Date: Sat, 19 Nov 2005 02:25:11 -0800 (PST)
From: T Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Out In The Wild, Wild West 12

The following story is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is
entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to
accurately reflect upon person in towns, cities, or
governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If
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 story 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" 12
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"You make me jealous, Sir!"

As they hit the dusty road, onto their destination,
once again, each of the braves, their shoulders
fastened to the wooden bondage timbers, paraded along
in single file. The only Indian braves excluded from
the wooden timbers, had been Ciqala and Tocho. They
took on the chore of carrying each end of a litter,
containing the numb body of Etu, whom had the been the
victim of a gut punching contest, between Chuck and
Ben.

Buck felt for the three Indian braves, in their late
teens, wanting to help with their burden. Knowingly,
if he jumped off his horse and employed himself in
lightening their burden, that it wouldn't look right,
to the rest of the men. However, since Caligula had
made them his responsibility, it's no reason why he
couldn't `water' them.

"And the reason for this jealousy of your's,
Caligula?"

"James West and how you.... Have him trussed up in his
bondage?"

Giving a cynical laugh, Robert Birch replied, "I think
we've lost enough time already, with your men in their
brawl, Caligula?"

"Hmm.... Yes, well, if it were not for this Indian brave
taking so long to break..."

"Haven't I told you many a time, Caligula, that...."

Rolling his eyes, the tall chocolate man, twice as
high, up on his horse, replied, like a kid, hearing
his daddy tell him a million times, "I know what you
preach, sir. Kindness.  But it's more fun torturing a
man into submission!"

"Don't I know it, Caligula, but there's also times
to," then looking down, the rope tied to his stirrup,
affixed to the loops at each end of the timber,
carried by West, "treat a man with tender care."

"Hmm... if I didn't know better, I'd think you have some
inner felt lust for West, sir?"

"Hot ass to fuck and that's where the dividing line
ends, Caligula," Robert Birch stated his position.

Caligula could also see where the dividing line
between tender and tough stood. Unlike the others,
tied in their walking bondage, free to pace along at
an even stride, the tall overseer watched as West
carefully stepped along. Tied to each of his ballsacs,
had been a leather lace. Stretched downwards, the ends
of each bound lace tied to the opposite big toe of
each of West's feet. If West stepped too far with his
right foot, it would stretch his left ballsac too far,
crossing the lace of his right ballsac. It was a tough
thing for Jim to get the hang of, giving Caligula a
good laugh, with every wince of torturous pain.

Unfortunately, he hadn't seen the torturous bondage
Birch set up, until they had been ready to mount. If
he had the time, he would've followed suit with the
ball torture for his own slave, Hastiin. However,
Caligula did happen to find a way to irritate Hastiin,
managing to quickly attach small weights to his nip
rings. As they paraded through the desert conditions,
the balls would bounce and swing.

"I would think that your slave's nips are heating up,
in this grueling sun, Caligula?"

Caligula looked to Hastiin and gave Birch an evil
smile back, saying, "Yes, pity, isn't it."

"Sagging, with the weights, too."

"Oh, not as stretched, as I will have them, believe
you me!"

Robert Birch could guess easily, the torment Caligula
had in store for his slave. He felt a little bad that
he wouldn't be having the same pleasures with James
West. Knowing that he would be turning West over to
his benefactor, Birch had hoped to have had some fun
with Cheyenne or Steve Connors, in Caligula's torture
chamber. Too bad they got away. But, he still sensed
they wouldn't be too far. Birch, as well as Cheyenne,
knew that the government would have a bounty pinned to
James West, whatever condition his body was brought
back as.

`Yes, somewhere out there, we're being followed,'
Birch said to himself, in a whisper, as he scanned the
horizon, peering to the wooded area. Then he reckoned,
`Just if they've decided to hightail it out of here,
there's....'  His lust for dungeonplay fashioned his
eyes in a different direction.
Looking over the group of braves, he eyed up the
badboys, Ben and Chuck. `Hmm..' Birch commented to
himself, `might be fun!'

%

"Nice of them to leave us one horse!" Jake complained.

However, Stormy sensed the situation to his advantage.
Right behind him, Jake sat, both arms hugging him, one
palm on his chest, the other, his stomach. With each
and every step of the horse's hoofs, he sensed
something pressing on his ass. Suddenly something felt
strangely pleasureable and he giggled.

"Whats that for, Stormy?"

"As if you didn't know?"

