Date: Fri, 25 Nov 2005 12:40:19 -0800 (PST)
From: T Chase McPhee <survivalgame@yahoo.com>
Subject: Out In The Wild, Wild West 17

The following story is a work of fiction, set in the
format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is
entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to
accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or
governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a
sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships
offends you, then you should not read this story.
Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in
most state and countries, you are not allowed to read
this story by law. This is fiction. Do not forget, in
real life, to think about 'sexual safety matter'; got
condom?

"Out In The Wild, Wild West" 17
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

%

"Keep at it, Arthur. It's the last chance we're going
to have at freedom."

"And where did this `deep', `heartfelt', `brotherly'
sense of love and devotion come from all of a sudden,
Artemis?"

Thinking quickly, Artemis Gordon, tied up with the
anchor and other gear, aboard Captain Skinner's
vessel, replies, "Listen, when we consider what deep
shit we're in, Arthur, one can't point the finger."

Arthur Foxworth thought that to be a rational answer
and went back to gnawing the ropes binding his wrists,
on the cut glass.
Not wanting to spend two years adrift at sea, along
with all the duties of the captain and crew's `bitch',
slave and other degrading positions, the two worked
feverishly to sever their bindings, before she sets
sail.

"I think I've got it!" Artemis shouts out, feeling
something around his right wrist, give.

"Good. Hurry and get free, then untie me," Foxworth
agitatedly responded, stopping at his own efforts of
release.

Artemis Gordon very quickly released his right wrist,
then left side. Bending forward, as he sat on the
floorboards of the ship, he loosened his ankles.

"Hurry, Artemis! I think I hear one of the crew
coming!"

However, as Gordon freed himself, he stood tall, in
front of his seated companion, rubbing his wrists.

"C'mon Artemis! Hurry! Release me!"

"On second thoughts, Arthur, I feel a couple of years,
for you at sea, might do us both some good!"

As Artemis left the hold, he could hear every naughty
word, in the book, hurled at his back. Being the
sleek, sly character he could be, when the situation
warranted it, he ducked into one of the crew quarters.
In a wooden chest, he found some articles of clothing
befitting a man on board of a cargo vessel. With his
mastering of disguises, he used ordinary materials,
lying about, to doctor up his features.  With the
perfect of disguises, he was easily able to slip past
the crew. Even Captain Skinner didn't catch on, when
Artemis accidentally crossed his path, on deck. They
rubbed elbows.

"Pardon me, cap'n," he conjured up, in a raspy voice.

Walking with a limp, Gordon found his way, down the
gangplank. Buried in the sea of sailors and the busy
wharf traffic, he made his getaway.

%

"You're a very lucky man, Mr. West, after the ordeal
you just told me about."

"Every word James has told you, is the truth too, Dr.
Lee."

"Oh, I don't doubt it, Mr. Birch, considering what I
have been doctoring him up for, what? How many a year
has  it been, Mr. West?"

"Let's see now," Jim ponders, "I'm thirty-five.
Started with the Secret Service when I was out of
college... it has to be fifteen years, give or take one
or two, Dr. Lee."

"Is that how long you two have been connected?" Robert
Birch asks.

Dr. Lee looks at Jim, whom gives him a sassy look
back, then replies to the thirty-six year old, "Um, I
think `connected' might be a poor choice of words,
Bob!"

After Birch watches the two exchange glances, he then
gets a second opinion, stating, "I mean, when you two
first met up?"

However, what Robert Birch is really wondering, is if
Dr. Lee looks so hot on the outside, what is he
packin' underneath?

Jim offers, "I think you ought to check this fellow
out, as well, Dr. Lee," he takes Birch's arm in his
and pats him on the back.

"Me? Oh no, James. I'm as fit and rugged as ten men!"
He began to circumvent his feelings, evading Jim's
notion.

Robert Birch turns, watching James put the finishing
touches on his tie, take his jacket from the coat
rack, place his hat on his head and make his exit. He
too, tries to leave with James, however, a hand on his
chest, presses him back inside, the door closing.

