at once. Not only did his words of enjoyment permiate the tipi, but that of Ciqala's as well.
The three man orgy continued, as Ciqala's hands grasped Stormy's shoulders and pulled him backwards, lying his back against his teen chest and stomach. Ciqala then whispered something foreign to Stormy and then began French kissing the white man's ear. Stormy was in heaven, feeling his own cock getting sucked, right alongside Ciqala's, as Ciqala's hands wandered around the nienteen year old's lightly haired chest, tweaking his nips or a finger digging into his deep bellyhole.
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The two lurkers, formerly watching James West from the horizon, rode into town an hour past the government agent's arrival. They spotted his horse outside the hotel, yet they paraded their transport past, onwards towards the livery.
"Wish we could take West on now, Frank."
"Patience, Jesse. That horsemeat between your legs will be tasting West's ass by morning light."
"Yeah, keep reminding me. C'mon. Let's see if we can find some action before nightfall. I need to release my pent up frustration!"
They proceeded to bed down their horses. Jesse gave Frank the eyes, pointing towards the young guy who took their horses.
"That'll be two dollars," the livery boy told them.
He looked to be about twenty-four or twenty-five years old. Shirt half opened, Frank right away noticed one nip showing through the dense, dark chest hair. Immediately he thought of how the set of clamps, in his saddle bag, would fit snuggly on the young guy's pecs. Jesse's attention swung to the ass, as the guy bent over to pick up one of the rein's. Before he could straighten up, he heard the click of a gun barrel, right next to his ear.
"Get up real slow, boy," Jesse remarked. "Keep your hands high."
The young man did as told, raising his hands, palms out, up to the sides of his head.
"Um, if you ain't got the two dollars, I can make it fifty cents," he bargained, gulping.
Frank walks over to the livery man, takes hold of each side of his shirt and tears it open, stretching it back over the guy's shoulders, forcing his arms from the up positioning. A bit shocked, but at the same time curious, he looks down at his body, as Frank studies it. Right away a connection is made. Frank's thumbs and fingers seek out the tender nubs integrated within the black chest fur.
"Oooooooooooooooh," the guy sighs, when Frank takes hold of his nips and squeezes them.
Laughing, Jesse eases back on the trigger, as he watches the guy's hands go to the back of his head, in surrender. Jesse's gun in his holster, his hand proceeds to go to the man's crotch.
Frank asks, "What's your name, kid?"
"Michael. Michael Albright."
"Well Michael, I'd say it's time to close shop for the day."
"Ya...ooohh... yes, sir."
Frank and Jesse James release Michael's pecs and pubes and let him do his job of closing the business.
"Hey, Mike, you got a friend?" Frank yells, as the shirted back heads towards the stable door, to lock it up.
"I might, if he's around," Michael replies.
"Go find him."
Jesse adds, "And if you have any ideas about not coming back, Michael, I might decide to drop a lighted match."
Michael assures them, "Hell, I'll be back."
"Looks like you got yourself another painpig, Frank!"
"Hell, yeah!"
Michael adjusts his torn shirt and heads out of the livery stable.
"Think I should get the match ready?" Jesse plays on Frank's emotions.
"Oh no. My boy Michael and I got an understanding going here. Know what I mean, Jesse?"
"Oh, I sure do, Frank, only I hope his friend is as good looking as he is!"
"What're ya gonna do, Jesse? Fight me for him?"
"You'd like to work me over, wouldn't you Frank?"
"Like the last time, Jesse?"
"You bastard! You tricked me. How's I to know yewer holding that plank in your hand?"
As their reminiscing about the time Frank struck Jesse in the balls with the plank of timber, Michael returns.
"Here he is!"
"What the fuck is this?" Jesse says, peering at the 5'10 man, weighing about 205 pounds, of stocky build.
"Um," Michael says nervously, "this here is Jack Kilgallon."
However, it's Frank that gets Michael off the hook, saying, "Hmm... strip off that shirt, boy!"
"Who? Me?" Jack replies, acting a bit stupid.
