Date: Sat, 9 Jun 2001 02:03:43 EDT
From: Savagetrainer@aol.com
Subject: 'Odessa Ranch 9'{Ian Jacobs}( MM, sm, ws, scat, bd )[ 8 of ? ]

For those who have followed this tale from way back, I apologize for the
lapse of several months.  I cannot promise it won't happen again, but I can
promise to try.  Write if you like, I respond to most.

Odessa Ranch Part 9, Greener Grass

Usually life for those above us looks easy.  It's the nature of things for
us to think that, and to strive to meet an easier way.  Mike spent the same
6 weeks as a honeyboy as everyone else, and stable time like Nick, and his
time in the fields.  His only perspective was from his end of the lash;
from that end, it appears that the man holding the lash has the easier
time.  The problem with that perspective is that it is incomplete.  At the
moment of the thrashing, Mike's view is correct, but what about the times
when he doesn't see his punisher?

A Brief Essay on Onanism

Mike ordered the honeyboys to stare downward and sat on the edge of one of
the toilets and watched his four mules struggle for enough control and
supremacy to cum.  The idea of commanding each other was now totally
foreign to Nick, Ty, Seth and Jayson.  Each was in the habit of engaging in
sex often, but it was done in a shorthand manner where they would pair off
with another slave who was nearby and exchange like for like.  Now, instead
of just one other to play with, each slave had two others.  The variety was
as overwhelming as it was titillating.

	Ty would begin sucking one cock and move on the instant another
came his way.  The cock that had just been in Ty's mouth, newly lubed,
would go into Jayson's ass.  Jayson's mouth held Ty's cock and sometimes
another.  Nick spent his time trying to get his cock into Seth's ass, but
Seth seemed to want to get his cock into Nick's, but since they no longer
had words for that kind of frustration (assuming they would bother to speak
at all under the present circumstances), they would move on and either kiss
while their cocks were in the other two, or make attempts to fingerfuck the
other when their hand was near the other's hole.  And on and on.

	Despite there being such a large number of slaves in relatively
close quarters, orgies were not common on the ranch.  Fatigue played a
major role in that, but the simple fact that their training tended to leave
them craving a quick cum from whomever is handy played a larger one.
Threesomes weren't uncommon, but slave's honor left that a difficult
situation since the one in the middle was then forced to choose whom to cum
in--and choices weren't just foreign anymore, they were things to fear,
things to cause anxiety.

	Mike made sure that each of them had one orgasm.  Once he was sure
one did, he'd check that one off and pay closer attention to another.  The
whole thing went on for about forty-five minutes and left each slave
sweaty, sticky, panting.  Mike didn't permit them another shower, so they
prepared to leave the shower nearly as filthy as when they came in.

	"You and you," he pointed at Ty and Jayson, "back to your
quarters."

	"Sir yes sir."

	Seth and Nick instinctively stood at slave's attention, back
straight, eyes downcast.  This was a pose they learned by watching others,
not something that was always enforced--they never did it for the trustees
who were also naked, but only for the hands; clothing signified rank

	Under Mike's new clothing was his cock, unaccustomed to being
restrained.  It hurt in a way that it hadn't since perhaps high school,
rock hard and bound behind stiff cloth.  He wouldn't take his uniform off
while watching the slaves fuck because it was a breech of rank now.  He
knew he had never seen a hand's ass, only his cock sticking out of his
denims; he knew what that meant.  And he wasn't going to jerk off while
slaves fucked.  What kind of message would that send?

	Masturbation is the rarest form of sex on the ranch.  In the world
outside the ranch, even a man who could fuck anyone whenever he got hard
would still want sometimes to engage in his adolescent pastime--cuming
without responsibility, controlling speed and pressure with his exquisite
hand rather than with the less dexterous hips and legs.  Quick toss, quick
rush, no worries.  On the ranch though, that form of sex is both insulting
and extremely selfish.  Jerking off while sucking someone is perfectly
fine, but jerking off alone isn't.  In the symbolic language of Odessa
Ranch, jerking off tells anyone who sees it that the slave performing it
thinks he is better than everyone else.  It tells them that he wants to be
removed, even if just briefly, from his brothers.

