Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2000 21:29:31 EST
From: Savagetrainer@aol.com
Subject: Odessa Ranch

Archive;'Odessa Ranch 1'{Ian Jacobs}( MM, sm, ws, scat, bd )[ 1 of ? ]

Odessa Ranch

Prologue

Odessa Ranch is an almost fully self-sufficient 10 square mile tract of
west Texas scrub land.  It is the brain child of a rather small man who
suddenly appeared rather than grew from the area.  Little is known of his
past and because money speaks volumes, and he has enough of it, nothing
need be said, at least as far as the nearest town is concerned.
	The general hierarchy is simple and feudal.  There is the man at
the top, he is alternately called Sir, Master, Slave-master, depending on
the context, but none of the men inhabiting the ranch know his legal name.
Below him are the men he refers to as hands.  They are like trustees in
prisons, they have certain privileges but are still "prisoners."  Below the
hands are the field slaves.  Their responsibilities are two-fold, they
service the hands by being under their command, and they also have to
maintain the ranch garden-the scrub will sustain the cattle, but not a
garden, so it takes constant attention.  The last level are the neophytes.
They have neither names nor titles.  They are at the mercy, or rather
cruelty, of the field slaves, but their primary duty is to serve as
toilets/gloryhole slaves for the hands.  The numbers fluctuate a bit, but
the general make up is 20-25 hands, 50-80 field slaves, and no more than 8
neophytes.
	A neophyte earns his way to field slave, a field slave can
eventually earn his way to hand, but a hand can climb no higher than where
he is.  When he reaches an age where the man-himself is no longer pleased
with is looks, he is asked to leave-there is a bit more to it than that,
but there is world enough and time for that ritual.  The man who makes the
decision on when a field slave can rise, when a neophyte can rise, and when
someone wanting to enter can become a neophyte is the master field hand
(the least racist way of viewing his position is like the master sergeant
of the army, he is the highest ranking enlisted man, the master field hand
makes all the movement decisions.  Movement down the chain is always
possible, either as punishment or for something more like a prison
sentence, and the master field hand is the sole arbiter.
	The hands concern themselves with the cattle, the field slaves with
the garden.  Their work provides the food for the ranch and to a smaller
extent, some income.  However the man-himself is not interested in profit,
only continuance.  As long as there is food enough, his only expenses are
any luxury he wants for himself, and the typical utilities.  He did once
try to find a way to provide himself with power and water by the backs of
his slaves, but it was a plan that would prove too untenable to control.
The best way to view this man is as a voyeur who read Lord of the Flies as
a piece of soft porn and wanted to create his own utopia on that design.


