Date: Wed, 26 Oct 2005 07:31:08 -0400 (EDT)
From: T Chase <survivalgame@excite.com>
Subject: Out In The Wild, Wild West 06

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

%

Segments of 'Out In The Wild, Wild West'
are dedicated to my historical archivist, Steve.

%

"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.

%

"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!

%

"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.

%

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.

%

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