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" 06 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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Segments of 'Out In The Wild, Wild West' are dedicated to my historical archivist, Steve.
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"You live with James West, then you friends?"
The manner in which Kachada presented Cheyenne Bodie's relationship with James West, seemed to mostly fit the description, so he didn't seek to uncover any other truths regarding their being together. Like a closeted guy, there wasn't any need, to divulge any other information. Other facts could be disregarded, in laying the foundation for the luring James West to the tiny indian camp. Yet, the idea of the braves using him as a pawn in the torturing of James, stimulated Cheyenne's loins, to some degree.
"Friends, yes and new ones at that. We met on the trail a few months back."
Cheyenne didn't add any extra details. He figured that his former position, as a town sheriff, would not make him too popular. Recollecting some facts from a couple of men, involved in a brawl at the salloon and landing in jail, it came to mind their story of the previous sheriff's run in with some indian scouts. The two sixteen year old braves, made sport of by the sheriff and a few of the men about town, happened a couple of years back. They had their sport, raping their asses, whipping their hides and then leaving their mark on the young braves' chests. Cheyenne remembered clearly their tale, of the final act, claiming the two braves, 'in the name of the law', toasting the sheriff's badge over a campfire, then imprinting it on each brave's chest.
"So, James West mean something to you?"
"I'd call him a friend," he cautiously alluded to.
Having his feet roasted over an openly flame, he resigned to, kept his feet warm, in the open prairie air, but he wasn't one to delve into any full blown pain. However, he knew how much of an adrenaline rush Jim would get from being tortured by this band of young braves. He also noted that it looked like the oldest one seemingly could be about his own age. Called Hastiin, he payed special attention to the handsome brave. He wondered how much coaxing it would take to pleasure Hastiin's chute with his 12c. Of course there had been the chance that Hastiin was a top. However, that didn't hold creedance with Cheyenne, when it came to pleasuring himself with a man's ass chute.
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"Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch of the ranged empire fall!"
James West's front faced the bar, his whiskey held in his left hand, as his head peered over his arm. For the second time now, he could swear the man, in the part of Marc Antony, meant for his comment to be directed to his attention, via eye contact.
Antony, aka Robert F. Birch, continued his part, several times making contact, repeating his lines, "Here is my space. Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life..." again a direct reference to James West's attention. "Is to do thus; when such a mutual pair embracing and such a twain can do, in which," and this is where Birch brought out, like tying a hand with a rope, "I bind." He went on to enforce, through actions, as well as intent speaking, his actor's role as Marc Antony, "On pain of punishment, the world to meet. We stand up peerless."
A ringer, always planted in the audience, by the shrewd theater manager, began applauding incessantly, yelling compliments, such as 'Marvelous! Simply marvelous! A master at his craft!"
Good thing James West faced the bar, his became crotch well hidden underneath the heavy veneered chunk of wood. His hearing had capitalized on his own drawings of words, combining to enrage his levels of lower excitement; 'mutual pair', 'embracing', 'I bind', 'pain of punishment', 'to meet'. All of these he rearranged to fit to his own means of sexual gratification. Plus, the fact of the domiant character, hurling his words from the stage, as if meant for him personally.
"Another?"
"Huh?"
His gawking ceased, as the bartender asked him if he cared for another shot. Jim hadn't even realized that he had almost licked dry the small shot glass.
"Yes, please," Jim replied.
On his third shot of whiskey, Jim could still capture details. Like the one where the bartender upturned his gaze slightly, to exchange eyes with the stage players.
"You know that actor," Jim braved to ask.
"Uh," the bartender slighly stuttered, then continued, "I know him. Set up a few drinks for him last night after he arrived."
He could tell the bartender harbored more than setting up a row of drinks on the bar.
"Friendly guy, is he?" Jim inquired, trying to open up the bartender.
Slowly sipping his whiskey, the two locked eyes. After downing the searing liquid, he placed the shot glass right in front of the bartender, making a sound of the glass hitting wood.