"Hey, I'm not tryin' to," Jake left out the obvious,
"if that's what yer athinkin'!"

Stormy grinned, pressing his ass backwards.

"Heeeey!" Jake shouted out, dismounting from the
horse.

Stormy let out a noticeable whimper, "Oooooh!"

"Gotta take a leak," Jake informed him.

"Um, I heard in survival training that when you run
short on water rations, that..."

"Stormy, if you want a drink, go right ahead!"

"Um, don't think I'm `that' thirsty, Jake!"

As Jake dropped his pants, he let loose a torrent of
piss. Same time, Stormy eyed up the asscrack, the
hairy crevice, wanting to dive right in.

"Heeeeey!" Jake called out, as he felt something touch
his ass.

Turning, he got Stormy right in the face!

"What tha! Jaaaaaaake!"

"Oh shit! Thought there'd been a rattlesnake creepin'
up on me!"

Stormy stood up. Jake's piss dripped down his chin,
onto his shirt, soaking it.

"Now what am I supposed to do?"

"Don't take it off,  you'll get burnt to a crisp,
Stormy."

"I'm going to be stinking like your piss, Jake. What
am I supposed to do?"

Stormy had already started to unbutton his shirt,
having it undone to his beltline, revealing his
stomach trail and dark treasure trail that led out of
his navel.

"Leave it be that way, for now," Jake replied, tucking
his own shirt in.

However, when they mounted the horse, Jake took
special care to tuck both hands inside the shirt,
reather than touch the fabric, with his own piss
soaked in.

"Hmm..." Stormy replied, smiling, as he felt Jake's
hands on his pecs and stomach. "Nice!"

"Hey, this ain't nothin' compared to how I plugged
your ass last night, Storm!"

"Yeah, I liked it too."

"Caint even remember much how it felt!"

"You... you don't remember how it felt fucking my ass
last night, Jake? Oh man, I can't believe it!"

"Why?"

"Still hurts from the way you pounded it with your big
cock!"

"Funny I don't remember. I bet it felt good to do it.
I mean, the way yer talkin', Stormy."

Oh, did Stormy know how good it felt! Yes indeed, did
it feel awesome, having Jake's snake in his hole, only
to hibernate, til morning.

"Whoops! My turn!"

Stormy swung his leg overboard, jumping down to the
ground. Only thing is, he didn't inform Jake, giving
him enough time to unhand him. He flowed right off the
horse, knocking into Stormy, taking him to the ground.

"Umphfffff!"

"Well, ya didn't give me much warnin', Stormy!"

"Sorry about that. Um, can you get off of me? Gotta go
pretty bad, Jake."

Unknowing, or not admitting, Jake's erection had
swelled, after hitting the ground. He wondered if
Stormy noticed.  Whichever the case, he let his
nineteen year old counterpart out from under him, to
go do his thing. Hearing the ground getting sprinkled,
he also heard a cry.

"Help....yeeeeoooooooow!"

Jake ran around to the side of the boulder, where
Stormy had reported, to get his privacy for peeing.

"What in tarnation have you gotten yerself into now,
Stormy?"

Standing, with hands on hips, Jake looked upon Stormy,
bent over, his pants still down.

"The damned snake scared the living daylights out of
me and when I backed up..."

Stormy didn't have to complete his tale. Jake looked
upon the white ass, the cactus needles sticking to it.


Laughing, he said, "Ya look like some damned porcupine
there, Stormy!"

"Well, you going to stand there and laugh your ass
off, or help me?"

The next was a sight to behold. Stormy wound up
stripping his shirt, to keep his stomach and chest
from frying, as he lay against the boulder. With his
ass extended, as if ready for a hot fuck, he instead
had Jake plucking cactus needles.

Every once in awhile, Jake would hear Stormy groan,
pulling a sharp one. However, he got to thinking about
what was said a half hour ago. With each touch, his
cock reacted, growing bolder in size.

"Hurt ya, huh?" Jake asked him.

"Sometimes. Depends on which one you pull out."

"No, ain't talkin' about that, Stormy!"

It then dawned on him what Jake insinuated.

"You remember now?"

"Not too much, but ya say it was like poundin' yer
ass?"

"Yeah and man did it feel good, why?"

He didn't really need a reply from Jake, as Stormy
looked behind his back. It had become so obvious, the
bulge tenting Jake's pants.

"Man, if I didn't have those thorns in my ass, I'd
help you get rid of that, Jake!"

