Devil’s Rangers

Devil’s Rangers

by Captive Punisher and Musclejock1

 

 

Introduction

 

In the early to mid 1800s, the Mexican government was permitting Americans to settle the province of Tejas. Land was being granted with the stipulations that the settlers become Mexican citizens, adopt the Catholic faith and learn to speak Spanish. The secret agenda however was to create a buffer zone between the marauding Commanches to the north and the more firmly established older Spanish settlements in the south around San Antonio Belzar and Laredo as well as cementing Mexico’s claim to these territory. In addition to attacks by Indians, the settlers faced ongoing threats from organized bands of Mexican banditos that felt free to rob, plunder and kill to line their own purses. Despite these ominous threats, the promise of free land drew a hearty and brave stock from all parts of the then USA and abroad.

 

Eventually however, the attacks from the Indians and Bandits grew so bad that the provisional territorial government issued a call for a volunteer army to defend against both. The men who answered this initial and subsequent call, became the heroes of the territory with acts of courage and bravery against both threats. They became knows as “Los diablos Tejanos”–the Devils of Tejas or the Texas Devils.

 

One such hero was 28 yr old Jake Hexum whose restless spirit did not find fulfillment in toiling the soil. His longing for adventure and excitement made him one of the first to answer the call. His bravery and courage in the face of these threats and natural leadership saw him elevated to a commander position early on. While in Tejas he had fallen under the spell of Alicia, the eldest daughter of the wealthy Montalvo family whose Hacienda lay near Jake’s land. The raven haired sultry beauty and handsome adventurer were drawn to each other immediately, but her family was not thrilled with the idea of a romantic liaison with a gringo! The stint with the Rangers helped him forget Alicia at least for the time being.

 

During Jake’s second tour he was assigned a young 19 yr old recruit named Yancy Telfer, a bull of a young man who shared the same thirst for wanderlust that make him an outsider with his own family that was making a successful farm in Tejas. Reluctantly, his parents condoned his joining the Rangers.

 

The Banditos and the Commanche quickly realized that they now had a common enemy that could easily be outnumbered and destroyed and they decided to join forces to destroy the Rangers.

 

This is the story of “The Devil’s Rangers.”

 

 

Part 1.

 

As Jake Hexum began tilling the soil on the northeast corner of his recently acquired land, his mind raced back to the day he first noticed the slightly torn handbill that was loosely nailed to a hitching post back in his home state of Missouri. He had gone into town that day to pick up some dry goods when he became aware of the fact that others were reading something that was obviously of some importance. As the twenty-eight year old Jake pushed his way through the crowd, what was stated on the handbill finally caught his eye.

 

The Mexican government was offering free land to anyone who might be interested in settling the province of Tejas. However, there were certain stipulations as part of this offer. Unfortunately, they were not mentioned on the handbill. And this was all part of a secret agenda perpetrated on innocent
people by the Mexican government. What Jake and the other readers did not realize was the fact that, once settled in Tejas, these settlers would be forced to become Mexican citizens, adopt the Catholic faith, and learn to speak Spanish.

 

Two months had already passed since Jake moved to his new spread. There was not much family to speak of back in Missouri, and due to a lack of sufficient education, he had been forced to perform menial tasks in a variety of situations. So this opportunity seemed to present itself at just the right time. A fresh start could be “just what the doctor ordered.” Jake’s good looks and muscled physique made him popular with the local young ladies. And he had taken every opportunity to strip to the waist whenever he was engaged in some form of outdoor labor. But Jake knew that there would be more of that where he was going.

 

As Jake realized the work that lay ahead, he was suddenly lifted out of his reverie. It was noon, and the sun had reached its zenith. Wondering where the morning had gone, Jake contemplated leaving some of the tilling for tomorrow but then remembered that he had planned to go into town to take care of a business matter. He also hoped to catch another glimpse of the raven-haired Alicia. She had caught his eye the last time he ventured into
town, and Jake was hoping that he might see her there again. Alicia’s father, Manuelo, was the scion of a wealthy family. However, because he was a gringo, Jake was aware of the fact that he had to tread quite carefully.

 

Even though the cruel sun was beating down on Jake, he knew that there was work to be done, and that he had better finish it today. As he looked up at the sun, Jake began to undo the buttons on his thin cotton shirt. Lifting the shirt out of his tight-fitting jeans, he placed it on a fence post, and continued tilling the soil.

 

Jake’s torso was in perfect proportion to the rest of his body. His meaty pectoral muscles were covered with a fine coating of dark hair, which continued down to a tantalizing treasure trail. And sweat was already coursing down the thick ridges of muscle on Jake’s broad back. His upper arms displayed thick biceps. As if this wasn’t enough, Jake’s flawless skin and deep voice announced to all that he was a paragon of virility.

 

 

Part 2

 

With the immediate chores completed, Jake made the trek into town early the next morning. His original intention was to inquire about a possible loan to do some repair to the fences on the northern perimeter, but these best laid plans were to be thwarted. A group of men and women were standing around a man literally on a soapbox. As Jake neared the crowd he could make out some snatches of the speech..”lump sum”, “supplies”, “adventure and danger”, “protect the people”, “enemies”, etc. These words stirred his loins A militia of some sort was being formed and volunteers were being solicited to fight off bandits and renegade indians. “Sign up here…report for duty and training…in a few days…only the bravest and fittest men….”. Jake sauntered over and took one of the leaflets.

 

His eye caught some commotion down the street however. Three Mexicans were surrounding a younger man, a Texan. While two held his arms twisted behind his back, the third dealt repeated blows to his midsection causing his head to jerk back with each contact. The kid’s knees were giving way and his boot shafts collapsing into the dust of the street. This was not an even fight. Jake intervened and with a few well placed kicks of his boot and fists. The Mexicans reluctantly left shouting a warning about staying away from our women. Jake extended his hand to the young man sprawled on the ground catching his breath. The kid’s cobalt blue eyes sparkled appreciatively from under his mop of thick black hair as he took Jakes hand and pulled, securing his footing. “Thanks Mister…I’m Yancy…Yancy Telfer.” Jake smiled, “What u been doing to get those guys so pissed?” I’m Jake Hexum btw.” The younger man grinned despite the pain in his midsection. “I was just trying to be nice to some senoritas. They sure are purdy gals. What’s going on down the street?”

 

Without speaking Jake handed the leaflet to Yancy. “Wow…this is great! I’m going sign up, NOW…I ain’t cut out for this farming stuff. Jake remained silent but felt the excitement building and his blood run hot. “Enlistment is down in Laredo in a couple of days, kid. Maybe I’ll see ya there.” As Jake strode away he looked back, flashed a brotherly smile and said, “…and stay away from those senoritas, kid.”

 

The whole issue of a possible loan and fence mending vanished from his mind as Jake remounted and galloped off.

 

Yancy had a different yearning in his jeans.  At his family ranch, he hastily scribbled a note for his folks, packed his modest belongings, and saddled his mount. He was going to become a Ranger. His youthful appetites and lonely nights has created a deep gnawing in his loins. Mercedes, the young woman that he was warming to in town, had told him what Hacienda she lived at and how he could sneak past the guards to make a nocturnal call. This might be his last chance before the call of adventure consumed him. What harm would there be in a short romp in the hay?  Yancy was about to discover.

 

The girl’s screams pierced the night and were a curious howl of pain and pleasure.  The buxom beauty lay on her back with her legs spread wide and was being taken hard by the strapping naked cowboy. Viewed from behind his broad back, thick neck and buttocks of carved alabaster quivered in sweat drenched lust. They came together in a roar and squeal. The crescendo of sound had awakened the guards on the perimenter of the hacienda grounds. One of their women was being taken by a randy Texan. The guards broken down the door and seized the young man still semi-hard and dripping and dragged him into the courtyard. The boss held a torch to his face “American Pig!”. You are the one from the town! You dare to come here! You will regret this insult.”

 

His eyes narrowed and alit upon the small carved wooden cross hanging around the boy’s neck by a thin rawhide strip nestled just above the valley of his smooth swelling pecs. He gripped it and held it in his palm. Yancy saw a cruelty in the eyes of the overseer that sent a chill through him. “Lock the gringo up and come with me. We have some preparations to make.

 

 

Part 3

 

As the swarthy boss turned his back to leave the scene, he ordered one of his men to bring Yancy his boots. “Let’s show the boy some hospitality. He should know we’re decent folk here, and that we don’t want no one goin’ ’round all naked like that. Just ain’t proper, no way. Yes, boys. We’re gonna permit the young stud to wear those boots of his. How’s that? It’s the least we can do. Go and git them.” Having boldly conveyed that order, the boss trotted back to his house.

 

The naked form of Yancy continued to struggle as his muscular arms remained in the grip of the two strong men who were holding him at bay. Yancy’s ankles had already been tied together with thick rope, just in case he had any ideas about kicking like a mule. The boy was strong, all right, but even with his apparent strength, he was still not able to remove himself from the tight grip he was in.

 

At nineteen years of age, it was apparent to all who were present that Yancy Telfer was in possession of a well-muscled physique, one that had been honed by the many hours of drudgery working his parents’ farm. One thug, in particular, was looking on from the sidelines. The sight of the young Yancy was making him lick his dry lips in delight. At one point, the right hand of the thug found itself newly located in his groin area. The man who went to get Yancy’s boots finally returned with them under his left arm. These two finely stitched boots were Yancy’s pride and joy. He had finally saved up enough money to make them a Christmas present to himself last December.

 

The aroused thug on the sidelines shouted that the boots should be placed on Yancy. “Put them on him, boys. Make him wear them. I’ll bet he’ll look might purty in ’em. Do it!” Yancy’s ankles were untied, and his two large feet were summarily placed in the boots. Yancy’s ankles were then quickly tied together once again.

 

Yancy was indeed a sight to behold in those fancy boots. All naked except for those boots, and his body covered in a sheen of sweat. And what a smooth and well-tanned body it was! Broad shoulders gracefully led into arms displaying just enough muscle to be attractive. The firm mounds of his pectoral muscles rested above a deep ridge, below which could be seen abdominal muscles of rare beauty. These muscles undulated enticingly as Yancy continued to struggle. Yancy’s cobra-like back flared out. And a thin waist led to legs that were as well-proportioned as his magnificently shaped arms.

 

“What’s taking so long?” The boss could be heard shouting this from the house. “LOCK HIM UP. LOCK HIM UP NOW, OR I’LL HANG THE LOT OF YOU OUT TO DRY. DO YOU HEAR ME?”

 

Yancy’s booted feet were dragged through the dirt as he was forcefully led to a small shed in the distance. As he was thrown into the shed, Yancy could
hear screams in the distance. The screams were apparently those of the young Mercedes, who was at the mercy of her father, the boss. And as he lay on the cold floor of the shed, Yancy felt the frustration of not being able to help, or drown out the screams of the young woman who cried out his name. “Yancy. Yancy. Help me, please. Make him stop. It hurts. YANCY!”

 

 

Part 4

 

Yancy was both furious and remorseful. His boots thudded on the wooden floor as he paced back and forth in the small cabin in which he had been locked. Mercede’s cries had finally faded and his attention was now drawn to the sounds of hammering and wood thrown upon wood in the courtyard outside. He peered out the small barred window to watch. The guards and overseers were hauling wooden planks and digging a small hole. They spoke in a flurry of Spanish spiced with lusty laughter and hungry glances toward Yancy’s adobe “prison”.  The overseer barked a command and about six men came to retrieve their randy Texan stud.  Yancy offered little resistance as they dragged him into the bright sunlight. His boots raised small clouds of dust and sent pebbles flying. His sinewy thighs and calves put on a fine display of muscle. His generous male endowments swung like a pendulum between his meaty thighs.  Even through his squinting eyes he could make out the wooden “T” that had been hammered together.  He shot a glance at the overseer and remembered his crude handling of his religious symbol that was still plastered to his upper pec shelf.  The evil eyes that met his sent a chill. Yancy let go with one burst of energy kicking and struggling to postpone his fate.  A rifle butt to his temple ended the futile revolt.  Yancy’s scalp oozed bright red blood and his young body slumped into submission.

 

Gnarled fingers and calloused hands draped his body on the wooden T.  His arms spread wide to the sides and his legs drawn tightly downward.  Another piece of wood was nailed under his boot soles and his boot ankles tightly bound with rawhide strips which caused the boot leather to collapse at mid shaft and above the ankle.

 

The guards produced strands of barbed wire and gleefully began to wrap it around his outstretched arms,  his wrists and then again around his biceps. They allowed the barbs to bite deeply into the muscled flesh yet avoided anything that looked like a major blood vessel.  The wires cut cruelly and painfully. Another torturous coil was laced around the lad’s narrow waist.  The wire binding was slow and torturous during which the half conscious young captive threw his head back ward moaning deeply,

“arrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..GROAN……………gggggkkkkkkkkkkk.” His chest heaved and his abdomen flattened as his body tried to relieve the tension.

 

As Yancy regained full consciousness, he flexed but quickly learned that every muscle motion meant his young flesh was being slowly sliced.  With some effort the T cross was raised up.  As body weight shifted Yancy cried out in agony, “ARRRRRRRHggggggggggggg.” The bottom of the torture cross was thrust into the hold so that it stood erect on its own despite the burden of its handsome muscled burden. 

 

The sun beat down mercilessly. Yancy’ s body was a mass of tiny stings and cuts as if he were being eaten alive by some insects. His profuse salt heavy sweat increased the agony.  Blood dripped and oozed from his wrists, bulging biceps, forehead, waist and mixed to create several small rivers that ran down his legs and into his boot tops. His lips cracked with dryness and foam appeared in the corners of his mouth.

 

 

Part 5

 

Yancy was truly suffering in front of the sadists who had placed him in this desperate situation, and they were enjoying every cruel moment of it.  The young buck’s long tongue could be observed as it lazily left and entered his sensuous mouth. Already in a state of delirium, he was most likely trying to moisten his cracked lips with a tongue that was already dry as dust, or this motion might have been a pathetic attempt to silently show his torturers that he was desperate for a few drops of water. But Yancy was not going to beg. Not Yancy. He would not give these vipers that pleasure.

 

In a attempt to prevent the barbed wire from cutting any further into his smooth skin, Yancy continued to try to move as little as possible. But hanging from the cross was increasing his agony minute by minute, and he had to try to reposition himself from time to time. As he continued to display his ample musculature, and emit occasional masculine moans and grunts,  Yancy began to smell cigar smoke through his half-closed eyes. The smoke was suddenly coming at him from all directions, and he began to realize that the overseer and his men had lit up cigars, and were heartily puffing away.

 

With an almost dance-like movement, the overseer and his gang approached Yancy. “Watch this, boys. Take a look at this.” The overseer  then pressed the tip of his lighted cigar to Yancy’s left nipple. There then came a loud growl from the muscular man hanging on the cross. “I  know you wanna see this again, boys.” And the overseer laughed as he pressed the tip of his cigar to Yancy’s  right nipple. There then came a pitiful moan from Yancy. He then began to dot Yancy’s somewhat flattened pectorals with small burns from his convenient instrument of torture. More deep moans from the suspended man could be heard. The overseer shouted for the other men to join in, and that is just what they did. Within very little time, Yancy’s muscled body became  a canvas upon which tiny cigar burns could be seen. Of course, this assault forced Yancy to writhe in his bonds, which caused the barbs to dig into his supple flesh. New rivulets of blood could be seen coursing slowly downward toward the tops of his boots. Eventually, tiny burn marks were visible all over Yancy’s back, chest, arms, legs, and buttocks.

 

“I see we have saved the best part for last boys. And that is gonna be all mine.” The man who was formerly on the sidelines let out a loud yell as the overseer repeatedly pressed the tip of his cigar to Yancy’s scrotum and generous manhood. The men all laughed as Yancy continued to writhe and moan deeply, after which he collapsed on the cross. Before he lost consciousness, he thought of the man who had come to his aid in town. Jake Hexum sure seemed friendly enough, and had offered him the chance to join him in a new challenge. If he ever got out of this mess, he vowed that he would try to meet up with Jake in Laredo to enlist in the new militia that was being formed. The leaflet in Yancy’s pocket contained all the information he would need.

 

From the upstairs window of their house, the boss continued to force Mercedes to look outside at the sight below. “Look at your young man now, my dear. This should teach you not to play with a gringo ever again.” The fact that she felt her father trembling made Mercedes realize that her father  was enjoying Yancy’s torture a little more than he should. The last thing the two of them saw before the window curtain was pulled back in place was the overseer roughly tearing off the cross hanging from Yancy’s neck. As the crowd of men dispersed, the overseer laughed loudly as he dug the cross into the dry earth with the heel of his right boot.

 

 

Part 6

 

As Yancy slipped into the temporary relief of unconsciousness beneath the rays of the setting sun, his tormentors retired to their quarters for tequila and cards and drunken sleep.

 

Mercedes Montalvo had meanwhile retreated to her room, racked with sobs and chilled by the sight of the cruelty in the courtyard.  Her still quivering loins and memory of the earlier part of the night of passion with the virile young gringo did not make her regret her actions, however, only the result.

 

Mercedes was the youngest daughter of the influential Montalvo family. She was fully aware of the risk she was taking.  She had been warned by her older sister Alicia, who herself had fallen hard for a handsome brooding gringo.

 

Some miles away, Jake was just finishing up packing some essentials. After some hours of thought, he had decided to ride to Laredo and investigate the Ranger recruitment. 

