Saturday, March 26, 2011

TAKE A LEFT ON DEAD HORSE ROAD

                       By Sutter
                               Powel 
Jack repositioned the air conditioning vent for the one hundredth time and was rewarded with a feeble blast of tepid air. In the oven-like cabin of the Corsica, every puff of cool air was an event worthy of celebration. Jack squinted through his sunglasses. Ahead, the road stretched seemingly forever in waves of shimmering heat rising from the floor of Death Valley.
“Talk about the middle of fuckin’ nowhere,” he grumbled as he repositioned his ass on the damp car seat. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, even with the air conditioning set on high. The crotch of his chinos was sopping, and his wringing wet Jockeys had crawled up his crack, giving him the wedgie of all time.
His white dress shirt was plastered to his muscular torso, translucent with sweat. “When I get back to the office, I am going to beat the living shit out of Ross,” he promised himself. Ross, his worthless coworker, had talked Jack into going on this wild goose chase. Jack was the top sales rep for Southland Paper Products, and Death Valley was definitely not in his territory. Ross had talked Jack into covering Ross’s crummy circuit in exchange for handling Jack’s accounts the following month when Jack was off to Tahoe for vacation. Ross had sworn up and down that the jerk who ran the Gas-n-Go in Needles was just panting to sign on as a new account. When Jack arrived in Needles, though, the cretin had practically chased him out of his gas station
screeching that no “slimy crook from L.A.” was going to trick him into buying inferior quality toilet paper. Pig.

Jack had left L.A. at 5:00 A.M., driven hours on end to get to Needles, and was there for only fifteen minutes before turning around. There was one remaining account for Jack to call on. Ross had written down directions on how to get there, but Jack could barely decipher Ross’s illiterate hen scratches. From what he could make out, he was supposed to take a right at
Ludlow and then “take a left on Dead Horse Road,” which he had done. The faded road sign had indicated that the ancient pothole-ridden one-laner he was turning down was indeed christened “Dead Horse Road.”
Jack hadn’t seen another car since he had left Highway 40. He reached over and popped open the cooler on the passenger seat and fished out the last bottle of Perrier. The ice had melted hours ago, and now the lone beverage bobbed forlornly in a sea of lukewarm water. Jack twisted off the cap and glanced down at the dash to see how much gas was left. “Oh, fuck!
Rotten piece of American-made shit!” he cursed the Corsica. The needle on the heat gauge had crept halfway into the red. Jack shut off the air conditioning quickly and turned the heater on High in a futile attempt to pull some heat off the engine. Instantly the temperature inside the car climbed another 25 degrees.
Jack rolled his window down, only to be greeted by a blast of superheated desert air. “This is just great!” he fumed. Ross had appropriated the only good rig the company had, the two-year-old Trooper, for his own use this weekend. This left only the temperamental 1986
Corsica for Jack to use.
Just when Jack thought the day couldn’t possibly get any worse, there was a loud snap, followed by a violent flapping noise from under the hood — then nothing. Jack knew what had happened even before he looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the broken fan belt lying on the
asphalt. The car began to boil over immediately. Jack’s vision was obscured by clouds of white vapor billowing out from under the hood. Jack took his foot off the gas, and the Corsica coasted to a stop on the side of the road.
He threw the door open and hopped out, sweating and swearing, onto the blistering blacktop. The sickly-sweet smell of hot antifreeze greeted him. Green fluid was pouring out from under the engine in steaming rivers.
“Goddamn!” Jack swore as he kicked the fender in frustration. He reached in through the open window, pulled the keys from the ignition, and walked around to the trunk. The lid of the trunk scalded his fingers as he raised it. “Oww! Fuck!” he muttered and stuck his stinging fingers in his mouth. His spirits fell further when he saw what lay in the trunk. He had known better than to expect a spare fan belt. But there was also no water jug, no tools, and no emergency kit. Nothing but an empty gallon bottle of antifreeze lying on its side with the lid off.
Jack slammed the trunk lid down and pulled the keys from the lock. He pulled his sunglasses off and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. Now what the hell am I supposed to do? he thought miserably. He looked up and down the deserted road,
searching vainly for any sign of life. Nothing in either direction. No houses, no farms, nothing. Jack soon realized he was in a real bad way. He had one bottle of mineral water left, no food, and the Corsica was history.