Frank and Jesse approach the two.
"Dunno, Jesse. You like'm hairy. You're call."
"Got a nice gut too, I'd say," Jesse replied to his brother.
Michael acted a bit relieved. He figured the opposite, that either of the brothers would be turned off by Jack, after suggesting to them that he actually had a gay friend, not alluding to the stocky figure. Michael did clue Jack into the fact that the two looked like they could get rough. Jack acted shy now, but when Michael had approached him with the idea, Jack rejoiced, throwing his clothes on even before he had time to wash up.
"Yeah, you're my kind of man alright. You gotta a place, Jack?"
As Jack led Jesse out of the stable, Michael bolted the door behind them.
"So, you like it on the rough side, huh Mike?"
"I like what you did to my nips, only."
"Yeah? Go ahead," Frank James pressed him."
"You can get rougher if you want."
"A boy after my own heart! C'mon over here. Let's see what you're made of, boy and strip that shirt."
Michael followed Frank through the paths of hay, strewn about.
"This looks good and this rope here with do fine," Frank said, picking up a yard of rope. "Strip down, Mike."
"You mean, like naked?"
"Yeah. I want to see what you've got to play with in them pants of your's."
Michael didn't protest. Instead, he yielded to becoming Frank's willing victim.
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The flames licked Cheyenne's feet til he couldn't take the pain.
"Alright...alright...I'll do what you say!"
Little did Kachada know that when they wiped out the fire under Cheyenne's hanging body that he'd been making a deal to stop his own torturing.
"You contact James West. Bring him here."
"I give you my word," Cheyenne replied.
"You keep your word or you will suffer terrible fate."
None of them had a clue to the love affair going on between the two. Kachada, as well as the others figured Cheyenne out to be a close friend, and nothing more. He didn't let on to the braves the truth, neither.
"I'll make you a deal," Cheyenne presented to Kachada.
"No deals with white man."
"Then no James West."
Kachada actually hadn't taken a fancy to torturing Cheyenne. Yes, he'd like to fill his ass with his fourteen inches of meat, but as far as stoking his body with pain, it's West that would prove more of a bounty. Cheyenne was about to play on the idea of this fortunate bargaining item.
"I think you trick me. You good friend James West. Why you agree to bring him here. You know we torture West?"
"Listen, I work with him, but it doesn't mean I have to like him," Cheyenne half lied.
In reality, torturing James West had been part of the reasons for their mutual affair. It turned Cheyenne on to think that possibly he could have a good time helping these renegades have fun with Jim's body. He knew it would turn Jim on, so why bring any other information to light!
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"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" the twenty year old blond screamed out, as the leather strap crossed his back, from lower left to his upper right shoulder.
Frank approached, hand extended. Touching the long welt, he ran his finger across it. He peered around the left side of the man hanging from his arms. Spying Michael's cock well extended outwards from his pubes, the bead of precum beginning to make it's whiny, downhill spire. He grinned, along with the feelings in his loins, stirring. Questioning himself a few seconds later, he didn't wonder why his tongue grazed the blonde, hairy armpit. Dropping the strap that had already delivered eight lashes, stripping Michael's back, Frank loosened his garments, taking his shirt off, then kicking his boots to the side, following by dropping his pants. He peeled back the whole of his longjohns and then returned to Michael's outstretched body. Michael's head, which flopped backwards, came back to life, as Frank's chest lay up to his welted back. He groaned, closing his eyes, when he felt Frank's lips on the side of his neck.
"Oh yeaaaaaaah...." Michael whined.
"Like that boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"You be needin' that for a long time, haven't you boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"You need a man to treat you like that, don't you boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"You need a man to treat you right, don't you boy?"
"Yes, sir."
All through the interrogation, Frank's lips tantalized Michael's neck. His cock hardened, to the max, pressing into the white asscheeks.
"You need a man that knows how to treat a boy, don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You need it rough and sweet, don't you boy?"
"Yes, sir.... oooooh yeah... take me, sir. Take my boy ass."