After saying, "I'm thinkin' I got all of `em out,"
Jake blushed.

"Wouldn't want you to `sprain' anything, riding up on
that saddle, Jake!" Stormy make the indirect
suggestion.

"I dunno Storm. Never really fucked a guy."

"How can you say that, Jake? You fucked me like hell
last night!"

"Reckon I did, but don't remember it. Ya know what I'm
sayin'?"

Rolling his eyes, Stormy replies, "But you liked it,
Jake. Take my word for it!"

"I did, did I?"

"Don't take my word for it, Jake. Just do it?"

"Out here, in the desert, Storm?"

"Nobody paying attention, but the snakes and other
critters."

"Ya really want me insida ya, huh?"

"Um, yeah, but if you don't want to...."

Jake wanted to. He wanted to more than he wanted to
admit, now that Stormy had put the thought in his
mind, `it felt good'.

%

"Whoa...whoa...whoa," Buck pulled up the reins on his
horse.

"Leave'm, Buck."

"He's a human being, can't you see that, Carl!"
Twenty-four year old, Buck Johnson, held up the
walking and riding brigade.

Looking back, he noticed the toll of carrying the
stretcher with Etu's body on it, affected the two
parched, barefooted braves. Not that their ordeal had
been that much more of an ordeal than those carrying
wooden timbers, lining their shoulders, baking in the
hot sun, as they traipsed onward. However, it's Tocho
whom lost control of one of the poles, being too much
of a strain on his left side, as he carried it more
behind his back, than Ciqala, in front of himself.

"Well, you going to help me, Carl, or what?"

Carl Rentfield, had been the only man who sided with
Buck, on salvaging the Indian brave. The others tried
convincing Caligula and Robert Birch that their flight
through the desert, desert sun, desert heat, would be
much more at a quicker pace, if they had left the
Indian brave behind, fending for himself.

"I don't know why I put up with you, Buck!" the
thirty-eight year old replied, jumping down from his
horse, to help.

"Because, maybe you have a soft spot, in here," Buck
slaps Carl on the left pec.

"Get yer hand off me," Carl replied, brushing Buck's
hand away, with the notion. "Here," Carl found the
remedy, "This Injun can ride with you. I'll take care
of these other ones."

Carl stood there, rubbing his chin, trying to sort out
a solution to the problem.

"Give me one of yer extra shirts, Buck."

"Huh? My extra shirts?"

"Ya interested in saving yer Injun pal or what?"

Looking to the three braves, one helpless, lying on
the damaged stretcher, Tocho, obviously fatigued and
Ciqala, the only one `with it', Buck reached into his
saddle bag and produced an extra shirt.

"Here," Carl threw it on the helpless braves chest.

Buck motioned for Tocho and Ciqala to dress Etu in it.
In the meantime, Carl constructed a lasso out of his
spare rope.

"Get up on yer horse, Buck."

Carl went to work, trying to help Buck salvage Etu's
limp body. After the twenty-four year old climbed back
in the saddle,

"Move outta m'way," Carl told Tocho.

Trying to help get Etu onto Buck's horse, Carl nudged
the nineteen year old Indian brave. Using the rope,
Carl fashioned a harness, by which Etu would be
sitting behind Buck, chest to back, fastened securely.

Like the rest of the Indians, the two couldn't wander,
without their timber bondage. However, time didn't
permit the construction of the weighty binding
materials, so Carl took the lighter poles from the
makeshift gurney and lined Ciqala's and Tocho's
shoulders, tying them to the braves' outstretched
arms.

"Thanks, Carl."

"Yeah, hmm..." he hinted with a slight protest, but
attitude of caring, for Buck that is.

Although, he did look at Tocho, with an ounce of
interest.

%

Finally, after `wasting' the morning hours, giving
J.J. Sebastien a complete tongue bath and getting his
asschute stretched, Artemis Gordon lit out for the
day's business.

"Good Morning, Grady," Artemis winked at the security
guard.

Four had been on duty, at the Washington office of the
Secret Service, however Artemis knew to keep their
sexual rendezvous' private. Not only didn't Michael
Grady wish his private life known to the others, but
surely meeting with another man for sexual
gratification, would filter back to his wife. Besides,
the twenty-six year old enjoyed the position and added
monetary means, his affair with Gordon bestowed upon
him.

"Good morning, Mr. Gordon," he replied, a slight
smile.

"I trust Mr. Foxworth is in his office?"

"He reported for work this morning," Grady replied.