"What do you make of that, doctor..... oooooooh my!"

Making an about face, Robert's face shows the
astonishment of Dr. Lee, standing tall, his pants
sliced open in the middle and a soft, fat shaft
careening outwards, like a waterfall. His hands are
placed on his hips, as if a dominant master, waiting
for his boy.

"Why don't you lock the door, `young man', so that we
are not disturbed for your examination?"

`Oooooh my," Robert again resounds. As he goes for the
lock on the door, he informs Dr. Lee, "But I'm not a
bottom. I'm..."

"While you are in `my' office, you are whomever I
please you to be!"

"Hey, now wait a minute. First things first, here..."

Most likely, it's the finger, waving in his face, that
Dr. Lee opposed to. What else would cause him to
remove a hand from his comfy stance and slap Robert
Birch across the face. Twas a powerful hint, too, as
it sent him flying to the side, landing him on his
knees.

"Why you!"

Short-lived, became the battle of the tops.  Robert
looked promising, as his six foot height towered over
Dr. Lee's five feet, nine inches. However, Birch had
been brought up on fists and guts, whereas Lee's
predecessor's used science and precision, coupled with
one's inner being. In no time, he had Robert Birch
flat out on the examination table. Before Robert could
recover from his dazed position, Dr. Lee had a strap
over his legs, at the ankles and thighs.

"Hey! What the fuck is this?" Birch yelled out.

Bringing from the traditional manner of securing the
`insane', the thirty-four year old doctor had secured
Robert's wrists above his head. Attaching to each, a
metal handcuff securing his right wrist, wrapped over
a hook in the wall and then fastened to his left
wrist. Returning to the foot of the table, Dr. Lee
threw a fit of terror into Robert, grinning, as he
attached a leather binding around his left ankle.
Next, he fidgeted with a latch, under the table. All
Robert Birch could do, is allow his legs to become
separated, right up to the middle, causing the lower
portion of his body to take on the shape of a rather
wide `V'.

"Heeeeey! What the fuck you doing, Lee? I ain't no
James West here," Birch replied, regarding West's
abilities to take massive amounts of pain and still
get a tickle out of it.

Not owing an explanation, but deciding to prolong the
misery of Birch's mental state, Lee replied, "Ah, yes,
however it is Mr. West whom became the very reason for
me to `alter' my medical practice?"

"Noooo... what the fuck you going to do to me?"

"Unfortunately for you, Mr. Birch, you will not be
able to see!"

Robert's world became blackened, as Dr. Lee began
wrapping a black cloth around his head, obscuring his
vision. Robert Birch cursed out loud, hurtling not
only nasty words, but insults, plus words that would
suggest his intent to get even with James West!

%

"Well, hello boys!"

"Don't you know how to fuckin' knock?" J J asked.

"Sorry big brother, but we don't have anyplace else to
go."

"I think we can make some room for you two in here,"
Braedon replies.

He lifts the cover of the rather large bed the two
have been nesting in, inviting Sean and his younger
friend in, next to him. Setting the pace, the eighteen
year old begins to loosen the buttons of his shirt.

"C'mon, Cal, it's okay."

"I don't know, Sean. I never..."

JJ points out, "Yeah, nothing to be afraid of, Cal...
except Brae's bad breath...owwwwch! What'd you do that
for, Brae!"

Getting even, Braedon slapped his big hand onto JJ's
stomach, the one he used in the pub to swat his little
brother's ass. Branded on JJ's stomach, a bright red
hand-shaped welt appeared.

Sean had stripped down way faster than Cal, whom had
lost the shirt only, by the time Sean was ready to
slip under the covers.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"Just because you invited us into the bed, big
brother, doesn't mean I have to enter from your side."

"Yeah," agrees JJ.

Sean mentions, "Besides, it wouldn't be the first time
JJ and I...oops!"