 

He would head out just before sunrise and take advantage of the coolness of the evening, and be more than halfway there before the heat intensified.  His make-shift shower provided a bracing start. His skin tingled, his slick dark body fur was plastered to every pumped muscle and curve of his toned body.  He toweled himself down, slipped on a clean pair of woolen socks onto his large perfectly shaped feet and then tugged on his tall riding boots, tucking his trousers into the tops of the shafts.  He finger-combed his lustrous black mane, grabbed his saddle bags, and mounted up.  He gazed for an extended time at his budding ranch as if to take a mind’s eye picture to carry with him.  As if speaking to the soul of the land, he vowed to return.  He turned and rode away. He rode for a good hour. His route took him past the Montalvo lands.  He thought again of Alicia.

 

As his horse skirted the border of the Montalvo land he galloped to a peak overlooking it. Just as he was about to rein his horse away, he noticed something unusual. There was something odd in the courtyard.  Jake retrieved his binoculars and took a closer look.  “What the…” he muttered. “Its some kind of cross…and there is a man hanging on it! Shit, it was the kid from town!”

 

 

Part 7

 

“Yeah, it’s the kid from town.” Jake repeated this remark, in an attempt to fathom what may have happened here. What an interesting coincidence this was!  And by using his binoculars, Jake could more fully observe the burn marks which studded the kid’s muscled body as he hung limply in the cool early evening air. Jake tried to remember the kid’s name, but was finding it difficult to do so.  However, after several minutes, he finally remembered that  the kid’s name was Yancy. “Yeah! Yancy.”

 

The young man had obviously been slowly tortured and left to hang from the cross like some Christ-like figure in the deserted courtyard. Jake wondered who the fiends were who could have taken pleasure in doing this to a man. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. This was Montalvo land, and Yancy must have done something to set these varmints off. Jake thought for a few moments, in an attempt to figure out a foolproof way to rescue Yancy. Finally, he came up with a plan. Jake would wait until dark, and when everyone was asleep, he would venture down to the courtyard to set Yancy free. The two of them could then ride off to Laredo together to enlist in the proposed Ranger division about which they had heard.

 

And wait until dark was exactly what Jake chose to do. As the sun continued to set further in the west, Jake became aware of moments when Yancy would become conscious again just for a moment or two, murmuring pleas for a little water. It was so pathetic to hear this virile young man reduced to begging, after which he would once again slump in his bonds. Jake could see
that the boy had nice muscles all over him, and even though the older man had tasted the delights of many ladies, there was something about Yancy’s predicament that was causing something to stir within him.  Jake also noticed that the boy was finding it difficult to breathe, due to way he was
suspended. It was pure torture for Jake to wait for the moment of rescue to come. He sat on the ridge and, along with his tethered horse, waited for the proper moment to strike.

 

When the sun had completely set, and he felt that everyone had gone to bed, Jake untied his horse, and mounting it, descended into the deserted courtyard as quietly as he could. After tying the horse to a hitching post, he approached Yancy, cutting his bonds with a bowie knife. The muscled man fell limply onto Jake’s strong right shoulder, quietly saying how happy he was to see Jake. “We’re goin’ to Laredo, boy. And when we’re Rangers, we’re gonna git these dogs that did this to you.”

 

Yancy had become more alert, enabling him to wrap his arms around Jake once the two men were on Jake’s untied horse. Yancy’s drooping head found comfort resting itself on the wide expanse of Jake’s back. But as the two men started to quickly  ride off, they heard loud gunshots from behind. One of Montalvo’s men must have discovered what had happened, and was running after Jake and Yancy, shooting like a wild man.

 

 

Part 8

 

Angry shouts shattered the morning silence. Bullets whizzed by their heads. Jake hoarsely instructed the salvaged young man, “Take my horse, kid. I mean it. You’re too weak to fight these bastards after what they’ve done to you. I can hold ‘em off and then catch up with you. Take the horse and ride like mad. Get a good start.” Yancy was too weak to argue.  Jake helped nudge his boots into the stirrups and mounted.  “Head towards Laredo, due south west, between those two bluffs.” He patted the heavy saddle bags.

“You will find a change of clothes in here. Make tracks buddy, find some cover, get dressed and RIDE!”

 

They exchanged a glance, and Jake slapped his mount’s rear flanks. He watched as the naked cowboy was jostled for a moment and then seemed to take the reins and command the flight. His boot heels urging the horse forward.

 

Jake turned to face the danger. He made sure his pistol was firmly in the holster as he cocked his rifle for action. He took cover in a nook behind the stone border of a well and took careful aim at the figures running and shouting towards him across the yard.  One fell with a curse…then another, squirming in the dust.  The pursuit had been halted for the moment. Jake looked over his shoulder for a minute and grinned with some satisfaction to see the cloud of dust already disappearing over the horizon.

 

As he whirled around to view the yard, a rifle butt smashed into his skull.  It all went blank. He woke to a dull thud and a rivulet of blood dripping from his scalp down to his ear and into his sideburn.  He tried to move and found his wrists tied together over his head to a cross beam. His legs were free. His upper torso was bare. He heard snickering and saw several grinning Mexicans around him.  He heard the unmistakable sound of a bullwhip. 

 

WHOOOSH!  He barely had time to bit his lower lip and tense his muscled body. Even though he tried to prepare himself, the pain took him by surprise. The leathered bite and accompanying sting made him gasp and emptied his lungs of any breath.  The second stroke wrapped around his body with a torturous embrace as the wicked tip slashed his nipple. Jake’s head jerked back.  A GROAN escaped his lips as he gasped for more breath.  His booted feet struggled and danced in an erotic dance of pain as he tried to distract himself from the pain. CRRRRRRRRACKKKKKKk…CRAAAAACK!  Jake’s head slumped between his painfully stretched shoulders.  In a matter of moments his broad back was a canvass of pain upon which crimson brush strokes has been carefully applied. His mighty chest too had been artfully sliced across the pectoral slabs.

 

There was silence for a while.  Jake sagged, feeling the pain from his bondage position and the tender kisses of the lash.  He heard footsteps and a shadow across the dry earth. Then a hand to his head jerkin it up.  His mouth opened in surprise.  He hoarse whispered, “Alicea!” His handsome face broke into a smile. “Well I’ll be damned…Alicea Montalvo!”

 

The dark haired sultry woman pressed a finger to his lips and to her own.  “Jake…don’t speak…they don’t know that we know each other.” I have a plan. Wait ‘til nightfall. Mercedes and I will create a diversion…a small fire in the storage shed.  During the confusion I will set you free.”

 

Jake was confused, but still grinning through the pain that wracked his body.  “Who’s Mercedes?…don’t endanger someone else.”

 

“She is my sister.  Your cowboy friend was ‘with her’ when my father’s men caught him.”

 

“Damn, ain’t the fates cruel. How you been sweetheart?”

 

“Quiet…hush.”

 

A shout from behind them startled them both. “Senorita, get away from the dog. He is dangerous!”

 

Alicea slapped Jake across the face and spit at him.  Her beautiful face had changed into a hideous mask of hatred and fury.  She turned to the guard and shouted, “I just wanted to see the pig who defiled the sanctity of our casa!”

 

She winked at Jake as she turned on her heel to march off.

 

The guard leered at her departing figure and then drew a knife. He walked to Jake a broken tooth grin breaking his face.  He pointed it at Jake’s left pec and then froze as a shot rang out. The guard’s eyes rolled into his head and he fell.  Pounding hooves. a brave stallion, and a half naked cowboy raced into the courtyard.

 

 

Part 9 

 

The dramatic return of Yancy into the now deserted courtyard startled Jake quite a bit. A lot of dust had been kicked up, making it difficult for Jake to
immediately identify the figure who was riding the horse. But even in his half-conscious state it didn’t take long for the suspended man to realize that the person in question was none other than Yancy. And as the dust began to clear, Yancy’s impressively muscled and naked torso clearly came into view, reminding Jake that this was indeed the same man he had seen strung up in this very courtyard.

“I’ve come to return the favor, partner.” I just couldn’t run off to Laredo without my buddy, could I?” And with that having been said, and still remaining on his horse, Yancy reached up and quickly cut the strong rope binding Jake’s wrists to the crossbeam. Jake fell with a thud to the parched dirt below. There was no time to waste. “Get up here! Get up here now!” As the weakened Jake struggled to his booted feet, Yancy reached out to lend him a helping hand. With some difficulty, Jake was able to mount his horse, holding on to Yancy for dear life as the younger man sped off away from the compound hell bent for leather.

With the roles now reversed, it was Jake’s bare chest that rested against the naked expanse of Yancy’s back. With the two men comfortably settled on Jake’s horse, Yancy reached out to grab a canteen that hung from one of the saddlebags. The canteen was filled with cool water that came from a brook Yancy had found while  on the way to find the clothing that Jake had mentioned. “Drink some of this. But don’t drink it too fast.” Jake drank long and deep in a desperate attempt to slake his maddening thirst, but Yancy grabbed the canteen and put it back where it had been. “There will be more later. Besides, it has to last us all the way to Laredo. And we have quite a trip ahead of us. I only hope this horse of yours can make it all the way. He has worked real hard these last couple of days.” Yancy affectionately patted the horse in the hope that he might be able to instill some confidence in the creature, and he guaranteed that the two men would stop after awhile. Yancy could then make an attempt to treat Jake’s lacerated chest and back.

The temperature was hot on Tuesday in Laredo. It was well over ninety degrees in the early afternoon. Eligible men had been standing in line for hours in order to enlist in the newly performed border patrol. Fit men were needed, and that was made quite clear on the handbills that had been distributed. Even fully dressed, the casual observer could tell that the candidates in line were well-built specimens eager to take on a new challenge. What was taking so long was that fact that each man had to undergo a physical exam by the local doctor. Once they had stripped naked,
each man’s physical condition would be assessed by the doctor, who was under the watchful eye of the self-appointed head of the patrol, one Burt Howell.

Howell’s nickname was “Petit” because of his small stature. But let anyone call him by that name to his face, and that individual would wish that he hadn’t been born. It was unbeknownst to many that Howell was a sadist who enjoyed watching strong men suffer. Nothing pleased him more than to hear a virile man beg to be killed to end the suffering. And by forming this border patrol he  could control who was allowed to join. His duplicitous nature also could help to serve both sides.

As Jake and Yancy rode into town, Howell was able to observe them from a distance. These were indeed two fine male specimens The shirts that Jake and Yancy had found along the way hinted at the firm muscle underneath. Two of Howell’s “assistants” immediately went up to the two newcomers to make their acquaintance.

 

 

Part 10

 

“You boys here to join the new border patrol?  Sure looks like you two will fit the bill.” The assistant then muttered something to himself, having to do with the obvious physical attributes of the two newcomers. Within a matter of minutes, Yancy and Jake found themselves at the end the long line of hopefuls who had only one thing in mind. And that was the desire to be inducted into the new border patrol.

Howell made sure that he was present when the men stripped to be examined. He enjoyed feasting his eyes on the candidates. If a certain individual did not meet his standards, Howell would surreptitiously
motion to the doctor, indicating that a rejection was in order. Howell also looked for the men to affect a certain stance, indicating that they would be stalwart members of the border patrol. Not many men possessed this “gift,” and Howell knew that all too well.

N. Roy Dodd, the doctor in charge, was indeed a smarmy individual who, only eight years ago, had served a short sentence in an undisclosed east coast
prison for acts of forgery. Dodd, who was a homely man, and who was also small in stature, had once betrayed the confidence of a young army lieutenant who, because of this dastardly deed, was sentenced to
be flogged at high noon in the prison courtyard. The handsome lieutenant had been serving time for desertion, and Dodd could observe the young man in the adjoining cell as he washed up and shaved daily. Stripped to the waist, the lieutenant’s defined torso and smooth flawless skin were a sight to behold. The doctor began to become obsessed with the desire to witness the lieutenant hanging by his wrists from the prison whipping post, the young man writhing in pain, as each lash cut more deeply into his muscled back. Dodd eventually got his wish, and he masturbated wildly in his cell as he watched the deserter suffering under the lash in the hot noonday sun. Dodd
was released the following day, as the audible cursing of the lieutenant echoed in his ears while he exited the main entrance of the prison.

When it became time for Yancy and Jake to be examined, Howell signaled for the doctor to call the two men in at the same time. Yancy and Jake soon willingly stripped down to their boots. Howell and the doctor knew immediately that these two would make fine additions to the border patrol. In fact, Howell and the doctor sensed a certain leadership potential in the two men. Howell and Dodd devoured the two candidates with their eyes, while the sight of these two muscled specimens caused Dodd’s demented mind to replay the scene of the lieutenant’s prison flogging. He had already replaced the lieutenant with Yancy in his imagination.  In the meantime, Howell was envisioning all the ways  Jake might suffer in the hot sun.

After satisfactorily answering several questions posed by Howell, it was announced by him that both Yancy and Jake were accepted into the nascent border patrol. “Men, you’re in! Report tomorrow morning at 9:00. All the men who have been accepted can sleep in the barn up on that there hill.”

With Howell pointing his right arm in the direction of the barn, the men of the newly formed border patrol headed in the direction of the hill. Howell and Dodd spent the next hour discussing the qualities of the men in the patrol. But it was Yancy and Jake that occupied most of that conversation.

 

 

Part 11

 

The closed quarters of the barn offered little if any privacy. There were about 15 recruits ranging in age from barely 18 to 32.  They came from all parts of the territory and beyond, lured by the promise of steady pay and the more primal urge for adventure.  As Jake and Yancy brought their gear inside, the men all exchanged nods and blank stares.  Jake could see some baby faces that he doubted needed to shave much as well as the more leathered look that came with hours in the dry heat and sun.  All were in prime shape, of course, having passed the doctor’s personal inspection.

Two deep troughs of cool water provided an impromptu bath as men rolled their shirts or undergear and soaked them in the water to wipe their pits and crotches.  Some laughingly soaked their heads to remove the trail dust and sweat that caked their bodies. Although most avoided more than the minimum nod and pleasantry, others proved more gregarious and helped break the ice.

Before long some measure of camaraderie filled the barn along with the strong scent of male sweat, saddle and boot leathe, and horseflesh.  There grew the sound of rough language, laughter, and splashing as men shed their clothes and unselfconsciously caroused.

For the first time since their mutual narrow escapes from the Hacienda, Jake and Yancy found themselves relaxing.  Yancy stared at the welts on his older partner’s back and even touched them gingerly with his fingertips.

“Man those look ugly. Are you sure they’re gonna be ok?”

“No sweat kid. I do have some old Injun ointment that the doc gave me to apply once a day, but it’s hard to reach all of my back.  You would be doing me a big favor if you could put some on”.  With that Jake reached into his saddle bag and retrieved a small pouch and handed it to Yancy.

“Sure thing, Jake.”  His young long fingers scooped out some of the sticky goo from the leather pouch and daubed it on Jake’s back.  Jake noticed how gentle yet strong they young man’s hands were, and only occasionally betrayed the discomfort by audibly wincing or releasing a low moan. Yancy then helped him on with his shirt. 

Jake turned to Yancy with a wry grin.  “I meant to tell you, kid. I thought you really handled yourself well back at the Hacienda.  You took the torture like a man.  Those bastards really took their time working you over. Can i return the favor and put some of this stuff on your wounds?”

Without a word,  Yancy tugged off his shirt and presented his torso to Jake. In a few minutes the cooling pain-killing salve reduced the sting and nagging ache from some of the cruel wounds he had endured during his crucifixion ordeal.  His muscles flexed and writhed under Jake’s hands as he applied the salve and kneaded his strong shoulders and back.

 

Jake liked this young stud. A handsome boy-man that so far had shown no fear yet displayed great courage. He felt a surge of warmth and affection towards him.

 

 

Part 12

 

It was now early evening. As the men began to wonder when they might be provided with an evening meal, there came the sound of a loud knock on the door of their humble surroundings. Yancy chose to be the one who would open the door. After pulling the large door open, Yancy spotted one of Howell’s nastier looking assistants standing there holding a large cast iron
pot in his right hand. It was apparently  filled with what looked like some undercooked beans. In the assistant’s left hand was a larger cast iron pot
filled with some sort of stew made with what seemed to be an unidentifiable meat.  “This is for y’all to eat. The boss hopes you enjoy it. Share and share alike is what he always says. And he means it. Share and share alike. That’s what the boss says.”

As this grime-covered critter kept rattling on, Jake and some of the other men came to the realization that there would not be enough food for everyone. There was a lot of eye contact going on relative to this very
thought.  After the assistant hastily placed the two heavy pots on the mud floor, he closed the door behind him and started down the hill.  Quickly opening the door, Jake began to shout as he observed the figure of the assistant hurriedly retreating down the hill. “Hey! Get back up here you fool! There ain’t enough grub here for even half these men!! Do you hear me? Go
tell Howell what I said. We jest ain’t gonna be fit for what he wants us to do without enough grub to eat.”

“Dammit to hell!” Jake slammed the door shut with his powerful right arm, after which he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his left hand.  “I’m not taking this abuse, and you men should feel the same way. Howell knows our strength has to be kept up for the duties that lie ahead. Anyways, let’s start doling this mess out before it gets cold.