"Very good," was Artemis' response, sailing past the
guards and heading inside the three story building.

After greeting a few colleagues, he ascended the
stairway, to the third floor. His next encounter had
been a young man, sitting at a desk.

"Are we ready for this, Braedon?" Artemis asked the
blonde man.

"A bit nervous, Artemis," the twenty-five year
replied.

"That'll pass." Stepping behind the seated young man,
Artemis patted his shoulders, massaging them,
repeating, "It'll be only a matter of minutes,
Braedon, a matter of minutes and you'll be able to
make the tallies even."

"I know," Braedon replied. "I want to thank you,
Mr....."

"Artemis, remember?"

"I want to thank you, Artemis, for all you're doing
for me."

Halting the massage, he goes for the director's door,
winking, replying, "Oh, you will, Braedon!"

Helping himself to the doorknob, Artemis Gordon
waltzes into the Secret Service director's large
office.

"Ahem, Gordon?"

Getting up from his large mahogany desk, Arthur
Foxworth walks around, to greet Artemis, obviously
annoyed at the unannounced intrusion.

"Isn't my secretary at his post?" He looks out, from
the doorway.

However, Artemis slams the door shut, before Foxsworth
can view the small, outer office.

"Oh he's there, Arthur," Artemis replies, in a squalid
manner.

"Ahem! Yes, well what is your order of business,
Gordon? I have a ton of work to do today," he
inquires.

Settling down at his desk, Foxworth looks down at some
paperwork.

"What tha fu....?" He shouts, as Artemis tosses a folder
on the desk, mussing up his work.

"Take a look at it, Foxworth. I think you'll find it
quite interesting!"

Artemis takes a seat in one of the two large, padded
leather chairs, stationed in front of the desk.

As Foxworth skims through the folder, his eyebrows
raise and lower. He begins to sweat, running his index
finger around the inside of his shirt collar.

Rising, he asks Artemis, "Care for a sherry?"

"No thanks, Arthur. I'd much rather see to having the
last page signed and in my hand?"

"Last page?" Foxworth questions.

After pouring himself a small drink, guzzling it, he
reports back to his desk. Rummaging through the
folder, he spies the last page, the one in question.

He reads aloud, "I, Arthur Foxworth, give this day,
November eighteenth, my heartfelt..." then questioning,
"resignation? What's the meaning of this, Gordon?"

Getting out of his padded luxury seat, Gordon walks
around, to where Foxworth stands.

"Now, you're an educated man, Arthur. I'm sure you can
comprehend what that letter dictates."

"My resignation? Why would I want to do such a thing?"

"Hmmm... I take back what I said, Arthur, however, if
the information gathered by one of our most vested
security members, would slip into the hands of say,
your wife?"

"My wife?" Foxworth repeated, looking aghast.

"Yes, let's see, especially the part about seducing
your office secretary, presenting forced rape, um...."

"None of that is true. Mr. Murphy and I met entirely
consenually!"

"Hmm... maybe we should invite Mr. Murphy in here, to
corroborate that information?"

Artemis goes for the adjoining door. He reaches for
the knob. Foxworth rushes over.

"I don't think that will be necessary, Artemis."

"Good that you see things my way, Arthur. Now, if
you'll sign..."

"Well, wait a minute here, Gordon. Maybe we can work a
deal here. I've been meaning to create a new
position...."

"No need to do that, Arthur."

The forty-two year old chief of security has reported
back to his desk, lifting a piece of paper.

He points out to Artemis, "I'll been working on a new
position, for a very valued agent and..."

"I know you have, Arthur. Wasn't it Mark Jamison you
were promising that position to? At least that's the
man you specified, in your conversation to John
Taylor."

"Taylor? How would you know about that, Gordon?"

"You're not the only one that sleeps with Braedon
Murphy, Arthur!"

"What tha fu....? I'll have Murphy's ass for..."

"But on the contrary, Arthur, haven't you already
taken Murphy's ass?"

Looking more and more perturbed, Arthur Foxworth acts
flabbergasted at the remarks rolling from Artemis
Gordon's mind.

"This whole thing is preposterous!"

Sideswiping Artemis, Foxworth goes to the door.

Opening it, he shouts, "Mr. Murphy, summon security,
at once!"

"And what is it you are going to tell them, Foxworth?"

"That a... a deranged lunatic...ughhhhhhh!"

Before Foxworth could finish his statement, he finds
himself doubled up, on his knees.