"Another?"
"Oh yeah. Sure," the bartender replied.
Jim summised that more than a friendly drink had been served up last night. Reading people was part or West's job and the story didn't sit right with him that the two had barchat over a drink.
"You a player?" Jim asked, not saying it too loud.
The bartender suddenly got clammy and looked to both sides. Fortunately the noise level rang out the decibels, covering up Jim's question, only picked up by the server in front of him.
"Ahem! Ah, well... tell ya what... better if we talk privately, I think."
"Sure. What did you have in mind?"
"You staying at the hotel?"
"That I am," Jim replied.
He also had it on his mind that the bartender was poor at his craft of setting up ambushes. Perhaps he was in cahoots, with the actor on stage, but right now most likely the bartender's loins put a damper on the brainwaves.
"How about I meet you there when I get off?"
"What time would that be?"
"Hour or so."
"Could work," Jim replied, adding, "think I'll head on back there and freshen up."
Walking out of the salloon, Jim made an about face and sneakily eyed up the interior of the roaring salloon. He smiled when he saw the bartender cross the floor and head towards the dressing rooms. The lone, female actor, on stage, just started on her bows. He smiled, turning on his original path back to his hotel. Cautiously, he examined the doorway to room 22. The thread, between the door and sill, was still intact, meaning 'undisturbed'. He keyed the door and entered. Striking a match, West lit the gas-fueled lamp on the wall, hung his hat on the rack and removed his jacket.
Facing the long mirror, he ran his hands up and down his chest and stomach, saying to himself, "Yeah, could sure use a long, hot night!"
Flashing through his mind, images followed. One such vision had him stripped naked, tied, hanging from his arms and the actor-on-stage whipping his hairy chest. His own hands made contact, through his shirt, with his perky nips. West squeezed them, sighing.
"Oooooooh do I need these worked hard!"
He couldn't take 'not' looking at what he played with, so tossed the tie on the chair and began unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling the tales from his pants, Jim tore it from his pants and lay it on the chair. Returning to his reflection, he put his hands above his head, stretching them upwards, as if suspended by them, tightening his abs.
"Oooooh yeah... yeah... sure need a helping hand or two, tonight."
Jim eyed up his tight abs, then slipped his hands down, flexing his nips again. He sighed at the great pleasure he felt. However, he wasn't fooling himself a bit. Any guy in his position knew how much, tenfold, it felt much better to have another man working his body. More than likely, his mind toyed with the idea of the bartender and actor being in cahoots, wanting some hot action this evening. He set himself up for easy bait, leaving his door unlocked and standing at the mirrorless dresser, pretending to get something out of the draw. He reassembled his briefs, folding them and refolding, however, Jim's thoughts weren't on drawer tidiness!
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"Ooooooooh fuck!" Jesse cried out.
"Don't like your attitude, much boy!"
Twenty-three year old Jack Kilgallon, followed the notorious gunslinger's leads, until he found out what the need, the utmost fantasy needed to quench both of their sought after desires. As history books would never tell, the scene unfolded, having Jesse James, totally stripped and tied eagle-spread to the bed. His sweaty chest, shiny against the dark brown patch of hair, midchest, and swirling around his nips, the dark defined trail dividing his abs and the deep bellyhole, completely covered with thick pubic hair, stocked with large balls and eight inches of cut meat, now belonged to Jack and he treated Jesse as if he personally owned him.
"Gonna claim you boy, to be mine!"
Stocky Jack Kilgallon had always dreamed of 'owning' a man. Being teased through most of his childhood, ruled his life, making him the lowly one on the peer totempole. His ego soared to new dimensions, as he made up for all those years serving those whom needed to 'boy' to play with, using his ass or wreaking havoc on other areas of his body. Jack and his best friend, Michael Albright, the only guy in town that had been of the friendly type, often talked about things pertaining to their sexual and other natural feelings. Jack made it no secret, to Michael, that he'd like to someday conquer and dominate a man. Not just any man. A macho, tough man. His friend often said he'd let him fuck him, but was saving his ass for the right man. Michael's and Jack's conversations often carried long into the night, touching on the edge of morning, as they lay together, in seclusion.
