Part 7: Destiny
Ben idly scratched his thick beard as he turned over inside the cage, the midnight moon covering the garden and hills beyond the grid of bars with silver light. He reflected on the last few hours.
The Captain had returned from a week away on a large fire that had been burning in the mountains to the west, a range that cut off the Bear Trap Ranch from the blanket of cool moist fog along the coast.
The Captain had drove into the canyon camp late in the day, just as the heat gave way to cool evening shadows, His huge pickup covered with red dust and ash. He jumped out, and came through the gate, where the slave was kneeling, excited at his return. He tousled Ben’s thick mane of brown hair before stripping down and taking a long cool shower under the big blue oak tree, with the slave kneeling between his legs.
The Captain talked of his adventures: of close calls, long hours, and canyons full of flames while the slave soaped and scrubbed His body. The Captain reached up, gripped the low branch of the tree above, and allowed the slave to massage soap into every ripple of his body, his cock growing hard with the deep kneading and scrubbing. Ben was eager to taste the Captain after the long absence and nuzzled the firefighter’s tight butthole with his mouth while one shackled hand caressed his cum-filled balls; another gripped the tight muscle of the buttock.
The Captain groaned and relaxed, allowing the slave to massage his sore body and slowly release the tension of the long days spent on the fire line, dragging charged hose or cutting fire breaks through the steep terrain. The slave shifted forward and began to lick the shaft of his Master’s stiff cock. The Captain opened his eyes and dropped his arms.
“Towel” he said abruptly and the slave jumped, snapped out of his worshipful reverie. The firefighter stepped over the tanned muscle slave and began to dry himself though in the desert dryness of the ranch, any water quickly evaporated. The slave grabbed the discarded towel as the Captain walked back to the tiny cabin. As He did, the slave noted the limp in the right leg the Captain tried hard to disguise. When he reached the door, he looked back at the slave still crouched under the tree.
“Well, get in here, meat” he said as pulled forward his stiff cock so that it slapped on the face of his hairy abs.
Ben’s ass twitched and clenched suddenly as he thought about the long hours of fucking he had experienced that night, before the Captain had ordered him back out to the cage and gone to bed.
Now the slave thought about the day ahead as he struggled to sleep with the moon staring him in the face.
Life on the ranch was very much the same day to day, the big variable being the Captain himself and His obsession with one thing or another. Some days it was water, or the acute lack of it, causing Him to curse the well and check the tank again and again. Or it was the time he would need to sacrifice from being at the ranch and working the slave to go fetch materials and supplies from the far off towns of King City or Paso Robles. Either way, the day often was broken into 15 minute or hour intervals, it seemed.
6:00am. The day would start early since the Captain and his two dogs were back home. The dogs would begin to roll around and play as soon as the light came up on another hot, dry August morning. The Captain let them out into the fenced garden and the slave woke to see if he would be lucky enough to take the Captain’s piss and cum this morning.
6:15am. The dogs are roaming around but the slave was suckling the Captain’s shaved balls while He lay back on the disheveled bed inside the tiny cabin. The Captain grabbed the slave’s wrists and spread-eagled him on the bed, propping his tight tan muscled ass up so that he can take full advantage of the slave’s tight hole and huge cock.
7:30am. The dogs patrolled the edges of the garden fence for early lizards while the Captain slept. The slave slipped away from the bed to begin the morning chores of coffee, breakfast, plus getting his Master’s tools and clothes ready. He had been left a list of chores that they will try to accomplish today despite the punishing heat to come.
9:00am The Captain is eager to go around to inspect the progress of all the sapling trees that have been planted on the high hilltop. There, the new compound is being built in fits and starts. The trees will form a grove around the new buildings to protect them from the sun and winds that buffet the chaparral-covered slopes.
9:30am. The Captain checks the water tanks and is very angry. The slave has not only forgotten to water some of the baby trees, that are now pitiful crispy whips, while the Captain was away, but has not turned the well pump on in time to fill the tanks. It will take hours for the well to pump cool water into the tanks, hours the plants will have to make it under the brutal sun without a drink.