	This is an extension of the message sent with cum.  Cuming in a
slave implies full acceptance.  Cuming on them is intend to, and does,
humiliate them; pulling out of their ass to cum on their back is less
humiliating than pulling out to cum on their face.  But the most
humiliating form is to cum with them watching, but have all of it land on
the ground.  That is the unspoken message that the slave is beneath
contempt.  So by the time someone becomes a hand, they are fully fluent in
the language of cum.  Mike wasn't going to jerk off when he had Seth's ass
to cum in, waiting was nothing new to him, nor was denial and privation.
Watching the slaves orgy was just something to increase his own desire, to
increase the power of his own orgasm.

	"What's your name slave?"

	"Sir Seth Sir."

	"On all fours Seth."

	"Sir yes sir."

	"You.  I want you behind him.  I want you to stick your tongue up
his ass and force as much of your slave spit into his perfect hole."

	"Sir yes sir."  Nick knelt and moved his hands to part Seth's
buttocks to get at the hole where only Nick's finger had previously gone,
no slave had fucked him during the orgy.

	"No faggot, I want those hands behind your back."

	"Sir yes sir."

	Seth pushed his ass a little farther out so that his hole was a bit
easier to access.  Nick complied with Mike's orders and inserted his tongue
into the hairless hole.  His sweat was salty and a bit musky from the orgy.
Nick had no trouble producing the spit Mike wanted.  He was all but
drooling at the prospect.  His tongue was slick and nervous, like his cock
the first time he fucked anyone.  His tongue opened Seth's eager hole and
he could smell the fecundity, Nick was immediately hard from that.  His
cock hadn't reacted strongly when Mike ordered Nick to lube his Adonis's
hole--his recent squirts and just the desire to comply to the order meant
there was no special stimulation.  The smell brought him from the order to
the exact moment.  This moment when he was as close as he had ever been to
fulfilling an elemental desire.  He darted his tongue in and quickly out of
Seth's hole, both slaves' cocks dripping precum.

	"I think that's got it good and silky faggot.  Back to your
quarters."

	Hesitation.  For the first time since arriving, Nick didn't hear an
order.  Mike pulled the crop from his boots and brought it down, aimed at
Nick's crack.  The crop wrapped almost expertly down the crack so that the
frayed end hit Nick's tight balls.  Nick yelped and jumped back.

	"Back to your quarters faggot!"

	"Sir yes sir."  Nick sulked out of the shower; he had seen into the
gates of his promised land, but was forced away without being allowed in.

	"Seth, that ass of yours is the sweetest thing I've had since I got
here."

	"Sir yes sir."

	Mike took his time.  He wouldn't have to reciprocate.  He could
take his time knowing that once he came he would be sleeping in a bed for
the first time since leaving Utah for the ranch.  He was puffed up with
pride and with a simple, immediate desire to feel his cock inside this
German's ass, to see his cock slide in and out of the tanned and slightly
scarred ass of this beautiful youth.

	In the time to follow, the time after the orgasm, Mike might think
back.  He might realize that he had never been in a position like this.  As
all of the slaves here, he had been a submissive.  He had wanted sex to
happen to him, but more than that.  He wanted decisions to happen for him,
choices not to occur, wanted orders to be followed by action.  He had
fucked before, but it had always happened as part of the slave agreement
that he would allow the slave to do the same to him--or he was fucking a
slave who had already cum in his ass.  Those were done as animal acts of
quick want and desire and flash-passion.  Now he could take his time.  He
could have taken his time before, but that was something close to
masturbation--if a slave took his sweet time too often, he would find
himself ostracized for being rude.  Now he could slow down and watch his
red cock slide slowly, very slowly into the pink hole.  Feel the feathery
tickle, move up the shaft while the silky pressure at the head of his penis
increased.

	His orgasm was enormous and almost female in its length.  After he
finished, his still hard cock stayed fully buried in Seth's ass.  Seth was
still, eyes half open.  The honeyboys were still and remained with eyes
downcast.  The only thing moving in this tableau was Mike's chest.  Heart
and lungs continued to climax a bit after the orgasm.  All else was without
motion.

	"Go on, back to your quarters."

	"Sir yes sir."

	If Mike had bothered to reach around and jerk Seth's cock while he
fucked him, he might have noticed that it wasn't as hard and didn't drip
precum the same way it had when Nick was preparing him.


	The Bunkhouse Baptism

Mike headed to the bunkhouse.  He wasn't horny, he wasn't nervous, he
wasn't even excited anymore.  He just wanted to sleep.  He didn't know that
he wasn't quite finished.

	"Grab him."

