Rod Unspared

The usual caveats. If you're under eighteen, you shouldn't be here, even though I know you might enjoy this, just as I sure would have when I was your age, so skidaddle. If you don't like man to man sex, what are you doing at this Archive? If you like ropes and gags, and cowboys, this may interest you. Just remember, please, that this is the "West" of the imagination, not the history books. Enjoy. ~

THE ROD UNSPARED

I was dozing, the newspaper slack in my hands, when the sound of boots on the wooden walk outside jerked me awake. I swung around to fully face the door as three cowpokes came in, one of them drunk in the middle and supported by the other two. It was Jack, of course, and he'd been in another fight I saw, a short trickle of blood running from one nostril.

"Shit," I said, and got up to go around my desk. "Who was it this time?"

Tod, one of the other cowboys, looked at me anxiously. "It ain't what you think, Sheriff, honest, not this time. This rider for the trail drive was in the saloon, and he called Jack a --" He stopped. Tod's one of the youngest of the boys on the Double Arrow, Double O ranch, and he looked suddenly hurt and scared. Rick, the other fellow, older than he, took over.

"He called Jack a fag, Sheriff, and Jack told him off, and then he called us fags, too, and Jack hit him, and he hit Jack, and then Jack went for him, but we got him off, and --"

"I get the picture, son," I said as I helped them half drag, half carry Jack into the empty cell. I got his spurs off, and we laid him down on the bunk. "Where's the other guy?"

Tod answered this time. "Oh, the other boys run him outa town. No white-bellied rustler's gonna call Jack nasty names with all of us around, nossir!"

I sighed, but I also couldn't help a silent chuckle. Jack had his problems in town, but when outsiders sassed one of their own, suddenly they were all for one and one for all. Silly pups, really, but they meant well. I looked down at Jack.

Jack was about 30, I guessed, but, like all the hands on the ranches around, he looked a few years older, weathered and worn with the work. He was still one of the best looking cowpunchers in the county, though, over six feet, broad in the shoulders and long in the leg, with dark brown hair that turned russet in the sun when he took off his hat, pale blue eyes, a thick auburn mustache, and clean features. He had a ready smile with more than a little of the boy in it, and he was smiling at me unsteadily now.

The fellow didn't seem to have heard our conversation. He wanted to tell me the story all over again.

"He called me a fag, Sheriff." His smile faded and he looked astonished and hurt. "He didn't have no call to do that. I wasn't --." I bent down and put a finger to his lips.

"Hush, son," I said. "I already heard. Ya just lay back, now."

"But he --"

"Hush," I said and put my hand full over his mouth. His mustache was thick and soft under my palm. "Just hush, boy." He subsided, and I took away my hand and looked up at the other two. "OK," I said, "I get the picture, and he's all right here for the night."

The two youngsters looked at each other.

Tod spoke. "We kinda figured you were the one to take care of him for now, and we'd come back for him tomorrow." He swallowed. "Ya know what the boss said about Jack fightin' again, but this was different, honest, it was."

I smiled grimly. "That's OK, boy. I'll see he gets out to the ranch by Monday. Ya were right to bring him here, and I'll talk to Ripley."

The two hovered a moment more, and then, scuffling their boots, they went outside. I heard them running off and giving a few yips. Kids. I wasn't sure Tod even knew what the name the trailman had used meant. About Rick, I had reasons to be sure that he did.

I looked down at Jack. He was drifting a bit, I saw, from the drink and from being hit and now from the comfort of the bunk. Absently, I pushed his hair back from his brow. He fidgeted under my fingers and then stopped, looking up at me with a slow smile. Then he drifted into sleep.

Jack had been a puncher on the Double Arrow, Double O for three years now. His good looks and sweet nature had made him a lot of friends. His drunken fighting on Saturday nights with anyone who looked cross-eyed at him had tried those friends' patience to the breaking point and made him one or two bad enemies. It was hard to figure. Most days, heck, any day of the week but Saturday, the boy was as nice as they come. He was polite to the ladies and a good buddy to the men, handsome and clean and ready to be your friend, and bright as a new penny to boot. I'd found out that the fellow actually read books, real books, not just the penny dreadfuls the other punchers spelled out to each other, and he tried hard to understand everything he read. He'd told me some things I couldn't fathom myself, and he'd puzzled over them with me as we tried to piece things out. And even most Saturdays, if the other boys could keep him joking and singing and not drinking more than one glass of the rotgut they served in the Golden Spur, he was still a sweet-natured man, if a little sad. But two or three drinks, and over the line he went, pugnacious and ready to fight with anyone who said, "Boo."