Part 1, Applicant

	Nick left an abusive relationship in the middle of the night and
got on a bus for Odessa, Texas.  Nick stood just under six feet, was well
muscled, had long but unkempt blond hair.  He was pretty enough, but the
scowl he wore from fear and exhaustion showed him as more mean than pretty.
That attitude however can be a great benefit on a late night bus.
	Nick wanted to be a slave.  He went to all the bars in Atlanta that
would be populated with master material.  He attached himself to a man who
was more interested just in control rather than that fine line between
sexual use, and actual abuse.  Mark risked severe punishment to sign on to
the net when his partner (he could never bring himself to accept the man as
master) was out for a while.  He thought about trying to find someone
locally, but realized his partner was one who would find him and hurt him
horribly if he left for someone close by.  What Nick wanted was to be
bound, whipped, paddled, otherwise treated like a slave; he did not want to
be beaten with fists and to fear for his life.
	He waded through at least a dozen pretend masters on the net before
he found something interesting.  The man on the other end of the computer
was intelligent and didn't play with the normal master/slave rhetoric.  He
actually seemed to care.  After a couple of weeks of intermittent chat,
where the man described the ranch, Nick decided he would be safe there to
experience the fetish to a safe extreme without fear from an abusive
partner.  So the man whose screenname was innocuous enough, "AnswerMan,"
said he would have a truck waiting for Nick when he arrived in Odessa, for
the hour drive to the ranch.
	The man waiting for Nick was called Buck, he was Master Field Hand.
He was only just 30 and had been at the ranch for 8 years.  He was small,
stocky, forceful.  He was very tanned, brown haired, short but not buzzed.
He was dressed in a t-shirt, jeans, and boots.  He was the only slave
allowed off the ranch.
	Nick looked like he wore every one of the 1300 miles when he got
off the bus.  Buck waved Nick toward him.  When Nick started to say hello,
Buck held up a stern hand.  "I'll ask you a few questions later, you answer
those, otherwise you say nothing."
	Nick couldn't decide if he should say, "yes, sir" or not, so he
just nodded and followed Buck to the truck, a typical beat-up, farm used
vehicle.  "You ride up front with me until we get out of town," Buck said.
Nick was hard from a long trip with no chance even to jerk off, and this
vague command made him harder.
	The difference between "city" and the range was abrupt, there were
no such thing as outskirts.  Buck pulled off on a dirt road once the last
of the city buildings had passed over the horizon.  Mark had to piss and
was glad that he was going to have an opportunity to piss while Buck did
whatever he alluded to when they left the Greyhound station.  He was
ordered out of the truck.
	"Permission to speak."  Nick knew the drill.
	"No.  You only speak to answer my questions.  I will tell you now
that I keep a tally of transgressions you guys make and it all gets figured
in your punishment when we get to the ranch, I overlook nothing."
	Buck ordered Nick to strip and to go to the back of the truck.
Buck opened the tailgate and cab door and took five dog collars laying
loosely in a tight cage.  Nick knelt when commanded and Buck put the
largest, plain leather collar around Nick's neck.  Mark presented each
wrist when told, then each ankle, after he was told to sit on the tailgate.
Buck locked each of the collars with very small locks.  Buck ordered Nick
into the cage which would have been a tight fit for a boxer sized dog.
"'Bout an hour now."  Then he closed and locked the cab.
	It was stifling.  The afternoon sun heated the confined space very
quickly.  There was a slight breeze, but only enough to bring in a little
air and to stir up human smells of piss and what might have been shit and
vomit.  Nick was on his hands and knees which were drawn closely to his
chest.  The cage was made from welded iron and held the heat like good
insulation.  Nick's mind was on one thing though, his penis.  He had to
piss.  The odors told him he was not going to be the first to piss here,
but he knew there would be punishment at the end of it.  Still, that was
going to be part of it no matter what he did.  So he pissed.  The earthy
smell of processed coffee filled the cabin.  It felt so good that the piss
hard-on remained even after the long stream ended.  He knew he was going to
be whipped, confined, fucked, anyway, so he wiggled around so he could jerk
off.  It was not easy, but he squirted his load very soon after beginning.
He either was able to doze a little before arriving at the ranch, or was
near delirium from the heat.  He was shocked back to awake when hit with a
rush of lukewarm water.  Another man stood next to Buck and hosed down the
inside of the cabin and Nick.
	Buck unlocked the cage and allowed Nick to exit.  Nick moved slowly
because he was cramping.  He expected Buck to manhandle him, but he just
waited silently as Nick slowly stretched himself to vertical.
	"Follow me."
	Buck walked quickly, so Nick didn't have much opportunity to see
the extent of his surroundings.  He was led into a garage that sufficed as
Buck's office.  Buck sat in a rocking chair while he rapidly asked Nick
questions: name, why he left, what he expected, did he have any limits.
Nick paused at this last one and Buck interjected: "It doesn't matter,
whatever limits you think you have now, you wont after a few weeks."
Predictably, Nick's cock stiffened.  After a few other silly questions just
to keep Nick confused, Buck explained the process.
	"If I let you stay, you will spend at least 3 weeks as what we call
a honey boy.  After that, you have hard field work to look forward to.
There might be more after that, but it is all up to me.  There is fucking
here, but we frown on relationships.  If I see one forming, I will squash
it.  I will now ask one last question, it will be the last opportunity you
will have to chose: do you want to stay?"
	"Sir, yes sir."
	"Fine".  Buck explained a couple of finer points as he examined the
new slave for any signs of disease.  He checked for a hernia, and even drew
blood saying, "we have this tested, and then we test you again in 6 weeks,
you can put two and two together to see you will not be getting much in the
way of dick unless both come back clean."  Buck explained that lessons
learned at the ranch were learned from the lash not from the mouth.  Buck
slipped on a medical glove ostensibly to check Nick's prostate.  What he
was really looking for was a full colon, which he found.
	"You are about to have your first lesson and to pay for pissing and
cumming in the back of my truck."  Buck attached a leash to the collar and
pulled Nick to a wooden post near the office.
	"See these flanges?"  He was pointing at flanges that allowed loops
to be easily clicked in, but which required intervention to release.  "When
you are ordered to attach yourself to a post, a wall, whatever, you hook
the loop on the collar on your wrists or wherever into these things.  It
saves me time."  Nick complied.  He figured he was going to be lashed and
his penis became fiery with the anticipation.  He was half right.
	He was surprised when Buck left for a bunkhouse.  It really looked
just like the bunkhouses in the westerns Nick would watch when nothing else
was on.  Buck returned with six naked men who looked much like Nick.  Each
collared in the same places, naked and unkempt.  Nick decided it was best
to stare straight ahead at the grain on the weathered post, he was not
comfortable being naked in front of more than just one.  Buck tersely
grabbed one of the six and pushed him to the ground, the others he arranged
in a rough semi-circle all facing Nick.
	"Same drill, fucks, you just watch and be glad it ain't you."
After that Buck took the grounded slave and pushed him towards the post.
He made Nick spread his legs to allow the slave to move under him.  He
commanded the slave to attach himself to the short leash nailed to the base
of the post.
	"Alright, shit."
	Nick thought it was an expletive, not a command.  Then,
	"Shit, you have thirty seconds to shit or I will literally whip you
til you do, and shitting while being whipped is damned hard.  All your
muscles clinching every time the leather lands and you trying like hell to
push it out.  You got 20 seconds now."
	Nick was panicked.  He did have to shit, but he had never done it
in public and the threat froze his bowels.
	"5 seconds."
	Before five seconds were up the first blow landed.  Nick couldn't
see it, but knew it was a horse whip.  It was one swatch of pain and heat
an inch thick and all along the top of his shoulders.  He couldn't really
scream so much as just yelp.  He was fiercely trying to figure out how to
shit while not knowing when or where the next blow would land.  Buck just
lashed every few seconds, no further commands, no concern where the whip
landed, wherever it landed it would hurt and that alone mattered.
	Nick started baring down wildly.  Finally, it was like pissing in a
public toilet, once started the rest comes out pretty easily.  He was able
to send some little turdlets out and finally able to send a sizable enough
amount onto the back of the slave between his legs to satisfy Buck.
	Buck allowed the slave who'd been shit on to detach himself.  He
stood and gathered up the now sandy shit in his hands and walked a few
paces where he buried it in the loose dirt.  Buck grabbed another slave who
knelt at Nick's ass and licked his whole, simple as toilet paper, not
inserting it, just passing over it.
	"For the next few weeks boy."