Metal dishes and  mugs had previously been placed on a nearby dilapidated table. And a large buffalo pouch containing water hung from a  hook on one of the walls. Jake took it upon himself to begin serving the men. However, as predicted,  the portions turned out to be woefully inadequate. Thankfully, there would be enough water to see the men through the hot night.

Still on the hungry side, and realizing that they had to report to Howell at 9:00 the next morning, the men bedded down for the night. Jake whispered to Yancy that he would say something to Howell in the morning. But before Jake could even finish his sentence, Yancy warned him that Howell may not take too kindly to Jake’s interference in these matters. Yancy did not trust the man.

Upon hearing the assistant report that the men were complaining about the food, Howell demanded to know if there was a ringleader involved. “Yeah, boss. One of those two you took a special liking to. The older one with all those big muscles. Remember how you kept commenting on the way his chest looked all muscular. Stuff like that. Made me lick my lips also, boss.
Mighty handsome dude, wouldn’t you say? There’s your ringleader. Maybe he needs to be taught a lesson, hunh boss? Maybe he needs to be taught a mighty good lesson.”

 

 

Part 13

 

Jake was filled with righteous indignation and did not heed Yancy’s warning. He made a demand to see Howell.  He was unknowingly walking into the sadist’s trap.   No sooner was he brought before Howell who sat at his desk then Jake was felled with the butt end of a rifle and taken to another barn nearby.

 

He awoke with a start. The first sensation was the smell of fresh hay in the barn and then that his wrists were bound together to a pulley over his head. His legs were spread wide and tied off.  He was naked. He tested each of his bonds and realized that he was going nowhere.  Shafts of sunlight broke through a couple of windows and broken roofing, and crossed his body. He craned his neck to look down his body and saw many drops of perspiration lay suspended in the thick pelt of chest hair.

 

Howell was off to the side with two assistants bent over a worktable unpacking a black doctor’s satchel. Some metal instruments lay on the table top catching the sunlight and shining brightly. Howell then rolled the wagon toward Jake.

 

“Ah good to see you are awake, my boy!”  Its a shame that you seem determined to sow discontent among the other recruits.  Do you know what has too be done to an wayward stallion so that he does not lead the other males to ruin?  He needs to be – well – taken down a few notches.  Maybe he is too big for his balls.”

 

With that Howell picked up a metal object which looked like three pieces of metal holding a rubber band open.  He was now wearing black rubber gloves.

 

“Do you know what this is fer, boy?  This here is a constricting clamp.  Farmers and ranchers use it to castrate the big bulls.”

 

With that Howell took hold of Jake’s dangling member and began to stroke it. Despite the revulsion of having this pervert handle his manhood, Jake’s cock responded by becoming engorged and swelled to its natural generous dimensions with which genetics had granted him.  His penis jutted up proudly on display as Howell put the evil device over it and with a quick jerk of the hand…SNAPPED the rubber constrictor into place. Jake shuddered with the sudden pressure and tossed his head.  His balls were squeezed tightly at the base of his pole.

 

“There now. Normally in a few hours your balls will turn black and be easily removed, but we don’t really have that much time.  We have to start processing the recruits… minus one…HAHAHAHAHA!”

 

Howell turned back to the table and opened a jar of black viscous material.  He scooped out a generous glob of it with his black rubbered fingers and proceeded to apply it to Jake’s distended nuts and then to the shaft of his penis with long slow strokes.

 

It was an odd feeling that turned into tingling at first as Jake flexed and tried to move his hips and family jewels away to no avail.  The tingling changed rather quickly to something else.  A sensation of heat started warming him and then an itch…a diabolical infernal ITCH.  Jake bucked and tried to kick.  His breathing increased and his chest rose and fell. 

 

“I can see my little concoction is working. Its something the Injuns taught me.  It’s ground up stinging nettles and nettle juice.  It’s gonna make you wish your balls would fall off faster, boy!”

 

Howell and his assitants grinned from ear to ear. “Look at him…like some carnival monkey or muscle puppet…HAHAHAHA. ”  Howell was not done.  He scooped out some more of the infernal, walked behind Jake, and roughly spread open his ass cheeks.  Rubber fingers then thrust the goo into his ass, pushing deeply.  Jake moaned and arched his back waiting for the heat…for the itch….and it came…building up in the tender linings of his ass and sending his anus to hell.

 

This was a pain Jake had not ever experienced.  His helpless body swayed in its bonds. It glistened more in the scattered sunlight as his sweat rolled off his body forming a puddle of sweat mud beneath him.

 

Between eyes that stung with salty sweaty he saw Howell approaching him holding a shiny metallic blade.

 

“Like I said, boy, we can’t have a rebel stallion in the pack making trouble.  Pretty soon you will be just my mule”

 

The sunlight licked the blade.  Rubber fingers gripped the tortured testicles and Jake closed his eyes awaiting the destruction of his manhood.

 

 

Part 14

 

Jake observed the sharp blade that Howell held in his large right mitt through eyes glazed over with sweat. The heat at this time of day was becoming quite intense, and Jake was already quite thirsty. But this stalwart man had his clouded mind on other more important things at the moment.

The sinister clamp clinging to the base of Jake’s impressive manhood was already causing him great discomfort. The bull-like balls that were held in the grip of the clamp were already starting to show the results of the abuse foisted upon them. Even though Howell had admitted that black would eventually be the shade of those balls, they were already starting to turn a light blue. Howell had fantasized for years about how he might use this clamp on a fine male specimen. And here was his dream come true. Being able to stand back and watch Jake as he writhed and sweated under the grip of the clamp made Howell sneer in sadistic delight. In fact, the younger of the two assistants could already be seen with his right hand placed in the area of his groin.

“Git your hand away from there, boy. I never said you could have that kind of fun in here. Why don’t you wait? We may have bigger plans for our young rebel down the line. Why not wait for the good stuff?” The assistant immediately removed the offending hand from where it was resting.

The fact that Jake had heard Howell suggest that “bigger plans” were on the horizon seemed to offer a ray of hope that the knife Howell was still holding might not be used for its intended purpose, which was becoming ever more obvious to Jake.

Jake’s suspicion proved to be correct when, over the next several hours, the knife-wielding Howell taunted the muscled flesh before him. Howell took great pleasure in running the knife blade over the firm thighs and calf muscles so proudly displayed by Jake. Jake began to flex muscle groups whenever he could. He figured he might as well put on a good show for the sick Howell. The knife then found its way to Jake’s well-haired pectorals. But the atmosphere grew darker when Howell began to administer several tiny cuts to Jake’s arms and legs. Howell now had the suspended man’s balls in the tight grip of his right hand. He then began to slowly move the tip of the blade toward the place where the clamp held them in place.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson now. A lesson that says you better not mess with my authority. Ready to lose ’em? Ready to lose those nice ones of yours? And that Yancy boy. I seen how you look at him. Seems to me you’d like to have his eager young mouth wrapped around this nice package. It’d make a might tasty treat. From what I can tell, you’re ready to give up the ladies. Right, fellas? Ain’t Jake here ready to give up the ladies? The loud laughter of three men could be heard. Only Jake wasn’t laughing.

“You’re a sick bastard. You know that?” This remark was obviously meant to upset Howell, but instead it fired up a wild idea in the sadist’s demented mind. Howell shouted for the older assistant to come over to him.

The two men could then be seen whispering in some kind of pow wow.
“Cory, I’m gonna send my friends, the Comanche, a little present. This Jake fella is jest too good a catch to destroy right now. Try to send word ahead that we got a prime specimen they can have some fun with. Wait! Why now say we have TWO prime specimens. Don’t forget we have that Yancy boy also. Git! I’ll have to arrange a way to have these two captured. And maybe I can even be in on the festivities.”

As Jake became more aware of the blood on his body that was the result of the tiny cuts, and as the itching from the nettle torture finally began to subside, he was worried about what Howell had whispered to the assistant. Thoughts then began to turn to Yancy. Jake hoped that Howell would not separate them when, and if, they were assigned to go on a mission. 

 

 

Part 15

 

“Cut him down” Howell commanded like a man who had come to a decision.  As enticing it was to castrate Jake, it was more interesting to consider future trials to put him through. “Cut him down and take him to the infirmary and tell the Doc to fix him up. Pronto!” Jake had already slipped into the welcome temporary release from his pain when the ropes holding him in place were cut and he was unceremoniously draped over a wheel barrow and taken to the make-shift hospital where the recruits were first examined.  The doctor was well aware of Howell’s sadistic cruelty and could only imagine what horrific things had been done to this young man but he was in no position to stop him.  There was no one to report it to that would believe him.  This was not the first time, and for certain would not be the last.  He tended to Jake’s bruised and tortured body, in particular his testicles, penis and anus.  He was lucky. This young bull would live to perform as a virile male yet again with just a little rest.  The torture had been terminated just in time so that blood flow to the genitalia was restored and there would be no permanent damage.

 

Meanwhile, Howell was busily sketching his diabolical plans. He sent a dispatch to the Comanche Chief Twisted Eagle that two new Rangers would be sent to scout the northern territory in advance of the arrival of another wagon train of settlers.  He promised Twisted Eagle that the danger of ambush would never be communicated to the hapless new arrivals from Tennessee, Ohio and other points eastward.

 

The two Rangers would be delivered into Twisted Eagle’s hands in exchange for the continued flow of guns and gold that lined Howell’s pockets and maintained the unholy alliances that he endorsed.  This new recruitment effort was just an irritant in Howell’s plans to become the most powerful man in these parts, playing the Mexicans off the settlers, off the Comanches, and so forth. No Rangers were gonna stop him. He would just feed them to his colleagues one by one, or in this case, two by two.

 

Jake and Yancy were unaware of what others were planning for them. Jake rested peacefully in the infirmary. His recuperative powers remarkable. Yancy paced nervously and slept fitfully wondering what happened to his friend.

 

 

Part 16

 

“KILL ME!! PLEASE!! KILL ME! I AM BEGGING YOU!!” Several more wordless screams were then emitted from the naked pony express rider as he hung by his wrists from a hastily mounted frame in the Comanche village. The sun was now at its zenith. Another thin layer of skin had just been meticulously sliced from the captive’s taut right pectoral muscle, which already had become reddened from hours of similar abuse. Twisted Eagle liked to take his time when he had a strong captive at his mercy. This young man, barely more than twenty, had been careless enough to allow himself to be captured by loosing his bearings as he tried to ride to Fort Myers. And a fine find he was.

Twisted Eagle continued to ignore the hoarse pleas for a quick death of the muscular young rider as word of Howell’s intended special delivery of the two Rangers reached the sadistic chief of the local Comanche tribe. The news had arrived by smoke signals sent by a neighboring tribe of Comanche. The low moans of the suspended victim dimmed as the tribal chief walked toward his tepee. He felt assured that others would continue the torture while he took a short respite. Once inside the tepee, it was all he could do to fully grasp the exciting news.

This announcement had included the fact that the two Rangers were tough and well-muscled examples of manhood. Howell was sure to mention that, as he knew about Twisted Eagle’s penchant for torturing only worthy male captives. And that meant that they had to be at the peak of manhood.

But with this startling news came the realization that Howell might be doing this to keep the flow of weapons and ammunition running back and forth. The Mexicans at the border were uneasy with the present situation being what it was. And Twisted Eagle had always remained just a little wary of Howell’s motives. For the white man might decide to turn on the tribal chieftain at a moments notice. However, they did share one important thing in common. That remained their unalloyed delight in torturing a young man in possession of a fine physique.

The wagon train was approaching the immediate area. It should be passing through Comanche territory within the next week. Preparations would have to be made. In his mind’s eye, Twisted Eagle was already imagining the two new captives being forced to drop to their knees at his feet. He began to feel a throbbing sensation under his breechcloth.

As Twisted Eagle left the tepee, he noticed that the pony express rider had lost consciousness. His head had dropped to his chest. However, that did not present a problem for the chief. He picked up a canteen filled with water that was carelessly lying on the ground. After opening the cap of the canteen, the sadist threw a considerable amount of its contents at the handsome face of the now delirious young man. The skinning would continue.

Word of the impending arrival of the two Rangers spread throughout the camp like wildfire. After a short period of time, the tribe began referring to these Rangers as “The Devil’s Rangers.” All rejoiced in the new name. And all looked forward to the capture of “The Devil’s Rangers.” 

 

 

Part 17

 

Howell quickly drew up the false dispatches directing Jake and Yancy northwest to intercept the wagon train caravan.  Of course, the directions were intentionally wrong and would lead our young heroes directly into the hands of the sadistic Comanche leader Twisted Eagle and his tribe.

 

Jake recovered quickly from his ordeal and was released from the infirmary. Yancy welcomed him with the tightest and warmest embrace his young body could muster. He had missed the companionship of the older man. The muscular embrace caused Yancy to wince audibly just a wince. “Hey kid, not so rough!”

 

“Jake, what happened to you man? They told us you were thrown by your horse and trampled.  I was really worried and scared.”

 

Jake paused for just a moment and decided not to go into detail, but put his hand warmly on the boy’s broad shoulders and smiled. “I’m good man. Just part of the job?.

 

Howell interrupted their reunion and presented them with a leather pouch.

 

“Congratulation, gentlemen. You are now Texas Rangers. These papers are your first assignment. I want you both to read them carefully.  The lives of many innocent and naive men, women and children are at stake.  Read the papers, get a good night’s sleep, and be ready to move out at dawn. Good luck, boys!”

 

As Howell and his henchman turned to go, they took one last look at the handsome young men before them. Howell openly grabbed his crotch and stroked himself a few times visualizing their muscular frames stretched and writhing on some torture frame.  That bastard Twisted Eagle better make sure that the party doesn’t start until Howell arrived to join in.

 

Jake opened the pouch and started to peruse the papers and maps, with Yancy peering over his arm.

 

 

Part 18

 

The fact that Jake and Yancy had now achieved the status of Texas Rangers made the two stalwart men feel even more enthusiastic about going on their new assignment. Any concerns regarding the dangers inherent in such a mission were automatically supplanted by a feeling of utter responsibility.

From the window of his cluttered office, Howell observed the two new Rangers as they attempted to digest what was contained in the papers that had just been given to them. These two gullible men would soon be suffering unspeakable tortures in Twisted Eagle’s camp. And Howell was living for the moment when his arrival at the Indian camp would signal that the “festivities  should begin. Years ago, Howell had come to the realization that, despite his talent for making a strong man suffer, it was the American Indian who had devised ingenious methods of torture that, at its most successful, could cause an otherwise robust man to beg for a quick death. Howell’s heartbeat quickened as Jake and Yancy rode up a high hill before disappearing over the other side.

After the passage of several days, it became apparent to the Texas Rangers that there was no wagon train to be found. After a fitful night’s sleep, the two men decided to backtrack in the hope that perhaps they had taken a wrong turn. This attempt proved to be a waste of their precious time. The instructions had indicated that they were to meet the wagon train at a certain spot within a specific time period. And that time period had long since passed. So the two men rode even harder to reach the point at which they had been before they decided to retrace their steps. Then they continued to ride even harder beyond that point, while following the instructions as best they could.

As Jake and Yancy rode on, it became evident that the July heat was becoming more and more unbearable. Both men had already unbuttoned their shirts to the waist, exposing impressive manly chests. Their water supply was also getting to the point of becoming dangerously low. It also became obvious that a wagon train was not going to be sighted anywhere at any time.

With that realization sinking into their handsome heads, the Rangers railed against Howell for having duped them. It was then that Yancy spotted a Comanche arrow as it hit the dirt below his horse’s right leg. Another arrow then struck the right eye of Jake’s horse, knocking them both to the ground. Picking himself up, Jake knew immediately what he had to do. After removing his gun from its holster, he took aim at Dusty, putting his beloved horse out of its misery.

“HOP ON, JAKE!” Yancy’s loud command summoned Jake to climb on the surviving horse, which he did with the utmost alacrity. Jake shouted, “RIDE LIKE HELL, KID!!” The Rangers took off at a hearty clip. Turning his head around, Jake could see that the two of them were being hotly pursued by perhaps a dozen Indians whooping it up along the way. Howell had led them into a trap. That bastard was responsible for what was occurring right now. Hell-bent for leather, Jake and Yancy were determined to outrun the Comanche. Their hats had long since flown off their heads in the attempt to seek refuge.

Yancy was soon hit in his right arm with an arrow. No longer able to steer his horse, he toppled to the ground. Jake had no choice but to go back and rescue his friend. The Comanches were already all over Yancy, who tried to fight back, even while in a weakened state. As Jake dismounted, a club struck him in the head, knocking him to the ground. But Jake still remained conscious. Any hope for a quick death for the two men were dashed as rough hemp was tied to the Rangers’ wrists. They would be force walked back to the Indian camp. Twisted Eagle was already making preparations for the arrival of the two white dogs. And miles away, Howell was about to receive the news he had been waiting to hear. The two muscular Rangers had been captured.

 

 

Part 19

 

The young warriors were all over both the cowboys.  There were so many of them that resistance was futile. Jake had only been stunned by the blow to his head and came to quickly to feel his arms pulled painfully behind his back. A stout branch was inserted behind their elbows to which their bound wrists were bound anew. More hemp was wrapped around their biceps and tugged back so hard that their shoulders were taut and their chests thrust upward and out causing their shirt buttons to stretch and almost pop off.  To stifle any protest, stick gags were thrust between the prisoners’ lips, forcing them to bite into the wood. Each end of the stick was then attached so short rawhide strips that were wrapped around the back of their heads.  As Jake and Yancy struggled testing their bindings, their biceps bulged erotically.

