By Alex Ironrod

This story contains adult-oriented material, involving sexually explicit, non-consensual behavior between men.

Copyright 2021 by Alex Ironrod. All rights reserved.

This story is posted here with permission.

Jack Thomson was pissed off, pissed at himself. He’d done in the transmission of his car on a rock sticking out of the dirt on the back road. It was his own fault for showing off to Mary-Louise. He’d invited her to the parade at Texas A & M, and he’d dressed up in his cavalry uniform – khaki breeches with a wide flare, spit-polished brown boots and his uncle’s Prince of Wales spurs, with new straps – his right as a senior. He knew his 6’ frame looked good in the khaki shirt, tie and the Sam Browne belt; he’d strutted round the parade ground with his boot cleats ringing loudly and his campaign hat at just the right angle.

Mary-Louise had been properly impressed, according to his best friend, Tim Dixon, and so he’d stayed in uniform to drive her back home in the hills outside College Station. They’d made out in the back of his Chevy, but he had to be back for duty by 7pm, so he’d cut it short, and, following her directions, tried the short cut through the dry and dusty hills back to college. Now it was late afternoon; he was stuck, and he hadn’t bothered to tell Tim or the others where he was going. He kicked at the tire with his boot in exasperation.

“You need some help?” a voice helloed from behind him. Jack swung round; a man sat a tall horse on the nearby hill. “Got a problem with your car?” “Yes, sir, wrecked the transmission.” “Hold on,” and the man urged the stallion down the slope and trotted towards him. Jack watched him approach and dismount with a jingle of spurs.

He was about the same height as Jack, but much broader across the shoulders and chest in a well-worn work shirt, and older – over 30, compared to Jack’s 21 – under the brown Stetson. He moved easily in his heavy brown leather chaps, encasing his jeans, and his worn boots with the jingle-bob spurs. “What happened? You aren’t exactly dressed for car repairs.” “No, sir, I’m a senior at     A & M and I was escorting a young lady home after our parade,” Jack explained a little pompously. “Well, my ranch is a couple of miles away and you could phone for help from there,” suggested the stranger. “I’d be grateful.” “Fine; can you ride? Put your foot in my stirrup and swing up behind me. And watch with those dinky spurs. Sierra doesn’t appreciate unnecessary jabs.”

The horse moved briskly away from the car in response to pressure from the rider’s leathered legs, and Jack bounced behind the saddle, pulling down the strap on his hat and circling his arms around the man. “By the way, my name is Brad, Brad Steenbeck,” the horseman introduced himself. “Jack Thomson, a senior “Aggie,” studying engineering. “What’s with cavalry uniform?,” the stranger enquired. “Oh, I’m one of the “Zips,” a top group of the corps of cadets, who are the only ones allowed to dress like this – my uncle was one before me, and it’s his English spurs I’m wearing – and I think the outfit’s neat.” “Well, it’s going to get dusty on this trail, and the tall chaparral is going to scratch your pretty boots. OK if we try a gentle lope – you can hold on tighter if you want.”

Jack did exactly that, as Sierra broke into a smooth but fast canter. His sweaty hand slipped below the stranger’s waist, into the denimed hole between the leather chaps and he felt the stirrings of a large penis. He tried to remove his hand, but Brad’s gloved fist forced it down, to massage the prick underneath. Jack’s own tool was coming to life as he slithered on Sierra’s broad back. He wasn’t sure what to make of these sensations, as the horse’s rapid gait carried them into the hills. “Relax, son, enjoy it. We’ll soon be there.” Brad’s spare hand now reached behind him and accurately squeezed Jack’s expanding member.

As they slowed down to a walk, a well-cared for ranch house and barn came into view. “I’ll move my leg forward; put your foot into the stirrup and swing down,” the ranger suggested. They both dismounted with a jingle of spurs and creak of leather, each with an unacknowledged but vigorous hard-on. “I’ll put Sierra away in the barn, while you go into the house and use the phone. The door’s unlocked.” Jack clomped into the tiled living room, his boot cleats echoing in the empty silence. The space was comfortably furnished with masculine western accents; another saddle and coiled ropes sat on a rack in a corner; spurs, gloves and a straw Stetson hung from pegs. On the walls were photographs and citations; Jack looked more closely. Brad Steenbeck was a Texas Ranger, with awards for “conspicuous bravery” in a shoot-out and for horsemanship and marksmanship.

No-one else seemed to live there, and there was little sign of a woman’s touch, even in the kitchen, as Jack explored, looking for the phone. He even tried a bedroom, where the king-sized bed was covered with a shiny brown leather throw. No luck.