Nobody knew his story. He talked a blue streak about anything and everything, near wore your ear out sometimes, but ask him where he came from or who he was and he shut you off hard. Not that many did ask. It ain't polite. But when you come to know a fellow for a while, you reckon you'll be told something. Not with Jack. He had let on with me that his folks were dead and he'd left schooling to be the cowboy he'd read about back East somewheres. But if I asked for any more he turned me off.

And nobody knew what to do with him. The fighting was stupid and got everybody riled, and now his boss was fed up. He was a good cowboy, and a good kid, Ripley told me, but if he kept up the fighting, he was out. Ripley'd had enough trouble smoothing out a feud between the boys partial to Jack and one poor guy who'd gotten on the wrong side of the man's fists, and he wasn't going to stomach any more such foolery. That was why Tod and Rick had been so worried. Tod, I knew, hero-worshiped Jackthere was trouble brewing there, I sort of thought, if the kid suddenly realized what was going on in his own headand Rick was a friend of Jack's from when he'd first come to town.

I looked down at the man. He was sleeping for real now, his ruddy lips parted a little, his breathing heavy. Damn, he was a nice-looking boy. I reached into my hip pocket and took out my bandanna to wipe at the blood in his mustache. It was already dried, though, so I figured to leave it till morning. As I had the bandanna pressed above his mouth, Jack suddenly startled awake. His eyes flew open and he stared at me and grunted, the noise a little muffled by the pad of the bandanna.

"Wuff aarg ya doing?" His words cleared as I pulled away my handkerchief.

He looked so worried, even scared, that I put my hand on his shoulder and patted him gently.

"It's OK, son. Just wiping the blood from yer nose."

He looked up at me. He was still dozey from sleep and drink.

"My dad used to do that."

I looked down at him, puzzled.

"Do what, boy?"

He nodded groggily at the bandanna still in my hand.

"His handkerchief. Gag me with it. Like ya was. Or, no, ya wasn't was ya? But he did. Ya're like him, a lot. Why I like to talk to ya."

This was a strange mixture of nonsense, I thought at first. I admit, something stirred in me at his reference to his father gagging him. But it all sounded pretty loco.

I stroked his head and he looked up at me. Suddenly he smiled.

"I like ya, Sheriff. Ya know that, do ya?"

I gave him a crooked smile back.

"I'm glad to hear that. I like ya, too, son."

"Kiss me?"

I stared at him. After a moment, I bent over and gently kissed him on the forehead. He sighed and his eyes closed.

"My daddy never did that. I like that. I like you." His arms suddenly went around me, and he hugged me. And then he sighed again, and feel asleep, and his arms loosened. I pulled up and sat looking down at him, puzzled. Oh, I had known, or suspected anyway, for some time now that part of Jack's problem was tied up with other men. If Tod hero-worshipped him, Tod wasn't the first. What I couldn't figure out was why Jack didn't just, well, let the cowboys who liked him do it. He wasn't interested in the girls at the Golden Spur or the sweet young ladies on the ranches around. He was polite and friendly, but that was as far as it went. I knew. I'd asked Rhoda at the Golden Spur, who'd told me so.

"He's a sweet boy, and none of your fancy pants, either, but he's not for the ladies, Bill. And he's not for the cows or the sheep, either." She'd looked at me with a friendly smile. "Maybe you should try your luck, old man." Rhoda and I were long time pals, but I had just shaken my head.

"Well," she had gone on, "maybe you know best, but somebody'd better take that boy in hand or he's going to hurt someone or hurt himself. And I think if he does, it's going to hurt you."

I'd looked at her in surprise, but she'd just turned off to take care of her customers and I was a bit too afraid of what she might mean to make her tell me straight.

Now I looked down at the sleeping man beside me and wondered. After a moment, I stuffed my bandanna back in my pocket and then got up. I pulled the blanket up over Jack and tucked him in. He sighed in his sleep, half woke, smiled, and sank back into deep sleep once more. I stayed bent over him for a moment, stroking his thick hair. Then I straightened up, and went back to my desk, and tried to read the paper.

It was maybe an hour later that I heard Jack stirring. I turned to look and saw him struggling with the blanket. I went to him and helped him to sit on the side of the bunk.

"I gotta go," he mumbled.

