By Alex Ironrod
Something woke Jack Thomson from his troubled doze. He struggled, but his arms remained outstretched, roped. Instead he only succeeded in tormenting his prick, tied to the saddle horn, and his ass hole with its invasive thick plug. Unable to see or hear much through the thick leather of the hood, or to move his hobbled legs, he wobbled in the saddle atop the wooden saddle rack.
The leather creaked and then he heard the ching of those damned spurs of Ranger Brad Steenbeck, whose voice seemed far away, “Wake up, kid, time to get moving.” His penis was released, then his legs and finally his arms. But the Aggie still couldn’t see anything through the leather across his face, and his mouth was sore and dry from the tight gag. “Come on, try to dismount.” Jack could feel Brad’s arms supporting him, as he willed his tired muscles to move, after his all-night torment. He finally slid out of the saddle, to be held by the ranger, who untied the hood and the leather gag.
It was dark and gloomy in the barn and Brad was dressed warmly in a sheepskin jacket, with his worn brown leather chaps over jeans and spurred boots. “Swing your arms and legs to get the circulation going,” suggested Steenbeck, “I’ll risk letting you crap this morning and feed you before we ride up the mountain. Hurry up. I’m right behind you.”
He thrust Jack’s shirt into his hands and the Aggie stumbled out of the barn in his khaki breeches and Dehner boots and across to the ranch house. Shivering, he performed his ablutions and wolfed a protein drink and oatmeal. It seemed a long time since he had left college the previous afternoon. He began to feel alive again, as he watched the sun coming up over the surrounding hills. But Brad was ready to shove the butt-plug in him. “Zip up this leather jacket and hitch up your cavalry breeches properly. I want my prisoners well turned out. Give me your hands.” Wet rawhide strips were tied round Jack’s wrists and looped together; then ropes bound his upper arms around his chest and a black rubber gag was substituted in his still sore mouth and buckled round his head.
“Right, let’s mount up.” Brad brought a docile-looking gelding out of its stall.
“You said you didn’t have much riding experience. Crazy for a cavalryman, but I think this uniform of yours is largely for show at that college. Up you get.” With difficulty, because of his anchored arms, Jack clambered into the western saddle, groaning as the butt-plug sank fully back into his hole, and took up the reins.
Brad chortled as he swung easily into the saddle of the large chestnut stallion. Then he reached over and thrust a three-foot pole through Jack’s roped elbows, further immobilizing the young man’s torso. Out came the shiny black hood again, with Brad leaning over to kiss the bruised lips before he smoothed the black leather over the surprised face and tightened the laces in back. Then he grabbed the rawhide ties and twisted them round the saddle horn, allowing Jack just enough leverage to grasp the reins. “Don’t worry, your horse will follow Sierra, and I’ll let you know when we’re going to go faster than a jog.” Brad slapped the gelding’s rump, and, with jingling spurs and creaking leather, they were off.
Jack felt disoriented and vulnerable; the leather hood pressed against his face, the rope bonds forced him to grip the saddle hard with his knees and thighs to stay upright, [particularly in a couple of early canters], and his hands could do little to guide the horse through the reins. He prided himself on his athletic abilities at A&M, but this was a different form of exercise and his thighs began to ache.The horses were climbing, and the sun’s warmth was causing sweat to break out on the boy’s forehead and trickle down his masked face.
The ranger whistled tunelessly, but there was no conversation until Brad reined up and Jack’s horse stopped suddenly. “We’re here. I’ll help you dismount. I want you naked.”
The Aggie sat the horse, stunned, unwilling to move. The ranger cleared the rawhide off the saddle horn, and tumbled him down to the hard ground, aiming a couple of hard booted kicks at his crotch. The ropes and pole came off his upper torso and were loosely wound onto each of his wrists. “When I give an order, it’s obeyed, or else. Get those clothes off now – underwear, boots, spurs and all.”
Jack complied slowly, moving by feel with the hood masking his eyes, and leaving his uniform and boots in a pile. The sun was now warm enough on his bare skin, as he stood in a daze, stark naked, adorned with the metal cock-ring thrusting his tool out in front and the plug well seated in his ass. His arms now were pulled up and sideways one at a time and he felt the ropes being attached and pulling him open. Similarly his ankles were forced apart and roped, so that he felt suspended and helpless, and breathed heavily around the gag.
