The Utah ranch, although one of the richest ones in the territory, wasn't a bed of roses for Billy. Mostly it was the boredom that got him. Bryan was nice to him and kept him in the main ranch house. If he'd sent Billy to the bunkhouse, he knew Billy would be fucked silly and would be no use to him.
That meant that Billy was only fucked three times a week, and not always successfully—certainly not for long—even then. Billy had been trained to regular, rough sex, and he didn't object to it. He hadn't objected to the life of a whore other than the out-of-bounds beatings during sex and the smell of some of the men. He hadn't been raised to have any contrary sense of morality and the moral authority in his life, Jeremiah, had treated him like a whore and pointed to it as Billy's natural place in life. He had conditioned himself to the impersonal, indifferent nature of being fucked in a whore house by a succession of men and even enjoyed the rough sex it often entailed.
Billy grew restless with the polite, fatherly, nearly sexless attention the old man gave him in the ranch house. There was no indication that he was anywhere near California or would be able to go there anytime soon. Barnes's promise of money didn't pan out. The rancher said he was paying Billy and he showed Billy that he was putting money for him in a strongbox every month, but the strongbox was going in Barnes's safe. The rancher obviously was terrified that his one chance for a regular fuck and ejaculation, such as they were, hinged on Billy being there and being willing. If Billy took his money and ran, Barnes would be left without his need being met.
After a couple of months, Billy got some relief, though. One day Larry trapped Billy in the woodshed and fucked the stuffing out of him. Larry was a rough fucker, using a bit of fist play to soften the man he was fucking before mounting him and then enjoying some choke play while he was pumping. Billy went with it—gladly—Larry was the only one within reach who could make him feel anything now when he was fucked. A bit of pain was worth someone who could ride him hard and deep for twenty minutes and seemingly hit up into his stomach with the strength of his ejaculations.
Once inside Billy that first time, Larry's knees under Billy's buttocks, the young man's bruised torso reclining back on the dirt floor of the shed, both men breathing heavily, Billy lay immobile, recovering from the blow to his jaw that had dazed him and made his torso fall back. The preliminary struggle over, Larry had started to pull Billy's channel on and off his cock with strong, calloused hands grabbing the young man's hips. Billy had gone up on his elbows, given Larry a look of lust and need, and started to move his pelvis to meet Larry's thrusts with counterthrusts of his own.
Larry's anger rose. This was the saucy little piece who had captured his father's attention and who lived in comfort in the ranch house, while Larry slept with the other men in the bunkhouse.
"Fuckin' little slut," he muttered through clinched lips. He grabbed Billy by the throat, backhanded him hard in one direction and then in the other direction. He released Billy's throat, and the young man fell back onto his shoulder blades again. Larry fucked him harder and deeper, as with half-glazed eyes, Billy turned his head, smiled a little smile, and murmured, "Yes, yes, fuck me hard. Punish me." Being fucked rough brought more arousal out of Billy, and it had been so long since a man had taken him this hard. And of course he was a slut; he'd been conditioned to be a slut, a whore. The way he had survived that was to come to enjoy having a moving cock inside him, the sting of a slap on his check or buttocks.
And Larry's young, thick, vigorous cock was divine when set against three minutes of a tediously achieved erection and a weak squirt from an old man.
Fuck me hard, fuck me long with your young, vigorous cock; fuck on and on, Billy implored Larry silently. Give me a split lip, a black eye, a bruised rib as you thrust inside me thick and virile and hard. It all sends me up on the clouds. The pain heightens my arousal. It tells me I'm still alive, despite how men like you take their pleasure off and release their anger and frustration on my body.
Yes, I'm a slut, he wanted to cry out, as he set his hips in countermotion to Larry's thrusts, Larry too far gone in the fuck to notice it—or to care—this time. But I'm a slut because a parade of men like you wagging your cocks at me and sticking your dicks inside me have made me a slut. Billy pulled his chest back up to press it into Larry's heaving chest, and this time Larry's response was to embrace the younger man closely, to seek out Billy's lips, and go into a brutal kiss, including chewing on Billy's lower lip, drawing blood. Billy jerked away from the kiss, panting hard. He ran his tongue over his lip and tasted the blood. The blood told him he was alive.
This time he was the one to plaster his lips to Larry's and to open his mouth wide, giving entry—welcome—to the tongue plunging inside, gagging him. With a low rumble coming up from his belly, Larry turned Billy on his back and slapped the young man's legs apart, still possessing Billy's mouth with his. Billy dug his heels into the dirt of the floor, thrusting his pelvis up into position for the long, hard slide of the cock inside him. Larry immediately started pumping hard, his head arching back in a howl to the rough wood of the shed ceiling as he blasted Billy's passage with his cum.