"Ya're stayin' the night, son," I told him.

"No," he said and shook his head. "I gotta go, I gotta piss."

I laughed. "Oh, that." I pulled the pan from under the bunk. He fumbled with his jeans, but I saw he was likely to wet himself in a minute, he was having such ill luck. I unbuttoned his fly, and he pulled out his cock and peed.

"Like my daddy, again," he said, smiling at me sunnily.

I stared at him, at a loss once more. What did he mean?

Cheerfully, still full of drink, and talkative as ever, he went on. "My daddy would help me, like you."

"Son," said as gently as I could, "what is it ya keep talking about, with yer daddy? What are ya telling me, youngster?"

He looked at me, and his face was puzzled. "My daddy. He looked like you. And when I was a tad, he helped me pee. I was just little. But I liked it. He was big, and handsome, like you, and he showed me how. Didn't yer daddy?"

I grinned at him, a little reassured with this.

"Yeah, my daddy showed me how to pee right, I guess."

"And when ya was bad, did he wallop ya?"

I chuckled now. "Sure did. With his belt."

He nodded. "Tha's what I meant." He looked at me for a moment. "Did ya gag me a while ago?" The question was so matter of fact, I wondered if I'd heard him right.

"What?"

He looked at me, still a bit dozey. "Ya had your bandanna out and ya put it over my mouth, didn't ya?"

I nodded and started to explain again, but he interrupted.

"My daddy, when he whopped me, he stuck his bandanna in my mouth."

I was beginning to understand, a bit.

"When did yer daddy die, Jack? How old were ya?"

"Fourteen."

I nodded. "And yer mama?"

"Don't know. Years before. Five maybe, six."

"Ya got brothers, sisters?"

He shook his head. "I was their only." He sat, thoughtful, not looking at me. "Daddy took her death real bad, I know." He looked up then. "But he had me."

I was a little afraid now, of where we might be going.

"He had just you, huh?"

He nodded. "Never did court another lady after my mama died. It was just him and me."

I wondered, but I couldn't see how to ask. I wasn't even sure I knew what it was I wanted to ask.

"But I was always bad."

"Were ya, son? Why do ya say that? Ya seem like a good boy to me."

He shook his head.

"No, I was bad."

"Why, Jack?"

He swallowed. "I can't tell ya. And I couldn't tell him." He looked like he might start crying. There was something buried in the man's heart that hurt him bad, something he didn't like about himself or leastwise, he was afraid of about himself.

He looked up at me then. There was something in his handsome face, unmasked by the drink, and unmasked by the echo of his father I was for him. And unmasked, I hoped, by his affection for me and his beginning trust of my affection for him. He looked naked and needy and like he wanted to speak and didn't know how.

"What is it, son?" I said softly.

"I liked it," he blurted out and then stared at me as if he expected me to hit him or something. "I liked it when he whopped me," he whispered.

And I got it. I had my hand on his shoulder, and I was stroking him slowly. I went on stroking him, and I didn't know I was. I got it, then. Me, and the fighting. I wasn't real clear on all the details, but I got it.

Jack was looking at me, and he looked real scared. I pulled him, and he resisted, and then he came into my arms and huddled there. He was shaking and his breathing was sobby and wet.

"It's OK, son," I said softly. "It's OK." I had a thought, and it scared me, but before it escaped, I did what it said. I asked him, "Do ya know why ya liked it?"

He looked up at me. To my surprise, he nodded.

"He did it to make me good. `Cause he loved me. And I knew that he loved me when he whopped me if I was bad. But he never said it. Just whopped me to make me good."

I nodded. It made a loco kind of sense, when he said it.

"But there are other ways of showing ya love someone, son."

"I know," he said. "Like kissin', and stuff. I know, and I like them, too. But I still want the other stuff, the whopping, and--" His voice trailed off, and he looked up at me. He looked as if he was going to start crying. Then he looked away. "Ya don't know it all. I gotta tell somebody, it's making me crazy." He looked at me, his handsome face full of pleading. "Can I tell you?"

"Ya can tell me anything, son," I said softly. I was surprised to realize it was true. Rhoda's smiling face suddenly came into my head, and her knowing glance.

"I get a stiffie about it." He hung his head now, and I realized the poor dope thought he had just confessed the worst thing in the world and had probably lost my friendship.