Ludlow was at least fifteen miles back, and he knew he couldn’t make it that far in the heat. The sun was at its zenith and beat mercilessly down on the desert floor. It felt like it was at least 110 degrees already. Jack walked around and sat in the driver’s seat with his feet on the gravel road, holding his dripping head in his hands while he weighed his options. He was developing a bitch of a headache. He could sit here and hope someone came by. Yeah, right! He could imagine the headlines now: BODY OF SLAIN TOILET PAPER SALESMAN
FOUND ON DEAD HORSE ROAD. Dead Horse Road had to lead somewhere, he reasoned, so Jack decided to take a chance and continue on foot. Thinking quickly, he gulped down the last bottle of Perrier and then submerged it in the cooler to refill it with warm water.
Jack forced himself to drink it down. Jack refilled the bottle again and put the cap back on, hoping it would sustain him for a few hours. Jack retrieved his leather day pack from the backseat and pulled out a pen and tore a sheet from his day planner. He wrote a brief note identifying himself and explaining his situation and left it under one of the wipers. Jack put his bottle of water in his backpack and hitched it over his shoulder. He didn’t bother locking the Corsica. With any luck, someone would steal it. Jack dug his wet undershorts out of his
crack and set off down Dead Horse Road.
The heat was overwhelming. It seemed to make time stand still. Jack felt as if he’d been walking for hours, but when he checked his watch, he saw that he had been hiking for only forty-five minutes. He looked back and saw the Corsica at the side of the road and cursed it again. He continued on, slowly making his way over a low hill. Jack paused at the top of the hill. He had told himself that he would wait at least two hours before he drank any of the water, but knew that he wouldn’t be able to wait that long. He was indescribably thirsty. His mouth was tight and itchy. Every time he inhaled, the dry air stung his parched throat. Jack pulled out the bottle of water. He told himself he would just sip at it, but the moment the warm water hit his lips, he was
guzzling it. The bottle was empty almost instantly. He had drunk all of his water and he was still thirsty. Jack tossed the empty bottle aside and started off again. He was losing track of time. The sun seemed always to be directly overhead. He could feel his face beginning to burn. His legs were like heavy lead weights. A sort of light-headed laziness seemed to be overtaking him. His
steps had slowed to a shuffle.
When Jack lifted his eyes to the horizon, he saw it. Salvation. He wondered if he was imagining it. About a quarter-mile up the road, an aluminum house trailer squatted, rippling and waving in the heat. Jack shuffled toward it, praying it was not a mirage. As he drew near,
the trailer didn’t disappear. It was real. Jack shuffled faster, his heart pounding. His head was spinning. The world tipped crazily from side to side as he approached the trailer on shaky leaden legs.
Jack crashed into the door of the trailer and grappled for the knob. It turned freely in his hand. He yanked the door open, and a blast of frigid air conditioning hit him like a freight train. Jack swooned, his legs giving way, and fell facedown onto the floor of the trailer. He was briefly aware of the welcome touch of the cool linoleum against his sunburnt face. Then everything
went black.
He was back in the abandoned Corsica. He was sitting behind the wheel dozing. A crow appeared on the hood and walked through the windshield. Jack moaned in fear and tried to lunge away, but his hands were tangled up in the seat belt. He was trapped. He watched helplessly
as the crow advanced across the dash, and he moaned again, pitifully. A deep masculine voice boomed out of the crow’s beak. “Starting to come around are ya?” the bird said, tilting its head quizzically.
Jack woke with a start. He stared around dazedly, confused and disoriented by what he saw. He knew that he must be inside the trailer now. He was seated in a wooden chair facing a wall paneled in imitation oak. In the center of the wall hung a chalkboard. A chalkboard?
Jack tried to stand and realized — to his amazement — that he was tied to the chair with lengths of white nylon rope. His legs were tied at each ankle to the legs of the chair. His hands were behind his back, tied together at the wrist, and his elbows were anchored to the rungs of
the chair’s back. A length of rope circled his thighs and held him firmly to the seat. Jack shook his head to clear it. Was he still dreaming?
“Hey! What the hell is this? Where am I?” he croaked hoarsely. He could hear the fear in his voice. He would have screamed, but his throat was still parched and raw. He jerked at his bonds in rising panic.