“Right, let’s get you warmed up first.” Jack heard Brad’s jingle-bob spurs retreat and suddenly a blow cracked across his back. The whipping began; the boy jerked and groaned, but the ropes had no give. He ground his teeth into the rubber gag in his mouth, as another lash snaked round his back and onto his chest. He heard Brad grunt with the effort, as twelve stripes were laid across his back and buttocks. Yes, he certainly felt warmed up and his cock had risen up in rhythm with the strokes and the ring was keeping it there. Jack felt the warmth of Brad’s body move close behind him, his gloved hand roughly stroking and irritating the twelve weals and then suddenly pulling out the butt plug.
“Time to lube up for the morning fucking,” grated Brad and his sweaty chest pelt moved up and stung Jack’s raw back, as the Aggie felt lubed fingers poking round his hole, which had been kept open all night by the plug. When Brad’s prick tip entered his gate, it entered more easily and the ranger thrust his 8 inches home, as Jack silently screamed into his moist leather hood and shuddered in his ropes, as the sharp pains ran through him. “Good, you’re opening up to me, son; you’ll soon enjoy these fuck sessions as much as I do,” and Brad withdrew almost all the way and then rammed back up the chute. “Never,” thought the hooded, gagged and strung-up Jack, “I’ll never bend to him, I’m not gay.” But his excited cock said otherwise, as one of Brad’s gloved hands massaged it to full erection, while the other arm encircled the boy’s neck in a choke hold.
The ranger ground his sweating, half naked body against the heated, roped Aggie, panting and groaning as his tool increased its pace. The boy, bound and bruised, still bucked against the large thrusting invader of his sore passage, still struggled to expel the painful, vibrating cock. “Fuck, I’m coming. Let’s blow off together.” As the ranger gathered himself for his final charge and then released his load of cum into the innards of his prisoner. His hand furiously pumped Jack’s member and an arc of shining thick jism exploded out of the boy, spewing onto his thighs and chest. They stood panting in the fresh air, their bodies joined together in a sticky release in the warm sunshine.
Jack was furious with himself and his body for responding so easily and for the shudders of pleasure that followed the pain. Brad seemed pleased and, reaching up, removed the hood and began to untie the ropes. As his feet were freed, Jack blinked in the strong daylight, feeling the slight breeze, noting that Steenbeck had slicked off shirt and jeans and had worked him over in his heavy leather chaps, boots and, of course, the chinking spurs. As the arm ropes were detached from the trees, between which he had hung, Jack saw a chance and ran, dodging between trees and bushes.
Brad laughed, and, running to the horses, vaulted into the stallion’s saddle, set off in eager pursuit. He untied his lariat, swung a couple of loops and dropped the coils neatly over the running Aggie’s chest. He dallied the rope round his saddle horn and Jack thumped to the ground. “Get up, kid, and be grateful I don’t drag you back on your stomach. Don’t try it again. I like your spirit, but you still need lessons in bending to my will, and we might as well start now.”
Jack stumbled to his feet, swallowed into the thick black gag, and trotted behind Sierra’s thick rump, back to the camp, which he saw for the first time. The ranger’s prick had risen to alert again with the excitement and lay across the front of the saddle, as he reined in and dismounted. He circled his rope a couple more times round Jack’s torso, cinched it tight and then tied his wrists to the saddle horn with the drying rawhide. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to get you settled,” he threw over his shoulder. The Aggie twisted and turned and then tried to remove the gag by rubbing it against the stirrup leathers, only to be rewarded by a sharp slap on his heated rear, as Steenbeck passed by and then disappeared from view down the grassy slope.
On his return, Brad grasped the boy by his hair, “Since you don’t like that gag either, let’s try another.” He jerked out the rubber and shoved in a leather open mouth gag, which provided a passage past the teeth; then he untied Jack’s wrists and dragged him down the slope to a bare patch of ground. “Lie down,” he instructed the buck-naked boy, “and stretch out your arms.” The Aggie hesitated a minute, until a punch to the stomach folded him up. Brad took the rawhide covered wrists and attached them to the wood pegs he had knocked into the ground, and then jerked the legs wide apart and tied off the ankles with fresh damp strips. Jack winced as his beaten back and butt were scraped across the ground; he tensed and humped in the restraints and gurgled protests through the gag, to no avail.
“Too bad, kid, I was going to tie you up in the cabin, but, since you don’t want to be broke to ride, I needed something more severe. By the way, the rawhide will dry and shrink pretty soon in the sun, so you’ll get a good stretch now.
