Ridden West

By Dirk Hessian

Billy has aged out on a Kansas orphanage farm in the late nineteenth century with enough sexual experience with the farm’s owner to prompt the farmer’s wife to sell him to two pimps supplying a male brothel in a Colorado mining town. Billy’s goal is to reach California, and he willingly goes to Colorado with the thought that California is just over the mountain there. After some rough sexual encounters in the mining town, an aging Utah rancher entices him to move to his ranch to nurse the ranchers sexual health. The rancher’s son has other ideas, though, for Billy, who winds up shared out to the ranch hands and a few Indian braves and finds himself headed back to Kansas. Will he ever make it to California alive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BarbarianSpy
• Release date: Apr 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781925190786

Dirk Hessian

An artist and writer, Dirk has always been interested in history and legends, particularly those of the Mediterranean and Asia. His fantasy works are full of ordinary men, and men who are in touch with forces beyond those of mortal men, fighting for their homelands in unusual ways.

Book preview

Chapter One: Kansas

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 hardbodied, 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 to do so 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 mutter. 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