Bondage Ranch

by Roland Graeme

  “This is so dirty.” Vaughn felt obligated to say that. But when the comment emerged from his mouth, it sounded as though he was gloating.

  Will picked up on his change in attitude right away. “Yeah, ain’t it?” he agreed.

  Vaughn toyed with both penises. He quickly forgot about such abstract concepts as right versus wrong. For the time being, too, the word sin ceased to have any meaning for him. All that mattered was the way Will’s erection felt in his hand and how good it felt to massage his own hard-on at the same time.

  “Do more,” Will suddenly gasped.

  “Huh?”

  “I want you to do more. Something different.”

  “What?”

  “Suck it for me.”

  “No way.”

  “Come on, Vaughn. Suck my cock.”

  “Hell, no. Listen—giving you a hand job is one thing. Going down on it—that’s different. I’m no cocksucker.” That was a lie, but Vaughn had his pride. He wasn’t about to admit to Will that he’d fooled around with other guys.

  “Nobody’s a cocksucker. Until the first time he puts a cock in his mouth.”

  “Well, I’m not putting yours in mine!”

  “Bullshit. Come on. Give it a try. Blow me, roomie. You know you want to.”

  Vaughn did want to. Desperately. For a moment, shame and lust fought for supremacy within him. Very quickly though, lust won out.

  Reluctantly relinquishing his hold on Will’s cock, and interrupting his own masturbation, Vaughn sat up on his bed. In his new position, his face was directly opposite Will’s groin—and very close to it.

  Will’s cock head was uncircumcised, protruding from its retracted sheath of foreskin, and it seemed to throb more fiercely even as Vaughn stared at it. Vaughn desperately wanted to service his friend with his mouth. Will’s hands moved across his thighs while he watched Vaughn’s lustful facial expression. His fingers brushed up along the stiff length of his cock, offering it to Vaughn, then they embraced both sides of Vaughn’s head and gradually pulled his roommate’s lips down to the head of his cock.

  “Suck it,” Will moaned. “Take it in your mouth. I can’t wait any longer!”

  “Neither can I,” Vaughn blurted out.

  He tested the prick’s length and hardness with his tongue, which was wet and slippery as it moved first up and down on the swollen meat, then around its circumference, until his lips touched the wreath of pubic hair at its base. He buried his nose in the testicles for a moment, sniffing in a lungful of the strong male scent, before pushing his mouth up the shaft again to the head. Will encouraged him with a gentle pressure of his cock against his lips, until Vaughn opened his mouth and took it inside. Recklessly, he let the dick push toward his throat and reach for the depths of his gullet in one steady shove of Will’s hips.

  “Oh, sweet fucking Jesus!” Will gasped, as his cock sank into Vaughn’s mouth and throat.

  Vaughn’s eyes rolled back in their sockets at the shock of this complete oral penetration. Will stroked Vaughn’s hair reassuringly—even as Vaughn’s tongue and throat muscles and lips began to work on him in a way that betrayed the fact Vaughn didn’t need any reassurance. Vaughn’s hands slid around Will’s body, fondling his ass. In response, Will pressed forward more urgently, feeding Vaughn his prick. Vaughn’s mouth slid along the shaft of his tool in rapid up and down lunges.

  When he began to fear that Will couldn’t hold back his tide of orgasm much longer, Vaughn released his hold on his cock and he began rapidly brushing his lips and tongue over the excited flesh of Will’s thighs and balls instead. Will squirmed against Vaughn’s face, rubbing his dick over his cheeks.

  Will groaned. “God, you’re good. I can’t believe this is your first rodeo, boy.”

  His rigid, saliva-smeared cock pumped frantically against Vaughn’s face, striking his ear and neck in blind lust. Vaughn’s tongue explored the deep musky pit of Will’s navel, touching the steel ring inserted through the navel piercing and toying with it. His hands slid up to Will’s massive chest, his fingers testing the resilience of the stiffened male nipples and rotating the two rings in them. He worked on the tits until he could feel Will’s ass pump more violently in his direction, and he knew that he was teasing the pierced and tattooed stud to the limit of his endurance.