That had been the focus of where Frank was headed. Michael didn't have to clue him into it. Frank had taken dozens of asses, but more than an aggressive fucking was turning him on, this time.
"Yeah? If I take your ass boy... I'm taking you. You catch my drift, boy?"
"Me?"
"Like, you're walking away from this place and coming with me, boy."
"Yes, sir."
"Become my bitch... my slave, boy."
"Yes, sir."
In reality, Frank had expected Michael to protest, saying something to the effect that he couldn't leave his established business, his life in the community and the lot. However he also sensed another presence. The diversion of his sweet embracing of Michael, manbody to manbody and the hug, feeling the front of Michael's body up and down, proved to be a distraction to the stranger behind them.
"Hold it right there! Hands up! Back up slowly and turn around, mister, unless you want an ass full of buckshot!"
Frank's hands immediately left Michael's chest, rising to the 'held up' position.
"Uncle, it's okay! Not so hasty on the trigger!" Michael called out.
'Uncle?' Frank said to himself, turning round to face the man looking to be about fifty.
"Not bad. Not bad at all," the uncle commented, his gun trained on Frank, his eyes traversing the flesh.
Who wouldn't like looking at the six foot, twenty-eight year old?
"Uncle Grant, it isn't his fault, I swear!" Michael protested, showing something that seemed more than caring, for Frank.
Uncle Grant moved the gun closer. Pointing the barrel of his rifle at Frank, he grazed his nip with the end.
"Last man that tried that, didn't live to tell," Frank tells him.
"Well, I hardly think you're in the position to give idle threats, Mr. James," Uncle Grant told him.
"We meet before?"
"Yeah. See you every time I head into the sheriff's office!"
With one hand on the trigger, Uncle Grant reaches down and cups his other hand around Frank's balls, smiling from his private joke.
"Nice set you got there."
Frank is letting him have his field day. If he wanted to, he could've taken Uncle Grant out minutes ago. Perhaps, his relation to Michael has kept Frank from killing the bastard.
"Yeah and nice pistol that could be plugging your ass!"
Uncle Grant smiled, changing the subject, "So, I hear you want my boy?"
"Your boy? You mean your nephew?"
"Same difference."
At this point, Uncle Grant loosens the light grip, stroking Frank's ballsac. He lowers the rifle, turning and forthright walking away, returning the firearm to it's place, leaning up against a stall.
"Mighty trusting, turning your back on a man there, Grant."
"Especially one with such a notorious namesake, eh Mr. James?" Uncle Grant replies, looking back over his shoulder and cracking a smile.
Frank could've taken the older man, but for what it was worth, he intended on leaving town more peaceful like. Afterall, the main objective had been to take James West home, as their bounty, not leave with a hellbent posse on their tails.
"So, I take it you wouldn't be missing this boy, if he weren't around?" Frank asks.
The fifty-one year old turns, unbuttoning his shirt, saying, "Hell, they wouldn't be missing me around these parts. With the railroad, the livery business ain't what it used to be. Could do with a change of scenery, myself."
"Meaning?" Frank now stands, hands on his hips.
With his shirt unbuttoned, stripped, showing off his salt and pepper chest and stomach, he begins to unbuckle his belt. Frank's eyes move from Grant's face, to his midsection.
"Maybe it's time to get out of the business, travel around, see the world."
"And what about the boy?" Frank asks, yet thinks what Grant is about to allude to.
"Oh, don't want him slowing me down. But hell, promised my brother he'd be well taken care of. Think you can do that Mr. James? Look after my boy here?"
Frank's smile tells it all. His hand that has already traveled to his pubes, speaking, "I think that can be arranged, 'Grant'."
Grant, totally nude now, smiles. Both seem to agree mutually. The livery owner makes his move, walking over to an anvil, rarely used now for pounding out a hot horsehoe. He faces it, bending over.
"Hope you don't mind obliging an old man."
"Old. Hell, you got more gumption than most thirty year old's!"