 

Our heroes had little choice but to succumb to their bindings like sacrificial lambs.  The binding of the new captives was slow and torturous and the Comanches relished every minute. Thus gagged and bound, the new cowboys could only grunt their useless protest and exchange alarmed glances with each other while they flexed their hard bodies as if testing each new loop of rope that encased and enslaved them.

 

A rope leash was tied around their necks and then to the necks of the Comanche war ponies. With a gleeful shout the procession started off to the encampment.  The grinning bucks shouted and chanted in a celebratory way and the war ponies moved forward with their helpless captives in tow.  The prisoners stumbled and tripped on the occasional rock, fallen branch, or prairie dog hole, to jeers of the Indians. Once when Jake lost his footing he fell face down in the hot dirt.  The teenager holding his leash sadistically kicked the flanks of his horse so that it jerked foward and dragged Jake several yards. The rope tightened and Jake started choking.  His larynx was being squeezed and his face went from crimson to a sickening blue. With his arms bound behind him he could do nothing but squirm like a fish at the end of a line, caught and being reeled in.  An older warrior shouted his displeasure and intervened allowing Jake to stand.  Twisted Eagle would not be pleased if the white man was strangled to death in the dust on the way to his ordeal.  No, this virile ranger was made for something else.  His destiny was a slow and painful ordeal under the watchful eyes of his captors. 

 

Yancy snarled and growled thru his stick gag cursing the warriors incoherently and stomped his heavy boots which were now covered and caked with dry dust and dirt as if these futile protestations would help his partner.  This display of bravado did not go unnoticed by the Comanches. 

 

As the trek continued,  Yancy would cast his eyes upward into the blazing sun and feel the sweat running down his body. His upper torso, that was exposed, glistened with sweat and he could feel the sweat funning down his legs into the thick woolen socks which sloshed around in his tall boots.

 

A short distance off, preparations at the Comanche encampment were underway. Stout poles were being lashed together to erect two torture frames.  They would have to be especially strong to hold up under the anticipate thrashing and writhing of the captives.  The poles were thick and would be set deeply into the earth. Strips of buffalo hide were being cut and then soaked in brine to make them pliable.  Even the women were  included in the preparations.  Many had lost sons or husbands to the hated white dogs that invaded and threatened their way of life.  The women were especially astute in the ways of making a man suffer and several were busy honing some deer antlers into tiny needlelike pieces.  So much to prepare, so much to anticipate.  They fervently hoped that the new captives were young and strong….

 

 

Part 20

 

The women were soon to discover that they were not going be disappointed. Several of the younger women had been posted on the outskirts of the village. It was their responsibility to alert the tribe when the returning hunting party could be seen in the distance. The nineteen-year-old Yellow Feather was the first to spot a man being dragged on the ground, and swiftly motioned for the other women to join her where she stood. There was a second man who faltered and eventually also found himself being dragged along the dry earth. From what Yellow Feather and the others could now see, both men looked rather young and strong. Firm muscles could be seen underneath their tattered shirts. And as the hunting party found itself closer to the village, the women could see that these two captives were indeed also handsome. The oldest woman in the group was screaming with delight as she indicated the thick pelt of hair decorating Jake’s upper chest. She would have fun slowly pulling out some of those hairs, or burning them off with a sticks of fire.

By this time, the entire village had assembled as the two captives approached the village. Jake and Yancy were on their feet, but struggling to maintain their footing as they traversed rather rocky terrain. Tired and hot, they were indeed a sight to behold.

“Ah! They will make good torture,” stated Twisted Eagle as Jake and Yancy were pushed to the ground in front of the chief. Both captives were too exhausted from their arduous trek to offer much resistance, even though Yancy decided to mumble some curses under his gag that were aimed at Twisted Eagle. This foolish attempt at defiance was met with a quick kick by Twisted Eagle to the young man’s ribs. Yancy rolled over in intense pain. “You have kept your word, Howell. I can tell that these two will suffer well for me.”

And at that moment, Howell emerged from behind one of the larger tepees. “Hello, men. You thought that you could defy me. Let me show Twisted Eagle what he has to work with. STAND THESE TWO UP!” Howell then proceeded to roughly strip Jake and Yancy of their shredded shirts. Yancy and Jake were now both mumbling curses at Howell from behind their gags. The captives’ eyes were open wide with hate as they stood stripped to the waist for all to observe.

Twisted Eagle was impressed by the sight of the two well-muscled torsos before him, and he began to feel something dancing under his breechcloth as he circled the two men. Still tethered at the neck, and arms tied at their wrists and to the stick at their elbows, the two captives were at the mercy of Howell and what were most likely his equally sadistic friends. Jake tried to struggle in an attempt to escape, but Howell grabbed his neck leash and gave a strong tug, almost causing the well-built Jake to lose consciousness.

As Howell pointed ominously to the already constructed torture frames, Jake and Yancy could only think of the tales they had heard back home. These tales of young male settlers who had been found dead after having undergone what must have been some of the most horrific tortures known to man, would send chills up and down the spines of anyone who heard them.

“HANG THEM UP!! STRETCH THEM OUT ON THE FRAME!!” As Howell continued to exclaim his orders, Jake and Yancy could be seen struggling as they were led to their unavoidable fate.

 

 

Part 21

 

Twisted Eagle’s directive was met with a shout of sadistic glee. Yancy and Jake were uncerimoniously dragged to the torture frames. There were two stout upright poles with a slightly thinner cross piece over the tops.  Twisted Eagle crossed his arms and stood with feet firmly planted to survey the scene and direct the action.

 

“Untie them and rebind them to the posts!”

 

The torture frames were faced each other so that the captives not only would experience their own suffering but have it enhanced by being forced to watch the torture of their comrade.  Howell was particularly enamored of this little detail especially when he suspected a strong bond between the prisoners.

 

As the Indians unbound their captives they roughly seized and held their arms as the procession to the frames continued. “Free their mouths so that we may hear their cries of agony and useless pleas of mercy”  A drum started to beat somewhere nearby as if to provide some rhythm to the proceedings.  Both cowboys struggled valiantly. Jake even managed to boot one of the younger braves in between the legs causing him to cry out and fall back.  This defiance was met with a swift blow to the head that dazed him for a moment but permitted the Comanches to get him to the frame more easily.  Jake’s head lolled as they held him upright between the poles. When the stick gags were removed, Yancy loudly cursed his captors.  Several more seized the young man as he bucked and struggled.  The fight was a useless display of bravado that only served to whet the sadistic hunger growing in the camp.

 

These were truly worthy enemies…so far.  Their heroism would soon be sorely tested. Four warriors went to some water-filled oaken barrels and retrieved long strips of leather that had been soaking for some time and delivered them to another set of warriors holding the rangers.  The captives’ arms were jerked upward and spread apart.  The long strands of wet rawhide were wrapped around their wrists and knotted, then tugged to the top of the poles on either side where they were knotted again and cinched. 

 

Jake was coming around as he felt the leather pulled tightly and his arms stretched.  Yancy was directly across from him. His biceps swelled magnificently as the rawhide thongs were tied and his arms spread also.  When their upper bodies were secured, the warriors knelt at their feet kicking their legs apart. Rough hands seized the boot shafts and began winding additional wet rawhide around the ankles of the rangers’ leather boots.  They pulled them tightly as the boot leather creaked and groaned in protest as each man flexed his toes and tried to pull his ankles.  The boot bindings were then stretched and knotted to the bottoms of each upright frame.  It was a slow and torturous process that the savages took great pleasure in.  When finished they took back to observe the finished product. Two strapping Texas Rangers, stripped to their waists, spreadeagled with wet rawhide on Comanche torture frames, writhing erotically as they tested each binding and contemplated their collective fate.

 

Twisted Eagle smiled broadly and gave his men an appreciative nod.  A spontaneous whoop rose from several of the young braves and even two of the older squaws as a vigorous dance broke out.  Another drum joined the first and beat an ever increasing and furious pulse.  These moments seemed to go on forever for the stalwart Rangers.  They silently stared at each other across an expanse of about eight feet of dry caked earth.  Twisted Eagle stroked between them. He turned first to Yancy allowing his eyes to appraise the handsome youth. So young and strong with the body of a young bull and the defiance of a young mustang. Twisted Eagle pressed his hand to the boy’s chest and slowly explored it, allowing his fingers to roam and explore the taut flesh from his neck and shoulders to his flat and heaving abdomen.  He mumbled as he did and seemed to be making mental notes for later reference.  Yancy sneered at him and allowed hot saliva to build up in his mouth. He finally spat it out making a direct hit at the startled Comanche chief who raised his hand as if to strike, but stopped, allowing his painted face to slowly break into a hideous snear.

 

“Your cries of agony will echo from the walls of the canyons only to be blown away by the winds”

 

Twisted Eagle turned to Jake who presented him with a defiant unblinking stare. Twisted Eagle smiled again, savory the beefy prize before him.  Both hands slowly caressed the bound muscled flesh before him, cupping his pecs, tugging at the sweat matted chest fur, patting the abs, gently squeezing the biceps that flexed and unflexed as the ranger continued to test the bindings.  Twisted Eagle turned on his heel, but without warning jerked around and with a clenched fist pummeled Jake’s heaving stomach. “UUUUUGHHHHF”. The blow took Jake by complete surprise and caused his body to jerk and sway.

 

The sun was nearing its zenith. The rawhide was beginning to dry. Before long it would shrink and contract.

 

Howell sidled up to Twisted Eagle, whose loincloth was tented obscenely. Howel, as if in a trance, groped himself between his legs.

 

 

Part 22

 

“YOU REALLY ARE TWO SICK BASTARDS!” Yancy shouted this at Howell and Twisted Eagle as the young Ranger observed the sexual arousal of the two men who stood before him.

“Not as sick as you and your fellow Ranger are gonna feel once my friend, Twisted Eagle, begins workin’ on you two.” said Howell. “His braves, and especially his women here, know how to keep you boys alive and suffering for a long time. You two look mighty purty hangin’ like that with all those muscles showin’. I told the Chief here that you both would provide him with a good show.”

Twisted Eagle indicated to Howell that he should circle each torture frame to better observe the two suspended captives from the front as well as from the back. Twisted Eagle followed Howell several feet behind. It was during this stroll that Howell noticed the Chief had removed a rather large hunting knife from a beaded sheath tied around the sadist’s thin waist. He held it firmly in his right hand.

As Howell and Twisted Eagle delighted in observing the play of muscle evident on the two torsos, which were already gleaming with perspiration, Twisted Eagle began to rub the cool blade of his knife along Jake’s well-haired ridges of pectoral muscle, occasionally slapping the blade against the two twitching mounds of muscle, and running its sharp edge along the thin line of hair decorating Jakes undulating abdominals.

 

“NNNNNGGGGGHH,” was the only sound emitted by the muscular Ranger as the Chief cut a clump of hair from Jake’s lower abcominal area. The Chief then stuffed the hair into Jake’s already gaping mouth. Jake tried to spit out the hair in disgust, but his mouth was already too dry to accomplish this admittedly simple act. The knife was then dug down deeply under the handsome Ranger’s waistband. The Ranger sucked in air as the blade of the knife came between his manhood and scrotum.

“CUT HIM. CUT HIM NICE AND SLOW NOW, CHIEF!” Howell, was obviously anxious for the real fun to begin, but Twisted Eagle quickly quelled any attempt by Howell to rush the proceedings along.

“We have time, white hunter. We will have much time with the Rangers. They will give us good torture.” And with that last comment having been said, Twisted Eagle began to slice into the fabric of Jake’s pants. The Comanche sliced until the pants, even though still attached to the Ranger’s sexily thin waist, were almost completely shredded.

Both Rangers could already feel their muscled limbs stretching out in the frames. The sun, which was still at it’s zenith, was doing a fine job of causing the wet rawhide to shrink.

Howell was then handed the hunting knife by the Chief, who indicated that Howell should approach the frame from which Yancy was spreadeagled. The Ranger was approached from behind, after which Howell began to rub the knife blade along the quivering ridges of muscle on Yancy’s back. Yancy felt its coolness. There were deep male groans from Yancy as Howell suddenly made three tiny cuts along the wide upper back. Small amounts of blood became evident.

 

 

Part 23

 

Howell was aroused by the way Yancy’s back muscles flex under each tiny incision and how the young man groaned softly and tossed his head back.   Howell breathed heavily as the blood oozed from the tiny cuts and then was diluted by the profusion of sweat causing it to run down the back all the way into the waistband of his trousers. Howell proceeded to emulate what he had seen Twisted Eagle do.  He began to slit Yancy’s buckskin trousers along the back of the boy’s thighs from just under the curve of his buttocks to his boot tops. The slits gapped open revealing muscled flesh and leg hair.  Howell moved the sides and slide the knife along the seams up and down.  He moved to the front of the torture frame and gave Yancy a sly grin.

 

“Gonna enjoy watching you get slowly carved up boy…oh yeah….carved like a Thanksgiving Turkey….”

 

Howell jabbed the blade point into the front of the pants and sliced and tore away some fabric until the strips of buckskin hung attached at the top to the waistband and tucked into the boot tops below. Strong sweaty hairy leg muscle was exposed with some cuts oozing. Rivulets of sweat/blood cocktail ran down the legs and stained the trousers here and there.  Howell’s hands trembled with lust and the blade had cut deeper and more often than originally intended. Yancy bit his lips and took it.

 

Twisted Eagle supervised carefully. He knew that Howell was no expert at torture. His methods would kill a victim much too quickly. His skills were crude in comparison to those practiced and honed by the Comanche.  On the other hand, Howell would have to be given his “pound of flesh” if only to ensure the continuing supply of offerings that Howell could procure from the continual stream of settlers.

 

Jake and Yancy observed each other without a word. Even the stripping of their bodies was taking on a ritualistic aura and braves and squaws busily seemed to be arranging and preparing for something while casting the amused and appreciative glance in their direction.

 

 

Part 24

 

“Enough, Howell!” commanded Twisted Eagle as he observed that Yancy was losing a fair amount of blood. “You cut young one too much and he die too fast. Be smart, Howell! The white dogs must last long to give us good torture. You have chosen good, Howell. These men are brave and very strong. And the young one is very handsome.”

While Twisted Eagle harshly summoned two old squaws to minister to Yancy’s bleeding wounds, Howell stood back to admire his handiwork. He wiped the dripping sweat from his brow with the back of his thick hand as he observed Jake and Yancy writhing in their respective frames. The rawhide was continuing to shrink at a more rapid pace than Howell had expected, and the sight of the two sweaty Rangers moving in erotic rhythms within the strong frames was sexually stimulating him almost to the point of release. But he wanted to hold on. He had to wait for the real fun to begin. Howell knew that this was just the beginning of the Rangers’ ordeal. Meanwhile, he was able to stand back and observe the flexing muscles as the two recently appointed Rangers faced each other in their respective frames.

It was while Howell was deep in his reverie that Twisted Eagle took it upon himself to strip the Rangers’ pants completely, leaving them suspended only wearing their boots. While Yancy cursed at one squaw who was trying to rub a homemade salve on his wounds, she made teasing remarks about his semi-erect manhood. Jake, on the other hand, was moaning loudly as the other squaw slowly and deliberately teased several individual hairs from his left pectoral with the aid of a primitive pair of tweezers. She then proceeded to do the same thing along Jake’s sexy abdominal hair. The old squaw then viciously slapped his manhood with her small veined hand, leaving Jake hanging from his tethered wrists.

As the afternoon seemed to proceed apace, it progressed much more slowly for the two spreadeagled Rangers. They tried to give each other words of encouragement, but even these brave attempts failed to register after awhile, due to the fact that it became more and more evident that their lives were indeed in peril.

Twisted Eagle and Howell had by this time sought the comfort of a shaded area of the village. Only some small children continued to face the heat of the afternoon while tormenting the Rangers as only young children can do. Jake and Yancy tried spitting at the young braves, but the Rangers’ mouths were dry as dust. Neither man wanted to beg for water, but their heads were beginning to ache from the lack of it. And they were trying to find a comfortable position within the frames as the rawhide was shrinking even more. Their limbs were now tightly stretched.

By late afternoon the two old squaws were once again approaching the torture frames. This time they bore with them small amounts of kindling which each one carried under their wizened arms. Twisted Eagle and Howell emerged from the shaded part of the village to observe what might be happening next. The two sadists had imbibed a more than average amount of firewater, and were ready to see what the squaws had in mind.

Twisted Eagle was quick to suggest that the Rangers’ boots be removed. As the kindling was set down on the earth between the spread legs of the Rangers, Twisted Eagle untied the wet rawhide binding the Rangers’ ankles to the frames. He quickly tied one of each of the Ranger’s boots to a waiting scrotum with new lengths of wet rawhide. The Rangers’ ankles were then swiftly reattached to the bottom of the frames with new lengths of soaked rawhide. 

The boots hung heavily as Jake and Yancy bucked as best they could within the confines of their frames. It was only when they began to feel the heat between their muscled legs, and began to smell the smoke, that they realized the kindling had been lit.

Without having to be told what to do, the children began gathering small stones and placing them within the boots of the tortured Rangers in  incremental amounts. This was the “fun” that Howell had been waiting to witness. And as he listened to the laughter of the children nearby, he suddenly realized that this was going to be a very long night
indeed.