The disembodied voice (of the crow?) spoke again, coming from somewhere behind Jack. “Now just simmer down. You can’t get loose, so stop your squirmin'." Jack tried to twist around to see what was behind him, but the ropes wouldn’t allow him to turn far enough to see anything. He heard some sort of machinery running in the background. Jack’s heart climbed into his throat as he heard the tread of heavy footsteps approach his back. A liter-sized bottle of water was
thrust into his face from behind. “You thirsty?” The bottle was held by what appeared to be the hand of a giant. Jack’s eyes followed the hairy forearm until it disappeared from his field of vision. Jack sealed his mouth around the neck of the bottle and sucked in great gulps of chilled water. It was unbearably delicious. Jack heard himself grunting and slurping like a dog. The
bottle was pulled back, and Jack moaned in frustration.
“Don’t gulp it down. You'll just puke it back up. Take your time,” cautioned the gravel voice.
Jack took a deep breath and nodded his head. The bottle was returned to his lips and Jack drank more discreetly, pausing every few swallows to breathe. When he had drunk his fill, he turned his head away from the mouth of the bottle. Jack felt his strength returning and, along with it, indignation.
“You’re welcome,” muttered the voice from behind him.
“You’ll have to forgive my lack of manners. Waking up the hostage of some nut case in the middle of Butt-Fuck Nowhere has me a little upset,” Jack spat sarcastically.
“Nice attitude. Nice way to talk to the man who saved your life." The playful, teasing tone in the guy’s voice indicated he was poking fun at Jack. Jack felt himself getting madder by the second.
“Listen up, Water Boy. You let me out of this chair this second, and maybe I’ll talk the judge into giving you life instead of lethal injection,” Jack threatened.
“That’s pretty tough talk, Chair Boy,” came the amused reply. “No, sir, with that kind of attitude I don’t think you’ll be getting out of here anytime soon.”
“Untie me, you creep!” Jack ordered. There was no response. “All right, at least be a man and let me see what kind of freak is holding me prisoner.”
Silence from behind. Jack was starting to sweat again even though the air was thoroughly chilled by the air conditioner. Jack began to worry that he had angered his captor. What if the guy really was some psycho? Jack knew his body could be buried for days before anyone
figured out he was even missing. Jack heard his captor place the water bottle somewhere behind Jack. Jack held his breath as the heavy sound of the footsteps grew closer. Visions of wickedly sharp axes and smoking chain saws filled his head. Was this it? Was he going to buy the
farm in some tacky trailer in the middle of Death Valley?
Jack let his breath out as the man passed beside his chair and stood about five feet in front of Jack. Jack blinked in stunned silence. He had imagined his captor would be some inbred three hundred pound ogre with coveralls and no teeth, but the man who stood before him was absolutely gorgeous. Jack’s captor was six feet tall, approximately thirty-five years old, and looked to be in peak physical condition. His close-cropped black hair receded at his temples and this accentuated his dramatic cheekbones and strong jaw. His handsome face was set in a teasing smirk, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. He was wearing some sort of short-sleeved
uniform-type shirt and matching tan slacks. Something about the outfit looked vaguely familiar to Jack. The man had a build that wouldn’t quit. Broad shoulders and massive arms swelled the tan shirt above his trim waist, and well-developed thighs stretched the man’s pant legs
below. Jack let his eyes rest for just a microsecond on the man’s packed crotch. Whoa! Whatever was jammed in there sure didn’t have enough room to get comfortable. Jack felt a traitorous stirring in his own crotch.
Suddenly it dawned on Jack that he had been tied to the chair almost completely naked. His captor had removed all of Jack’s clothing except for his socks and briefs. Jack’s lean body was well-toned and tan, but it was nothing compared to the rugged muscleman who stood before him. Jack felt a blush flood his face. He felt vulnerable and self-conscious now.
“Yeah, I had to undress you. Your clothes were filthy. They’re in the washer now.” That explained the sounds Jack had heard earlier. Jack was cautiously optimistic, reasoning that a psychopath wouldn’t wash his clothes for him. The stud folded his corded arms across his
chest. “So, Jack. What brings you to my little corner of paradise?” he smirked.
Jack’s self-consciousness melted and he felt his anger returning. “My car boiled over, asshole. Wait a second — how do you know who I am?” he demanded.