  Vaughn’s fingers pressed upward between the buttocks, and one fingertip found the tight entrance to Will’s ass hole and pushed its way inside. Almost at the same instant, Vaughn’s lips abandoned the other man’s navel and went down under the mighty thrust of the erection. He burrowed his hot, flushed face in the musky-scented hair at the underside of the cock, where it joined Will’s balls. His tongue lapped at the sweat there. It was warm and salty, and he savored the deep male aroma of the man towering above him.

  It was a position in which, despite the dim light in the room, he could enjoy both the fragrance of his new sex partner and the erotically charged sight of his cock rising up from between his legs. Vaughn could feel the throbbing excitement peaking within Will’s body. Vaughn drew his tongue up the underside of the shaft until his lips once again engulfed the enormous head. As he sucked it into his throat he felt Will’s hands in his hair, pushing him down on the meat as the first telltale throb of orgasm pressed against his lips.

  Vaughn sucked. He hadn’t felt an ejaculation like that one taking place inside his mouth in some time. Will’s cock exploded between his lips, all but choking him with its huge load of thick potent cum. Will came like the firing of a water cannon—first the sudden, immense swelling of the head of his cock, then the appalling yet thrilling abundance of sperm that spurted like a liquid avalanche into Vaughn’s gullet, forcing him to hold his breath and gulp as he swallowed the flood.

  He felt Will’s pelvis hammering against his face, felt the tightness of the stud’s anal orifice clenching around his fucking finger as it helped to bring the guy off. Then he felt the gradual dwindling of Will’s outpouring into him, and the slow withdrawal as his lust subsided. Vaughn sucked his cock harder, but it was leaving his mouth, drained. He tried to pull Will’s crotch toward him again, tried to devour his softening tool with even more fervent sucking and licking. But the other man’s erection was fading after his eruption, and Vaughn had to content himself with resting his cheek against the limp meat as he continued kneeling, panting for breath. His lips still rubbed hopefully against the thick, deflated cock with its moist, gleaming coating of mixed saliva and cum.

  He could feel new movement in the scrotum, and he was confident that the sighing, shuddering stud would be able to get it up again soon. Will’s head was sunk low on his chest, his pecs moving with slow, steady, satisfied breaths. His hands caressed Vaughn’s disheveled hair. He licked his lips, then grinned down at him, his fingers moving slowly through Vaughn’s hair.

  He muttered, “Good cocksucking, buddy. So damn good!”

  A thrill shook Vaughn. He hadn’t come himself, hadn’t even thought about it, despite the urgency raging in his crotch. Not for the first time in his gay career, he was reminded that he could get exquisite pleasure from satisfying someone else, without coming himself.

  He was wondering, though, what was going through Will’s mind. What the other stud really thought of him, now that he’d gotten his rocks off.

  Vaughn soon found out.

  “You’re not getting away that easy, though,” Will advised him.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  “Get back down on it,” Will demanded. “Suck it some more. Only this time take it nice and slow. Make it last.”

  Will’s cock was pressing up, ready to be serviced again. Automatically, Vaughn’s lips went around the thickening head of the resurrected manhood.

  Chapter Seven: The Lustful Foreman

  Vaughn supposed he had become Will’s bitch. He resigned himself to the fact, and he even found a perverse pleasure in his submissive status. He knew that he probably ought to be ashamed of hims
elf. But he wasn’t.

  After that first occasion, he sucked Will off virtually every night. Their pot smoking was now a prelude to sex. Vaughn would masturbate himself to orgasm either while he was blowing Will, or after his buddy had come in his mouth and Vaughn had swallowed his load. Will, interestingly enough, seemed to enjoy watching Vaughn jack off.

  “I like to see that stuff shoot out,” was Will’s laconic way of putting it.

  Will never reciprocated. At the most, at the height of his arousal, he might give Vaughn’s face or shoulder and arm a little caress while Vaughn worked on him.

  Will didn’t identify himself as gay. He insisted that he was a straight guy who liked to have his cock sucked. He especially liked to have his cock sucked by another man.