"Bring Mr. Foxworth back to his office, Mr. Murphy?"

"Yes, sir. Right away."

Twenty-five year old Braedon Murphy hauls Foxworth up
from his kneeling position, holding his stomach. The
six foot, two inch, hundred and ninety pound man,
easily maneuvers the older man's body, guiding him
forcibly through the outer door and back into the main
office. He sets in into his high back leather chair.

"You.... You're in on this too, aren't you?" Foxworth
accuses Braedon.

Of course. It had been a few, fine, loving evenings,
in Braedon's apartment, where Artemis Gordon sought
out information, learning of how Braedon's menial job,
turned into one of the most important ones, serving as
secretary to `the' most important man in Washington's
security circle. He had also learned of how special
funds had been siphoned off, to help Braedon's
struggling family, Braedon's appointment to the
university, free tuition involved, Braedon's little
brother following in his footsteps, Braedon's high end
living at `the' most expensive hotel in Washington and
the elegant lifestyle he led.

"It'll be a cold day in hell, before I bow down to
either of your crafty plans!"

"Hmm... Imagine what your wife would think, Arthur, if
she found out you spent more on your male bitch, than
her?"

"This is blackmail! You've got another thing coming,
if you think I'll submit to your tactics here,
Gordon!"

Artemis signaled to Braedon. Going to the window, the
secretary approached the draperies. He tore the
binding rope from the long, heavy fabric. It served
two purposes, shading their dealings from the public
view, whomever could see into the third story
dwelling, plus a nice tool to secure Foxworth, in
bondage style, to his chair.

"What tha fu....?" He gasped out loudly, as the doubled
rope formed around his upper chest, then secured
tightly to the chair.

"Um, Braedon, we need for Mr. Foxworth's right hand to
be free?"

Effortlessly, Braedon plucked the right arm from
inside the loop. He then fastened the body securely.

"Now, Arthur, you may sign, at your own `free will'?"

"This is totally preposterous, Gordon!"

Arthur Foxworth had lots to lose. Mainly, his high
paying, most influential position, in all of the land,
other than that of the government offices, at the top.

"Mr. Murphy?" Artemis questioned, directing Braedon
into action.

"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!" Foxworth screamed out, as
Braedon's large hand grasped at his pubic region.
"Akkkknoooo!"

A waving hand ceased the ball crushing action.

"Ready to sign yet, Arthur?"

He hesitated, looking up at the blonde, whom he had
bedded on several occasions, then back at Gordon. His
stuttering hand cost him.

"Akkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkooohhhhshiiiiit!" Foxworth called
out, in pain, as Braedon bent over and took up his
position, pressing his fingers together, around the
older man's clothed ballsacs. "Alright...alright... I'll
fucking sign!"

Artemis grinned, saying, "I knew you'd see it my way,
Foxworth."

With reluctance, Foxworth picked up the pen. Signing
the document, he lay the pen down. Braedon reached
over, folded it and then put it in the envelope,
handing it to Artemis.

"Thank you very much, for relinquishing your position.
I'm sure I'll enjoy it very much, Arthur."

"You... You, Gordon?"

"Yes. Doesn't things have a way of working themselves
out nicely?"

"I should've known."

Before too much chit chat ensued between the two,
Artemis rises, to make his exit.

Then, directing to Braedon, "Mr. Murphy, enjoy
yourself."

Looking to his side, still tied to the chair, Foxworth
watches, as Braedon takes off his dress jacket, tie
and begins to unbutton his shirt.

"Oh, I will! Most definitely will do, Mr. Gord... I
mean, Artemis?" Braedon replies, complete with the
evil grin.

"What tha fuck?" It all Foxworth has to say for
himself.

"And Braedon?"

"Yes?"

"When you're done with Foxworth, go down to the pub
and fetch John Skinner..."

"Captain John?"

"Yes. He and his men are in town and I'm sure they'll
be looking for `some action'?"

With a wink, Artemis takes his leave, his important
paper stashed in his vest pocket.

"Oh, and Braedon?"

"Yes, Artemis?" He inquires of the delay, smiling, as
he unfastens his belt buckle.

"Don't worry about messing the room up. I'm having it
redecorated, courtesy of Mr. Foxworth's bank account?"

"My what?" Foxworth questions.

Laughing Artemis replies, "You should've read the fine
print, Arthur!"

%

Continued....

Copyright 2005 T. Luke McPhee
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!
TCMcP