"Right man? How does that go, Michael?"
"The man I want to be with always," Michael surprised Jack.
"Two men together? Here? In town?"
"Doesn't have to be here, Jack. Lotsa places a guy can live and be with a man. I hear back east the cities are so big that men can get lost in them."
"How do they find their way out?" Jack asked, inquisitively.
"They got signs that tell you where you are. Up on posts, as high as a man."
"Really? What else?"
No matter where Michael started, their conversation wound up back to Jack and his subject matter.
"Well maybe I'll find myself a man and like you're talking about, take him back to a city out east and get lost."
That day, in the early years of their youth, Michael's innards seethed forwards and he not only gave Jack a warm hug, but touched his lips to Jack's.
"Oops! Sorry about that Jack."
Moving his stocky belly up to Michael's, he replied, his own lips moving forwards, "Don't be. I liked it. No guy treats me the way you do, Michael."
That night, Jack told his folks that Michael's dad was going out of town and he wanted to stay over. That night was this first of assorted nights of spending time in bed. They didn't fuck around, but got plenty of practice lip-locking and eventually developed their own oral techniques of servicing each other. Often Jack would lie on the bed, with Michael hovering over him, leaning in to lick or suck his nips, navel or cock and balls.
"That feel okay, Jack?"
"Ooooooh yeah. Don't ever stop, Michael."
Now, instead of Jack's fifteen year old body under him, Michael was reliving that first time, only with a former stranger introduced into his life. Twenty-eight year old Frank James, lay back on Michael's bed, his hands planted behind his head. One hand would venture to disengage, for the purpose of directing Michael's face over an area to stimulate Frank.
"Oh yeah, baby. Suck my cock... Yeah... oh fuck yeah! Swirl that tongue around..oooooooh!"
Soon Frank's words of guidance gave way to syllables of total enjoyment, as Michael held Frank's torso, tonguing away at the nine inch steak. Taking Michael's hand, he put it near his balls. Michael took the hint rather well, reaching under Frank's big sacs and massaging them nicely. Frank's hand returned to the relax mode, hands anchored behind his head. Every once in awhile a spasm would take place, whereas both hands gripped Michael's head and he would drive his cock in and out, impaling the throat of his cocksucker, his hips motioning along with his hands, throatfucking Michael on his long, hard shaft.
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Jim played with his underwear long enough. He sat down at the desk and pretended to write a letter, actually scribbling the pen along the sheet, more scratching it. He heard a noise, but kept his vigil at the desk, cracking a wry smile. He had his plan of action all set. In would walk the actor, Robert Birch, with or without the bartender. Jim thought his name was 'Butch'. Either Birch would take him alone or Butch would be there to muscle him into submission. As often a fantasy would play out, Jim would at first put up a struggle, then let his aggressor win out, if he sensed the guy fairplay.
James West had that sense of 'smell'. He could tell right out if a man could be fair play. Of course, there had been times left for human error. Countless times he had been duped by an infamous character, such as the evil Dr. Loveless. However, much to the government's dispair, West always felt something moving, below the waist, stirring, when Loveless outwitted the secret service and made escape. It's something about Loveless that always intrigued James West. On his first occasion of meeting the sadistic criminal, he had the power to destroy Loveless, literally holding a knife at his throat, yet let himself be overpowered by a muscled thug, thwarting the diabolical end of Dr. Loveless. In fact, he couldn't keep his cock contained, as he hung, strung up by his arms and stripped to the waist, wanting... yeah, you got it, James West 'wanting' Dr. Loveless to do something to his body. Like a growing obsession, James West's mind entertained himself with the thoughts of his body being tortmented, tortured, even touched by Dr. Loveless. In fact, as Artemis handed James his shirt to place back on, after his rescue, his cock still stirred.