  “A good blow job is even better than pussy,” he declared. “And you fucking queers are much better at it than most women are.”

  To Vaughn, these were fine distinctions. A straight guy who enjoyed being fellated by other guys seemed awfully gay to him.

  He knew that Will was taking sexual advantage of him. But Vaughn was only too willing to be exploited. He also knew that he ought to resent the fact that Will obviously thought of him as just another fucking queer. But Vaughn swallowed his pride—among other things. He enjoyed sucking Will’s dick too much to risk doing anything that might alienate his tough-talking roommate.

  Before long, though, Vaughn had a second sex partner. That was none other than the foreman, John Wayne Kearney. Will’s comments about Kearney’s predatory nature had put certain ideas into Vaughn’s head. Vaughn often caught himself observing the foreman, admiring his body, and speculating about what the older man would be like in bed.

  Being forced to submit to Kearney became one of Vaughn’s favorite fantasies. He toyed with the notion, not suspecting that it could ever become a reality. He should have been more careful what he wished for.

  Just as Will had predicted, the foreman soon made his move on the new ranch hand.

  Kearney approached Vaughn one night, after supper. Vaughn was standing outside the bunkhouse, leaning against one of the posts which supported the roof of its porch. He was loitering, enjoying the cooler night air.

  “How’s it going, Richardson?” the foreman asked.

  “Fine, sir.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. Just getting some air.”

  Kearney grunted. “Why don’t you come with me for a minute?”

  “Where?”

  “To my office, in the main house.”

  “Why? Am I in some sort of trouble?”

  “Not yet. But you sure as hell ask a lot of questions. I just want to talk to you. Come on.”

  A bit apprehensively, Vaughn followed the other man.

  Kearney led him into the main house, where Vaughn knew the foreman had his living quarters. That was a status symbol and a manifestation of the pecking order. The fact that Kearney didn’t sleep in the bunkhouse differentiated him from the men who took their orders from him.

  The two men walked down a hallway together, without speaking further. Vaughn hadn’t had any occasion to set foot in that part of the house before. He’d met the owners of the ranch, of course. But they delegated most responsibilities to Kearney, so Vaughn had few interactions with them.

  Kearney had a main room which he used as a combination of his living room and an office, an adjoining bedroom which was visible through an open door, and his own bathroom.

  When they were alone in the front room, he gestured for Vaughn to sit in one of the oversized armchairs, while Kearney took the chair at his desk.

  Vaughn glanced about the room. It was comfortable enough, but nothing fancy. Several rifles were displayed in a locked gun rack on one wall. Through the open door, Vaughn could see the unmade bed, which had a blanket chest placed at its foot.

  “Let’s have a drink,” Kearney suggested. “I’m going to have a whiskey, straight up. Join me?”

  “I don’t drink that much hard liquor,” Vaughn admitted.

  “No? Why not? You’re not one of them fucking teetotalers, are you?”

  “No, nothing like that. I like beer. The hard stuff always seems to go right to my head.”

  “A little snort now and then can’t hurt you. Here, let me pour you a nice stiff one.” Kearney did so. He handed Vaughn the filled glass. “Put that inside you. It’ll make a man out of you.”

  Meekly, Vaughn accepted the drink. He raised it to his lips and tasted it.

  “Good, huh?” the foreman asked.

  “Yeah. Thank you, Mr. Kearney.”

  “Don’t call me Mr. Kearney. Not when we’re here alone, just the two of us, socializing. Call me by my name, John Wayne.”

  “All right, John Wayne.”

  Vaughn sat there and waited for John Wayne to say something further.

  “I bet you’re wondering what I wanted to talk to you about,” John Wayne began, quite casually.

  “Yes, sir. I mean—yes, John Wayne.”

  “How’re you getting along with the other men?”

  “Just fine, so far. Will, especially—he’s shown me the ropes.”

  “That pothead,” John Wayne said, dismissively. “That fucking stoner doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. But the others. Dirty, horny sons-of-bitches, most of them. Any of them tried to grab your ass yet?”