"Do ya now," I said softly. "Ya get a stiffie when ya think about yer daddy whopping you?" He nodded, his eyes on the wooden floor. "There's nothing wrong with getting a stiffie, son, nothing at all. Matter of fact, most guys like it." I was almost chuckling now, in a kind of crazy relief. If this was the boy's trouble, maybe my feeling for the fellow and my hard right hand could help us both.

He looked up at me. "But my dad's dead. Has been for years." He seemed to be talking a little more soberly, now. I suspected he had been a little less drunk than he had let on, maybe even to himself. It wasn't an easy confession, even if I thought he was worked up over it more than he need be. "And it ain't him I think about, least not always, any more."

"No, son?" I said softly.

He shook his head. "Sometimes it's you."

I nodded. I held him tight for a long moment. Then I bent over him, real close, and looked into those blue eyes. He stared back, hopeful now, I saw, but still scared. I kissed him. His thick mustache tickled mine, and his breath tasted of whiskey and sweet bread and fear. I pulled back from the kiss and reached into my pocket and pulled out my bandanna. His eyes flicked to watch my hand as I brought up the big wad of soft, red and white patterned cloth. I stuffed the ball of it into his mouth, under that thick mustache. I held him a little longer, stroking his head.

"Ya were a bad boy, tonight, fightin' in the saloon like that, weren't ya, son? A bad boy?

He nodded, his eyes on mine once more. "Um hmmph."

"I'm gonna have to whop ya."

He nodded again.

I reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his bandanna, a big navy blue thing a good two feet square. I wadded it up and shoved it into his mouth in front of my own.

"Mmmmmph." He grunted into the soft gag.

I stroked his hair back from his forehead. He was lying now face up in my lap, his blue eyes wide, his mouth distended under his mustache around the thick wad of the gag. I reached and undid the knot in the big blue bandanna of his neckerchief where it sagged from his strong throat. I folded it into a broad bandage and tied it through his mouth, pressing the thick middle back between his jaws and wrapping the long ends around his head to knot them tightly behind his neck.

"Mmmmmm."

"Ya confessed to me, son." I paused, and after a moment, he nodded. "So now I'll confess to you. I never thought too much about whoppin' ya. Oh, I've met the occasional cowpoke who needed a firm hand on his butt, like you. But I just hadn't thought of it, with you. I don't know why, `cause ya sure do need it!" I stroked his hair again. "But I have thought about gaggin' ya, son, like I just did, and tyin' ya to them bars over there, like I'm gonna do in a minute, and havin' that sweet body of yers to do with as I please." I bent close to him, staring into his wide blue eyes. "Oh, yes, son," I said softly, "I surely have thought about that." He nodded. "I'm gonna rope ya up to those bars, son, rope ya up good and tight, so ya can't move. Ya've been a bad boy, haven't ya?" He nodded. I nodded in return. And then I smiled at him tenderly. "But yer my bad boy, aren't ya, yer daddy's bad boy? And he's gonna whop ya, and then ya'll be good, won't ya?" He nodded vigorously. "Till next time," I said softly and grinned. "Up, you."

He obeyed. I couldn't tell you everything I was feeling. I can tell you my dick was stiff in my pants. Here was this big man, big and strong, that gag stuffed and tied into his sweet mouth, obeying my command like a little boy obeys his daddy. I walked him out of the cell, and then I turned him and shoved him face forward against the bars.

"Just stand there, son," I said, and I spoke in a low, stern voice. He nodded. I pushed him close against the bars. "Don't ya move, boy."

"Um ughm," he mumbled into the gag.

I walked over to my desk and took some ropes from one of the drawers. Returning to stand behind Jack, I dropped all but one of the lengths of rope to the wooden floor.

"I'm gonna tie ya up, now, son," I said quietly. And then I did just that. I pulled one of his long arms out hard and high, and lashed his wrist tightly to the bar with the rope I had in my hand. I pulled the coils of soft line snug, and I knotted them off firmly. Bending down, I took up another length, and I used that to bind his other arm to the bars as I had bound the first. With two more lengths, I bound each leg, spreading the boy wide, but not so wide he couldn't comfortably keep his balance. I stepped back for a moment then, to survey the man where he stood. As I watched, he strained at the lashings, the muscles under his shirt bunching and then relaxing.

"Mmmmph! Mugummmmph!" He moaned into the soft gag.