“From your driver’s license, dumbass. I already guessed car trouble. I don’t get a lot of foot traffic out here. So why were you on Dead Horse Road? Were you lost?”
Jack ached to get out of his chair and wipe the grin off the guy’s face. “None of your fucking business. Let me out of this chair or I’ll start screaming bloody murder.”
“And just who would hear you out here? Jack, you better start cooperating with me. You’re not going anywhere until you improve your attitude, mister.” As he spoke, he turned to the chalkboard and retrieved a long stick from the chalk tray. When he turned back to Jack, Jack saw it was not a stick, but a pointer that a teacher would use. His captor raised the pointer and
advanced toward Jack. Jack cringed in his chair, fearing the man would strike him with the pointer. But his captor simply tapped Jack on the chest lightly with the black rubber tip, leaving little smears of chalk dust on Jack’s quivering pectorals.
“Hey, uh, I want to cooperate with you . . . sorry, I didn’t get your name . . . .” Jack ventured lamely.
“I didn’t give it to you. You can just call me ‘Sir’ for now.” The man moved the tip of the pointer across Jack’s chest until it came to rest on Jack’s left nipple.
His captor began to run the rubber tip slowly around the edge of Jack’s nipple. Immediately Jack felt it harden against his will.
“Uh, okay, Sir. Just what do you have in mind here?” Jack asked nervously, his eyes on the tip of the pointer as it crossed his chest and began to circle his other nipple, caressing it to hardness as well.
“Don’t worry, Jack. You’re in no real danger. I just want to teach you a little lesson about gratitude. After all, I saved your life,” came the husky reply. As his captor spoke, he traced a line down the front of Jack’s torso with the pointer. Jack swallowed anxiously as the tip of the pointer came to rest on his cotton-covered cock. His captor traced the outline of Jack’s penis idly.
Jack blushed again as he felt his organ thicken and stiffen from the teasing.
“There, now, that’s more like it,” Jack’s captor murmured when Jack’s dick was fully hard and straining against his briefs. The man pulled the pointer away. He returned it to the chalk tray and turned to face Jack once more. “It’s 117 degrees out there. Mind if I get a little more comfortable?” He cocked an eyebrow at Jack as his fingers rose to the buttons on his shirt.
Jack’s mouth was going dry, but not from thirst this time. Despite his predicament, he grew increasingly aroused as he watched his hunky captor disrobe. The man drew his shirt off and tossed it to the floor. Jack’s eyes roamed over the sculpted chest, drinking in the blocky pecs and the large, protruding nipples that capped them. The man dropped to one knee to unlace
his leather hiking boots, then stood and toed the boots off, lifting each foot in turn to skim off his socks. His hands rose to his waist and he popped the button on his pants. He paused.
“Is it okay if I take my pants off, Jack? I don’t want to embarrass you or anything,” he said with an impudent grin, his voice full of mock-concern.
“No, Sir, whatever you want . . .” Jack tried not to sound too desperately eager.
The man slid his zipper down slowly, the sound seeming unnaturally loud to Jack. His captor worked his tight trousers over his hips and down his thick quads.
He tossed his slacks aside and stood before Jack in blinding white Fruit of the Looms. The crotch of the briefs was distended by his captor’s heavy genitals. The fly was parted slightly, and Jack caught a glimpse of thick black pubes. Jack licked his chapped lips.
“Mind if I go ahead and slip these shorts off, too?" his captor inquired craftily. He stuck his big thumb under the elastic waistband and looked at Jack expectantly.
"Uh . . ." was all Jack could manage to gasp, his eyes riveted to the man’s groin. The thumbs began to inch the waistband down, exposing more of the trail of black fur that ran down from his captor’s navel to his hidden equipment. Just when he was about to expose the root
of his cock, he stopped and let the waistband snap back to his flat stomach.
“You’ll have to forgive me, Jack. I’m a little shy. I'll just turn my back and take these off.” He turned to face the chalkboard. Jack devoured the sight of his captor's powerful back and flaring lats. The man’s flesh was tanned a honey-brown. His big muscular asscheeks strained against the cotton seat of his briefs. The briefs had migrated halfway up his asscrack, and part of each glute was hanging out temptingly. Jack’s dripping cock was beginning to ache. His captor’s hands slid around his hips and came to rest on his half-covered cheeks. He cupped his big assglobes in his palms and began to knead them slowly. His massaging hands caressed and
stroked his own ass, his motions working his shorts farther into his deep crack. Jack bit his lip, afraid he would cry out and beg the man to remove his shorts.