He wandered back out and across to the barn. “Brad, I can’t find a phone.” “Hang on a minute. Come and use the one back here.” Jack squinted as he left the fading sunshine for the gloom of the stable barn, his spurs throwing up an aroma of hay, leather and manure. Suddenly his arm was jerked savagely behind him, and he was swung round against a massive hairy chest and a large cock strutting out between leather chaps. “You seemed to like that ride in more ways than one. So let’s put our hard-ons to work,” growled Brad.

“But the phone… I have to report back in….and you’re hurting my arm. What the fuck do you want?” “I want to try you out.” The ranger twisted Jack’s arm further up his back, while his booted feet with the jingle-bob spurs kicked Jack’s Dehners apart. “I’m not interested….aaaaah,” as the pain increased, and Brad’s other gloved hand reached up with a strong-smelling pad which he pushed into Jack’s nose and mouth. The Aggie sagged into the Ranger’s strong arms.

When Jack came to, his arms had been tied above his head to two beams and his now-dusty boots were roped wide apart to the same beams. His shirt and undershirt were off, and hands were unzipping his breeches and pulling them and his boxer shorts down. “Good, you’re waking up,” Brad’s husky voice cleared some of the confusion from Jack’s brain. “I want you to feel every step of this new experience. Let’s begin by tickling this prick of yours and then moving up.”

The ranger stepped into a circle of light in front of him; he’d changed. Gone were the shirt and jeans, the working chaps. His hairy chest was almost covered by a leather vest, and his strong thighs were encased in gleaming black leather chaps and Dehner dress boots rising to his knees. The jingle-bob spurs tinkled in the stillness.

“Shout all you like. The doors are locked and you’re miles from anywhere. Now let’s tickle that cock with my whip. H’mm, that’s better. It really seems to like this treatment.” Jack squirmed in the ropes, but they held him firmly in place, as the whip and the gloved hands trailed slowly up his body, tweaking his small nipples, which also responded to the pressure. The whip pushed at his mouth. “You’re a Texas Ranger. How can you do this to me?” he gurgled as the whip’s thick handle pushed past his teeth into his mouth and the gloved hands caressed his face and ruffled his hair. “I’m a Ranger with a decidedly different bent; I take my pleasures differently and my pleasure is take you at the first stage and opportunity.”

Brad moved in tight, embracing the bound body and adding his tongue to the whip-top in the boy’s mouth. Jack’s penis was now fully engorged, reaching out to Brad’s thick member, which had extended up against him. The whip and tongue thrust at the back of the boy’s mouth, and one gloved hand kept his head steady for the savage kiss. Then both were pulled out and the hands moved down his back, with the whip’s cords sliding alongside. One glove stopped at his cheeks and a finger slipped into his ass hole. “Hey, leave me alone,” squeaked Jack, “I’m not bent.” “Not yet,” smiled Brad, twisting the Aggie’s face round so that he could kiss it, “but I’ve started to work on it. You cavalry boys shouldn’t poke your swords out front.”

Brad pushed harder against the resisting bound body, while a second gloved finger slipped into the hole and the other hand massaged the two cocks together. “Yes, sir, promising, but I need a few more items to tease you up before I get serious,” and with that Brad moved away, returning with metal and leather. “Let’s begin with your cock and balls. You’re already leaking, and I don’t want you coming yet.” A cold metal cock ring was slid firmly into position on the Aggie, followed by hands separating his balls and tying them tightly with rawhide. Jack cursed loudly and groaned deeply as his nipples were roughly twisted and tweaked.

Then he screamed, as metal clips bit into first one rosy tit and then the other. “I’m just using baby tit clamps and chain to start with. I can tell you’re a virgin to man-sex, so I’ll lead you in step by step. Here, taste some of your pre-cum. You’ll get to enjoy it.” A gloved hand slipped some of the jism from his bound cock into his protesting mouth. Jack resisted, trying to bite the glove, but the ranger was too quick and followed with a hard slap across the boy’s face. “Well, well, you’ve got some cohunes after all. I thought you were going to let me have you without a struggle, but I enjoy spirit in man and beast. And I need my hand; so let’s try a gag in its place – and you need curbing, like any young stallion.” Brad pinched Jack’s nose, his mouth opened and in went a black leather cock-gag to be buckled tightly round his head.