I smiled to myself, and took up another length of rope. With it, I tied his arm just under his shoulder tight to one of the bars, pulling the line snug. I repeated this act on his other arm. Then I used two more lengths of cord to secure his upper thighs, just under his hard round ass, to the steel rods. The man pulled again at the bindings that held him, but he could hardly move now.

I walked around to face him. He stared back at me, his blue eyes wide above the bandanna tying in his gag. He looked very helpless, a defenseless boy. I came close and reached to unfasten the buckle of his broad belt. Then I slowly undid the buttons of his fly, and then of his longjohns, and I slipped my hand inside.

"Mmmmmph. Mmmmmph." The boy's eyes closed and he moaned as I rubbed his hard dick.

"Ya got a stiffie, don't ya, boy? That cock a'yourn is all big and happy, ain't it?" I rubbed his dick some more and he tried to writhe in his bonds, but I had tied him almost too tightly for him to move. "That's my bad boy," I crooned tenderly. I was pressed up close to the bars between us, looking into that handsome face. His eyes half opened and looked into mine. Yearning and excitement and shame and tears mixed in them, and I smiled at him. I took my hand from his cock and reached between the bars to cup the side of his face, caressing his cheek above the cruelly tight swath of the bandanna. I nodded at him, saying nothing, just nodding and smiling at him. He was such a good-looking fellow. I swallowed, hard, surprised to find I was getting a tad blurry-eyed myself. I took a deep breath. Taking the ends of his broad belt in either hand, I pulled hard on them. Jack grunted into his gag. I pulled the ends together on the other side of the bar in front of him and buckled them tight, snugging the boy even closer to the wall of iron rods. Then I went around behind him once more.

The man was utterly helpless now. He was spread-eagled against the bars of the cell, his arms and his legs lashed down tight, and his strained body held firm by his cinched belt. I stood looking at him as he hung there, defenseless and unable to do more than strain uselessly at his bonds. I turned quickly and crossed to my desk once more. From a lower drawer, I took a handful of my big bandannas, and tucking them into my belt, I came back to press up close against Jack. I rubbed my chest against his broad back, I ran my hands up his strong arms, I ground my hard dick, still in my pants, against his round ass. He moaned into his gag, trying to push back into me but defeated by his bonds. I roughed up his thick hair and gently caressed his face, wiping my fingers over his soft mustache, his warm lips, and the soft bandanna tied through his mouth.

"I'm gonna gag you some more, boy," I whispered into his ear. "I'm gonna gag you big and tight, boy." As I spoke, I pulled out one of my huge bandannas, wadded it up, and forced it between the man's lips, under that thick mustache. I pressed it hard against the cinched bandanna. Then I held my one hand over his mouth while with the other I clumsily folded one of the other bandannas into a wide bandage. That I tied over his mouth, carefully snugging it into a thick soft seal over his lips from his nose to his chin, dragging the ends tight behind his head and pulling them hard into knot. Pressing against him, I caressed his face and his gag once more. He mewled and whimpered into the smothering cloth. The sound made my dick all the harder, hot and hurting, straining in my jeans. I ground it into his ass even as I pulled out another of the bandannas, folded it into a wide band, and tied it, too, over his mouth, making a thick, double swath of bandannas over his stuffed up jaws. I had several more bandannas at my belt. I used one of them to blindfold the boy, tying the soft cloth in a wide band over his blue eyes.

Then, twirling another bandanna into a thick roll as I did, I went around to face him once more. The poor boy was completely in my control now. He was lashed so tightly he could not move, he was gagged so thickly and thoroughly he could make no more than a faint gurgling grunt, and he was so firmly blindfolded he could not see what I did or intended. He moaned and strained and twisted his head from side to side. And through the bars of the cell, his dick stood out and up, a tiny bead of sweet precum clinging to its tip.

I moved in close. As I took his privates into my hands, the man jerked and grunted. I tied up his cock and balls with the bandanna, looping the soft roll around the base of his privates and pulling it snug, and then using the ends from the knot to circle the base of his balls, pulling them into a taut globe enclosed in the tender, pale-veined skin of his sack.

"Mmmmmmmm. Mmmmmmmmm."

I reached through the bars and patted the man's thickly swathed cheek.

"That's my boy," I said softly, "that's my boy."

Jack strained hard at the ropes, his muscles tensing and swelling.

"Mmmmugulmmmph? Mumummmmmmph?" He mumbled into that big gag. I reached up and undid the knot in the blindfold, letting the soft bandage slip from his eyes. He stared at me, his dark lashes wet with unspent tears.