The hands kneaded and caressed the assflesh. At last they returned to the waistband, and Jack’s captor eased his shorts down one inch at a time. His captor’s ass was the most beautiful thing Jack had ever seen. Each athletic glute was the perfect mirror image of its brawny twin, separated from its sibling by a deep canyon. The shorts continued down past the man’s bulging
hamstrings and trim knees as he bent forward at the waist. Jack was mesmerized by the teasing display and wished his hands weren’t tied up. He could put them to good use on his burning cock.
The man let the shorts drop to the floor and he stepped out of them. He planted his feet wide apart on either side of the shorts and leaned forward in slow motion to retrieve them. Jack watched as the man’s asscrack parted slowly. His captor paused after retrieving his shorts, his elbows on his knees, his big ass stuck out at his captive. The guy’s glutes contracted and relaxed,
and Jack was treated to the sight of his captor’s pouting anus winking at him from atop his swaying balls. The man stood up slowly and turned back to face Jack, his briefs dangling off the index finger of one hand. Jack sucked in a gasp as he caught sight of his captor’s enormous half-hard cock. The massive organ swayed from side to side as the man approached Jack’s chair.
Jack’s eyes followed it as if hypnotized.
The naked stud spoke huskily, “That’s much better. I was sweating up a storm. My shorts are all wet with my sweat. Here, Jack, take a sniff of these babies.” He lifted his damp shorts and pressed them to Jack’s face, cupping his big paw to cover Jack’s mouth and nose with the moist cotton. “Just take a whiff of that ballsweat, Jack.”
Jack inhaled the fragrant musk gratefully. His mouth watered as the scent of his captor’s overheated balls penetrated his senses. He should be demanding to be set free, but instead, here he sat, submissively breathing his captor’s funky underpants.
The man pulled the aromatic briefs away. “Well, what do you say, Jack?”
“Thank you, Sir.” The words popped automatically out of Jack’s mouth without his even being aware of forming the response.
“Do you like the smell of my big balls, Jack?” his captor demanded. “Jack? I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.” He brought one foot up onto the seat of Jack’s chair and placed it so that his toes were just an inch or two away from Jack’s crotch. He rested a forearm
on his knee and leaned forward. “I’m waiting . . .”
“Yes, Sir. I like it, Sir.” Jack was ashamed at how pathetically obedient he sounded.
“That’s a good boy, Jack. But you know, you can’t really get the full effect from just sniffing my shorts. Would you like a little whiff right from the source?” As Jack’s captor spoke, he worked his foot forward and wormed his toes under Jack’s balls. He wiggled them around, teasing Jack’s aching cockroot. The man raised his other hand to his groin and cupped his big nuts. Jack saw that his captor’s cock was now jerking upward. The swelling, lurching penis was sticking straight out from the man’s body. “How about it, Jack, you want to take a hit off these rocks?”
“Yes, Sir. I’d like that very much, Sir.” Jack had abandoned all semblance of dignity. His captor shifted so that his hip was pressed against Jack’s shoulder. His foot was still on the seat of Jack’s chair, so he bent that knee and leaned into Jack’s flushed face, proffering his hairy gonads to his captive. Jack buried his nose between the man’s squirming balls, and inhaled deeply. The delicious fragrance was almost too intense. As he snuffled and nuzzled the man’s balls he could see that his captor’s dick was completely hard. To Jack’s crossed eyes it looked like a telephone pole.
“As long as you’re down there, why don’t you take a little taste of my nuts, Jack? Go ahead now, I know you want to.”
Jack’s tongue darted out and lapped fervidly at the undersides of the big stones. He was rewarded with a few mouth-watering drops of salty ballsweat. He twirled his tongue tip around the man’s hairy scrotum, twiddling the fine black hairs.
His captor pulled back, holding his balls out of Jack’s reach. “Let’s not get too greedy. Did you like that ball-sweat, Jack?” he growled.
“Yes, Sir,” Jack replied enthusiastically.
“I bet you’re still thirsty, aren’t you? Are you thirsty, Jack?”
“Just a little bit, Sir.”