The twenty-eight year old places his hand on Uncle Grant's back. His other hand guides his nine inches of cut meat up to the waiting asscrack. Then both hands are placed on the finely haired asscheeks, gently parting them. At perfect height, the tip of Frank's shaft meets Uncle Grant's chute entrance. With a gentle push, it moves forward, his cock, up to the glans, entering.
"Haven't fucked a bear in a long time," Frank comments, pressing forwards.
"Oooooooooohhhhhhhhh........" Uncle Grant sighs, feeling Frank's shaft piercing his hole.
On his toes, Michael tries turning his body around to watch. Just barely, beyond his outstretched, left arm, he can see Frank's ass moving, his torso moving forwards and then backwards.
To himself, for his own conversation, Michael says, 'Yeah, going to like servicing that hot man!'
% "Ooooooooohhh...oooohfuck, yeah!" Jesse calls out, as he lays with his head half-ground into the pillow.
Above him, twenty-three year old Jack Kilgallon slams his eight inches deep into Jesse's ass chamber.
"Harder! Harder! Yeah! Fuck me harder!"
With two hundred and fifteen pounds of bear body, Jack Kilgallon shoves his cock forward, burying his meat, deep to the hilt, his balls slapping against Jesse's ass. Almost jacknifing Jesse, knees pressing into his shoulders, Jack sinks deep into the tight asshole.
"Hell yeah!" Jesse screams out with pleasure, as he pulverizes Jack's nips, stretching them clear of the light brown mass of pec hair.
In return, Jack reaches forwards and latches onto Jesse's nips, surround by circles of dark hair.
"Oooooooooh....oooooh," Jesse sighs, wrought between pleasure and pain.
He tries to shoo away Jack's hands from his pecs, but it's obvious whom is in control here.
"You touch my hands one more time, boy and I'll be forced to tie them down!"
"Yeah... yeah, okay..." Jesses returns.
"What'd you say, boy?"
Now, take it, if any other man had addressed Jesse James in that manner, somebody else would be attending to the man's grave. However, the five foot eleven inch, stocky bear had become immune to Jesse's will, per delivered to any other man. The bear's hairy gut, pressed into the twenty-nine year old's thighs, driving his cock roughly and relentlessly into the notorious criminal's ass, like gunning down a gang of men.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh!" Jesse yelled out, startled.
"Told you to keep your hands away, boy!"
It's amazing the insight that Jack had in their relationship thus far, working Jesse's ass over with cock but for only an hour. Perhaps, it had been during the foreplay, as Jack lay flat out on the bed and Jesse licked the bear's hairy pecs and stomach or sucked on the ripe pits. When Jesse volunteerily lowered his head over Jack's eight inch stalk, maybe that's when it kicked in that Jesse surrendered himself to Jack's will. Now it didn't even dawn on Jack that he was dominating the world's most elusive and famous criminal, with the ability to kill a man if he even looked at him strangely. Here now, Jack dared not only to plug his ass, but for the injustice of trying to pry his torturing fingers and thumbs away from red and swelling nips, Jesse had received a slap across the face.
"Told you not to touch me boy, didn't I?"
Jesse answered, "Yeah... akkkkkkkkkkk", followed by another slap to the face.
Seeing that he got away with it the first time, Jack followed up with some more cruel treatment.
"What'd you call me, boy?" The stocky bear demanded, with another palm across the cheek.
"Akkkkkkkkkk! Yes, sir!"
"That's better. You'll learn, boy."
"Yes, sir," Jesse returned, replacing his hands behind his head, anchoring them.
"And don't think I'm letting you slide, boy. You'll be punished for touching me."
"Yes, sir."
Smiling, Jack loved the humiliation he shed on Jesse. He knew how far he took him and pressed his luck, knowing that he would be able to take Jesse a lot further. It even crossed his mind, as the tight ass stroked his eight inches so nice and firmly that it would be a shame to let such a worked out hunk escape him after only fucking him once.
"Yeah... you want daddy bear to fuck you every night, right boy?"
"Yes, sir... yes, daddy bear."