 

 

Part 25

 

To their dismay, their boot shafts were quite tall and it would take plenty to fill them.  The children laughed gleefully and their female elders urged them on to “fill the boots”. Rather than seeing this as destroying their innocence it was a way to cement the next generation’s hatred of the white man.  It became quite a game, quite a competition.  One could sense that the two men writhing on the torture frames were not considered men at all, but toys of some kind. As each new rock was tossed in, the boots pulled and tugged, stretching the scrotums of the captives.  With each torturous tug, their abs tightened and flexed and those near them could hear the grunts and moans coming from the men eliciting nods of approval from the women.

 

At last the boots were filled to their tops. This was all that the children would be permitted.  What was yet to come could never be considered a game.  The women gathered the children together and herded them away from the scene. One wizened white haired squaw stood before each of the men and savagely kicked the weighted boots so that they swung between the outstretched legs of the captives.  Her gleeful cackle was mixed with more manly moans as Jake and Yancy hissed expletives at her…”fucking bitch…argh.damn….nghhhhh”.

 

For a few brief moments the men were alone with agony and each other.  The heat continued to sap their strength, their lips were parched and near the point of cracking, the sweat that ran down their brows into their ears burned with an insidious sting.  Their throats were beginning to spasm and swell and even their saliva seemed to evaporate.  The slow gradual pulling on their shoulders, wrists and ankles created an erotic display of masculinity as they lost more and more of their ability to move.

 

It was then that Jake noticed two warriors carrying orange and white gourds with elongated tuber-like necks.  They were hollowing out the bulbous ends to form a bowl and were using buffalo grease to lubricate the long fibrous necks.

 

 

Part 26

 

Jake and Yancy were practically delirious with pain from the scrotal agony with which they suffered. However, the long afternoon was winding down, so the gradual setting of the sun at least afforded the two men a modicum of relief from the misery of that “great ball of fire” having been situated directly above them for quite some time. With mouths dry as dust, the two Rangers continued to writhe in agony as they attempted to allow their outstretched limbs even a bare moment of peace from the stretching of the rawhide. But the incessant pain to which their generously muscled frames was being subjected continued to be harsh and cruel.

The women continued to emit cruel remarks directed at the way the Rangers continued to suffer on their respective frames. Their verbal humiliation of Jake and Yancy rang in the ears of the suspended men. The two captives eventually gave up their attempts at a similar verbal assault aimed at the women as the suffering Rangers continued to grow increasingly weak. They eventually could be seen sagging in their bonds in a barely conscious state. 

“Ah! The gourds are here.” Twisted Eagle smiled with delight as the two braves moved forward holding the curious objects. Howell began to lick his lips in anticipation as he wondered what Twisted Eagle intended to do with these gourds. The fact that their ends had been hollowed out made him even more curious. But it didn’t take Howell long to realize that the long greased necks of these gourds could very easily soon find a warm dark place to  call home, and that it was the Rangers who were going to bid them welcome. Howell anticipated the air being thick with the deep masculine screams of the muscled Rangers. Hopefully, their vociferous pleas for mercy would soon rang in the night air. And Howell soon felt his manhood thickening at the thought of the Rangers begging for a quick death.

After Twisted Eagle had been presented with the gourds, he stood there holding one in each of his hands. “WAKE THE WHITE DOGS!” One of the braves who had carried a gourd quickly moved to the frame holding Jake fast to it. The brave then kicked the stone-filled boot as hard as he could. The sound made by Jake at this moment was like that of a badly wounded animal in supreme pain. The sadistic brave then did the exact same thing to the boot suspended from Yancy’s tortured scrotum. Yancy began to writhe intensely in the frame as he loudly moaned at the suddenness of what had just happened to him. His young muscles had become deliciously flexed in agony. 

As Twisted Eagle held the two orange and white gourds high in the air, Jake and Yancy recoiled in horror. Even in their dazed state, the well-built Rangers could plainly see that, by greasing the long necks of these gourds, they had now been turned into diabolical instruments of torture.

 

 

Part 27

 

Twisted Eagle and three of his warriors approached the prisoners. Directions were given, but the men seemed to know what they were doing.  It had been done to previous captives, but the torture of the gourd visited upon these prime specimens would provide extra pleasure.  Twisted Eagle moved first behind the spread form of the hirsute older ranger.  His large hands grip and kneaded the hard buttocks. Jake was not used to being handled like this and flexed his glutes in response. The movement of the hard ass muscles brought murmurs of approval from the Comanches.  Twisted Eagle then gripped both mounds of ass flesh and spread them apart wide. Jake shot out a curse from this increased sense of exposure and vulnerability.   It was only seconds later that his sphincter muscle felt pressure. Something was pressing and rotating at his asshole.  Twisted Eagle bent over the painfully stretched shoulders and hissed into his ear,  “Suffer white dog!”  With a steady push the long neck of the gourd was inserted into Jake’s ass.  First a couple of inches and after a brief pause another four inches, then a final push. Jake arched his body and sucked in gulps of air at the invasion of his body. The torture gourd has been inserted up to the large bowl-like knob at the end which now protruded from between the butt cheeks like some obscene orange balloon.  

 

Yancy could not see what was being done to his partner. He could only read the expression on his face. A grimace, a moan, his heaving pectorals and ever tightening abs. What were these savages doing to him?!!!.   Twisted Eagle smiled over Jake’s shoulders at Yancy.  A glance that sent further chills down the young man’s body despite the intense heat.

 

A snap of Twisted Eagles fingers produced a terra cotta bowl.  Several squaws had been carefully grinding some leaves and stems and chattering among themselves.  With considerable pride they presented the bowl to Twisted Eagle. 

 

Howell sidled up to him. “What the hell is that stuff?  What you gonna use it fer?”

 

Twisted Eagle was silent for a moment as he mixed the contents of the bowl. He finally answered.

 

“The juice of desert nettles has been ground with the stems making a thin paste”

 

“Holy shit!”  screeched Howell.  “That juice will drive a man crazy with itching when it gets on his skin!” You gonna put it on their bodies?”

 

This time Twisted Eagle did not respond but brought the lip of the bowl to the hollowed out bulbous gourd protruding from Jake’s flexing and sweat drenched buttocks, tilting it so that the thick torture sap would slowly ooze its way down the hollow neck of the gourd.

 

Howell started an obscene jig in his sadistic delight.  “You red bastards sure know how to torture a man!!”

 

“Please chief. While you do this guy, let me do the kid.”

 

 

Part 28

 

After hearing Howell’s repeated pleas to torture the younger Ranger, Twisted Eagle finally acquiesced in letting the head of the Rangers torture Yancy with the torture sap. And this decision on the chief’s part made him realize that the Comanche would then actually be allowed to observe both of the captives suffering as one, and that erotic thought was already causing him to feel a thickening under his breechcloth.
 

Dusk was slowly turning into night, and several young braves were lighting small fires along the perimeter of the small village, so that the tormented Rangers would still be able to be seen as they writhed in their bonds. The Rangers’ muscled bodies were in intense pain from having been in extremely tight suspension for so many hours. Yancy, in particular, had several painful cracks on his parched lips. And Jake, while still the more burly of the two captives, was breathing in a more labored way than his companion in torture.

Twisted Eagle ceremoniously handed the second orange gourd to Howell, who accepted it in his thick eager hands. Howell looked into the tired eyes of young Yancy. Yancy stared at Howell with hate in his eyes.

“See this thing, boy? We’re gonna have some fun with it. Yep! We’re gonna have some REAL fun, boy.” Howell slowly stepped behind Yancy, and then repeatedly rubbed the hard neck along the muscular Ranger’s asscrack. Upon watching Yancy writhe and twist, several braves could already be seen with hands aimed southward on their bodies.
 

“But not yet, boy. Not yet, son. We have time.” Howell deliberately placed the gourd on the ground, after which he asked Twisted Eagle for the bowl containing the sap. Howell then moved to the front of the torture frame. After picking up a small twig from the dry earth, he used it upon which to place a small amount of the sap, being extremely careful not to let any of the substance touch his hand. Howell then applied the sap to Yancy’s quarter-sized left nipple. He then did the same thing to Yancy’s right nipple. It wasn’t long before the young man felt an intense itch on his nipples. “Bastard from Hell!!” Howell only laughed at this verbal assault.

By this time, Jake was writhing intensely in his torture frame. As the itching in his anus was already slowly driving him to madness, Howell went behind Yancy, placed the bowl of sap on the ground and picked up the torture gourd. “Get ready, son. Here she comes.” Howell repeated what Twisted Eagle had done to Jake. Yancy’s glutes were smaller than those of Jake, but they were were beautifully rounded and already deliciously flexed for their gluteal onslaught.

Howell slowly pushed the hollow tip of the gourd well beyond Yancy’s sphincter, which caused a round of violent cursing from the Ranger. Howell then picked up the bowl and ran some of the sap down the neck of the gourd from the hollowed out bulbous end. It didn’t take long for the Yancy to feel the itching sensation once the “torture juice” began to find its intended target.

As the itching in Jake’s anus intensified, he began to scream. “Finally, a scream.” Howell was in ecstasy from what he had just heard from the hirsute Ranger. After handing the bowl of sap to Twisted Eagle, both Howell and the chief stepped back at a comfortable distance to await the inevitable scream that would eventually emanate from Yancy’s throat. And as the small fires continued to glow in the distance, both Howell and the chief were content in their knowledge that the night would be long and hard on the two sexily muscled Rangers. 

 

 

Part 29

 

“AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGH!!”  Yancy’s anguished scream suddenly pierced the warm night air. There followed several more deep masculine groans from the throat of the spreadeagled Ranger. It wasn’t long before Yancy’s screams finally joined those of Jake’s in a bloodcurdling duet as Twisted Eagle and Howell moved closer to where the Rangers were positioned. The two sadists had remained at a short distance from the torture frames, but this moment had to be savored as closely as possible.

The fires encircling the camp highlighted the sheen of sweat on the muscled bodies of Jake and Yancy. But it was the torture juice working its “magic” that gave Twisted Eagle and Howell the aroused feeling made evident to all who were observant. The two Rangers were being driven to the point of utter madness. And the itching sensation in their brutalized anuses enabled the captives to put on quite a show for Twisted Eagle, Howell, and the entire village. The writhing and flexing of muscle from within the torture frames took on an almost choreographic appearance, with one Ranger seeming to outdo the other in the fierce quality of their rhythmic pas de deux. The two handsome faces were contorted in a state of pain and discomfort. This exquisite torture would seem to make the night last forever for the two superb suspended specimens.

Realizing that Jake’s nipples had not yet experienced a taste of the torture sap, Howell wanted to make things even by applying some of the juice to the nipples on Jake’s matted chest. Jake’s nipples were somewhat smaller than those of young Yancy, but that wouldn’t prevent them from itching like hell once the sap came into contact with them.

Before picking up a twig with which to apply the sap, Howell moved behind Jake, after which he reached around and slapped the Rangers stretched, but firm, pec meat as hard as he could with both of his hands. “I wanna tenderize ’em, boy. You saw what I did to that young buck hanging next to you. And you have some purty nipples on that chest of yours. I wanna hurt ’em real bad, boy. I mean REAL bad, boy.”

It was then that Twisted Eagle moved forward with the bowl of sap. In an almost quasi-religious manner, the chief handed the bowl to Howell. After hurriedly picking up a small twig from the dry earth below, Howell quickly moved to the front of the torture frame. The alacrity on display here could only be that of a sadist whose anticipation was about to be realized. Howell placed a small amount of torture juice on the tip of the twig, and then applied it to Jake’s left nipple. He then repeated the same thing as he attacked the stretched Ranger’s right nipple. Loud moans soon began to emanate from Jake’s throat. The unbearable itching sensation had already begun. And the night was only beginning!

It wasn’t long before some children started picking up twigs and dipping them in the bowl of sap. Two or three of them had already been seen running to the edge of the camp to light the sap with the aid of the small fires that were still glowing there. As other children could be seen  following in their footsteps, Twisted Eagle’s eldest son was overheard offering suggestions about the best ways to torture the Rangers with the lighted twigs throughout the long night.

 

 

Part 30

 

Before her untimely death at the age of twenty-eight, Little Sparrow had produced four sons for Twisted Eagle. But it was the eldest of these sons, Running Deer, who equaled his father in his hatred toward the white man. This son had fond memories of how he and Twisted Eagle would often stay up late at night, recounting tales of the methodical and sadistic methods used to torture strong male captives who were unfortunate enough to have allowed themselves to be captured. But ideal captives were not easy to find. The capture of Yancy and Jake had more than made up for what had become a long and frustrating interval.

    Twisted Eagle and Howell observed Running Deer as he became more and more enthused while talking to the children about methods of torture they might use on the two “white devils.” This “chip off the old block” made Twisted Eagle extremely proud because he now had proof that his hatred of the white man would be passed on to another generation. 

    Children continued to run to the edge of the camp. Once the sap-covered tips of their twigs were lit by the small fires, they ran back to the site of the two spreadeagled Rangers. Howell and Twisted Eagle continued to just stand back and watch the show as the children mapped out their plans as to how they were going to torture the well-muscled Rangers. 

    Due to what can only be described as sheer ingenuity, Running Deer was directing the children to apply the lighted tips of the twigs to specific areas on the muscled bodies of the Rangers. Yancy and Jake, still dazed from the assault to their anuses, cursed up a storm as the children, some no older than eight or nine, pressed lighted twigs to nipples, the soles of feet, as well as a host of other tender spots on the bodies of these two most worthy captives.

    “BASTARDS!! I HOPE YOU BURN IN HELL!!” As Jake felt a fiery twig being pressed to the sole of his right foot, he cursed at the delighted children. Howell and Twisted Eagle just stood back and laughed loudly. As loud moans, as well as occasional screams, could be heard coming from the throats of the Rangers, the two master sadists encouraged the children to continue their merry play. A scream could be heard coming from Yancy as a lighted twig was pressed over and over again to his already tender and stinging nipples. “AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!”

    Eventually, some of the women in the village began to take part in torturing the captives as well. Lighted twigs would systematically be handed back and forth between them and the children. Twisted Eagle and Howell continued to stay at a considerable distance, only occasionally indicating to the women and children where a burning twig should be placed. Howell screamed,”TORTURE ‘EM SLOW. NICE AND SLOW.” His leathery right hand could already be seen pressed to his crotch, and he was breathing hard. 

    This was truly a night of unspeakable torment for Jake and Yancy. One particularly sadistic female took it upon herself to tug very hard at Jake’s scrotum as she applied a lighted twig to the base of his already aroused manhood. Yancy was also showing signs of arousal, which only incited the level of sadism being displayed.

    As the Rangers continued to writhe in their respective torture frames, Running Deer asked his father if he was proud of him. “Very proud, my son. Very proud. You have given good torture, my son. You must not forget this night. Even when I am no longer here, you must remember to find the white man who will make good torture. You must promise me this. And you must never forget what I say.”

    Running Deer made the promise to Twisted Eagle that night. It would not be easy to find captives as worthy as Jake and Yancy, but the young brave vowed to himself that he would forever be on the hunt for male captives who would, as his father stated, “make good torture.” 

 

Part 31

  Twisted Eagle and Howell marveled at the way Jake and Yancy still had the energy to erotically struggle and twist in their frames. With the early morning sun already rising in the distance, the writhing of the two stalwart Rangers had finally subsided to the point where their movements were minimal and only evident at erratic intervals. However, this “dance of pain” was still giving the exhausted torturers much pleasure. There was indeed an erotic factor to the way the Rangers now moved, a rare homoerotic display of the subtle flexing of various muscle groups that was enhanced by a sheen of sweat coating the brutalized bodies of both Jake and Yancy.

  Running Deer was beside himself with glee, his manhood already standing at attention under his breechcloth. “Look, father!  Are you proud of me and the children?” Twisted Eagle quickly acquiesced. What was once the smooth skin of Yancy now bore the effects of the fire torture. And the handsome Ranger’s face was contorted in pain. Howell’s sadistic laugh could be heard as the hand on his crotch began to make steadier movements. In the other frame was the hirsute Jake, whose virile body was now a map of singed hair along with numerous areas that had been burned by the lighted sap.

    As the sun began to rise even higher in the eastern sky, Running Deer could be seen whispering in his father’s ear. Howell, who wanted to be a part of every aspect of these “festivities,” gave Twisted Eagle a gentle nudge in the ribs with his elbow, which implied that he wanted to know exactly what was being whispered by Twisted Eagle’s eldest son. This gesture, on the part of Howell, annoyed Twisted Eagle, and the chief began to reprimand Howell to such an extent that it summarily quieted his fellow sadist’s curiosity.  Howell realized that he had better “toe the line” with the chief, who could turn on him at any moment.

    Howell continued to remain quiet as Running Deer was heard ordering that the two Rangers be released from their frames. However, before they were cut down, Jake and Yancy were forced to drink an herbal mixture that was guaranteed to weaken them even further, thus preventing any resistance on their part. Once they were cut down, Jake and Yancy collapsed onto the dry earth, their spent bodies at the mercy of the braves who dragged them to a large tepee, which was located several feet away from where the horrific torture of the Rangers had taken place.