"Mmmmmph? Mugummmmph?"

I took the bandanna and tied it slowly, with tender care, over the boy's already thickly swathed mouth, fitting the heavy cotton bandage neatly in a wide seal from his nose to his chin. Looking into his eyes, I wrapped the long ends of the handkerchief around his head and pulled them as tightly as I could into a knot at the base of his skull. Then I let my hands slip forward to cup the boy's head in my fingers.

"There ya are," I said gently. "There's my boy, all tied and gagged."

"Mmmmph? Mugummmmmmph?"

I smiled at him, savoring the muffled sounds he made into that cruel gag.

"Ya're mine now, ain't ya, son? All mine, huh? Ya can't get away from me now, can ya, boy?"

The fellow shook his head slowly, his eyes, half-closed, staring into mine. The tears welled in them, but they did not overflow.

"Ya can't get away from me, son, can ya? And why can't ya, do ya suppose, boy, huh, why can't ya?"

"Mmmmmph. Mummmmmmph! Ugulmmmmmmmph."

"I think I know, son. It's cause ya're tied and gagged, ain't it, boy? That's it, ain't it? Cause ya're all tied up and gagged up, huh?"

"Mmmmmmph! Mummmmmmgph."

My cock swelled at the muffled sound he made into his thick gag.

"Got ya muzzled up right and proper, don't I, son? All gagged and muffled, ain't ya?"

"Um hmmmph." He nodded.

"Poor boy," I said softly. "But ya been a bad boy, ain'tcha? And a bad boy needs his daddy to whop him." I caressed his face once more, and than I pulled back, smiling at the fellow. Then I walked slowly around again to stand behind him. As I walked, I took the last bandanna from my belt and wrapped it around my right hand, covering the knuckles and the palm. I stepped close to the boy where he hung, roped and gagged and defenseless against the hard bars of the cell. I reached and put my left hand on the boy's shoulder, and then I pulled back with my right arm. And then I brought it down, quick and firm.

Whap! The boy jerked in his bonds at the slap on his hard ass.

"Ummmph!"

I brought my arm up once more.

Whap!

And again. And again.

Whap! Whap!

Each time, Jack jerked and grunted into his gag.

I started a rhythm then, a cadence of slaps on his round ass that slowly, ever so slowly, I increased in speed and intensity. As the whaps came faster, the boy's muffled grunts turned to groans, and then to low, growling whimpers, and then the whimpers went higher, and I heard the boy's breath begin to catch in his throat. I stepped up the cadence of the slaps just a touch, and the catch in his throat thickened. And then the whimpers were more than whimpers, they were choked little sobs. And then they were real sobs, and the boy's breath hissed in his nostrils as he blubbered and moaned. And I gave his tough ass one more slap, and then, in the same motion, I turned in close to him where he writhed in his ropes and sobbed into his gag, and I pressed hard against him, my chest against his back, my arms wrapping around him from behind, my face rubbing against the thick hair at the back of his head.

"That's my boy," I murmured into his ear, "that's my boy. Ya been a bad boy, son, but yer daddy's whopped ya, and now ya're gonna be a good boy, ain'tcha? No more fighting in the saloon? Ya'll be a good boy?"

He nodded frantically, his sobs still pushing against his brutal gag, his face smutched with his tears. I nodded against the back of his head.

"That's my good boy, then, ain't ya? My good boy?"

And as he nodded still, his sobs subsiding into whimpers, I reached around and took his stiff prick in my hand. It was slick with precum, and I ran my fingers snugly up and down its stiff length. The man's hard, intaken breath and gagged grunt, half sob of pain, half moan of pleasure, were my reward. I jerked the fellow's cock again, and then again, and then I felt it swell and fight my grasp, and then his thick gism was pumping up and out in a violent arc from its red tip. In my arms, the boy jerked and spasmed, and a strangled, muffled cry of pain and joy wrenched through his gag.

"MUGUMMMMPH!!"

I didn't stop rubbing his stiff prick. I slowed my strokes, and loosened the tight ring of my fingers, but I kept on rubbing. He pumped out a few more spurts of thick cum and jerked and moaned into his gag.

"Mummph!! Mugulummmph!!"

Still I kept up. I eased my fingers into a ring that just gently brushed the skin of his dick, and I kept on. The boy was frantic now. He had cum violently, and I knew his dick was sore with his climax, but I kept on gently rubbing the tender flesh. As my fingers assaulted his over-stimulated nerves, the boy's moans began to rise once more into choked whimpers. He strained against the ropes that held him.