“Where are my manners? I’m afraid I’m not being a very gracious host. May I serve you another beverage?” the man purred. He lowered his foot to the floor so that lie was straddling Jack’s chair and then sat down on Jack’s lap. Jack felt the tip of his captor’s erect penis tapping against his heaving chest. It reached almost to Jack’s chin. The man raised his left arm, put his hand behind his thick neck, and offered Jack his swampy armpit. Little glistening balls of sweat hung from the strands of his black pit hair. “Please, help yourself.”
Jack buried his mouth in his captor’s armpit, lapping up the tangy sweat greedily. When he had thoroughly cleaned the first pit, his captor offered him the second.
Jack sucked and licked at the sweaty hairs. As Jack ate the man’s pits, he tried to shift his position to ease the cramped position of his hard cock, which was bent nearly double in his Jockeys. His captor saw what Jack was doing and reached a hand down. He inserted his
fingers in the fly of Jack’s briefs and fished out Jack’s erection.
“How’s that, Jack? Feel better? I can tell you’re still thirsty though. If you are, I have some more places you could find sweat in. Would you like to explore those places?” his captor teased. Jack groaned in anticipation as he imagined what those places might be. His dick
twitched and bobbed, and he clenched his fists behind his back. The man got off Jack’s lap and disappeared behind Jack for a moment. Jack heard a drawer slide open and then slide closed.
Then Jack heard something scrape the floor as footsteps approached again. His captor reappeared. He had a chair identical to Jack’s in each hand. He held something small and shiny
in his mouth as well. He set the chairs down and then tossed the small object from his mouth onto his discarded slacks where they rested on the floor. It disappeared in the folds of the slacks.

Jack turned his attention back to his captor and watched puzzled as the man positioned the chairs on either side of Jack about six inches away from the sides of Jack’s chair and just slightly forward from it.
Jack’s captor then turned his back on Jack and climbed onto the chairs so that one big foot was planted on each seat. The man looked down over his shoulder at Jack, giving him a wily wink, and then flexed his knees, bending at the waist. Jack’s field of vision was filled slowly with his captor’s muscular ass as it descended toward his perspiring face. The man put his hands on his knees and rested his weight there. He began to sway his big ass from side to side. He looked back at Jack from between his spread legs, peering around his enormous cock with smoldering eyes. “Still in need of refreshment, Jack? I have some more sweat available if you are.”
Jack nodded his head enthusiastically and squeaked out a breathy “Yes, Sir.” His eyes followed his captor’s ass it traveled from side to side. The big cheeks contracted and relaxed, opening and then closing the temping asscrack.
“All right, then. Help yourself,” the muscleman purred thickly as he backed his ass up to Jack’s waiting face. Jack pursed his lips and planted soft kisses on the damp surface of his captor’s ass. He ached to plunge his tongue into the guy’s butthole, but wasn’t about to give
his captor the satisfaction just yet. Instead, he covered the firm globes with more kisses.
“Go ahead, Jack, lick it. You know you’re aching to,” his captor urged.
“Lick it? You mean lick your sweaty ass with my tongue? I thought you just wanted a little ass kissing. Sir.” Jack answered craftily. He nipped playfully at the man’s left cheek with his teeth.
“Ow! Watch it, Chair Boy,” warned his captor. “You know what I mean. Here, take a gander at this.” He reached back and cupped a hand on each asscheek and pulled them apart, his asscrack yawning open. Jack eyed the damp, hair-lined valley hungrily, focusing on the man’s pouting asspucker. “See what I mean? My asscrack is sweaty and ready, Jack. Now be a good
captive and give it a lick or two,” he coaxed seductively.
Jack extended his tongue and leaned in. He drew just the very tip of his tongue slowly up his captor’s ass crevice, toying with the damp black curls, and was rewarded with a deep rumbling sigh of contentment from above. He traced his way back down, and his tongue tip came to rest on the man’s twitching anus. Jack teased and twirled his tongue against the tight opening
and felt it clenching at him. He pressed his tongue in and the delicate asslips parted.
“Uhhhmmmmm. . .that’s the ticket, Jack. Now fuck me with your hot tongue,” his captor sighed.
“Yeth, Thir,” Jack lisped with his tongue still inserted in the man’s asshole. He felt his captor’s body shake with laughter. Jack stiffened his taster thrust it in and out of the clenching aperture. His captor groaned and pushed back harder, trying to force more of Jack’s dancing tongue up his tingling butthole.
