Ridden West

[This is a completed, four-chapter GM novelette of the Old West, which will finish posting by the end of March 2019.]

Sitting on a hay bale in the loft of the barn, Jeremiah ran his fingers into the blond curls of Billy’s head and forced the young man’s mouth down on his hard cock. Billy was on all fours between the older man’s spread legs. Jeremiah moved one hand down to flare open his unbuttoned fly and gruffly demanded, “The balls too, son. They seek your love too.”

Billy dutifully licked and sucked on the man’s balls. The smaller, younger man was naked, except for his boots. His flannel shirt, jeans, and underdrawers had been hastily cast away to the side on along a line of progress from the top of the ladder along the rough, hay-dusted wooden floorboards of the loft. Sunlight streamed in from the large opening at the end of the wall for pitching bales, but the light didn’t quite reach where the two men were crouching. Jeremiah, tall, thin, gnarled, and hard-bodied, was still in his britches, but his white cotton shirt was beside him on the hay bale, and his suspenders were off his shoulders and drooping at his side.

Still, he was in readiness to pop up and get himself together at the first call of his name by his wife from the adjacent house. She was ever suspicious. She was constantly checking up on where he was in relationship to where the orphans they housed were. There were things left unspoken on the farm, but very little not known.

Jeremiah ran his calloused hands down the smooth, pliant skin of the back and the flanks of the young man crouched between his thighs. When he reached the nicely rounded buttocks, he slapped them, kneaded them, and spread them open. Holding one butt cheek open, he moved the other hand into the stretched crack and rubbed across the rim of Billy’s butthole. Billy moaned and moved his mouth back to the thick cock, taking it half way down into his throat in one slide. Then he grunted and groaned, as Jeremiah dug a finger into the hole and gyrated it to help open the young man up. Billy would have to be open wide for him. But he had proven in the past to open quickly. Jeremiah extracted the finger and thumped it on the hole, being met by another moan from Billy. He thumped it again and then moved two fingers into the hole, which opened to accommodate them.

Rising from the hay bale and reversing their bodies, pushing Billy belly down on the hay, and crouching behind him and between his spread legs, Jeremiah gave more attention to the hole, fingering it, spitting on it.

“Open to me. Give yourself fully to me,” he muttered. “Yes, relax, let it open.”

He buried his face in the crack and began eating the hole out, encouraging it to open more, as a hand latched onto Billy’s cock and balls, no more than a handful for this farmer with the large, calloused hand. Jeremiah milked the young man’s cock while he ate out his ass.

It wasn’t long before he was back up on his feet, between Billy’s thighs, working his thick cock into the stretching—but not really fast enough—hole, while Billy clutched at the straw of the bale and buried his face in Jeremiah’s white shirt, inhaling the musky sweat order of the man who had been his master for the past ten years, and his secret lover—if what was happening here could be called love—for the past four months.

Fully saddled, Jeremiah grabbed Billy’s legs and pulled the young man’s ankles up to hook onto his shoulders. Then he reached down and wrapped his arms under Billy’s pits and pulled the young man’s torso off the hay bale, arching his lithe, willowy torso up toward his chest. He moved one of his hands to where it was buried in the curly blond hair of the young man’s head, and pulled the head back cruelly.

Holding the young, flexible body suspended over the hay bale in front of him, Jeremiah began to stroke inside Billy’s passage, digging deep, stretching the channel walls wider as each stroke thickened and lengthened the cruel cock.

Panting hard, his hands pulled back to grip the back of Jeremiah’s head in an attempt to hold himself steady in the extreme bowed, totally controlled position Jeremiah had put him in, Billy was babbling quietly to himself, saying who knows what? Jeremiah certainly didn’t care. He had his eyes closed and was thrusting in ecstasy, thinking that Billy was the best one yet.

He didn’t notice when Billy jerked and spilled his seed on the dusty floorboards. He only cared that his own explosion was building—and then firing off in four strong bursts of cum up into Billy’s intestines. And then Jeremiah reveled in the afterglow of the pleasure of the mellow coming back to the world as he continued to languidly stroke inside the small man’s passage, until he slowly let loose of Billy’s body and let it sink into a trembling pile at his feet.