"Mmmmmmmmmm. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm."

He twisted his head to look at me, the tears brimming over and running down his face to soak into the triple thick swath of bandannas bound over his mouth-filling gag. His eyes pleaded with me, but I simply smiled tenderly at him and went on stroking. I watched as the tears thickened and his features contorted with his agony. He began to sob again into the huge wad of bandannas I had stuffed and tied between his jaws. He pulled with desperate strength against the ropes that held him, and he shook his head wildly. I kept on stroking still. His cock, for all his struggles, for all his gagged sobs, was as stiff as ever in my caressing fingers. I slowly increased the pressure of my hand and the speed of my strokes. The boy was shaking now, no longer able to consciously pull at his bonds, simply trembling in their secure embrace. His sobs, smothered and choked by the gag, where high and breathless, and his eyes were rolled back in their sockets. At last, as I stroked harder, he gave a guttural scream into the thick gag, and a quick jet of hot cum spurted up and out from his burning cock. The tears poured down his face, his eyes opened wide, their bright blue staring blindly. He screamed again and then slumped in his bonds, his muscles shaking with an uncontrollable tremor.

Moving quickly now, my own breath coming fast and my cock dizzyingly stiff in my jeans, I moved my hand up and released the buckle of the boy's belt. Then I reached down and untied the ropes that held the man's ankles and thighs bound. Then I stood up and untied first the ropes that held his shoulders and then the ones that bound his wrists. I had to support him as he fell back in my arms. I dragged him, almost unconscious with his cum daze, around and into the cell, and lowered him onto the cot. I lifted his legs up, so that he lay full length on his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. It took me only a second to go and retrieve the ropes from the bars and return. Working quickly, I trussed his wrists together in front of him and then pulled them up and over his head to tie them to the head of the cot. I bound his ankles and tied them to the foot. And then I stood staring down at the boy, who was recovering now, and who looked up at me, his blue eyes straining above the tight gag.

"There's my good boy now," I told him softly. He looked back at me and nodded vigorously.

"Um hummmmph! Um hughulummmmph!"

The sound of his gagged submission was more than I could stand. Binding the boy, gagging him, whapping him, and then jerking him off twice like that had stiffened my cock so much, it was an agony in my jeans. There was already a big spot of precum soaking into my pants leg, and my breath and heart were so quickened my chest ached with their speed. I ripped my buckle and my fly open and dragged my hard cock from my longjohns. I took my stiff prick in one hand and pulled down on my sore balls with the other and began to jack myself off. As I stroked, I stared down at my boy, who lay stretched out on the cot, tied down, helpless, his mouth stuffed deep and bound up tight with big bandannas, his slowly slackening cock still tied in its soft binding. I kept running my eyes up and down that handsome cowboy, that handsome boy, my boy, mine, defenseless, helpless, vulnerable, all bound and gagged.

"Ya're MINE, ain'tcha, cowboy? Yer MINE!" I half shouted the words, staring down into the boy's blue eyes.

He nodded as hard as he could.

"Um huuummmmmph!! Umm hulummmmmmph!!!"

The sound of him, struggling to speak through that huge gag, the huge gag that I had stuffed and bound into his handsome mouth, sent me into frantic excitement. I flung myself down on top of him, pressing my belly hard against him, grinding my aching cock into his groin, against his half-stiff prick. I grasped his shoulders in a grip that would leave bruises on the poor boy's flesh, and I pumped my cock against his hard belly, driving myself higher and higher and closer and closer to the edge. Above the tight swathing of his gag, his eyes stared into mine, still tear brimmed, their lashes wet, and he moaned and nodded at me in helpless encouragement.

"Yer MINE, son, yer MINE!!" I yelled the words as I gave a final thrust, my shoulders flung back, my groin driven into his, and my cum gushed out in a burst of pleasure beyond anything I could remember.

"Yer MINE, MINE, ya bugger, yer MINE!!"

And then I collapsed against him, my face pressed into the hollow of his throat, my breath a hard rod of iron in my throat, my heart beating so high I thought it would leap from my chest.

"Yer mine, son, my good boy," I whispered into his ear, and my heart ached when he nodded and mumbled his hopelessly muffled agreement into his big bandanna gag.

Copyright 1998 David W, Brown Comments, compliments, brickbats or complaints, dbrown@ggu.edu