  Taken by surprise by the question, Vaughn blurted out, “No! Of course not!”

  John Wayne seemed amused. “Of course not? What makes you say that?”

  “I wouldn’t put up with any of that shit.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t you? Are you telling me you’d put up a fight to protect your virtue?”

  Irritated by the other man’s smug attitude, Vaughn felt emboldened. He spoke up. “You bet I would. Wouldn’t you?”

  The foreman laughed. “Depends on who the other guy is. I might not necessarily turn him down. Why should I? I’m gay, for Christ’s sake. And everybody around here who has any brains knows I am. Nobody gives a shit.”

  Vaughn was stunned! He was a hick from the sticks, after all. He’d never heard anybody admit to him so openly that he was gay. The guys with whom Vaughn had fooled around with tended not to talk about their proclivities. They just hinted around, before they finally worked up enough nerve to do something about it. And the idea that anybody as tough and masculine as John Wayne could be gay simply freaked Vaughn out. Even more startling was the casualness with which the man had made the admission. He made it sound as though being gay was the most natural thing in the world.

  But that was nothing compared to Vaughn’s reaction when John Wayne got up and unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his broad, hairy chest. Vaughn stared at him—and Vaughn could feel himself trembling.

  “It’s kind of warm in here this evening,” John Wayne said.

  “Is it?” Vaughn responded, automatically.

  “Yeah. I can feel myself sweating. Aren’t you? Aren’t you getting hot, I mean?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m okay.”

  John Wayne smiled at him. “What’s the matter, boy? Are you nervous?”

  “No.” That had to be the biggest lie Vaughn had ever uttered in his life. “What’ve I got to be nervous about?”

  “Nothing, really. I don’t bite.” John Wayne shed his shirt. “That’s better,” he said, as, stripped to the waist, he resumed his seat and picked up his glass of whiskey, raising it to his lips.

  Vaughn admired his brawny torso, and he doubted that he was being very subtle as he did so. John Wayne had big rounded shoulders and biceps, and massive pectoral muscles, each of which was crowned by a large brown nipple. Unlike some large men, though, he wasn’t chunky around the waist. He had a nicely defined set of abdominal muscles.

  “So, tell me something about yourself,” John Wayne coached him.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Relieved by the change of s
ubject matter, Vaughn expected John Wayne to ask him for further details of where he came from, his family background, his prior work history—that sort of stuff. But John Wayne was full of surprises that evening.

  “Is this your first time?” he asked Vaughn.

  “My first time what? Working on a ranch? No. I thought you knew that.”

  John Wayne shrugged those broad bare shoulders of his. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, your first time being with another guy.”

  Vaughn may have been a comparatively unsophisticated youth, but he still knew damn well that by being with another guy John Wayne wasn’t referring to hanging out in another man’s private living quarters with him drinking and shooting the breeze!

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vaughn lied.

  “Don’t you? What’s the matter—don’t you like me?”

  “I don’t know you very well, yet,” Vaughn pointed out. “You don’t know me, either. Of course,” he added, hastily, “I don’t dislike you. I hope we’re going to be more than just boss and employee. I hope we can also be friends.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping for, too. I thought it might be nice to get to know you. I was sort of hoping you’d feel the same way, about me.” The foreman paused, obviously waiting for a response. But Vaughn was too flustered, too tongue-tied, to come up with one. “Do I have to draw you a picture?” John Wayne asked, and now there was a slight edge of impatience in his voice.

  “I guess maybe you do.”

  “I think you’re cute. I wouldn’t mind it if we played around a little. You know. In bed,” he specified. John Wayne jerked his head toward the open door leading to the bedroom.

  Vaughn got the picture!

  “Oh,” he mumbled. He could feel his face turning red, and his pulse beating faster.

  “You see, we sort of have a tradition here on this ranch,” John Wayne went on, in a deceptively casual tone of voice. “A way of welcoming a new man, and helping him to feel at home.”

  “That’s nice,” Vaughn said, stalling for time. “How do you do that?”