By Johnny Utah

Based on a suggestion by MetalbondNYC

The owners of the ranch sent me a letter. In 90 days, they planned to sell the ranch. They were asking me to do some upgrades and offered me almost double my pay for my work in looking after the horses and keeping the barns in shape. I accepted. What else did I have to do?

For the couple of weeks all I did was work. The owners came by to see me with some new plans for some upgrades. It meant a lot of digging. They were supposed to have a contactor show up with an excavator, but he never showed, so I used a shovel and wheelbarrow. I got up and took care of the horses. I sweated out in the sun all day, went home, ate, went to sleep, and got up the next morning to repeat it.

It was early Saturday morning. I heard the sound of a truck pulling up in the driveway. Sgt. Stiles arrived. He had sent me a text last night that he would be over. I looked out the window, and sure enough there he was in all his glory. Stetson hat, stern jaw, and thick neck, all I could think was “WOOF!”

He was wearing a plain long sleeve white shirt and his tight ass Wrangler jeans. He wore shitkicker black cowboy boots. I grabbed my hat and put it on backwards and went out to meet him.

“Hi, Sir,” I said.

“Hi Johnny. Let’s go for a walk to the barns. We got some stuff to discuss.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said.

We walked down the track to the horse barns. It was quiet walking down to the barns. When we got there Sgt. Stiles started talking.

“I heard the owners are planning to sell. What are you going to do when you have to leave here?” Sgt. Stiles asked.

“Sir, I don’t know. I have a couple of ideas. I could go back up north and try to make a living up there. I like working here, but I knew it wasn’t going to be a permanent job. I could look for a place and a job down here somewhere. I was going to ask for your help, Sir.”

“I think you have a few more choices than that, Johnny. It all depends on your level of commitment.”

Sgt. Stiles suddenly stopped talking then said, “Johnny, are you plugged?”

“No, Sir,” I replied, lowering my head. I knew punishment was coming. It was such an easy order to follow. I just hadn’t done it.

Sgt Stiles shook his head.

“Strip!” He ordered.

“Yes, Sir.”

I yanked of my T-shirt and hat. I dropped my jeans and jock and stepped out of them. I was about to take my boots off when he said, “Keep the boots on. Run back to the trailer get the medium plug and bring it here.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I ran down the track to the trailer as fast as I could, out of fear of someone seeing me and out of lust. My hardening cock bounced in front of me. What was wrong with me, was I some kind of freak that got off being ordered around naked? My cock seemed to confirm the answer was yes. I found the plug in the box I kept hidden in the bedroom closet. Lots of secrets in bedroom closets, I thought. I ran back to the barns. Sgt Stiles was waiting for me just outside the barn door. I ran up to him. I assumed a position that could be called attention if you were generous. He reached out and took the plug from my hand.

“Do you want his to go in dry, Johnny?”

“No, Sir!”

“Run back to the trailer and get some lube, boy.”

“Yes, Sir!”

As I ran back to the trailer again, I thought, “That was stupid of me. I should have just grabbed it when I picked up the plug.” Then it occurred to me that he said to get the plug, not anything else. No matter if I bought the lube with me the first time or not, I would have been wrong. I got to the trailer, grabbed the lube and ran back to the barn. I had a light coating of sweat on me now, and I still had my hard-on. My second time running back to the barn was a bit slower. Sgt. Stiles was there standing hands on his hips, just so masculine!

I stood in front of him.

“Sir, I got the lube, Sir.”

“Come over here.”

There were two haybales stacked in the middle of the barn. He must have put them there.

“Bend over that hay.”

I bent over the haybales. The hay wasn’t soft. It scratched my balls and hard cock. I felt a lube-coated finger work its way into my hole. I let out a little groan of pleasure.

“Keep quiet!” he said.

Another finger intruded into my hole. He had never done that before. I guess my hole had stretched. Suddenly his fingers were out of me. The tip of the plug was pressed up against me. He pushed it in, not stopping for my grunts. It burned. When I thought I couldn’t take anymore it was in. My hole muscle gripped the narrow part of the plug at the base. It was in me. I was filled up. My cock was leaking. I took short breaths. It felt like that plug was all the way up in my chest.

“You’ll get used to that bigger plug from now on, Johnny.”

“Yes, Sir.” My mouth was dry.

“You’ve got to understand, Johnny, that you need guidance. When you’re left to be your own boss you fuck up. I gave you a simple instruction to follow and you didn’t.”

I was still bent over the haybales.

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.” I really meant it. I was afraid he would leave.

“If you’re thinking of staying down here with me, you’re going to have to straighten up your act, or you’re going to have to realize that you need boundaries,” Sgt. Stiles said. “Get up!” he ordered. “Come on, let’s go to my truck. I’ve got something to show you.”