    “Good, my son. Let two Rangers rest. They are strong. And we must sleep as well.” Howell continued to remain silent as he witnessed all the members of the village retreating to their respective tepees. He was still uneasy about the way Twisted Eagle had treated him earlier. After all, if it hadn’t been for Howell, these two fine specimens might not have been brought to the chief’s village in the first place! But it was not the time to think about such things now. Howell had something even more important on his mind. Before permitting himself to lie on the ground and savor a restful sleep, he removed his throbbing member from within the confines of dust-covered pants. And with a howl worthy of the name of the person emitting it, Howell found release such as he had never known.   

 

Part 32

 

Howell fell to his knees, his energy depleted. As his equilibrium returned, the torture of Jake and Yancy was still playing itself over and over in his head. He had finally come to realize the extent of his penchant for sadism. While Howell had ordered the occasional flogging when an errant Ranger deserved it, nothing had quite equaled the prolonged torture of Jake and Yancy while in the hands of Twisted Eagle. The virility of these Rangers had stirred something within Howell that he had never felt before. And seeing them suffer while being tortured in their respective frames was beyond anything he had hoped to witness. After a deep sleep, Howell knew he would be treated to the continued torture of Jake and Yancy. And he relished the thought.

As the village continued to sleep, Howell reached for the bedroll that had been offered to him after he arrived. Despite the fact that he did his best to make himself comfortable, he still found that he could not fall asleep. He covered his eyes with his hat to shield him from the morning sun, but even that did not help. Howell came to realize that it wasn’t the torture of the Rangers that was preventing him from finding the peace of sleep; it was the disturbing thought that he  had been attracted to the Rangers. Howell had resisted these feelings for many years, but he had found it difficult to surmount the guilt that he felt whenever these thoughts got the better of him. He had so wanted to prove to himself that he could please a woman. He had tried throughout his forty-four years, but the women he partnered would often laugh at his inability to perform successfully.

It was already late morning, and Howell was still unable to sleep. He suddenly became aware of footsteps several yards away from where he was lying. One of the younger squaws had left her tepee in search of some water. He saw her walking to where the water-filled buffalo skins were hanging. Despite the risk involved, Howell felt he had to prove to himself that he could pleasure a woman. And if he could frighten this one into submission by having her agree not to say a word, he would then be able to safely leave the village without any suspicion directed at him. And, after all, Twisted Eagle had not been very agreeble toward him earlier. It was time to get even.

Howell got up and stealthily walked behind the tepees to where the squaw was standing. He walked behind her, eventually placing his large mitt over the squaw’s mouth. She struggled mightily, but soon found herself dragged a short distance away. After Howell knocked her to the ground, she was surprisingly able to escape before he pinned her down. He had underestimated the skills of his victim.

It wasn’t long before the entire village was awakened by the ruckus, Howell already having been restrained by three strong braves. Twisted Eagle slapped Howell’s face repeatedly. And it didn’t take very long for Running Deer to kick him in the groin, causing him to vomit. “YOU DIE, HOWELL!! YOU DIE SLOW.” Twisted Eagle indicated that the squaw he had attempted to rape would take pleasure in witnessing his torture.  Even though they had been bound hand and foot, Jake and Yancy were summarily brought from the tepee in which they were sleeping to witness what was taking place.

Pointing in the direction of Jake and Yancy, Twisted Eagle said, “These men brave. They took strong torture. They suffer good. They will live. Howell, you die!” Though still exhausted, and in pain from their grueling ordeal, Jake and Yancy just stood there dumbfounded by what they had just heard.

As the stripping of Howell began to take place, one of the torture frames was being readied for its next victim. Cursing at the top of his lungs, the now naked Howell was dragged to the frame to await his fate. The Ranger was strong, if not as well-proportioned as Jake and Yancy. As several braves began to spreadeagle him to the torture frame, Howell cursed The Devil’s Rangers. He cursed the day he had joined. He cursed Jake and Yancy. And he cursed Twisted Eagle and Running Deer. He was still screaming at the top of his lungs when the skinning of his right arm began. And Howell continued to scream throughout the long hot afternoon.

END

 

Devil’s Rangers

by Captive Punisher and Musclejock1

 

 

Introduction

 

In the early to mid 1800s, the Mexican government was permitting Americans to settle the province of Tejas. Land was being granted with the stipulations that the settlers become Mexican citizens, adopt the Catholic faith and learn to speak Spanish. The secret agenda however was to create a buffer zone between the marauding Commanches to the north and the more firmly established older Spanish settlements in the south around San Antonio Belzar and Laredo as well as cementing Mexico’s claim to these territory. In addition to attacks by Indians, the settlers faced ongoing threats from organized bands of Mexican banditos that felt free to rob, plunder and kill to line their own purses. Despite these ominous threats, the promise of free land drew a hearty and brave stock from all parts of the then USA and abroad.

 

Eventually however, the attacks from the Indians and Bandits grew so bad that the provisional territorial government issued a call for a volunteer army to defend against both. The men who answered this initial and subsequent call, became the heroes of the territory with acts of courage and bravery against both threats. They became knows as “Los diablos Tejanos”–the Devils of Tejas or the Texas Devils.

 

One such hero was 28 yr old Jake Hexum whose restless spirit did not find fulfillment in toiling the soil. His longing for adventure and excitement made him one of the first to answer the call. His bravery and courage in the face of these threats and natural leadership saw him elevated to a commander position early on. While in Tejas he had fallen under the spell of Alicia, the eldest daughter of the wealthy Montalvo family whose Hacienda lay near Jake’s land. The raven haired sultry beauty and handsome adventurer were drawn to each other immediately, but her family was not thrilled with the idea of a romantic liaison with a gringo! The stint with the Rangers helped him forget Alicia at least for the time being.

 

During Jake’s second tour he was assigned a young 19 yr old recruit named Yancy Telfer, a bull of a young man who shared the same thirst for wanderlust that make him an outsider with his own family that was making a successful farm in Tejas. Reluctantly, his parents condoned his joining the Rangers.

 

The Banditos and the Commanche quickly realized that they now had a common enemy that could easily be outnumbered and destroyed and they decided to join forces to destroy the Rangers.

 

This is the story of “The Devil’s Rangers.”

 

 

Part 1.

 

As Jake Hexum began tilling the soil on the northeast corner of his recently acquired land, his mind raced back to the day he first noticed the slightly torn handbill that was loosely nailed to a hitching post back in his home state of Missouri. He had gone into town that day to pick up some dry goods when he became aware of the fact that others were reading something that was obviously of some importance. As the twenty-eight year old Jake pushed his way through the crowd, what was stated on the handbill finally caught his eye.

 

The Mexican government was offering free land to anyone who might be interested in settling the province of Tejas. However, there were certain stipulations as part of this offer. Unfortunately, they were not mentioned on the handbill. And this was all part of a secret agenda perpetrated on innocent
people by the Mexican government. What Jake and the other readers did not realize was the fact that, once settled in Tejas, these settlers would be forced to become Mexican citizens, adopt the Catholic faith, and learn to speak Spanish.

 

Two months had already passed since Jake moved to his new spread. There was not much family to speak of back in Missouri, and due to a lack of sufficient education, he had been forced to perform menial tasks in a variety of situations. So this opportunity seemed to present itself at just the right time. A fresh start could be “just what the doctor ordered.” Jake’s good looks and muscled physique made him popular with the local young ladies. And he had taken every opportunity to strip to the waist whenever he was engaged in some form of outdoor labor. But Jake knew that there would be more of that where he was going.

 

As Jake realized the work that lay ahead, he was suddenly lifted out of his reverie. It was noon, and the sun had reached its zenith. Wondering where the morning had gone, Jake contemplated leaving some of the tilling for tomorrow but then remembered that he had planned to go into town to take care of a business matter. He also hoped to catch another glimpse of the raven-haired Alicia. She had caught his eye the last time he ventured into
town, and Jake was hoping that he might see her there again. Alicia’s father, Manuelo, was the scion of a wealthy family. However, because he was a gringo, Jake was aware of the fact that he had to tread quite carefully.

 

Even though the cruel sun was beating down on Jake, he knew that there was work to be done, and that he had better finish it today. As he looked up at the sun, Jake began to undo the buttons on his thin cotton shirt. Lifting the shirt out of his tight-fitting jeans, he placed it on a fence post, and continued tilling the soil.

 

Jake’s torso was in perfect proportion to the rest of his body. His meaty pectoral muscles were covered with a fine coating of dark hair, which continued down to a tantalizing treasure trail. And sweat was already coursing down the thick ridges of muscle on Jake’s broad back. His upper arms displayed thick biceps. As if this wasn’t enough, Jake’s flawless skin and deep voice announced to all that he was a paragon of virility.

 

 

Part 2

 

With the immediate chores completed, Jake made the trek into town early the next morning. His original intention was to inquire about a possible loan to do some repair to the fences on the northern perimeter, but these best laid plans were to be thwarted. A group of men and women were standing around a man literally on a soapbox. As Jake neared the crowd he could make out some snatches of the speech..”lump sum”, “supplies”, “adventure and danger”, “protect the people”, “enemies”, etc. These words stirred his loins A militia of some sort was being formed and volunteers were being solicited to fight off bandits and renegade indians. “Sign up here…report for duty and training…in a few days…only the bravest and fittest men….”. Jake sauntered over and took one of the leaflets.

 

His eye caught some commotion down the street however. Three Mexicans were surrounding a younger man, a Texan. While two held his arms twisted behind his back, the third dealt repeated blows to his midsection causing his head to jerk back with each contact. The kid’s knees were giving way and his boot shafts collapsing into the dust of the street. This was not an even fight. Jake intervened and with a few well placed kicks of his boot and fists. The Mexicans reluctantly left shouting a warning about staying away from our women. Jake extended his hand to the young man sprawled on the ground catching his breath. The kid’s cobalt blue eyes sparkled appreciatively from under his mop of thick black hair as he took Jakes hand and pulled, securing his footing. “Thanks Mister…I’m Yancy…Yancy Telfer.” Jake smiled, “What u been doing to get those guys so pissed?” I’m Jake Hexum btw.” The younger man grinned despite the pain in his midsection. “I was just trying to be nice to some senoritas. They sure are purdy gals. What’s going on down the street?”

 

Without speaking Jake handed the leaflet to Yancy. “Wow…this is great! I’m going sign up, NOW…I ain’t cut out for this farming stuff. Jake remained silent but felt the excitement building and his blood run hot. “Enlistment is down in Laredo in a couple of days, kid. Maybe I’ll see ya there.” As Jake strode away he looked back, flashed a brotherly smile and said, “…and stay away from those senoritas, kid.”

 

The whole issue of a possible loan and fence mending vanished from his mind as Jake remounted and galloped off.

 

Yancy had a different yearning in his jeans.  At his family ranch, he hastily scribbled a note for his folks, packed his modest belongings, and saddled his mount. He was going to become a Ranger. His youthful appetites and lonely nights has created a deep gnawing in his loins. Mercedes, the young woman that he was warming to in town, had told him what Hacienda she lived at and how he could sneak past the guards to make a nocturnal call. This might be his last chance before the call of adventure consumed him. What harm would there be in a short romp in the hay?  Yancy was about to discover.

 

The girl’s screams pierced the night and were a curious howl of pain and pleasure.  The buxom beauty lay on her back with her legs spread wide and was being taken hard by the strapping naked cowboy. Viewed from behind his broad back, thick neck and buttocks of carved alabaster quivered in sweat drenched lust. They came together in a roar and squeal. The crescendo of sound had awakened the guards on the perimenter of the hacienda grounds. One of their women was being taken by a randy Texan. The guards broken down the door and seized the young man still semi-hard and dripping and dragged him into the courtyard. The boss held a torch to his face “American Pig!”. You are the one from the town! You dare to come here! You will regret this insult.”

 

His eyes narrowed and alit upon the small carved wooden cross hanging around the boy’s neck by a thin rawhide strip nestled just above the valley of his smooth swelling pecs. He gripped it and held it in his palm. Yancy saw a cruelty in the eyes of the overseer that sent a chill through him. “Lock the gringo up and come with me. We have some preparations to make.

 

 

Part 3

 

As the swarthy boss turned his back to leave the scene, he ordered one of his men to bring Yancy his boots. “Let’s show the boy some hospitality. He should know we’re decent folk here, and that we don’t want no one goin’ ’round all naked like that. Just ain’t proper, no way. Yes, boys. We’re gonna permit the young stud to wear those boots of his. How’s that? It’s the least we can do. Go and git them.” Having boldly conveyed that order, the boss trotted back to his house.

 

The naked form of Yancy continued to struggle as his muscular arms remained in the grip of the two strong men who were holding him at bay. Yancy’s ankles had already been tied together with thick rope, just in case he had any ideas about kicking like a mule. The boy was strong, all right, but even with his apparent strength, he was still not able to remove himself from the tight grip he was in.

 

At nineteen years of age, it was apparent to all who were present that Yancy Telfer was in possession of a well-muscled physique, one that had been honed by the many hours of drudgery working his parents’ farm. One thug, in particular, was looking on from the sidelines. The sight of the young Yancy was making him lick his dry lips in delight. At one point, the right hand of the thug found itself newly located in his groin area. The man who went to get Yancy’s boots finally returned with them under his left arm. These two finely stitched boots were Yancy’s pride and joy. He had finally saved up enough money to make them a Christmas present to himself last December.

 

The aroused thug on the sidelines shouted that the boots should be placed on Yancy. “Put them on him, boys. Make him wear them. I’ll bet he’ll look might purty in ’em. Do it!” Yancy’s ankles were untied, and his two large feet were summarily placed in the boots. Yancy’s ankles were then quickly tied together once again.

 

Yancy was indeed a sight to behold in those fancy boots. All naked except for those boots, and his body covered in a sheen of sweat. And what a smooth and well-tanned body it was! Broad shoulders gracefully led into arms displaying just enough muscle to be attractive. The firm mounds of his pectoral muscles rested above a deep ridge, below which could be seen abdominal muscles of rare beauty. These muscles undulated enticingly as Yancy continued to struggle. Yancy’s cobra-like back flared out. And a thin waist led to legs that were as well-proportioned as his magnificently shaped arms.

 

“What’s taking so long?” The boss could be heard shouting this from the house. “LOCK HIM UP. LOCK HIM UP NOW, OR I’LL HANG THE LOT OF YOU OUT TO DRY. DO YOU HEAR ME?”

 

Yancy’s booted feet were dragged through the dirt as he was forcefully led to a small shed in the distance. As he was thrown into the shed, Yancy could
hear screams in the distance. The screams were apparently those of the young Mercedes, who was at the mercy of her father, the boss. And as he lay on the cold floor of the shed, Yancy felt the frustration of not being able to help, or drown out the screams of the young woman who cried out his name. “Yancy. Yancy. Help me, please. Make him stop. It hurts. YANCY!”

 

 

Part 4

 

Yancy was both furious and remorseful. His boots thudded on the wooden floor as he paced back and forth in the small cabin in which he had been locked. Mercede’s cries had finally faded and his attention was now drawn to the sounds of hammering and wood thrown upon wood in the courtyard outside. He peered out the small barred window to watch. The guards and overseers were hauling wooden planks and digging a small hole. They spoke in a flurry of Spanish spiced with lusty laughter and hungry glances toward Yancy’s adobe “prison”.  The overseer barked a command and about six men came to retrieve their randy Texan stud.  Yancy offered little resistance as they dragged him into the bright sunlight. His boots raised small clouds of dust and sent pebbles flying. His sinewy thighs and calves put on a fine display of muscle. His generous male endowments swung like a pendulum between his meaty thighs.  Even through his squinting eyes he could make out the wooden “T” that had been hammered together.  He shot a glance at the overseer and remembered his crude handling of his religious symbol that was still plastered to his upper pec shelf.  The evil eyes that met his sent a chill. Yancy let go with one burst of energy kicking and struggling to postpone his fate.  A rifle butt to his temple ended the futile revolt.  Yancy’s scalp oozed bright red blood and his young body slumped into submission.

 

Gnarled fingers and calloused hands draped his body on the wooden T.  His arms spread wide to the sides and his legs drawn tightly downward.  Another piece of wood was nailed under his boot soles and his boot ankles tightly bound with rawhide strips which caused the boot leather to collapse at mid shaft and above the ankle.

 

The guards produced strands of barbed wire and gleefully began to wrap it around his outstretched arms,  his wrists and then again around his biceps. They allowed the barbs to bite deeply into the muscled flesh yet avoided anything that looked like a major blood vessel.  The wires cut cruelly and painfully. Another torturous coil was laced around the lad’s narrow waist.  The wire binding was slow and torturous during which the half conscious young captive threw his head back ward moaning deeply,

“arrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..GROAN……………gggggkkkkkkkkkkk.” His chest heaved and his abdomen flattened as his body tried to relieve the tension.

 

As Yancy regained full consciousness, he flexed but quickly learned that every muscle motion meant his young flesh was being slowly sliced.  With some effort the T cross was raised up.  As body weight shifted Yancy cried out in agony, “ARRRRRRRHggggggggggggg.” The bottom of the torture cross was thrust into the hold so that it stood erect on its own despite the burden of its handsome muscled burden. 

 

The sun beat down mercilessly. Yancy’ s body was a mass of tiny stings and cuts as if he were being eaten alive by some insects. His profuse salt heavy sweat increased the agony.  Blood dripped and oozed from his wrists, bulging biceps, forehead, waist and mixed to create several small rivers that ran down his legs and into his boot tops. His lips cracked with dryness and foam appeared in the corners of his mouth.