Jeremiah reached down and clutched and raised Billy’s head by his hair and turned Billy’s face to his dripping cock, demanding in action that it be cleaned. Billy opened his mouth to the cock.

A far-off voice, a woman’s voice, called, “Jeremiah, Jeremiah. Where have you gotten too? I see out in the field that the reins are slipping off the plow horse out in the field and Michael ain’t able to get them back on.”

Jeremiah let loose of Billy’s hair and reached over him for his cotton shirt.

“Time you got out in the potato field, Billy, and earned your keep like the other boys are doin’. Best I go sort Michael out. God help me, it’s a chore keepin’ all you orphan boys sorted out and contributing your keep. What do you say, boy?”

Billy looked up at the farmer who also ran the makeshift Kansas orphanage he’d been at for the past ten years. Jeremiah had stuffed the tail of the shirt into his britches waist and was buttoning up his fly. He was a tall, rugged, gaunt man, with a stern expression. Billy’s image of him was always one of carrying around a Bible and thumping it as he harangued the boys on the whereabouts of the edges of the straight and narrow.

“Thank you, Brother Jeremiah,” he said, by rote. “Thank you for taking us lost boys in and giving us food and shelter and work. And thank you for loving me and giving me the special attention that you do.”

“And you best remember that. Now get on out into the potato field. And you know not to talk of this. This love between us is our own secret.”

Billy wasn’t naïve enough to think this was, indeed, love. He did receive pleasure from Jeremiah’s attentions. When he’d first been taken four months earlier, it had given him release from doubts and frustration. He, in fact, would be happy receiving more of this attention from Jeremiah. If only the man weren’t so stern about it all of the time. If Jeremiah took and looked like he took more enjoyment from it beyond those moments when he was past control and doing what animals naturally did, Billy would take more enjoyment from it as well. It couldn’t be much of a sin if Jeremiah was doing it.

Jeremiah was still pulling his suspenders up when he came out of the barn, a gesture that wasn’t lost on Mary, his wife, looking out the kitchen window. She had thought that Jeremiah was probably in the barn with Billy, the oldest of their orphans—older than she’d thought she had just yesterday discovered by going through the birth certificate records. She’d have something to say and do about that, yes she would, and soon. She then wasn’t the least bit surprised seeing Billy, small bodied, which made his age deceiving, and more beautiful, with his blond curls, dark-blue eyes, ready smile, full, sensuous lips, and slim, but well-muscled, body, than handsome as he came out of the barn, tucking the tail of his flannel shirt into the waist of his tight jeans.

Mary expelled a puff of air and put extra elbow grease into washing out a pot. She’d do something about this—right soon.

* * * *

Billy walked out into the potato field. Four others working out there raised arms in welcome. The oldest of the orphans at the farm, actually, at nineteen, well past the time he should be here, Billy was well liked. He had a sunny disposition and was always quick to lend a hand. There was no resentment that he had not been out in the field with them earlier. A few of the boys had a strong notion why he hadn’t been, and, although they felt sorry for Billy, they were just glad it was someone other than them—and that it meant that Jeremiah wasn’t out here in the field ordering them around. Despite having taken them in when no one else claimed or wanted them and clothing and feeding them—and not making more work demands on them than any father would do in the hardscrabble recently-minted State of Kansas in the late 1870s—Jeremiah was a hard, humorless man.

As the orphans worked, they talked.

“You must be gettin’ on old enough to leave and move on to a new life,” Luke said. He was taller and bigger boned than Billy was, as several of the orphans were, but he wasn’t as old. His voice sounded a bit wistful. “I will be sorry to see you go, but I envy you,” he continued.

“I reckon I will leave soon, yes,” Billy answered.

Luke and Billy exchanged meaningful looks. They both knew that, if and when Billy left, Luke would be the next one to be worrying about special attention from Jeremiah.

“Any idea where you want to go, what you want to do?” Steven asked.

“West,” Billy said. “I’ve always thought of going West. All the way to California.”