“Now let’s try a little spur action on you,” Brad chuckled as he moved to stand over him and turned the jingle-bob spurs into the prostrate body. The rowels ran slowly up and down the boy’s bare sides, like a lover’s hard caress, the jingle-bobs chiming cheerfully. Then suddenly he kicked Jack, forcing the rowels into the skin of the chest and drawing groans from his spread-eagled victim. “Oh, you’ve still got a voice. Well, here’s an extra couple of kicks to remind you who’s in charge. That open mouth is just the receptacle for my early morning coffee.” With that , the ranger let fly with a stream of hot piss from the tool he’d been stroking, aiming for the gag-stretched mouth, but splattering Jack’s head and chest with his golden shower.
The boy swallowed as best he could and grunted noisily. “Yeah, you better learn to enjoy that taste too. Now I’ll leave you to the flies and insects; they’ll have a feast with my piss on your face. See you in a couple of hours. I’ll be in the cabin, if you want me.”
The Aggie shuddered, thrashing his head around to get rid of a few drops of piss. But the sun was already drying it, and also the rawhide binding him to the stakes. His own prick quivered with its needs, and a slow stream of piss poured out, saturating his penis, bush and thighs. He was well coated and now could only wait for the onslaught from buzzing flies and other insects. At first, it wasn’t too bad, as he could twist his body and disturb them. But gradually he felt an increasing pull on his arms and legs as the rawhide shrank.
Any slack disappeared and the muscles in his thighs, already aching from the ride, spasmed as his legs were dragged ever further apart. His arms began to feel as though they were being pulled out of his shoulders. The insects seemed to sense his helplessness and swarmed in force, some biting at his tool and inner thighs. A procession of ants climbed onto his face, making for the salivating mouth. He shook his head and dislodged some, but the column marched round the leather gagged mouth, looking for liquid. A few flies circled lazily, and then dropped onto his eyelids and nose, and he spluttered and moaned again. The sun beat down and added to his agony, baking his fair skin. Stretched ever wider, open mouth gagged and naked to the wind and world of insects, his mind shrank away in torment.
At last he heard the clink of the spurs again, and found the ranger, now fully dressed again, standing over his body, prick at the ready. His heavy boot thumped into Jack’s sticky crotch. “Wake up. Hope you’re enjoying your time in the sun. Time to leave, but I want to give you another present first.” He had been massaging his heavy cock , which Jack was actually seeing in action for the first time, and he squatted over the stretched and stressed body. Drops of pre-cum were smeared over the boy’s face and the large tool positioned over the gagged-open mouth.
Kneeing and spurring his victim, Brad stroked the ridges of his cock with his gloved hands ever faster until he came with a triumphant shout, shooting a line of cum into the mouth and then into the hair of the victim. The boy thrashed, gurgled and swallowed desperately, as the jism hit the back of his throat and almost choked him. “Good, that’s better. You really keep me turned on, son. Now let’s turn you loose.”
Steenbeck cut the binding rawhide; the Aggie lay there, unable to move. His muscles had frozen in position. “Come on, boy, [another kick to the balls] or do I have to lug you home.” It was no use; Jack couldn’t get up. The ranger went to get the horses, and then, heaving the boy to his feet, flung his body across the gelding’s saddle, ass upward, like a naked animal, and tied his hands and feet together under the belly of the beast. A tight rope round his chest was then wound around the saddle horn in front and a ring at the back of the saddle, to hold him in place. Jack’s uniform was stuffed inside his high Dehner brown boots and these were fastened also on the back of the saddle.
Brad came round and lifted the Aggie’s head by a handful of hair. “What do you say, boy, are you mine now?”
“Yes, sir,” came a whisper through the gagged mouth.
“Speak up, I didn’t hear you.”
Jack groaned and gurgled a louder, “Yes, sir” to his captor.
The ride back seemed endless. The Aggie’s trussed body slithered backward and forward on the leather of the saddle, agitating the cock stuck beneath him into producing a pool of precum. The ropes held him in place, although he hit his head a few times on bushes, as they rode by. Finally they reached the ranch barn, quiet in the late afternoon sun. The ranger swung down and clomped off to check the house.
His stallion sniffed the air and moved over to the boy’s body, captive on the gelding’s back, nuzzling the exposed ass. Brad strolled back whistling and then laughed when he saw what was happening. “Sierra wants to have you now, after my fuckings. It must be all the piss and cum smells. Let’s go in the barn and see what happens.” The ranger led the two horses in, tying the gelding in place and unsaddling and unbridling the stallion, but keeping him on the lead rope. The randy stallion gave a loud whinny and lunged toward the bound boy, nuzzling and licking at his bare ass. Steenbeck quickly backed the horse off and cross-tied it for the moment.