He even thought about working other areas of Jesse's body.
"You like daddy bear working these nips, don't you cub?"
"Yes, daddy bear."
Then the real test of submission came.
"Oooooooooohnoooooooo........." Jesse whined, almost to the crying stage.
Jack laughed his ass off, sitting back, his glistening, wet cock exposed to the breeze.
"Beg, cub!"
"Ooooh Daddy bear... please fuck me... yeah... fuck me, please fill my ass with your bearmeat!"
Now grinning at the twenty-nine year old, looking up the stomach trail, to the barechest that parted the hairy, reddened nips, to the pathetic face, on the propped up shoulders, staring at him, Jack took hold of the worked thighs. Pulling downwards and lifting, he dislodged Jesse from the position he held, propped up on his elbows. Immediately, he positioned Jesse's legs onto his shoulders and penetrated his ass with his darting shaft.
"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkoooooooohfuck!" Jesse screamed out, as if the first grinding of Jack's spike.
"Fuck yeah!" Jack called out, shoving his meat in all the way, til his well endowed sacs slapped his cub's ass.
Seconds later, he spotted Jesse fingering his own nips.
"Ughhhhh!" Jesse yelled out, as his face felt the power of Jack's palm.
"Told you cub, those nips are mine!"
"Yes, sir....ugh!"
"Show me respect, cub!"
The slap across the face came hard and decisive, yet the notorious Jesse James took it in the disciplinary mode, letting Jack have his way with him.
"Yes, Daddy Bear," he backed off, turning into the cubslave demeanor.
"Get it through your head, cubslut. This ass is mine. Your cock and balls are mine!"
"Yes, Daddy Bear."
Both had it in their minds, 'why did it take so long to find the perfect man for me?'
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That evening, James West decided to head down to the salloon for an evening drink to whet his whistle, plus maybe pick up a little action. While out on assignment, during his free time, he always looked for a man with more than a drink on his mind. Most times it wound up as some nice sex in his hotel room, but at rare moments he could get lucky with some more kinky play.
"What'll it be?"
"Whiskey." West eyed up the noisy surroundings, as he sipped his quickly delivered drink. A young guy stood on the small stage, trying to tell jokes that nobody, except an old miner, upfront laughed his ass off at. He either thought the oldtimer to be drunk, or expecting more, as he spied his hand under the table.
A middle aged man sat at the old, ragtime piano, belting out a tune, his fingers tickling the ivories, up and down the keys. West figured he had a third hand, as the level of his beer kept going down.
Across the room, beyond the ten or twelve tables of laughing, drinking male patrons, in an alcove, two men chanced their luck, playing pool. Applause broke his concentration, eyeing up the handsome one whom broke the triangular formation.
On stage, a woman appeared, all white teeth, smiling. A man came out on stage next. West hoped the woman hadn't thought the stare was meant for her. On the contrary, James West's focus concentrated on the rather nicely looking, young thespian.
One man, looking about forty stood, shooting towards the ceiling, which meant a sign for everyone to quiet down and listen. West obviously thought a husband or boyfriend of the lady.
'Dammit, I hope 'he' isn't taken,' Jim said to himself.
The bartender filled his glass the second time and he sipped.
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"Hot, Mr. James. Very hot. Not many can boast of a hot fuck from the great Frank James."
"Fair payment, I'll take it as," Frank replied, his depleted, wet cock hanging down.
To help complete the humiliation, Frank boldly takes Uncle Grant's shirt and wipes the ass juices and remanants of his cum off.
"That's alright Mr. James. Got plenty of shirts and far as the boy, he's gonna cost you more than a hot fuck!"
Michael speaks up, "Yeah, my father didn't exactly surrender me to Uncle Grant."
"Oh?"
With Frank's cockjuice spent, he lost his rush over continuing his scene with Michael, so began lowering the rope that held his arms over his head. He began to listen to Michael speak, while Uncle Grant dressed.
"How's that go, Mike?"
"Uncle Grant wanted collateral for the two thousand dollars he gave my father."