“Panning for gold? Making your fortune?” Luke sounded hopeful.

“I think the gold has panned out in California,” Billy answered. “But the thought of California sounds like gold to me anyways.”

“And it’s far away from Brother Jeremiah,” Clyde chimed in in a quiet voice. Clyde was a shy boy, not much larger than Billy, although near his age, and, like Billy, more beautiful than handsome.

Billy looked at Clyde. He knew that Clyde was like him in wants. They had met in the blueberry patch behind the outhouse in recent weeks, lain side by side, and given each other release with their hands. Billy wondered if, when he left, Jeremiah would be after Clyde rather than Luke as he now was after him.

“Yes it is—far away from Brother Jeremiah,” Billy answered, adding, “And speaking of Brother Jeremiah, we’d best be back at digging up these spuds. He’s sure to count them when we’re done and expect a certain number of them to be there. Although he’s never likely to tell us how many he expects on the chance that we’ll bring in more than that.”

* * * *

Inside the house Mary was accosting her husband.

“You know, husband, that we are licensed only to keep the boys until they are eighteen.”

“Of course I know that, woman. You don’t have to preach my business to me.” He uttered it with such finality that he probably had an inkling where Mary was going with this.

“You know your weakness, Jeremiah,” Mary said, poking a finger into his chest, which looked rather amusing, as he was nearly six and a half feet tall, and she wasn’t much more than five feet. “You know the laws—the law of orphans and the law of men.”

“I don’t know what you mean, woman.”

“I mean Billy. I’ve been lookin’ at the birth certificates, and, thank God he’s nineteen, not younger, as you have allowed. But there’s the orphan laws. We can’t still be havin’ him as an orphan.”

“I don’t know if I can give him up,” Jeremiah said in a despairing voice. “You know my passions.”

“Your passions are displaced, Jeremiah Atwell,” Mary said with a good deal of force behind the statement.

“Not displaced. Just broad,” Jeremiah answered, grabbing at Mary’s bodice and pulling her to him, taking her mouth in a brutal kiss, as his hands ripped at the buttons of her bodice, freeing her breasts, and squeezing them, as he pushed her down on the floor, pulled up her skirting, working at the buttons of his fly, entering her strongly, and beginning to pump.

Sighing and moaning under him, Mary clutched as Jeremiah’s shoulder blades. This was the Jeremiah she wanted. Not the other Jeremiah. This was the Jeremiah she’d fight for.

* * * *

Later, not long before twilight, Billy was wandering down near the stream, where the bushes were thick, when he heard them, when he heard the moaning sounds like he sometimes made himself of late. Creeping up to a clump of bushes, he spread the foliage enough to see that the cook was on her back on the ground, and Lem, one of the hired hands, was between her legs, holding her pinned to the ground with strong hands holding her upper arms to the moss. His hips were in high gear, fucking her.

Billy had barely started to watch, one of his hands unbuttoning his fly and pulling his hardening cock out, when he was jerked up from behind by a hand on the collar of his shirt, shaken hard, turned, and thrown off toward the stream bank, away from the bushes where the hired help were fucking. Jeremiah strode over and jerked Billy up again, and tossed him further down the stream bank. And then again and again, until the two of them were in a clump of bushes themselves, a stand of bushes with the trunk of a huge tree laying on the ground between the bushes.

Billy got tossed across the log, the wind forced out of his sails, the small of his back on the log, and his torso arched over it and down, so that his shoulder blades pressed into the moist moss on the other side.

Jeremiah was standing over him, breathing hard, an angry look on his face, holding a short riding whip. “You are not to look at such as that,” he barked. “I will provide all of that that you need to know of such as that.” He leaned over and struck, three times, with the whip, twice on Billy’s chest and once on his thighs. Billy winced, more in shock and surprise than pain, the flannel shirt and jeans being of heavy material. The touch of the whip thongs tips focused on the young man’s groin, not striking but playing, flicking and brushing across the young man’s crotch. Billy moaned, taking it for a moment before he started to roll away from where, vulnerable, he lay.