“Oooooh, that’s great, Jack! You’d better stop, or I'll blow a load. You’re making my dick leak. See?” He reached down, and with one hand he pushed his rigid fucktool back between his legs.
Jack pulled his tongue out of the tight asslips and caught his breath. His eyes traveled down past his captor’s swollen nuts and took in the sight of his purple member as it was pressed back at him. The deep piss-slit was puckering open and closed, and pearly drops pre-come were bubbling out. A big droplet of the fluid was forming at the tip of the enormous penis.
“Quick, Jack, catch that before it falls.” The man raised his hips and bent his cock almost double, bringing it to Jack’s lips. Jack swiped his tongue out and caught the droplet, smacking his lips as he savored the salty lube. “Here, have some more,” his captor said, and thrust the smooth head of his erect organ between Jack's lips. Jack locked his lips around the flange and dug his tongue into the piss-slit in search of more. His captor milked his fist down his hard shaft and forced more of his delicious lube into Jack’s greedy mouth. Jack sucked deeply and pulled more of the big organ into his mouth. His captor leaned back and fed him several thick inches.
"You must be getting rehydrated, Jack. Your cock is leaking up a storm down there.” Jack moaned when he felt his cock captured in the man’s strong grasp. His captor fisted Jack’s cock and jacked it a few times. He slid his fingers up to the head of Jack’s cock and collected the lube that had collected there and then popped his fingers into his own mouth.
Jack grunted in surprise when the man pulled his cock from Jack’s mouth and spun around, knelt on the floor, and began to flick his tongue all over Jack’s leaping prick. He took the head of Jack’s cock between his lips and sucked on it strongly. Jack threw his head back as the man bobbed his head up and down, sucking Jack off expertly, swirling his rough, wet tongue around and around Jack’s stiff penis. Within moments, Jack was ready to come, and he whined helplessly.
Sensing the impending orgasm, his captor quickly pulled his mouth off Jack’s quivering organ. “Don’t you dare come yet! You’re not going to come are you?” he demanded.
“Uh, no, Sir.” Jack panted as his balls relaxed slightly.
“That’s a good boy. You aren’t to come until I tell you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir, I’ll try not to, Sir.”
“You better do more than try if you ever want to get out of here,” his captor warned as he rose to stand in front of Jack, his stiff member standing almost vertical against his washboard abs. Jack watched the man cross to where his pants lay on the floor to retrieve the item he’d tossed here earlier. It was a condom. Jack’s asshole tingled in anticipation at the sight of the rubber. He knew he would have to be untied in order for his captor to fuck him.
Jack got the surprise of his life when the man knelt before him once more, tore the condom open, and proceeded to roll it down Jack’s burning manhood. He stood and straddled Jack’s thighs, his feet on either side the chair. Jack watched mesmerized as the man brought
his fingers to his lips to wet them. He reached behind himself and lubricated his asshole with his saliva. “Hold still, Jack,” his captor whispered heatedly as he steadied Jack’s cock with one hand and parted his asslips with the other. He lowered his weight slowly until Jack’s latex-covered prick was at the entrance of his ass. “Now kiss me,” he ordered.
Taking Jack’s head in his hands, he planted his mouth on Jack’s. As he parted Jack’s lips with his strong tongue, he eased his asshole down Jack’s throbbing dick in one long, delicious slide. Jack moaned and thrust his tongue into the man’s mouth as he felt the hot tight walls of his captor’s asshole take possession of his rigid cock. Jack’s captor pressed his feet into the floor and raised his hips up, dragging his clutching sphincter upward along Jack’s shaft. When he had almost reached the head, he eased his weight back down and drove Jack’s cock back up his asshole. His hands stroked and caressed Jack’s head, neck, and straining shoulders, coming to rest on Jack’s sweat-slicked chest. He caught Jack’s hard nipples between his thumbs and index fingers and pinched them as he pulled his mouth from Jack’s.
“You got a nice big dick, Jack. It feels soooo good up my ass.” The man bounced his hips a few times, delighting both Jack and himself with the resulting thrusts. “You like that? You like
my asshole on your hot cock, Jack?” he panted.
“Yes, Sir,” Jack gasped.
“Tell me you like my ass.”