"And have you seen any of that money, Grant?" Frank turned to the salt and pepper chested relative.
"Not a penny."
"How long has it been since you're father left, Mike?"
Michael, standing there in the buff, rubbing his wrists, head sunken to his chest, replies sullenly, "Year... year and half...he... he's not coming back."
Even Uncle Grant showed remorse for Michael, his head down, turning his sock inside out, then outside in and back again. Frank felt for the kid. Unlike he's sensed about any man, he broke down his tough facade and approached Michael. Totally oblivious to Uncle Grant's presence, he lifted Michael's chin, with two fingers. His other hand took the back of his shaggy hair. Lining his lips up with Michael's, he kissed him gently.
"I'm taking you to be mine... if you want that too, Mike."
"But what about Uncle Grant? The money?"
"The two grand? Shit! I can pay you that outta my back pocket."
"Keep yer money, Mr. James."
"But, Uncle Grant..." Michael went on to say.
"Like I said. The railroad's drying up business. Maybe it's time to move on. You got any need for a busted livery man, Mr. James?"
"You.... you want to come along, Uncle Grant?"
The twenty year old walked over to his uncle, still buck naked, where he sat.
"Uncle Grant, you're not serious, are you?"
Grant had shot his load, almost simultaneously, as Frank's jizz filled his ass. Only one cock remained alert, among the three.
His attention, temporarily averted, Uncle Grant replied, "Uh... yeah, totally, Michael," his eyes now glanced from below, to his nephew's face. "There's no future here. Figured maybe I'd... we can make a fresh start. What do you think, Michael?"
Frank could see the fraternal bonds the two had. He didn't know what, sexually, transpired between the two. However, a true sentiment came over him, as he watched the two converse.
"Uncle Grant, I'm beholden to you for taking me in and treating me fairly. I... I did want to tell you... confess to you that... that..."
"You know that I like men, Michael?"
Smiling, Michael replied, "Yes, Uncle Grant. I... I did happen to catch you a couple of times with some men," he motioned his pointing thumb over his shoulder, "in the back room there on certain occasions."
"Well, Michael," he stood, putting his hands on the twenty year old's shoulders, staring him in the eyes, totally disregarding his lower features, "you have more or less surprised me. I would've never have guessed that my brother's son was into men, nor.... ahem! Into shall we say, 'other kinky things'?"
A glance over his shoulder, to Frank, produced a smile, but from Michael, a reddened face.
"Why the embarrassment, Michael?"
"I don't know Uncle Grant. What can I say? I like the feeling of pain."
"And there's nothing wrong with that, Michael."
"There's not?" he regained his confidence, looking up in surprise.
"Hell no. Shit, you know how many men I've been with over the years that like their ass whipped?"
"No," Michael answered with the plain truth.
"It amounts to the dozens. Even a few, like you, like having their backs whipped or even their chests. Hell, some like it even more erotic, Michael. So don't you go putting yourself down over liking pain. You're not alone in this world!"
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks for saying that, but what did you mean by erotic, Uncle Grant?"
"Hmm..."
Again he looked over Michael's shoulder.
"I think I'll leave that to Mr. James to explain!"
Frank and Uncle Grant exchanged smiles.
"Now, you better get dressed. Night air is starting to stir."
"Wait."
"Yes, Michael?"
"Uncle Grant, um... would you..." Michael looked back at Frank, then drew his attention back to his uncle.
"Uncle Grant, would you want to suck me?"
"Suck you? What kind of fuckin' assinine thing is that?"
However, the stare between the two showed immediately what Uncle Grant wanted right now. He slowly sank to his knees, watching Michael's lightly haired chest and defined stomach trail slide by. His eyes glanced up at Michael's deep bellyhole, then eyes.
"I want you to, Uncle Grant," Michael spoke, with a concluding smile.
Uncle Grant smile, then parted his lips, confronting Michael's semi-hard eight inch cock.
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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!
The more you stretch, the more you can fit in... 'spread' happiness