	Mike didn't know who said that, nor did he know the names of the
two men who followed the order, one on each arm.  They carried him to a bed
farthest from the door.  The bunkhouse looked like an army barracks at
basic training.  There were two rows of beds, one row along each far
wall--they were all singles, all made of wood (no bunk beds).  Mike kept
quiet, falling back on his slave habits.  The two laid him on the far bed
and deftly bound his wrists and ankles to the short bedposts.

	"Gather 'round."  It was the same voice that he heard when he came
in.  He was beginning to panic a little.  Did he break a rule he knew
nothing about?  Was his kindness to the four slaves he had chosen as mules
an infraction worthy of severe punishment?

	"Just enjoy it Mike, nothing to worry about."  A whisper.  He
recognized it as a hand called Mark who had briefly marked Mike with his
bandana several months back.  He wriggled around a little to see where Mark
was, but couldn't find him before the ritual began.

	Three men stood on either side of the bed, each pulled his cock
from his cutoffs and started jerking off.  Each man was quick about cuming,
and each shot a fairly large load onto his torso, most trying to aim for
his cutoffs.  When one came, he was quickly replaced by another.  Within
five minutes only one hand remained standing at his bed: Mark.

	Mark was going slower, and had obviously maneuvered to be the last.
Mike was covered in cum, some still quite hot, the rest cooling and
beginning to gel and dry.  Nothing to worry about?  More than twenty men
had jerked off onto him.  He had been in a fraternity in college and
thought this would be tantamount to watching every single brother drop a
black ball on him when he had been a pledge.  He opened his mouth to ask
why, but Mark just shushed him with his eyes.  Finally Mark's hand sped up
and he too squirted his load onto Mike's stomach.

	Mark buttoned his denims after sliding his shrinking cock back into
place.  Then he wordlessly began to rub the loads of cum around his chest,
thighs, and denims.  Mike opened his mouth again, and was again quickly,
gently shushed.  Mark's hands were matter-of-fact, they just rubbed the cum
around with no more attention or passion than soaping a car.

	"Lift your ass off the bed Mike."

	"Sir y . . ."  He stopped himself from finishing.  Mark smiled at
him.  Then wiped his hands on the butt of Mike's denims.

	"Night Mike, we'll untie you in the morning."

	He was still confused.  He knew the humiliation of watching as cum
he thought would be in him land on the floor in front of him.  He knew it
as a part time slave before joining the ranch, and knew it as a slave here.
He had seen other slaves similarly dressed down by hands who wanted to send
a message with far more clarity than would be achieved by the lash or a few
days as a honeyboy again.  Now he felt his skin tighten beneath the
cooling, drying goo.  Every hand came on him.  Was this their way of
reminding him that he was the low man on the totem pole?  This is what he
would muse on as he fell asleep.

	He didn't have the experience any longer to conceive the real
reasons behind the ritual.  What Mark did with the cum, of course, was what
removed the stigma from the otherwise humiliating act of cuming on him.
This was the first time many of the hands had seen Mike as a fellow
hand--since there is work to be done, not all could have witnessed his
trial.  They had all undergone the same ritual, none of whom was around
when it was implemented.  Mark knew some of the thoughts that were going
through Mike's head, and knew it was essential for Mike to work out on his
own the fact that his baptism was not an insult.  Mark mixed the cum of all
the hands into a welcoming salve. ( There was nothing particularly symbolic
about the bindings though, it was born of necessity.  Other hands realized
that it stopped their new member from going and washing it off, it forced
them to stay in bed and think about the possible implications.)  Few of the
hands figured out quickly what the baptism meant, many had to be on the
other end, cuming on the new guy, before they really understood the
significance.


	The Post

Mark untied Mike just before they all went to the shower.

	"How did you sleep?"

	"Why did you all do that?"

	"Ain't sayin'.  How did you sleep guy?"

	"So-so I guess."  Actually that was a lie.  Even if he hadn't been
bound, he wouldn't have slept that well.  He had grown used to a warm
pillow that breathed.  He was used to the feel of another man, other men
sleeping under and on him.  Even with the bindings, he wasn't uncomfortable
in comparison with his more recent nights sleeping on the ground, but he
was so used to it, that the new way would take a little getting used to.
He hadn't expected that at all.

	"You'll get used to it.  It took me a couple of nights to get used
to it myself."

	Mike showered with his denims on to get as much of the cum out of
them as possible.  It wouldn't make for a comfortable ride on his horse
perhaps, but it was necessary.  He was still too confused from the night
before to spend too much time bullying the honeyboys.  He contented himself
with just pissing on one of them.