Sgt. Stiles grabbed a hold of my balls and led me down the track to my trailer and his truck parked in front of it. The air was warm and sticky. So was I. The run back and forth to the barn and my leaking cock was just like the Florida air. I walked on my tiptoes as best I could. I was the walking example of having a stick up your ass. We got to the driveway in front of my trailer.

Sgt. Stiles looked me right in my eyes and moved his hand from my balls to my cock. He started to stroke me. I responded. I was gasping for air, hoping he wouldn’t stop. He didn’t. I spurted. I came all over Sgt. Stiles hand.

“Open your mouth.”

I did.

He curled a cum glazed finger and stuck it in my mouth and used it like a fishhook to lead me out to his truck. We walked to the back of his truck.

“You didn’t see these when I pulled up, did you?”

Hanging from the trailer hitch of his truck was one of those pair of pink plastic bull balls. The kind you see on pick-ups driven by backwoods PBR yokels.

“No, Sir,” I mumbled around the finger he still had in my mouth.

“Nice set of bull balls, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Sir,” I mumbled around his finger.

He ran his finger around the inside of my mouth then pulled his finger out. He squatted down and put his arm under his truck. He smeared my own cum over those ox balls. Sgt. Stiles got back up off his haunches.

“Get down there and lick those balls clean!” he barked.

That black metal beast! I licked my own cum of its trailer hitch, and now I would lick its balls. I never felt more humiliated, not at the barber shop getting my head shaved, at work camp, not even at the SHU. I got down on all fours and crawled under the rear bumper. I had to stick my butt up and get down on my arms to reach those low-hanging globes of pink plastic. My stretched asshole felt better as I stuck my ass higher to get into position. I stuck out my tongue and licked. How many times would I have to service his truck? I thought.

“Get up from under there!” he ordered.

“I crawled and slid my way out and started to stand up.

“Stay on yer knees!”

“Yes, Sir,” I said meekly. I was feeling the humiliation of what I had just done.

Sgt. Stiles took a close look at my neck. “I was afraid that might happen. You’ve been sweating and putting on muscle.  I’m going to have to get you another collar.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll get you a new collar.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Stay on your knees until I’m gone. Then run back to the barn and get your shorts.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Be ready when I get here tomorrow, and ready means that plug will be up your ass, understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Sir, I will be ready tomorrow with my ass plugged, Sir.”

“That’s good. I want you to think about what you are going to do when you leave here. Think about what you are willing to do.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Sgt. Stiles got in his truck with the swinging pink balls that I had licked and drove down the drive to the main road.

I got up and ran to the barn. I didn’t go too fast because my ass was stuffed. I worked some more as best I could with that plug in me. I went back to the trailer, ate dinner and went to bed. I left the plug in. I had a wet dream:

I was a bank robber in the Old West.

I had been captured by a posse led by Sheriff Stiles. They hadn’t been too gentle with me. They all took turns fucking me or making me suck them off before they dragged me back into town to the county jail.

My trial was a joke. The judge was the father of the guy who I stole the cows from. The bank manager of the bank I robbed was the only witness and positively ID’d me. It was over in less than an hour. Verdict, guilty. Sentence, to hang by the neck until dead.

As my dream continued, I was stuck in my cell in the county courthouse. Three brick walls — the bricks smelled old and moldy, a barred window with no glass, and the traditional bars and door to the front. I had a blanket and a rickety cot to sleep on. I had a bucket to piss in. If I need to shit it meant I went shackled with an escort to the outhouse.

My last night. No last meal to speak of.  Beans and a biscuit. That was it. I didn’t sleep.

Sunrise. I got up and took a piss in my bucket. I wondered if that was the last piss I’d take.

A beefy tall deputy came up to the bars.

“Utah. Doc’s coming to see you. He has to do something. You do it. It makes things easier.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I thought.

The doctor showed up. He looked like you’d expect. Wrinkled, gray hair and a scraggly beard. He wore a black suit. He had the smell of mothballs. The doc was let into my cell by the deputy. He closed and locked the cell door and stood off to the side.  The deputy could still see into my cell.

“Mr. Utah, I’ve got a job to do. I need to ask if you have been to the outhouse this morning?” the doc said.

“Nope, I didn’t have much dinner. It’s still stuck inside me. That biscuit was like a rock,” I said.

“Alright, son, why I have to do this is to keep things clean. It will help out the men who have to cut you down and it will help the undertaker. Is anyone going to claim your body?”

“No, there’s no one around this territory,” I said.

“OK, what you are going to do is drop your britches and your drawers. Then I need you to face the window and bend over.”