Jeremiah reached down, grabbed the front of Billy’s shirt, and put him back in place. He ripped the shirt open, popping buttons left and right, and then grabbed the waistband of Billy’s jeans—he had unbuttoned those and flared them aside himself when he was watching the hired help coupling—and jerked the jeans off Billy’s legs.

He struck again and again with the whip, this time on exposed flesh, as Billy writhed under him. The whip had stung him on the belly, on the upper thighs, and on the exposed cock and balls. Billy was embarrassed that he had gone hard under the lash.

Realizing, perhaps, what he was doing—and the effect it was having on Billy—Jeremiah stood up over Billy, whip at his side, panting hard. He paused there for the longest minute, looking down at the small, more beautiful than handsome, young man. His eyes went to the manifestation of Billy’s involuntary arousal, erect, twitching, and throbbing. Billy’s hand went to his cock.

“My God, I’ve got to have you,” Jeremiah muttered, as he pushed the suspenders off his shoulders, and unbuttoned the fly of his trousers. He sank down on his knees in front of the log and between Billy’s spread leg. His hands glided up Billy’s red-welted chest, as the young man winced and groaned. Pressing his hands into the hollow of Billy’s shoulders where his arms connected to his trunk, Jeremiah held the young man’s torso stretched out over the tree trunk and descending to the other side.

Making little grunting sounds, Jeremiah licked and kissed up Billy’s torso as if that was going to make the welts go away, while, resigned, Billy let his arms go, stretched out from his body and parallel to the tree log, putting him symbolically into a cruciform position, prepared for the sacrifice—in heat and wanting it now. He groaned and jerked as Jeremiah’s cock entered him. Jeremiah’s mouth found Billy’s, and he went into a deep kiss as Billy lifted his ankles to Jeremiah’s shoulders and the deep pumping began.

Wild with arousal himself, surprising himself that the whipping had made him hard, Billy focused his attention on the possessing cock and set his pelvis in motion, meeting Jeremiah’s thrusts forward with thrusting his hips forward as well, to take Jeremiah deep as he relaxed his passage walls and set his interior muscles to undulating over the thick, plunging cock.

For the first time, it was more than Jeremiah’s taking Billy for his own need—it was two lovers, both with red hot need and lust, going at each other for their own separate want of the use of the other’s body. They moved their pelvises against each other in concert, thrusting and withdrawing, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, Billy holding on for dear life, taking as much as he was giving. Fully into the fuck.

For the first time Billy could feel—could connect with—the muscles of his passage walls, which gripped and undulated over the invading shaft, caressing it as it moved inside him, causing Billy to groan as his channel muscles pulled the cock in deeper—and prompting Jeremiah to groan in pleasure as well, surely aware that, for the first time, Billy wasn’t just a dormant receptacle for Jeremiah’s need, but had a need for this himself. Going molten soft inside and opening as never before, Billy took the older man’s cock deeper, thicker than ever before, and the two tensed together, jerked together, came together, sighed and relaxed together, tensed again together, came a second time together in a weaker afterglow, and felt their tension melt away into a soft final sigh together.

Afterward, still crouched over Billy’s body and flaccid inside Billy’s channel, Jeremiah pressed his lips into the hollow of Billy’s throat. Pulling a bit away, he whispered. “Don’t leave. I have to go for supplies for a few days, but don’t let Mary make you leave while I’m gone.”

Billy didn’t have the foggiest notion what Jeremiah meant by that, however his thoughts soon went to the present. He could feel the older man thickening again inside him, and he emitted a low moan, whispered, “Yes, yes, yes,” under his breath despite himself, scared a bit that the lashes of the whip had only enhanced his own arousal, and clutched at Jeremiah’s shoulder blades, as the man’s hips went into languid motion once more.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck me, Master,” Billy murmured under his breath.

Jeremiah did so, hard, thick, and deep. The second fucking was as totally open in giving and taking as the first one had been. The two now fully with lovers.

The next time they had sex, all Jeremiah had to do was show Billy the hand whip and flick it and Billy was hard, on his back, with his legs open, and panting for the cock. Billy’s Achilles heel in sexual terms had been uncovered.