This time, JJ protected his stomach, folding over into
the eighteen year old, like a salami sandwich.

"You've been two-timing me!" Braedon yelled out, the
hand up, readying to strike anywhere that suited him.

"I think I better go," came the meek voice, which
diverted Braedon's attention.

First looking at his hand, Braedon lowered it, smacked
it against his other big hand, as to finish up a big
project, slapping the dust away.

"Now look what you went and done, big brother!" Sean
blamed.

By now, Cal had begun to re-shirt his body, his right
arm diving for the sleeve, as his left hand held the
collar. He looked behind his back, to recover the
escaping fabric.

"Hey, now what a minute there, Cal," Braedon called
out.

Brushing the covers away, the twenty-five year old
hopped out of bed.

He heard his little brother whisper to JJ, `hee hee...
look's like Brae's got the hots for Cal!', but
overlooked it for the time being.  Ignoring the two,
he missed JJ sweetly caressing Sean, hands all over
his body, as well as lips.

"No, I better go."

"You don't have to go, Cal. Things aren't what they
look... I mean seem."

"I don't know, Brae," the seventeen year old said,
stationary, with one arm in the sleeve, one out.

"Hey, look," Braedon tried explaining, a hand on a
hip, finger and thumb touching the bridge of his nose.


If he had been fully facing Cal, he would have noticed
the eyes traveling up and down his body. It's not
until he collected himself that he found the journey
taking place.

"What?" Braedon asked, looking himself up and down.

Realizing what had just taken place, he smiled.

"Hee hee, wanna touch me?"

"Um," Cal replied, matter-of-factly, with little else
to say, "I dunno." Then, back in his face, Braedon
got, "Wanna touch me?"

Sean pipes up, "He's wanted to do that since we were
in the pub last night!"

Cal could not see the middle finger showing on
Braedon's finger, as he held it up, for the privileged
ones benefit, behind his back.

To make matters more suspenseful for Braedon, Cal
picked up on Sean's tip, asking, "Is that true, Brae?"

"Um, well..."

"I mean, I'm only seventeen years old and you're
twenty-two?"

"Five."

"Whoooa, twenty-five. Oh, you're a lot older than me."

Trying to weasel out of it, as Cal is really beginning
to interest him, significantly, he states, as if an
excuse, "We're not that, proportionately older, as
them two," pointing his thumb back at the bed.

"How old is, um... him?"

"JJ? Twenty-two."

"One," JJ corrects Braedon."

"He's almost twenty-two," Braedon says, on the side so
that only Cal's ears hear it.

"Let's see, then. That makes them four years apart."

"And we're only six," Braedon figures, then adds, "and
if you consider that only two years more, than....what's
two years?"

"Is that why..."

"Why what, Cal?"

"Why your cock is so hard?"

Looking down, Braedon looks at his semi-hard shaft,
almost pointing at Cal, like a compass.

"Well, uh," Braedon stutters.

"Is your cock hard, because you want me, Brae?"

"Um, I"....

Before Braedon can search for a meaningful,
down-to-earth, scientific or otherwise explanation,
Cal is on his knees!

Before he helps himself, he asks, "Is it alright if I
lick it?"

"Um... sure, but I think you might be more comfortable
in the bed, Cal. That is if `you' feel comfortable?"

"'Floor is kind of tough on the knees."

On the way to the bed, Cal's shirt lay strung out on
the floor. When both of them returned to the covered
mattress, with bed-clothing and bodies, they received
a cheer from it's occupants.

"Yeah, Cal," Sean cheered him on, adding, "make big
brother suck you off, too!"

"I'm warning you, little brother!" The big hand rose
into the air.

"Watch it, will you, Sean," JJ reprimanded, "I'm right
in his line of fire!"

"Maybe I shouldn't..." the seventeen year old began
backing off again.

"Oh no you don't!" Braedon intercerpted him, before he
could turn, his thumbs embedded in the lip of the
teen's beltline. Then, sweeter, he coaxed, "That is if
you still want to?"