“Huh?” I didn’t hear him right.

The doc took out a small, smooth, bullet-shaped object.

“What the fuck is that for?” I asked.

“Son, this will stop you from shitting yer drawers when you hang. That’s what happens naturally. This keeps everything in you till they bury you.”

“Oh,” I said. I surprised myself. It made sense. I didn’t like the thought of that thing up my asshole.

“It won’t be in there for long. I mean you won’t feel it for long,” the doc said.

“OK, doc, you won’t get trouble from me,” I said.

I dropped my pants and my underwear, faced the window and bent over. The doc inserted the plug in me. I bent down and pulled my pants up. Bending over was OK, straightening up was an effort with that plug up my butt.

“You’ll get used to it,” the doc said.

“How long will they keep it in me, doc?” I asked.

“You’ll hang for half an hour. After that when you are cut down, the undertaker will take it out,” the doc said.

My dream continued.

The doc called out to the deputy. “I’m all done here, Brodie,” he said.

The big deputy came and opened the cell door and the doc walked out. The cell door clanged shut. The doc turned to me and said, “You just do what they tell you to do and it will go quick.”

“Thanks, doc,” I said. I gave him a wave.

I stood looking at the deputy, whose name I now knew was Brodie. I smiled at him. He looked at me.  My cock stated to harden up. Maybe it was that thing in my ass, maybe it was that slab of muscle in front of me named Brodie.

“You got any last requests?” said Deputy Brodie.

“Yeah, one. I don’t think you’ll do it though,” I said.

“Try me, I’ve heard it all. This ain’t my first hangin’.”

“I want to suck your cock,” I said flatly.

“Hmmuff,” said Brodie.

Brodie checked to his left and right. He moved up to the bars and took out a growing and hardening cock. I dropped to my knees as Deputy Brodie stuck that monster through the cell door bars.

“Uggtttt.” I struggled to get him my mouth.

Deputy Brodie had his eyes tightly shut. It didn’t take long. Deputy Brodie came. There wasn’t a lot. I swallowed most of it. The rest I wiped off on the back of my hand.

“That was good,” said Brodie. “I hope it’s what you wanted for your last request. Guess it’s your last meal too,” he smiled. “I gotta go clean up. When I come back it will be time.”

“OK, thanks Brodie,” I said, trying to be tough.

My dream continued. I heard the sound of boots coming down the hallway outside my cell. The townhall clock was chiming noon. The cell door opened. This was it. Deputy Brodie came in and tied my hands behind my back. He wasn’t too gentle with his knot tying. He slid his hand down my ass and gave the plug a pat. I grunted. Deputy Brodie then shackled my legs. Another man came in. He didn’t have a star on, so he wasn’t a deputy.

“Time to go, son. You follow me. Keep yer head up, look straight ahead and we’ll get this over with quickly,” he said. He was the assistant hangman.

I took a deep breath.

My dream continued. With the assistant hangman on one side and Deputy Brodie on the other, I was led out of my cell. I walked down the hallway to the door at the end of the cell block. My shackles dragged on the brick floor. We stepped outside into the courthouse back yard. There in front of me was the gallows.

“I gotta piss,” I said.

“No time for that,” Deputy Brodie said.

That fucker! I thought. After I gave him that blow job. My last blowjob, too.

“Wait, deputy!” The assistant hangman said. “I don’t want to be soaking up any piss off the gallows. Let him go here.”

Since my hands were tied, Deputy Brodie looked down at my pants and unbuttoned my jeans. He dragged out my cock.  I turned to face the cellblock and pissed on the wall right in front of me. My last statement to the jail, I thought. I got hard. By the time I was done there was no way my cock was going back into my jeans.

Deputy Brodie looked at the assistant hangman, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Now what?”

“Not the first time I’ve seen it. That’s where the saying ‘scared stiff’ comes from. Just leave it.

There are no ladies around and we’ve all seen a hard dick before,” the assistant hangman said.

My dream continued. I was led and pushed toward the steps going up to the gallows. The deputy went in front of me, the assistant hangman was behind me. My shackles clanged on the stairs as I went up. On the platform was the hangman with a noose waiting for me.

From the top of the platform, I could see Sheriff Stiles there below me. He was in his boots, those tight ass jeans and chaps. The crotch of his jeans bulged out. He had a massive hard-on. It must be growing in there, I thought. Sure enough, Sheriff Stiles spread his legs apart about shoulder width to give his cock more room. His right hand drifted down to his crotch. He knew I was concentrating on him. He started to rub his dick through his chaps and jeans. I groaned.

“Don’t worry, son, it will be soon over,” said the assistant hangman. He misunderstood my groan for pain when it was from lust.