“I love it, Sir! I love your hot ass on my cock. Please bounce harder, Sir,” Jack begged.
"You mean like this?” His captor rocked his hips back and forth and bounced up and down briskly.
"Oh, yes, Sir, that’s it!” Jack cried, delirious with lust.
"Here, suck me while you fuck me,” his captor demanded as he clasped his hands behind Jack’s neck and pulled Jack’s mouth down to meet his rearing and dripping erection. Jack captured the big wet knob in his mouth and sucked on it as it was thrust in and out of his mouth by the man’s frantic bouncing and screwing motions. Jack’s mouth was strained open by his captor’s enormous dick as he suctioned the big organ and licked the broad head. His oral efforts were rewarded by his captor's ass contracting reflexively on Jack’s dick. The man lifted and lowered himself on Jack’s erection, sawing his own organ in and out of Jack’s sucking mouth.
“That’s it, Jack, suck that cock while I fuck myself on your dick. I’m getting close. You better be ready to come when I tell you to,” his captor threatened, grinding and bouncing his hips against his captive. He was tossing his head from side to side as he fucked himself on Jack’s tool. Sweat rained down on an already dripping Jack.
“Yeth, Thir,” Jack slurred around a mouthful of thick manmeat, hoping that he could hold out. His captor was forcing his head down, and Jack’s neck creaked and protested as he mouthed and licked the man’s drooling fuckstick hungrily.
“Now, Jack! Come now!” the overheated kidnapper howled, driving his hips down tight against Jack’s thighs and hunching his hips against Jack, his strong asslips clutching at the base of Jack’s exploding cock. Jack released the man’s pulsing boner and screamed as his nuts contracted and his semen pumped into the tight sheath of the condom. His face and neck were sprayed immediately with hot blasts of flying sperm as his captor’s huge rod detonated and gushed his load. The man caught Jack’s head in his hands once more and sealed his lips to Jack’s while his big body shook with pleasure. His asshole was like a tourniquet around the base of Jack’s tortured dick. Jack kissed the man gratefully, thanking him silently for the hottest fuck of his life.
Jack’s captor rested his sweaty forehead against Jack’s, panting for air. He eased his hips up, moaning slightly as Jack’s half-hard member popped out of his ravaged ass.
“Uh, Sir, could you untie me now?” Jack asked.
“Oh! Yeah, sure. I guess you’ve more than earned your freedom,” his sated captor answered as he rose. He reached around and with one pull, all the knots gave, freeing Jack’s stiff limbs.
“Neat rope trick,” Jack commented dryly as he massaged his reddened wrists.
“California State knot-tying champion three jamborees in a row when I was a Boy Scout.”
“Fascinating. I hope you don’t think me too forward for asking this, but who the hell are you, and where am I?” Jack asked sarcastically.
“Turn around and see for yourself.”
Jack shifted around and let out a snort of surprise. He was in the office of a state recreation site. The official seal of the State of California hung above a wooden desk and the name plate on the desk read “Ranger Hardy.”
“Ranger Bill Hardy at your service. I’m from the government, and I’m here to help you,” his captor grinned as he saluted smartly. “Can I interest you in a brochure on preventing forest fires?”
Jack let out an incredulous laugh. “Wouldn’t a safer-sex brochure be more appropriate after what just happened? Where were you when I was a Boy Scout? Is this really supposed to be a recreation site?”
“Yes, it is. Granted, it’s not as popular as Yosemite, but you have to admit the area does have a certain charm. Will you be visiting again?” Ranger Hardy asked hopefully.
Jack surveyed the hunky body of the naked ranger.
“I’ve been meaning to recreate more often,” Jack said with a wink and felt his heart swell in his chest when Ranger Hardy’s face lit up. “Are you so accommodating to all your visitors?”
“No, just the hot ones like you. Seriously, I’ve never done anything like this before. But I tell you, when you staggered in here, it was like a wet dream come true. You will come back soon, won’t you?”
Jack stood up, crossed over to Ranger Hardy, and kissed the sweaty ranger softly on the lips, “Only if you promise to show me some more of the knots you learned in the Boy Scouts. There’s no charge for your services, is there?”
“Of course not.” Ranger Hardy grinned and wrapped his muscular arms around Jack. “You’ve just experienced your tax dollars at work.”

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