He dragged over the high saddle rack he’d used for the Aggie’s torment the night before, and, after releasing his body from the gelding’s back, threw Jack over the saddle rack. Brad tied him down, laughing, despite his struggles and gurgled protests through the leather gag, “Look at the size of that horse’s prick, boy. Here I’m smoothing on your butt some of the pre-cum you seem to have leaked on the ride home. My stallion wants to cover you – and to stretch that hole of yours to hell. I can see Sierra wants to thrust his long prong into your narrow passage. See how it glistens with its own pre-cum. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t loose him on you.”
Jack thrashed even more, as the ranger dragged the saddle rack nearer the aroused stallion. He looked over his shoulder at the magnificent animal and its more magnificent member and knew he would be split in two by the shiny tool and would never survive such a rape. At that moment, Steenbeck seemed to relent, gradually calming the horse, and leading him to his stall and offering him grain with his hay.
The boy lay still, sweat pouring off his bound body and shudders running down his spine at his narrow escape. Would the ranger really have allowed the covering to go ahead? Jack wasn’t sure. Brad came over and cut the ropes, letting Jack fall into the dust and straw on the barn floor. “Shit, you’re a mess. Come on outside. I’ll get the hose and you can wash yourself off. Stand up for a start and let’s get some hobbles on your feet, so you won’t go wandering off again.” Jack somehow made it to the yard, and the ranger was ready with hose and some work soap. The cold water shocked the Aggie fully awake, and he lathered himself all over, with a rinse off before the water was turned off. “That’s better. Help me finish with the horses and then we had better find you something to wear.” Jack grunted around the gag and shuffled meekly behind, his hobbled ankles forcing small steps.
They unsaddled the gelding and turned him into his stall with a fresh flake of hay and then checked that the stallion had settled down. The ranger started to unbuckle his brown leather chaps, “Right, for clothes, you can wear my work chaps. We’re about the same height, so they should fit and they’re nice and warm, since I’ve been wearing them all day. You can put your Dehner boots on under them and that leather poncho can cover your top again. That way I keep your prick and your ass accessible to me at all times, and we can scrap the sissy cavalry shit.”
Jack did as he was told; the clothes warmed him up, but he was still hungry and thirsty. The ranger checked him over and removed the gag. He brought over a butt plug with a long horse-hair tail attached and thrust it into the boy’s hole. “There, you’re beginning to look the part. Now, let’s put you in your stall and I’ll get you something to eat. I guess hay won’t do,” and Brad dragged him into the nearest stall, slid a thick leather collar round his neck and locked that to a ring in the wall. “There, you’ll keep while I get the grub.”
Jack stood at attention, high neck-tied to the wall and hobbled, trying to compute the changes of the past twenty-four hours. He was being mentally and physically abused by a stronger personality; the sexual torture and humiliation were a form of tough love, very different from anything he had known before. He had been opened and used, yet, as a result, strangely, he felt a kind of freedom, an absence of responsibility, and a growing dependence on this man, which he had never experienced anywhere before.
Brad returned with stew and protein to drink. “Feed yourself, your hands are free.” Jack eagerly swallowed the food ; he was still hungry, but he sensed there was nothing more. The lessons resumed; leather restraints were put around his wrists, then raised and linked to rings round his collar.
Out came a new gag – a leather bit, with straps and reins. He was buckled in; the bit roughly pushed into his teeth and straps then closed mouth and circled his head. Next came a heavy leather harness, which the ranger slid over his shoulders, buckled round the boy’s chest and waist. His penis and balls were roughly pushed through another ring, whose straps ran down from his waist, between his legs and pushed up to his cheeks. The horsehair tail plug was first removed to get the ass ring into position, and then roughly shoved back into its hole, while the strap continued back up to his waist, where it was locked in place.. He still wore the leather chaps and boots circling his thighs and legs, and now, removing the hobbles, Steenbeck stooped to buckle on a pair of jingle-bob spurs. The straps were then all tightened, and the reins attached to the waist belt, forcing his head higher into the air, while the colla nailed him to the upright post. “Well, my young stallion, you’re properly leathered up to ride. I’m going to leave you to settle into your new uniform, whilst I eat and do some chores.”
Jack tried moving. His neck and wrists were immobilized, while the thick leather chaps and his own brown Dehners kept him warm, and now he wore jingle-bob spurs like his master. But the black harness was heavy and confining. His ever-alert prick pulled in its straps, which forced the plug further into his ass and the horsehair tail tickled his thighs. He couldn’t look down but stared at the kerosene lantern and chewed on the leather bit gag. The aroma of leather and fresh straw rose pleasantly around him; the chomping of the horses feeding was soothing; yes, he did feel like a young stallion, all in leather harness and being broke to ride. He was being owned and mastered.
To be continued …
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