He could sense the breathing. Two or more approaching him. He ignored the squeeks of the old flooring, even though they had been carpeted.
"Take him!" A voice rang out sharply.
West jumped up and got his first glimpse. More than Butch and Birch had made their jumping attach. One man closed the door, Birch. However, three men immediately set upon, to subdue him, not allowing himself to get a grasp on an attack mode. Two grabbed his arms, while Butch stood in front of him. Birch then came stepped in between West and Butch.
"So, you're the infamous James West."
"The infamous Robert F. Birch I presume?Ughhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Birch planted his fist in Jim's gut. The two holding his arms, preventing him from doubling over. However, West's abs could take it.
"You'll learn to speak only when spoken to. Now..."
Birch, standing at six feet, two inches, towered over Jim. He glanced into Jim's eyes, then turned.
He hurled himself into the bed, placing his hands behind his head, saying, "Time for you to put on a show for me, Mr. West. Anytime you're ready Butch."
"Yes sir, Mr. Birch!"
Butch, behind the bar, a fraction of the toughguy he now portrayed, moved forward, closing up the gap where Robert Birch stood. His eyes became diverted, from West's face to the hairy abs. Placing his right hand on Jim's ribcage, he lined his right fist up with his stomach, just above his navel. Drawing his arm back, he made it known that this gutpunch was going to be thrown with quite a bit of force.
"Ughhhhhhhhhoooooooohhhhshit!" Yelled out the thug holding James' right arm.
Dodging the gutpunch, Butch's powerpunch half landed in the thug's midsection. The toughguy caved in, his knees hitting the floor. Even before he doubled over, Jim had begun on the second one, swinging him around, putting him in a neck hold so that his back was against his stomach. The scene had changed, as if James West assumed one of the thugs roles, in subduction. Butch tried to get at West, but as intent as he was, Jim kept the thug shielding him.
"Bravo, Mr. West!" Birch replied, now on his feet, his hand stroking his crotch.
Butch, in frustration asks, "He wouldn't let me at him, Mr. Birch!"
"So, go through him, you idiot!"
Butch didn't get what Birch meant.
Pushing Butch aside, he replies, "Never send a mouse to do a man's job!"
With quick work, Birch worked over the thug's gut, kneeing his balls, to weaken his stance as James' weapon of protection. The first punch made Jim's hold on him weaken. As Birch went to work on thug number two, thug number one jumped up off the floor and tried another chance to secure West, Butch aiding him.
Running through Jim's mind, had been the thoughts of wanting to have it out with Robert Birch. No longer did he see him as the actor on stage, throwing loose lines his way. Now he looked to be totally dominated by Birch. He wanted to be physically challenged and manhandled. His loins dictated to him that it should be Birch and only Birch, not some hired hands, to take him down. West made easy mincemeat out of the second thug, putting Butch in an easy resting place, on the floor next to the bed. When he turned, he got a surprise.
"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" He expelled the air from his lungs, as Birch's heavy fist found it's way, burying in West's gut.
"Do yourself a favor West and stay down!" Birch warned him.
"It's going to take more than a measly punch like that, Birch!" He countered.
"A bit of a masochist, aren't you West?"
West didn't want to deny the truth, but did enjoy a good fight. However, Jim did find out that Robert Birch must've learned more than thespian skills, at actor's school. Thirty-five year old West was no match for his punishing agressor, whom was only two years older. Tough as nails, Jim's first few jabs did little to intimidate Birch, when fed point blank into his ribcage. Jim fared as well, throwing punch after punch into Birch's abs. Finally, he thought he had Birch, when he employed a surprise, underhanded pounding of fist to crotch. However, with Birch on temporary position, knees to floor and hand on a table, readying to right himself, he heard a click. Looking down a small revolver was pointed at his crotch, pressing inwards, leaning directly into his ballsacs.
"I will most certainly have the need to apologize, Mr. Birch, but the performance is beginning to bore me!"
