Date: Sun, 16 Oct 2005 17:47:05 -0400 (EDT)
From: T Chase <survivalgame@excite.com>
Subject: Out In The Wild, Wild West 04

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

%

These segments are written for my WWW archivist, Steve

%

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.

%

"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.

%

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