Billy tried to struggle up, but Larry backhanded him again so that, as Larry stood above him, buttoning his britches and looking menacing down at the blond whore, Billy fell back, near exhaustion, to the floor.
Not near enough to exhaustion after three months of frustration of the old man not being able to keep it up.
Undaunted, Billy whimpered, "Don't leave. Fuck me again." He elevated his pelvis again, pushing off on his bent legs, signaling the want for the cock again. Yes, I'm a slut, he was yelling in his mind. Men like you made me. He'd had nothing but three minutes three times a week from an old man for months.
Larry smiled cruelly. He slowly unbuttoned and pulled his cock out again, wagging it at Billy.
"So, you want me again."
"Yes, yes, please," Billy murmured.
"You want me, not the old man."
"Yes."
"Just so we both know how it is. Tell my father about this and I'll cut your balls off." He laughed, stuffed his cock back in his britches, and turned and left the shed. His anger was assuaged; his dad's fancy piece wanted him more than he wanted his dad. Larry could see the situation with amusement and from a position of superiority now.
Billy lay there, half buzzed, panting hard, and staring at the young stud who had taken him to hell—and to heaven. He was hard. Sucking on his cut lip, he reached for his cock and masturbated to a rerun in his mind of all Larry had done to him in the cruel, "fully alive" taking.
Life on the ranch wasn't great even after that. But Larry found him and fucked him at least once a week, so Billy had something to think about when he was washing the supper dishes and sweeping out the ranch house. After that first time, Larry wasn't as rough, though. He didn't want to leave any marks his father would see and then come to him about. His father had declared Billy off limits. And his father still held the deed to the ranch. But, more than that, Larry had established that Billy wanted his cock more than he wanted the father's.
And then Bryan suddenly, without warning, dropped dead. As his heart burst at the moment he dropped a massive load in Billy's ass channel, he died a happy man. He not only dropped dead, but he left a written will dividing the ranch between Larry and Billy.
When Larry found out, he burned the copy of the will that was in the house, but he was worried that there was another copy at the lawyer's office. The lawyer had been out to the ranch a couple of times in recent months.
Larry was panicked. With Bryan still laid out on the bed in his bedroom, Larry grabbed Billy, beat him down to the floor in the middle of the living area, fucked him hard and cruelly there, and then dragged the young many out into the dirt in front of the ranch house and called for a couple of horses. When they arrived, and with the ranch hands interested in what Larry proposed to do also mounting up, Larry threw Billy, his wrists bound in chains Larry had pulled out of the barn, belly down, over the back of one of the horses, and they all rode out onto the range to where a cattle birthing pen was fenced off. They tied Billy to the fence, his arms thrown over the top and his feet barely touching the ground, and Larry let loose the cowboys on him, letting anyone who wanted to fuck the young blond had as many goes it would take to kill him.
They had barely started on him, though, when a gaunt stranger in a worn suit rode up and spoke in a strong voice.
"That there's my son. I'll pay you fifty dollars to let him loose and let him come with me and another ten dollars for that there horse for him to ride."
"If we let him go, he can't stay anywhere around here," Larry declared.
"I'm taking him back to Kansas. Is that far enough away for you?" Jeremiah Atwell said, taking the money out of a slit in his belt to show to Larry and the ranch hands. "Sixty dollars is a might better thing to have in your hand than the risk of a rope around your neck, I would think," Jeremiah said. "You kill the boy and you risk the rope—all of you."
Larry Barnes agreed with him. An unconscious Billy was released from the fence, thrown belly down, over the back of the horse he'd been brought here on, and his journey, once more as essentially Jeremiah's sex slave, back to Kansas began.
* * * *
They rode for no more than an hour when Billy started to come to.
"Hello, world," Jeremiah said. "You can show your appreciation to me for gettin' you out of that fix in a short while. Figure we should stop by that stream over there to water and feed the horses, get you into some clothes, and put your butt rather than your belly on that horse's back. I got somethin' that will fit you, but it should be washed and dried. We can fill our bellies too."
Jeremiah stopped his horse in a stand of birch trees next to a stream, pulled Billy down from his horse, and pushed him down on his butt and back against a rock outcropping.
"Can you get these chains off me?" Billy asked, raising his wrists to show Jeremiah that he was bound.
"In a minute or so. You just stay put there. There are chores to do first. Remember that. The chores always come first."
He opened one of the packs on his horse's flank and came up with a pair of breeches and a flannel short, both wadded up. Wading a few steps into the stream, he washed them and then came out of the stream. The water had been only a couple of inches deep where he'd walked. His boots were watertight enough to keep his feet dry. He beat the clothes against a rock outcropping and then stretched them out in the sun there to dry.
Then Jeremiah made a fire and put a coffee pot taken from his pack on it.
"Now for the appreciation," he said as he came over in front of Billy and started unbuttoning his fly.