	Since Mark seemed to be his new mentor, perhaps the first real
mentor he's had since arriving here.  He followed him to the stables.  Mark
made Nick remove the saddle from his and Mike's horses.  Then he showed
Mike how to saddle the horse.  It took a couple of tries before Mike was
able to do it; the others had been gone for some time.

	"Sorry about this."

	"You don't have to apologize.  Even the few hands that did this
before had forgotten exactly how while tendin' to the corn and shit.  Relax
Mike, I ain't never seen a hand get sent back to the fields, and you ain't
doin' nothing none of us didn't do before you."

	Mark wanted to make sure Mike would be able to saddle his horse
without having to ask for help.

	"Why did you make the slave take the saddle off?"  Mike asked as
they rode out to where the herd was grazing.

	"You going to take one of those slaves with you all the time?  You
got to know how to do it yourself.  You won't have to do it much, but that
don't excuse you from knowin'."

	Mike had no idea how to ride.  He had learned to be a good mimic
though--the only real way to learn on the ranch.  But he apparently wasn't
doing something right because Mark said, "You ride like that and you won't
be walkin' in the mornin'.  Gonna have blue balls worse than you ever had
before.  Do it like this."  He showed Mike how to adjust his posture, how
to hold the reins.  "The rest you got to work out for yourself."  Then as
they approached the herd, Mark added: "Just stick close to me, but back,
understand?  Just watch what everybody does for a couple of days.  I'll
show you a couple of things, but mainly you just need to watch and keep
away from the cattle.  You fuck up and it could be a world of hurt."

	Mike thought, if it occurred to him to consider it at all, that
Mark was just being cliched.  He didn't know that it was ambiguous.

	A bit away from the cattle and the hands watching them was a post
similar to the one that all slaves get introduced to on their first day.
Mike didn't notice it when they rode past it, he was too busy looking at
the mass of cattle--he was now part of the team that was to make sure they
stayed together and moved together; he had never done anything like it
before (he was amazed at the sight of a couple hundred, maybe more, cows
and calves.  It was nothing like the movies).  It wasn't long before he
would see it up close and realize why it was there.

	He followed Mark around as best he could.  His horse was docile,
but it didn't matter.  It was like learning to drive a manual transmission
for the first time--it didn't matter how patient you and the instructor
might be, it still takes some jerking and stalling before you get the hang
of it.

	Mark noticed something in the distance and hustled off to take care
of it, neglecting to tell Mike to stay put.  Mike followed as best he
could, but his horse seemed to know better and was trying to stay back.
Mike was insistent and prodded his horse to a semblance of a run so he
wouldn't be too far behind his mentor.  The horse finally decided that
enough had been reached and went into a dead run.  Mike could barely handle
the thing at a trot, at a full gallop . . . he was hopeless.  He did what
most do, and pulled back on the reins, but since the horse was already
pissed, putting him in that kind of pain only adds fuel to his fire.  So
his horse spun around and headed back towards the thick of the herd.  Mike
had zero control over his animal.  Another hand saw what was going on, and
more importantly what would happen if it came to its own logical
conclusion.  He bolted for Mike.  He was able to whisk around the herd and
come up along Mike's horse just as it began to scatter the herd. Mike's
horse began to slow on his own, just the presence of someone who knew what
he was doing seemed to calm the animal.  Other hands had rushed around
behind this action to quell the scattering.

	Mike opened his mouth to apologize, the hand just looked sternly
and shook his head.

	"What happened?"  Mark asked the hand; he had rushed back once he
realized that Mike had lost control, but was already so far ahead that he
hadn't been able to close the distance fast enough.

	"He lost control of his horse."

	Mike wanted to apologize again, but the looks on the hands' faces
froze him.  He lost control of this horse, but had managed to stay on it,
nobody was hurt.  Mike was embarrassed, but didn't understand why they
would all look like he'd killed someone.

	The hand sauntered off and Mark moved in.

	"Well, it happens to most of us, but that don't mean much."

	"What's going on?"

	"Couple of things.  You could have caused a stampede.  Your first
thing to learn is to control your horse.  So you're going to have to pay
for it I'm afraid."

	"How?"

	"I told you, I ain't seen nobody sent back to the fields.  But you
learn this same way you learned shit when you were in the fields.  C'mon."

	A lashing?  On one hand it made perfect sense, on the other . . . .
Mike thought that hands were the top of the punishment chain.  He was about
to understand that, while true, it just meant that punishment for a hand
was the other hands' responsibility.