"Yeah, I want to," Cal replied.

For a few macro-seconds, the two stare at each other.
It's Cal that broke the ice, placing his smaller hands
on Braedon's larger ones. Moving both sets, Cal gave
Braedon the hint, his permission for him to proceed to
undo his pants. Sitting there, his nose even with
Cal's teen bellyhole, the tight treasure trail sinking
below the pant's line, Braedon went at the task.

Cal's hands remained at his torso, until the fabric
gave loose, when Braedon's fingers undid its latch. So
intent on the disrobing of the teen's torso, he didn't
catch on to the activity behind him. Both, JJ and Sean
had propped themselves up, taking backseats to the
action. Braedon actually sweated in anticipation of
what he would find, when he unveiled the teen cock.

Looking over, past Braedon's blonde head of hair, he
smiled when he connected eyes with Sean's. A toothy
grin showed. Then he paid more attention, when the
weight of his own hands caused his pants to fall, like
snow in an avalanche. Looking down, he could swear
that he saw Braedon's lips drooling, as he changed his
stare from face, to crotch.

"Go for it big brother," came Sean's strong
suggestion.

This time, Braedon didn't flinch a muscle. Instead, he
licked his lips, especially when he viewed, what he
saw to be, a tent growing in the seventeen year olds
crotch. Maybe by the power of suggestion, or the
driving will of his own hormones, but Braedon's
fingers grew inpatient of the wait.

"Oooooh!" Cal sighed, as the shorts came down,
clipping his cock, as if spring-loaded with a rubber
slingshot.

On the rebound, Braedon, shrugging off all pretensions
of the top position, leaned over and caught the
bounding erection in his mouth. Pursing his lips, he
pressed inward, to the lightly haired pubes.

Out of his mind with pleasure, of his first blowjob,
Cal's hand grabbed the top of his head. He squinted,
at the intense pleasure, head rolling backwards, his
mouth opening, to form an `o', eliciting pleasurable
tones.

This time, seeing the danger of the `flailing hand'
gone, called out, "why don't you get him into bed and
do it right, big brother?"

%

"Whiskey!" James West called out... "Steve Connors?"

"Surprised to see me, Mr. West?"

"Sure as shootin', am!"

"Hey, no offense, Mr. West, but found me a good man,"
the forty-two year old said, pointing out Bart, at the
end of the bar, with a nod.

"Hmm... All the time I've been coming here and I never
suspected, Steve."

"Oh yeah and there's more to Bart, than the exterior
façade," the learned man adds. He also cues Jim into,
"Yep, there's more to Bart, than meets the eye!"

Winking, Jim wonders what else Steve is trying to link
to.

"Oh yesiree. Bart is showing me a whole new world I
would have never known existed."

With all the hints thrown, Jim can't help but pry,
asking, "And what would this `new world', entail?"

"He calls it `sadism'. Bart says that over in the `old
country', they play with whips'n'chains, binding guys
up and torturing them, just for the fun of it!"

"You don't say?" Jim proceeds with caution, not
wanting to key Steve in to the fact that the practice
of bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism, as a
pleasurable past time, has been around for centuries
and not only over the waves.

"Yeah and between you and me," Steve says, leaning
down so that a whisper escapes his lips, into only a
particular one's ear, "in the basement of this very
pub, is a real live medieval torture chamber!"

"Nooooo!" Jim acts surprised.

Not that Jim has ever `knowingly' been in the dungeon
of Bart's pub, but over the last few years, he's been
abducted, tied up and taken to a dungeon that's
alledged to have been sequestered within the bowels of
a tavern. More than once, the keen ears of James West
picked out the squeaky door that also leads to the
wine cellar.

"There it goes again!"

"There `what goes', Mr. West?"

"Nothing," Jim smiles, alluding to the sound of the
door to the wine cellar and dungeon!

%

Continued.....

Copyright 2005 T. Luke McPhee
This story may not be sold or made part of any
collection without prior written permission.