 

 

Part 5

 

Yancy was truly suffering in front of the sadists who had placed him in this desperate situation, and they were enjoying every cruel moment of it.  The young buck’s long tongue could be observed as it lazily left and entered his sensuous mouth. Already in a state of delirium, he was most likely trying to moisten his cracked lips with a tongue that was already dry as dust, or this motion might have been a pathetic attempt to silently show his torturers that he was desperate for a few drops of water. But Yancy was not going to beg. Not Yancy. He would not give these vipers that pleasure.

 

In a attempt to prevent the barbed wire from cutting any further into his smooth skin, Yancy continued to try to move as little as possible. But hanging from the cross was increasing his agony minute by minute, and he had to try to reposition himself from time to time. As he continued to display his ample musculature, and emit occasional masculine moans and grunts,  Yancy began to smell cigar smoke through his half-closed eyes. The smoke was suddenly coming at him from all directions, and he began to realize that the overseer and his men had lit up cigars, and were heartily puffing away.

 

With an almost dance-like movement, the overseer and his gang approached Yancy. “Watch this, boys. Take a look at this.” The overseer  then pressed the tip of his lighted cigar to Yancy’s left nipple. There then came a loud growl from the muscular man hanging on the cross. “I  know you wanna see this again, boys.” And the overseer laughed as he pressed the tip of his cigar to Yancy’s  right nipple. There then came a pitiful moan from Yancy. He then began to dot Yancy’s somewhat flattened pectorals with small burns from his convenient instrument of torture. More deep moans from the suspended man could be heard. The overseer shouted for the other men to join in, and that is just what they did. Within very little time, Yancy’s muscled body became  a canvas upon which tiny cigar burns could be seen. Of course, this assault forced Yancy to writhe in his bonds, which caused the barbs to dig into his supple flesh. New rivulets of blood could be seen coursing slowly downward toward the tops of his boots. Eventually, tiny burn marks were visible all over Yancy’s back, chest, arms, legs, and buttocks.

 

“I see we have saved the best part for last boys. And that is gonna be all mine.” The man who was formerly on the sidelines let out a loud yell as the overseer repeatedly pressed the tip of his cigar to Yancy’s scrotum and generous manhood. The men all laughed as Yancy continued to writhe and moan deeply, after which he collapsed on the cross. Before he lost consciousness, he thought of the man who had come to his aid in town. Jake Hexum sure seemed friendly enough, and had offered him the chance to join him in a new challenge. If he ever got out of this mess, he vowed that he would try to meet up with Jake in Laredo to enlist in the new militia that was being formed. The leaflet in Yancy’s pocket contained all the information he would need.

 

From the upstairs window of their house, the boss continued to force Mercedes to look outside at the sight below. “Look at your young man now, my dear. This should teach you not to play with a gringo ever again.” The fact that she felt her father trembling made Mercedes realize that her father  was enjoying Yancy’s torture a little more than he should. The last thing the two of them saw before the window curtain was pulled back in place was the overseer roughly tearing off the cross hanging from Yancy’s neck. As the crowd of men dispersed, the overseer laughed loudly as he dug the cross into the dry earth with the heel of his right boot.

 

 

Part 6

 

As Yancy slipped into the temporary relief of unconsciousness beneath the rays of the setting sun, his tormentors retired to their quarters for tequila and cards and drunken sleep.

 

Mercedes Montalvo had meanwhile retreated to her room, racked with sobs and chilled by the sight of the cruelty in the courtyard.  Her still quivering loins and memory of the earlier part of the night of passion with the virile young gringo did not make her regret her actions, however, only the result.

 

Mercedes was the youngest daughter of the influential Montalvo family. She was fully aware of the risk she was taking.  She had been warned by her older sister Alicia, who herself had fallen hard for a handsome brooding gringo.

 

Some miles away, Jake was just finishing up packing some essentials. After some hours of thought, he had decided to ride to Laredo and investigate the Ranger recruitment. 

 

He would head out just before sunrise and take advantage of the coolness of the evening, and be more than halfway there before the heat intensified.  His make-shift shower provided a bracing start. His skin tingled, his slick dark body fur was plastered to every pumped muscle and curve of his toned body.  He toweled himself down, slipped on a clean pair of woolen socks onto his large perfectly shaped feet and then tugged on his tall riding boots, tucking his trousers into the tops of the shafts.  He finger-combed his lustrous black mane, grabbed his saddle bags, and mounted up.  He gazed for an extended time at his budding ranch as if to take a mind’s eye picture to carry with him.  As if speaking to the soul of the land, he vowed to return.  He turned and rode away. He rode for a good hour. His route took him past the Montalvo lands.  He thought again of Alicia.

 

As his horse skirted the border of the Montalvo land he galloped to a peak overlooking it. Just as he was about to rein his horse away, he noticed something unusual. There was something odd in the courtyard.  Jake retrieved his binoculars and took a closer look.  “What the…” he muttered. “Its some kind of cross…and there is a man hanging on it! Shit, it was the kid from town!”

 

 

Part 7

 

“Yeah, it’s the kid from town.” Jake repeated this remark, in an attempt to fathom what may have happened here. What an interesting coincidence this was!  And by using his binoculars, Jake could more fully observe the burn marks which studded the kid’s muscled body as he hung limply in the cool early evening air. Jake tried to remember the kid’s name, but was finding it difficult to do so.  However, after several minutes, he finally remembered that  the kid’s name was Yancy. “Yeah! Yancy.”

 

The young man had obviously been slowly tortured and left to hang from the cross like some Christ-like figure in the deserted courtyard. Jake wondered who the fiends were who could have taken pleasure in doing this to a man. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. This was Montalvo land, and Yancy must have done something to set these varmints off. Jake thought for a few moments, in an attempt to figure out a foolproof way to rescue Yancy. Finally, he came up with a plan. Jake would wait until dark, and when everyone was asleep, he would venture down to the courtyard to set Yancy free. The two of them could then ride off to Laredo together to enlist in the proposed Ranger division about which they had heard.

 

And wait until dark was exactly what Jake chose to do. As the sun continued to set further in the west, Jake became aware of moments when Yancy would become conscious again just for a moment or two, murmuring pleas for a little water. It was so pathetic to hear this virile young man reduced to begging, after which he would once again slump in his bonds. Jake could see
that the boy had nice muscles all over him, and even though the older man had tasted the delights of many ladies, there was something about Yancy’s predicament that was causing something to stir within him.  Jake also noticed that the boy was finding it difficult to breathe, due to way he was
suspended. It was pure torture for Jake to wait for the moment of rescue to come. He sat on the ridge and, along with his tethered horse, waited for the proper moment to strike.

 

When the sun had completely set, and he felt that everyone had gone to bed, Jake untied his horse, and mounting it, descended into the deserted courtyard as quietly as he could. After tying the horse to a hitching post, he approached Yancy, cutting his bonds with a bowie knife. The muscled man fell limply onto Jake’s strong right shoulder, quietly saying how happy he was to see Jake. “We’re goin’ to Laredo, boy. And when we’re Rangers, we’re gonna git these dogs that did this to you.”

 

Yancy had become more alert, enabling him to wrap his arms around Jake once the two men were on Jake’s untied horse. Yancy’s drooping head found comfort resting itself on the wide expanse of Jake’s back. But as the two men started to quickly  ride off, they heard loud gunshots from behind. One of Montalvo’s men must have discovered what had happened, and was running after Jake and Yancy, shooting like a wild man.

 

 

Part 8

 

Angry shouts shattered the morning silence. Bullets whizzed by their heads. Jake hoarsely instructed the salvaged young man, “Take my horse, kid. I mean it. You’re too weak to fight these bastards after what they’ve done to you. I can hold ‘em off and then catch up with you. Take the horse and ride like mad. Get a good start.” Yancy was too weak to argue.  Jake helped nudge his boots into the stirrups and mounted.  “Head towards Laredo, due south west, between those two bluffs.” He patted the heavy saddle bags.

“You will find a change of clothes in here. Make tracks buddy, find some cover, get dressed and RIDE!”

 

They exchanged a glance, and Jake slapped his mount’s rear flanks. He watched as the naked cowboy was jostled for a moment and then seemed to take the reins and command the flight. His boot heels urging the horse forward.

 

Jake turned to face the danger. He made sure his pistol was firmly in the holster as he cocked his rifle for action. He took cover in a nook behind the stone border of a well and took careful aim at the figures running and shouting towards him across the yard.  One fell with a curse…then another, squirming in the dust.  The pursuit had been halted for the moment. Jake looked over his shoulder for a minute and grinned with some satisfaction to see the cloud of dust already disappearing over the horizon.

 

As he whirled around to view the yard, a rifle butt smashed into his skull.  It all went blank. He woke to a dull thud and a rivulet of blood dripping from his scalp down to his ear and into his sideburn.  He tried to move and found his wrists tied together over his head to a cross beam. His legs were free. His upper torso was bare. He heard snickering and saw several grinning Mexicans around him.  He heard the unmistakable sound of a bullwhip. 

 

WHOOOSH!  He barely had time to bit his lower lip and tense his muscled body. Even though he tried to prepare himself, the pain took him by surprise. The leathered bite and accompanying sting made him gasp and emptied his lungs of any breath.  The second stroke wrapped around his body with a torturous embrace as the wicked tip slashed his nipple. Jake’s head jerked back.  A GROAN escaped his lips as he gasped for more breath.  His booted feet struggled and danced in an erotic dance of pain as he tried to distract himself from the pain. CRRRRRRRRACKKKKKKk…CRAAAAACK!  Jake’s head slumped between his painfully stretched shoulders.  In a matter of moments his broad back was a canvass of pain upon which crimson brush strokes has been carefully applied. His mighty chest too had been artfully sliced across the pectoral slabs.

 

There was silence for a while.  Jake sagged, feeling the pain from his bondage position and the tender kisses of the lash.  He heard footsteps and a shadow across the dry earth. Then a hand to his head jerkin it up.  His mouth opened in surprise.  He hoarse whispered, “Alicea!” His handsome face broke into a smile. “Well I’ll be damned…Alicea Montalvo!”

 

The dark haired sultry woman pressed a finger to his lips and to her own.  “Jake…don’t speak…they don’t know that we know each other.” I have a plan. Wait ‘til nightfall. Mercedes and I will create a diversion…a small fire in the storage shed.  During the confusion I will set you free.”

 

Jake was confused, but still grinning through the pain that wracked his body.  “Who’s Mercedes?…don’t endanger someone else.”

 

“She is my sister.  Your cowboy friend was ‘with her’ when my father’s men caught him.”

 

“Damn, ain’t the fates cruel. How you been sweetheart?”

 

“Quiet…hush.”

 

A shout from behind them startled them both. “Senorita, get away from the dog. He is dangerous!”

 

Alicea slapped Jake across the face and spit at him.  Her beautiful face had changed into a hideous mask of hatred and fury.  She turned to the guard and shouted, “I just wanted to see the pig who defiled the sanctity of our casa!”

 

She winked at Jake as she turned on her heel to march off.

 

The guard leered at her departing figure and then drew a knife. He walked to Jake a broken tooth grin breaking his face.  He pointed it at Jake’s left pec and then froze as a shot rang out. The guard’s eyes rolled into his head and he fell.  Pounding hooves. a brave stallion, and a half naked cowboy raced into the courtyard.

 

 

Part 9 

 

The dramatic return of Yancy into the now deserted courtyard startled Jake quite a bit. A lot of dust had been kicked up, making it difficult for Jake to
immediately identify the figure who was riding the horse. But even in his half-conscious state it didn’t take long for the suspended man to realize that the person in question was none other than Yancy. And as the dust began to clear, Yancy’s impressively muscled and naked torso clearly came into view, reminding Jake that this was indeed the same man he had seen strung up in this very courtyard.

“I’ve come to return the favor, partner.” I just couldn’t run off to Laredo without my buddy, could I?” And with that having been said, and still remaining on his horse, Yancy reached up and quickly cut the strong rope binding Jake’s wrists to the crossbeam. Jake fell with a thud to the parched dirt below. There was no time to waste. “Get up here! Get up here now!” As the weakened Jake struggled to his booted feet, Yancy reached out to lend him a helping hand. With some difficulty, Jake was able to mount his horse, holding on to Yancy for dear life as the younger man sped off away from the compound hell bent for leather.

With the roles now reversed, it was Jake’s bare chest that rested against the naked expanse of Yancy’s back. With the two men comfortably settled on Jake’s horse, Yancy reached out to grab a canteen that hung from one of the saddlebags. The canteen was filled with cool water that came from a brook Yancy had found while  on the way to find the clothing that Jake had mentioned. “Drink some of this. But don’t drink it too fast.” Jake drank long and deep in a desperate attempt to slake his maddening thirst, but Yancy grabbed the canteen and put it back where it had been. “There will be more later. Besides, it has to last us all the way to Laredo. And we have quite a trip ahead of us. I only hope this horse of yours can make it all the way. He has worked real hard these last couple of days.” Yancy affectionately patted the horse in the hope that he might be able to instill some confidence in the creature, and he guaranteed that the two men would stop after awhile. Yancy could then make an attempt to treat Jake’s lacerated chest and back.

The temperature was hot on Tuesday in Laredo. It was well over ninety degrees in the early afternoon. Eligible men had been standing in line for hours in order to enlist in the newly performed border patrol. Fit men were needed, and that was made quite clear on the handbills that had been distributed. Even fully dressed, the casual observer could tell that the candidates in line were well-built specimens eager to take on a new challenge. What was taking so long was that fact that each man had to undergo a physical exam by the local doctor. Once they had stripped naked,
each man’s physical condition would be assessed by the doctor, who was under the watchful eye of the self-appointed head of the patrol, one Burt Howell.

Howell’s nickname was “Petit” because of his small stature. But let anyone call him by that name to his face, and that individual would wish that he hadn’t been born. It was unbeknownst to many that Howell was a sadist who enjoyed watching strong men suffer. Nothing pleased him more than to hear a virile man beg to be killed to end the suffering. And by forming this border patrol he  could control who was allowed to join. His duplicitous nature also could help to serve both sides.

As Jake and Yancy rode into town, Howell was able to observe them from a distance. These were indeed two fine male specimens The shirts that Jake and Yancy had found along the way hinted at the firm muscle underneath. Two of Howell’s “assistants” immediately went up to the two newcomers to make their acquaintance.

 

 

Part 10

 

“You boys here to join the new border patrol?  Sure looks like you two will fit the bill.” The assistant then muttered something to himself, having to do with the obvious physical attributes of the two newcomers. Within a matter of minutes, Yancy and Jake found themselves at the end the long line of hopefuls who had only one thing in mind. And that was the desire to be inducted into the new border patrol.

Howell made sure that he was present when the men stripped to be examined. He enjoyed feasting his eyes on the candidates. If a certain individual did not meet his standards, Howell would surreptitiously
motion to the doctor, indicating that a rejection was in order. Howell also looked for the men to affect a certain stance, indicating that they would be stalwart members of the border patrol. Not many men possessed this “gift,” and Howell knew that all too well.

N. Roy Dodd, the doctor in charge, was indeed a smarmy individual who, only eight years ago, had served a short sentence in an undisclosed east coast
prison for acts of forgery. Dodd, who was a homely man, and who was also small in stature, had once betrayed the confidence of a young army lieutenant who, because of this dastardly deed, was sentenced to
be flogged at high noon in the prison courtyard. The handsome lieutenant had been serving time for desertion, and Dodd could observe the young man in the adjoining cell as he washed up and shaved daily. Stripped to the waist, the lieutenant’s defined torso and smooth flawless skin were a sight to behold. The doctor began to become obsessed with the desire to witness the lieutenant hanging by his wrists from the prison whipping post, the young man writhing in pain, as each lash cut more deeply into his muscled back. Dodd eventually got his wish, and he masturbated wildly in his cell as he watched the deserter suffering under the lash in the hot noonday sun. Dodd
was released the following day, as the audible cursing of the lieutenant echoed in his ears while he exited the main entrance of the prison.

When it became time for Yancy and Jake to be examined, Howell signaled for the doctor to call the two men in at the same time. Yancy and Jake soon willingly stripped down to their boots. Howell and the doctor knew immediately that these two would make fine additions to the border patrol. In fact, Howell and the doctor sensed a certain leadership potential in the two men. Howell and Dodd devoured the two candidates with their eyes, while the sight of these two muscled specimens caused Dodd’s demented mind to replay the scene of the lieutenant’s prison flogging. He had already replaced the lieutenant with Yancy in his imagination.  In the meantime, Howell was envisioning all the ways  Jake might suffer in the hot sun.

After satisfactorily answering several questions posed by Howell, it was announced by him that both Yancy and Jake were accepted into the nascent border patrol. “Men, you’re in! Report tomorrow morning at 9:00. All the men who have been accepted can sleep in the barn up on that there hill.”

With Howell pointing his right arm in the direction of the barn, the men of the newly formed border patrol headed in the direction of the hill. Howell and Dodd spent the next hour discussing the qualities of the men in the patrol. But it was Yancy and Jake that occupied most of that conversation.

 

 

Part 11

 

The closed quarters of the barn offered little if any privacy. There were about 15 recruits ranging in age from barely 18 to 32.  They came from all parts of the territory and beyond, lured by the promise of steady pay and the more primal urge for adventure.  As Jake and Yancy brought their gear inside, the men all exchanged nods and blank stares.  Jake could see some baby faces that he doubted needed to shave much as well as the more leathered look that came with hours in the dry heat and sun.  All were in prime shape, of course, having passed the doctor’s personal inspection.