10:15am. The slave is chained to the back of the ATV, panting and wincing as the water filled backpack he wears to keep him hydrated rubs against the new red cuts and welts the slave received while chained spread eagle to the water tank. The slave was punished with 30 strokes, forced to count each one and repeat his orders over and over again.
“21: Slave will monitor and fill the tanks each and every day” “22: Slave will water the trees for 15 minutes twice a day in summer” he shouted after each stroke.
12:00 Noon. The ranch inspection was complete and the slave gulped water from the hose bib in the yard, splashing it over his sore and bloody back. The slave received 7 more strokes of the whip for leaving tools on the upper trail from last week’s work detail. Ben had covered the 4-mile perimeter of the ranch at a jog behind the Captain’s ATV. The Captain was not pleased at all from trusting the slave to work without direct supervision after he had been called away to the big fire on the coast.
2:00pm. The heat is bearable if you can get away from the few flies that bother at your nose and ears. The Captain and his dogs are sleeping in the screened confines of the cabin. The slave is lucky enough to be allowed to rest at the foot of the bed away from the insects but cannot sleep. Ben still wonders about what his friends think of his sudden disappearance from New York. The Captain occasionally mentioned emails of concern sent by friends and co-workers. The Captain had fetched a good price for the slave’s nice apartment and work on the compound was set to move quickly from the infusion of much needed cash. The work issue had been much harder and had required the slave to take time to craft careful emails to the company detailing his resignation and new beneficiary of his retirement plan.
But as much as the slave may fret, suddenly he would look out and see the tiny apple trees growing or the rock walled fire pit ready for the nightly bonfire and the slave would realize that he now had true purpose. He had been transformed in every aspect of his life, from his new bearish beard and hair, to his tanned and strong muscles, to the clarity of his thinking.
A life guided by a true Superior with definite and realistic goals where the slave was the true tool of muscle and strength he had dreamed he would become.
5:30pm. The shadows were just starting to stretch across the canyon, but the heat was still pretty intense. The Captain was up and working in the garden beds that stretched out from the front of the cabin in two regimented lines bordering a wide gravel path. He had a collection of flowers and vegetables overflowing the edges of the beds and took great pride in their exuberance in the face of the hot and dry climate. A bowl was filled with fresh tomatoes and bright peppers, another with long dark zucchinis. The Captain laughed out load and whooped when He discovered a massive gopher snake hiding among the leaves. The snake, nearly 4 feet long, slithered out into the path but was cut off from escape by the curious dogs that jumped and barked at it. The Captain grabbed it with two hands behind the head and held it up very high to keep the dogs from grabbing it. Its green and brown body began to loop around his left arm but released quickly when he held the snake’s head down in the grass outside the camp fence.
8:15pm. The Captain was timing the flow of water into the tanks far up canyon. The slave was still panting and sweating from the forced run up the trail, linked to leash in the Captain’s hand. He had run too, but slower than normal, favoring his left leg. The switch was on his belt and ready to dish out punishment should the tanks not be full of water for the garden.
9:00pm. The slave is watching the clock carefully, tense as a spring. The water tanks had filled and the garden is receiving a much-needed irrigation. As the clock strikes the hour, the slave runs out and closed the hose cock, fumbling to unhook the hose and take it to the next set of drippers. The Captain watches him intently, and notes the time the hose cock is turned back on.
“15 minutes, not a second more, boy” He admonishes while he strides among the tiny wilted trees. Each black plastic emitter measures out drops of water that soaks instantly into the dry soil.
10:30pm. The slave is locked back into the cage, wrapped in his thick blanket. He winces a bit as the whip marks rub against the sleeping mat. He will not be used tonight, a sign of the Captain’s lingering displeasure. Another day ends on the Bear Trap Ranch.
To be continued …