This is something that would begin to irk James West and provoke him to keep a lower range of vision. There, standing directly in front of him was the 'little guy'.
"Dr. Loveless, I presume?" James replied, recalling the doctor he 'let' get away.
As they made light chat, almost comical, to a point, West's hands slowly rose to just above his head, palms faced forwards. By this time Butch and his thugs had recovered, as well as Birch.
"I have much 'entertainment' planned for you Mr. West, however I believe that Mr. Birch would be overwhelmed, hurt, if I interrupted the final act. Mr. Birch, if you'll continue?"
At that precise moment, James' ear picked up a click, as his right wrist felt cold steel wrap around it. The time to struggle was beyond response and soon both arms had been bound behind him, metal binding his wrists closely together.
Birch spoke up, unbuttoning his sweat-laden shirt, as he approached James, all the time speaking, "I know you will want to play your part well, Mr. West, so this is how the final scene goes. First I'll take a few minutes to work your body with my fists. Then I will let these three, fine actors do to you whatever they wish. Think of it as 'payment' for their services?"
Birch smiled, looking down at the obvious place in West's pants. He reached forwards. Loveless had disappeared, as their eyes had taken notice earlier.
"On second thought," Birch hesitated, reaching into the inner lining of his jacket.
Producing a billfold, he removed several large denominations, handing them to Butch.
"Take your boys and get the fuck outta here. Leave West to me."
At first Butch and the two grungy looking cowpokes complained at having to give up on their sadistic urges, but when Butch fanned the dollars out, they changed their tune, leaving in peace.
"Softening your heart, Birch?" Jim asked, as the door was closed.
"Maybe I sense something. Actors are like that you know, Mr. West. On stage we have to prepare for the unexpected."
"Hmm," Jim wryly adds to the conversation, "and what unexpected instance caused you to keep those three from taking me apart, other than wanting to do it yourself?"
"Hurt you Mr. West?"
James West prepared himself for a possible gutpunch or even a get-even knee to the balls, however as Birch approached him, an easier feeling set in. He slowly eased his abdominal muscles, as Birch's stached mouth touched his own gently. Like his fist opening up a crevice in his stomach, Robert Birch forced his way in between Jim's lips, probing his mouth with his tongue. West let it happen. On the contrary, even though he thought of Birch as his aggressor, he began to feel melancholy, totally accepting the affectionate lip action.
"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhh! Akkkkkkkkk! Ohhhhhhhhhh!"
Birch stood there, as Jim doubled up on the floor. He couldn't believe how such a tender moment could end with his the dull ache in his balls.
"Now we're even James, if I may address you as that?"
Jim, totally surprised by the knee ploy, to totally subdue him, breather heavily, still groaned a bit. He didn't have time for reacting much, as Birch covered his head with something leathery. Everything went black. Next, he found himself being lifted up by a pair of hands, under his pits. Someone, he guessed Birch, began loosening his belt, pulling it from his pants. Then the front of his pants were figited with. A push to the chest, sent him reeling backwards onto the bed. Next, West felt his boots leave his feet. Soon, his feet bare, felt his pants pulled down his legs and off, his silky briefs following.
What he couldn't see, is Birch turning to the mirror, holding James' briefs up to his own crotch, as if modeling them. Another twist of kink came as Birch sniffed them, then turned them slightly inside out, licking away, his tongue stretched out, making a meal of the crotch area. He then resulted in folding them neatly up and depositing them in his pocket. Birch then attuned to the naked figure on the bed. Naked, except for the leathery mask covering James' complete face, leaving a space for his mouth.
He knew his instruction, stay held up at the hotel long enough for the three Texans to reak their havoc on James West's body, taking their time bruising him or leaving welts adorning his body, if they so desired, but gazing down on the hairy chest, stomach, pubes, those inviting balls and long, hard shaft, made Robert Birch weak to have James West to himself, before turning him over to the diabolical Dr. Miguelito Lovelace.
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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