As Jack tried to catch his breath, Brad had retrieved his whip and moved behind him. “Just a warm-up exercise with the whip for a start.” The blow caught Jack unawares; he jerked and spluttered in his bondage and sweat broke out on his face, but the ranger continued with half a dozen more lashes raising livid weals on the bare buttocks. “Now, my young cavalryman, my prick needs its exercise too, in your heated virgin hole.” First, some lube, and two fingers spread grease in and around his chute. “I’ll start at a walk to get you used to the sensation, before I go into a canter.” Jack felt an iron rod poking at his entrance, then sliding through the grease and pushing hard at his muscle. It was a pain like nothing he had felt before, battering at his gate.

Brad thrust again, harder, and the greased tool slid through the quivering muscle and up the virgin passage. His victim shuddered and shook in the ropes and muffled screams filtered round the leather gag. Their Dehner boots banged against one another and their spurs chimed together. The ranger’s sweating body embraced the Aggie, as his cock sank its full 8-inch length into the warm hole; he withdrew, and, panting like a horse in heat, charged in and out at an increasing pace.

“Shit, I’m well in the saddle; let’s canter,” he gasped, thrusting his hips forward as if the bound and twitching body of Jack was indeed a loping stallion. The two chests heaved in sweaty unison, as penis and hole became one. The jingle-bob spurs shook in rhythm with the pronging, and, as the ranger’s cum boiled up and into the virgin cave, they and his Dehner boots’ cleats rang out together in triumph. The two men hung together, sweating and fucking. Brad twisted Jack’s face around. Tears glistened in his eyes; anger furrowed his brow, but lust caused the panting and hard breathing round the gag.

“A fucking great first ride” Brad chortled, “now let’s gallop you home,” and he grabbed Jack’s aching and straining prick, rubbing the ridges of his gloved hand along the member. Jack twisted, trying to remove the exciting but foreign influence. Too late. His body arched and, with a high-pitched shout, smothered by the black gag, he came, and an arc of thick white jism splashed onto his brown Dehner boots and the floor. “I told you you’d enjoy it,” the ranger’s prick slithered out of its temporary home and he shook off a few drops of cum. He slapped Jack’s enflamed ass, and, reaching into the pocket of his chaps, slid the black leather plug he produced into the boy’s empty hole.

“That should keep you interested for a while. Now, tomorrow we’re going up to my cabin and I need to know if you know how to ride. Nod if you can.” The hesitant slow nod from the bound, gagged and panting Aggie was his answer. “Well then, we should get you some practice this evening. I’ll bring the saddle rack tower over and we’ll get you into position.” Jack watched blearily as the tall wooden tower was wheeled up to him, and a saddle cinched on top. “I’m going to release your boots, then pull up your breeches and lower your arms, so that you can mount up. No funny business,” warned Brad.

The Aggie man was too stiff and sore to try anything. With the aid of a mounting block, Jack was able to climb onto the saddle. Groaning deeply as he sank down onto his beaten and plugged ass. Brad reached over, pulling the reluctant penis and leather-bound balls and cock-ring out in front of the now dirty khaki breeches and anchoring them to the saddle horn, so that any sudden movement caused the boy pain. He rammed Jack’s other booted foot into its stirrup, twisting the spur inward and, with a thin cord, tying one spur rowel to the other under the belly of the tower and producing audible cries from the leather gagged mouth.

“The old leather poncho should keep your body warm tonight, and I don’t want your sweaty head to catch cold, so let’s cover it.” With that, the ranger slipped the leather wrap over Jack’s shoulders and chest, and then dropped a thick black leather hood over the Aggie’s twisting and resisting head. “Hold still, if you want me to get the breathing holes in place. Now, let me smooth the leather over your eyes and mouth, and cinch it up tight in back.”

Darkness descended on Jack, as the leather closed over his face, blinding and further silencing him, and leaving him swaying uncomfortably in the saddle, with his tool tied in front of him and his ass hole twitching under the plug which forced its way further inside him. His tired arms were now pulled out sideways and the ropes secured again. As he grunted and tried to flex his abused and aching muscles, gloved hands grasped his tightly leathered head, and a hard kiss squashed his firmly gagged mouth. “Get used to the saddle, and don’t fall off. Goodnight, young Aggie bastard.”

Then all he could hear was jingle-bob spurs retreating into the distance, barn door closing and the creak of the leather saddle that imprisoned him. He had missed his roster call, and when his friends realized that he was missing, no-one back at college would know where to start looking for him. He was lost in a new world of leather and lust.

To be continued …

© Copyright 2021 by Alex Ironrod. If you’re enjoying this story, let him know in the comments section below as well as at his website, alex-ironrod.com.