My dream continued.

The assistant hangman positioned me over the trap door.

“Put your boots together,” he said.

I did, as close as the shackles allowed. I looked down to see what he was doing.

The assistant hangman tightened a belt around my ankles. Guess they don’t want me to dance around, I thought. When I put my head up, I was rewarded with the sight of Sheriff Stiles with his hard cock out of his jeans. His right hand was stroking it. It was a beauty. I imagined it in my mouth. Filling it up. The taste of his balls. Maybe after a hard day in the saddle. Leather scent from the saddle and sweat from him.

As the hangman slipped the hood over my head, the last sight I have is Sheriff Stiles pumping his rock-hard cock. I know he will cum when I drop. I felt the hard rope go over my head and tighten around my throat. I feel myself weightless. My last bodily function was to squirt two healthy loads of cum that went in a white gooey arc toward Sherriff Stiles’ boots. A third tried to launch but it just dribbled out to the ground beneath my shacked boots.

They left me there swinging.

 

On Sunday morning I was up early. After I showered, I put the plug back in. I had taken it out after I woke up from my dream last night. I got into my jock, shorts, T-shirt and hat. I was ready for Sgt. Stiles to arrive. The truck pulled in the driveway. I went out to meet him.

He lowered the passenger side window and yelled, “Lock up your trailer and get in the back of the truck.”

“Yes, Sir.”

We pulled out and headed for Lake City. On the drive Sgt. Stiles was on his phone a lot. Sgt. Stiles drove me to a Home Depot in Lake City. He parked. I hopped out of the back.

“When we get in, keep your hat on.”

“Yes, Sir.”

We walked into the store. As usual, the place was packed. Sgt. Stiles kept his Stetson on. At the front entrance waiting for us was Max, the barber. Damn that guy was big, he had to be at least 6-foot-3, maybe more.  He wore brown boots, blue jeans that stretched tight over his thighs, a tight white T-shirt, and a tan zipped open hoodie. He had a high-and-tight haircut just like Sgt. Stiles. A well-trimmed beard. He just oozed masculinity.

Sgt. Stiles and Max greeted each other with a bear hug and pounds on the back. I was ignored.

“So, what do we have to do?” asked Max.

“Got to replace the boy’s collar with a chain. It just wasn’t working out with the work he has to do. He’s been sweating and growing too much for that steel band collar. I’ve got to get something more flexible and something that can get bigger as he does.”

I just stood there as they discussed me like a prize bull. Meat on the hoof.

“Got ya,” the barber grunted. We wandered the store, Sgt. Stiles and Max in the lead with me following. We found the chain display. There were different types and thicknesses. Sgt. Stiles went straight for a chain I thought was way too heavy. I thought I’d be getting something thin, like a light chain almost leash-like. Sgt. Stiles ran a length of chain off the reel. “How much do I need?”

“I’ve got a measuring tape here somewhere,” Max the barber said as he dug through his hoodie pockets. He put his big hands up to my neck and ran the tape around me, just below my Adam’s apple. His hands smelled like leather and soap.

“17 inches,” said Max.

I was measured for my collar right in the store. I was red with embarrassment. Max pushed a customer assistance button. An announcement went off, “Customer needs assistance in the chain cutting area. Customer needs assistance in the chain cutting area.”

A store employee appeared in a couple of minutes. He was an average looking guy. He came up to Sgt. Stiles and said, “Can I help you, Sir?”

“I need 17 inches of this chain.”

The guy used cutter that was built onto the display with all the chains and ropes to cut length of chain. “I had to make it 18 inches, the links were too big to make a cut at 17,” he said.

“That’s OK, he’ll grow into it,” Sgt. Stiles said.

“Let’s double check anyway,” Max suggested.

Sgt. Stiles wrapped the chain around my neck.

I took a quick glance at the guy who had just cut my chain collar. He had a smirk on his face. What was he thinking? Did he wish he was getting a collar? Did he wish he was putting a collar on me? Did he think I deserved this collar? I turned redder with embarrassment.

Sgt. Stiles took out a brass padlock he had in his front pocket and put the hasp through the ends of the chain. He locked it. I gulped. He tested the lock right on me in store. He used a key on his key chain to unlock the collar.

“I have to pay for this at the register. I’ll get this on you back at the ranch,” Sgt. Stiles said.

“Thanks for your help,” Sgt. Stiles said to the store employee.

Sgt. Stiles and Max walked to the self-checkouts. I followed behind. Sgt. Stiles said goodbye to Max in the parking lot. I got in the back of the truck and hung on as best I could as Sgt. Stiles sped back to my trailer.

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