	Mike followed Mark glumly.  A couple of other hands peeled away
from the vigil.  All horses and riders headed for the post.

	Mark got off his horse and held the reins for his and Mike's horse.
Mike got off and walked to the post.  One of the other hands rode over.

	"Hands up, against the post."

	Mike did as he was told, consciously suppressing the need to say
sir.  The hand wrapped rope around his wrists and the post several times
and tied it off quickly.  Then he got off his horse and approached Mike.

	"This could be worse.  You only got three witnesses, if you had
caused a stampede . . . we'd all get to watch and whip you."  He unbuttoned
Mike's denims and pulled them to his ankles.  "As it is, you only get 5
lashes.  It doubles each time you repeat the same mistake."  His words were
delivered without heat, without opinion.  Mike understood that the way of
the ranch was the way for all groups.  He would take these lashes the same
way he had most of those before it.  The only problem with these were that
they were the first he'd had from a horsewhip since Buck had given him the
order to shit three years earlier.

	The hand stood at a dozen or so paces back of Mike's naked back and
ass.  He delivered the first lash down the full length of his back, ass and
thigh.  Mike struggled not to scream.  The second lash was as long as the
first, just mirrored on the other side.  His head jerked all the way back
and he choked a little.  He didn't want to yell, he wanted to let them see
him take his lashes like a man, not like a scared slave.  The last three
lashes cris-crossed the parallels he'd set with the first two.  Mike
shivered.  He was a bit shocky.  He'd completely forgotten the reality of
the pain involved at his end of the horsewhip.  From his first experience
he could tell you it hurt, that it felt like a swath of forceful fire being
pushed against his skin, but being able to say that, doesn't mean he could
really recall what it felt like.

	"You spend the rest of the mornin' like that.  We'll come get you
come lunch."  The hand and the other rode back to the herd.

	"It don't look too bad Mike.  I'll be back to get you in a couple
of hours."

	Looking at the grain in the wooden post, standing in pain and
naked, sweating from hurt and embarrassment, there was only one thing he
could do: think.  He had to think of a way to avoid having that happen
again.  Thoughts after a lashing with a horsewhip aren't necessarily the
clearest, but if you can't pass out from the treatment, you don't really
have any other options.  He looked over at his horse though, and believed
he saw a little smug malice in her eyes.

	Mark untied him a couple of hours later and led him back to lunch.
Mike expected to be badmouthed or totally ignored when he got back.
Instead, people just laughed a bit and took a look at his back.  At first
this was as confusing as the night before, then it began to sink in.  He
wasn't making mistakes that most hadn't.  He hadn't done anything seriously
wrong.  His back and ass hurt, but that was nothing new.  This was just the
tail end of his initiation of sorts.


	Breaking the Cardinal Rule

There is only one rule at the ranch guaranteed to bring real wrath.  Every
slave is told the first day they enter, and it is not mentioned again,
until someone breaks it.

	Escape isn't possible because no one is actually held prisoner.
True they are kept naked, true they have no money (none are aware of the
cash kept for them in trust for when they leave until they actually leave);
but they know they can walk away from their post, say the magic word to
Buck and be back in the mundane population in very short order.
Insubordination is handled by the lash.  The one thing they are told is
against the rules is falling in love.  Love acts as a virus that will
disrupt the morale of the body of the ranch.  The order kept is tenuous
because it is kept by an unspoken agreement between those on the ranch.
The law is one of kindred spirits, not a binding instrument that insists
that life at the ranch follow these prescribed set of mutable laws.  Order
is essential to the ranch being run as the haven it is for those whom it
serves (ironically enough).  Love leads to jealousy leads to animosity
leads to chaos.  Stopping it as it starts is the only option.

	Ty took care not to act as a pillow to any of his cabin mates.  He
knew when they've all fallen asleep and quietly scampers away from his
cabin toward one further on.  Outside it is another slave about his age,
only less stocky, less weathered.

	"Kiss me sweet."  Adam said to his crawling mate.


	In the barn, awake, Nick wanted to cry.  It wasn't out of sadness
but of frustration.  He didn't have to struggle not to, he'd have to
struggle to make it happen--crying was something that stopped being an
option weeks earlier and he'd forgotten how.  He wanted to know where Seth
was right now, wanted to brave any number of lashes to find him and end
what he began and to offer his own ass to that uncut cock he had jerked off
the night before and sucked just hours earlier.