Two deep troughs of cool water provided an impromptu bath as men rolled their shirts or undergear and soaked them in the water to wipe their pits and crotches.  Some laughingly soaked their heads to remove the trail dust and sweat that caked their bodies. Although most avoided more than the minimum nod and pleasantry, others proved more gregarious and helped break the ice.

Before long some measure of camaraderie filled the barn along with the strong scent of male sweat, saddle and boot leathe, and horseflesh.  There grew the sound of rough language, laughter, and splashing as men shed their clothes and unselfconsciously caroused.

For the first time since their mutual narrow escapes from the Hacienda, Jake and Yancy found themselves relaxing.  Yancy stared at the welts on his older partner’s back and even touched them gingerly with his fingertips.

“Man those look ugly. Are you sure they’re gonna be ok?”

“No sweat kid. I do have some old Injun ointment that the doc gave me to apply once a day, but it’s hard to reach all of my back.  You would be doing me a big favor if you could put some on”.  With that Jake reached into his saddle bag and retrieved a small pouch and handed it to Yancy.

“Sure thing, Jake.”  His young long fingers scooped out some of the sticky goo from the leather pouch and daubed it on Jake’s back.  Jake noticed how gentle yet strong they young man’s hands were, and only occasionally betrayed the discomfort by audibly wincing or releasing a low moan. Yancy then helped him on with his shirt. 

Jake turned to Yancy with a wry grin.  “I meant to tell you, kid. I thought you really handled yourself well back at the Hacienda.  You took the torture like a man.  Those bastards really took their time working you over. Can i return the favor and put some of this stuff on your wounds?”

Without a word,  Yancy tugged off his shirt and presented his torso to Jake. In a few minutes the cooling pain-killing salve reduced the sting and nagging ache from some of the cruel wounds he had endured during his crucifixion ordeal.  His muscles flexed and writhed under Jake’s hands as he applied the salve and kneaded his strong shoulders and back.

 

Jake liked this young stud. A handsome boy-man that so far had shown no fear yet displayed great courage. He felt a surge of warmth and affection towards him.

 

 

Part 12

 

It was now early evening. As the men began to wonder when they might be provided with an evening meal, there came the sound of a loud knock on the door of their humble surroundings. Yancy chose to be the one who would open the door. After pulling the large door open, Yancy spotted one of Howell’s nastier looking assistants standing there holding a large cast iron
pot in his right hand. It was apparently  filled with what looked like some undercooked beans. In the assistant’s left hand was a larger cast iron pot
filled with some sort of stew made with what seemed to be an unidentifiable meat.  “This is for y’all to eat. The boss hopes you enjoy it. Share and share alike is what he always says. And he means it. Share and share alike. That’s what the boss says.”

As this grime-covered critter kept rattling on, Jake and some of the other men came to the realization that there would not be enough food for everyone. There was a lot of eye contact going on relative to this very
thought.  After the assistant hastily placed the two heavy pots on the mud floor, he closed the door behind him and started down the hill.  Quickly opening the door, Jake began to shout as he observed the figure of the assistant hurriedly retreating down the hill. “Hey! Get back up here you fool! There ain’t enough grub here for even half these men!! Do you hear me? Go
tell Howell what I said. We jest ain’t gonna be fit for what he wants us to do without enough grub to eat.”

“Dammit to hell!” Jake slammed the door shut with his powerful right arm, after which he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his left hand.  “I’m not taking this abuse, and you men should feel the same way. Howell knows our strength has to be kept up for the duties that lie ahead. Anyways, let’s start doling this mess out before it gets cold.

Metal dishes and  mugs had previously been placed on a nearby dilapidated table. And a large buffalo pouch containing water hung from a  hook on one of the walls. Jake took it upon himself to begin serving the men. However, as predicted,  the portions turned out to be woefully inadequate. Thankfully, there would be enough water to see the men through the hot night.

Still on the hungry side, and realizing that they had to report to Howell at 9:00 the next morning, the men bedded down for the night. Jake whispered to Yancy that he would say something to Howell in the morning. But before Jake could even finish his sentence, Yancy warned him that Howell may not take too kindly to Jake’s interference in these matters. Yancy did not trust the man.

Upon hearing the assistant report that the men were complaining about the food, Howell demanded to know if there was a ringleader involved. “Yeah, boss. One of those two you took a special liking to. The older one with all those big muscles. Remember how you kept commenting on the way his chest looked all muscular. Stuff like that. Made me lick my lips also, boss.
Mighty handsome dude, wouldn’t you say? There’s your ringleader. Maybe he needs to be taught a lesson, hunh boss? Maybe he needs to be taught a mighty good lesson.”

 

 

Part 13

 

Jake was filled with righteous indignation and did not heed Yancy’s warning. He made a demand to see Howell.  He was unknowingly walking into the sadist’s trap.   No sooner was he brought before Howell who sat at his desk then Jake was felled with the butt end of a rifle and taken to another barn nearby.

 

He awoke with a start. The first sensation was the smell of fresh hay in the barn and then that his wrists were bound together to a pulley over his head. His legs were spread wide and tied off.  He was naked. He tested each of his bonds and realized that he was going nowhere.  Shafts of sunlight broke through a couple of windows and broken roofing, and crossed his body. He craned his neck to look down his body and saw many drops of perspiration lay suspended in the thick pelt of chest hair.

 

Howell was off to the side with two assistants bent over a worktable unpacking a black doctor’s satchel. Some metal instruments lay on the table top catching the sunlight and shining brightly. Howell then rolled the wagon toward Jake.

 

“Ah good to see you are awake, my boy!”  Its a shame that you seem determined to sow discontent among the other recruits.  Do you know what has too be done to an wayward stallion so that he does not lead the other males to ruin?  He needs to be – well – taken down a few notches.  Maybe he is too big for his balls.”

 

With that Howell picked up a metal object which looked like three pieces of metal holding a rubber band open.  He was now wearing black rubber gloves.

 

“Do you know what this is fer, boy?  This here is a constricting clamp.  Farmers and ranchers use it to castrate the big bulls.”

 

With that Howell took hold of Jake’s dangling member and began to stroke it. Despite the revulsion of having this pervert handle his manhood, Jake’s cock responded by becoming engorged and swelled to its natural generous dimensions with which genetics had granted him.  His penis jutted up proudly on display as Howell put the evil device over it and with a quick jerk of the hand…SNAPPED the rubber constrictor into place. Jake shuddered with the sudden pressure and tossed his head.  His balls were squeezed tightly at the base of his pole.

 

“There now. Normally in a few hours your balls will turn black and be easily removed, but we don’t really have that much time.  We have to start processing the recruits… minus one…HAHAHAHAHA!”

 

Howell turned back to the table and opened a jar of black viscous material.  He scooped out a generous glob of it with his black rubbered fingers and proceeded to apply it to Jake’s distended nuts and then to the shaft of his penis with long slow strokes.

 

It was an odd feeling that turned into tingling at first as Jake flexed and tried to move his hips and family jewels away to no avail.  The tingling changed rather quickly to something else.  A sensation of heat started warming him and then an itch…a diabolical infernal ITCH.  Jake bucked and tried to kick.  His breathing increased and his chest rose and fell. 

 

“I can see my little concoction is working. Its something the Injuns taught me.  It’s ground up stinging nettles and nettle juice.  It’s gonna make you wish your balls would fall off faster, boy!”

 

Howell and his assitants grinned from ear to ear. “Look at him…like some carnival monkey or muscle puppet…HAHAHAHA. ”  Howell was not done.  He scooped out some more of the infernal, walked behind Jake, and roughly spread open his ass cheeks.  Rubber fingers then thrust the goo into his ass, pushing deeply.  Jake moaned and arched his back waiting for the heat…for the itch….and it came…building up in the tender linings of his ass and sending his anus to hell.

 

This was a pain Jake had not ever experienced.  His helpless body swayed in its bonds. It glistened more in the scattered sunlight as his sweat rolled off his body forming a puddle of sweat mud beneath him.

 

Between eyes that stung with salty sweaty he saw Howell approaching him holding a shiny metallic blade.

 

“Like I said, boy, we can’t have a rebel stallion in the pack making trouble.  Pretty soon you will be just my mule”

 

The sunlight licked the blade.  Rubber fingers gripped the tortured testicles and Jake closed his eyes awaiting the destruction of his manhood.

 

 

Part 14

 

Jake observed the sharp blade that Howell held in his large right mitt through eyes glazed over with sweat. The heat at this time of day was becoming quite intense, and Jake was already quite thirsty. But this stalwart man had his clouded mind on other more important things at the moment.

The sinister clamp clinging to the base of Jake’s impressive manhood was already causing him great discomfort. The bull-like balls that were held in the grip of the clamp were already starting to show the results of the abuse foisted upon them. Even though Howell had admitted that black would eventually be the shade of those balls, they were already starting to turn a light blue. Howell had fantasized for years about how he might use this clamp on a fine male specimen. And here was his dream come true. Being able to stand back and watch Jake as he writhed and sweated under the grip of the clamp made Howell sneer in sadistic delight. In fact, the younger of the two assistants could already be seen with his right hand placed in the area of his groin.

“Git your hand away from there, boy. I never said you could have that kind of fun in here. Why don’t you wait? We may have bigger plans for our young rebel down the line. Why not wait for the good stuff?” The assistant immediately removed the offending hand from where it was resting.

The fact that Jake had heard Howell suggest that “bigger plans” were on the horizon seemed to offer a ray of hope that the knife Howell was still holding might not be used for its intended purpose, which was becoming ever more obvious to Jake.

Jake’s suspicion proved to be correct when, over the next several hours, the knife-wielding Howell taunted the muscled flesh before him. Howell took great pleasure in running the knife blade over the firm thighs and calf muscles so proudly displayed by Jake. Jake began to flex muscle groups whenever he could. He figured he might as well put on a good show for the sick Howell. The knife then found its way to Jake’s well-haired pectorals. But the atmosphere grew darker when Howell began to administer several tiny cuts to Jake’s arms and legs. Howell now had the suspended man’s balls in the tight grip of his right hand. He then began to slowly move the tip of the blade toward the place where the clamp held them in place.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson now. A lesson that says you better not mess with my authority. Ready to lose ’em? Ready to lose those nice ones of yours? And that Yancy boy. I seen how you look at him. Seems to me you’d like to have his eager young mouth wrapped around this nice package. It’d make a might tasty treat. From what I can tell, you’re ready to give up the ladies. Right, fellas? Ain’t Jake here ready to give up the ladies? The loud laughter of three men could be heard. Only Jake wasn’t laughing.

“You’re a sick bastard. You know that?” This remark was obviously meant to upset Howell, but instead it fired up a wild idea in the sadist’s demented mind. Howell shouted for the older assistant to come over to him.

The two men could then be seen whispering in some kind of pow wow.
“Cory, I’m gonna send my friends, the Comanche, a little present. This Jake fella is jest too good a catch to destroy right now. Try to send word ahead that we got a prime specimen they can have some fun with. Wait! Why now say we have TWO prime specimens. Don’t forget we have that Yancy boy also. Git! I’ll have to arrange a way to have these two captured. And maybe I can even be in on the festivities.”

As Jake became more aware of the blood on his body that was the result of the tiny cuts, and as the itching from the nettle torture finally began to subside, he was worried about what Howell had whispered to the assistant. Thoughts then began to turn to Yancy. Jake hoped that Howell would not separate them when, and if, they were assigned to go on a mission. 

 

 

Part 15

 

“Cut him down” Howell commanded like a man who had come to a decision.  As enticing it was to castrate Jake, it was more interesting to consider future trials to put him through. “Cut him down and take him to the infirmary and tell the Doc to fix him up. Pronto!” Jake had already slipped into the welcome temporary release from his pain when the ropes holding him in place were cut and he was unceremoniously draped over a wheel barrow and taken to the make-shift hospital where the recruits were first examined.  The doctor was well aware of Howell’s sadistic cruelty and could only imagine what horrific things had been done to this young man but he was in no position to stop him.  There was no one to report it to that would believe him.  This was not the first time, and for certain would not be the last.  He tended to Jake’s bruised and tortured body, in particular his testicles, penis and anus.  He was lucky. This young bull would live to perform as a virile male yet again with just a little rest.  The torture had been terminated just in time so that blood flow to the genitalia was restored and there would be no permanent damage.

 

Meanwhile, Howell was busily sketching his diabolical plans. He sent a dispatch to the Comanche Chief Twisted Eagle that two new Rangers would be sent to scout the northern territory in advance of the arrival of another wagon train of settlers.  He promised Twisted Eagle that the danger of ambush would never be communicated to the hapless new arrivals from Tennessee, Ohio and other points eastward.

 

The two Rangers would be delivered into Twisted Eagle’s hands in exchange for the continued flow of guns and gold that lined Howell’s pockets and maintained the unholy alliances that he endorsed.  This new recruitment effort was just an irritant in Howell’s plans to become the most powerful man in these parts, playing the Mexicans off the settlers, off the Comanches, and so forth. No Rangers were gonna stop him. He would just feed them to his colleagues one by one, or in this case, two by two.

 

Jake and Yancy were unaware of what others were planning for them. Jake rested peacefully in the infirmary. His recuperative powers remarkable. Yancy paced nervously and slept fitfully wondering what happened to his friend.

 

 

Part 16

 

“KILL ME!! PLEASE!! KILL ME! I AM BEGGING YOU!!” Several more wordless screams were then emitted from the naked pony express rider as he hung by his wrists from a hastily mounted frame in the Comanche village. The sun was now at its zenith. Another thin layer of skin had just been meticulously sliced from the captive’s taut right pectoral muscle, which already had become reddened from hours of similar abuse. Twisted Eagle liked to take his time when he had a strong captive at his mercy. This young man, barely more than twenty, had been careless enough to allow himself to be captured by loosing his bearings as he tried to ride to Fort Myers. And a fine find he was.

Twisted Eagle continued to ignore the hoarse pleas for a quick death of the muscular young rider as word of Howell’s intended special delivery of the two Rangers reached the sadistic chief of the local Comanche tribe. The news had arrived by smoke signals sent by a neighboring tribe of Comanche. The low moans of the suspended victim dimmed as the tribal chief walked toward his tepee. He felt assured that others would continue the torture while he took a short respite. Once inside the tepee, it was all he could do to fully grasp the exciting news.

This announcement had included the fact that the two Rangers were tough and well-muscled examples of manhood. Howell was sure to mention that, as he knew about Twisted Eagle’s penchant for torturing only worthy male captives. And that meant that they had to be at the peak of manhood.

But with this startling news came the realization that Howell might be doing this to keep the flow of weapons and ammunition running back and forth. The Mexicans at the border were uneasy with the present situation being what it was. And Twisted Eagle had always remained just a little wary of Howell’s motives. For the white man might decide to turn on the tribal chieftain at a moments notice. However, they did share one important thing in common. That remained their unalloyed delight in torturing a young man in possession of a fine physique.

The wagon train was approaching the immediate area. It should be passing through Comanche territory within the next week. Preparations would have to be made. In his mind’s eye, Twisted Eagle was already imagining the two new captives being forced to drop to their knees at his feet. He began to feel a throbbing sensation under his breechcloth.

As Twisted Eagle left the tepee, he noticed that the pony express rider had lost consciousness. His head had dropped to his chest. However, that did not present a problem for the chief. He picked up a canteen filled with water that was carelessly lying on the ground. After opening the cap of the canteen, the sadist threw a considerable amount of its contents at the handsome face of the now delirious young man. The skinning would continue.

Word of the impending arrival of the two Rangers spread throughout the camp like wildfire. After a short period of time, the tribe began referring to these Rangers as “The Devil’s Rangers.” All rejoiced in the new name. And all looked forward to the capture of “The Devil’s Rangers.” 

 

 

Part 17

 

Howell quickly drew up the false dispatches directing Jake and Yancy northwest to intercept the wagon train caravan.  Of course, the directions were intentionally wrong and would lead our young heroes directly into the hands of the sadistic Comanche leader Twisted Eagle and his tribe.

 

Jake recovered quickly from his ordeal and was released from the infirmary. Yancy welcomed him with the tightest and warmest embrace his young body could muster. He had missed the companionship of the older man. The muscular embrace caused Yancy to wince audibly just a wince. “Hey kid, not so rough!”

 

“Jake, what happened to you man? They told us you were thrown by your horse and trampled.  I was really worried and scared.”

 

Jake paused for just a moment and decided not to go into detail, but put his hand warmly on the boy’s broad shoulders and smiled. “I’m good man. Just part of the job?.

 

Howell interrupted their reunion and presented them with a leather pouch.

 

“Congratulation, gentlemen. You are now Texas Rangers. These papers are your first assignment. I want you both to read them carefully.  The lives of many innocent and naive men, women and children are at stake.  Read the papers, get a good night’s sleep, and be ready to move out at dawn. Good luck, boys!”

 

As Howell and his henchman turned to go, they took one last look at the handsome young men before them. Howell openly grabbed his crotch and stroked himself a few times visualizing their muscular frames stretched and writhing on some torture frame.  That bastard Twisted Eagle better make sure that the party doesn’t start until Howell arrived to join in.

 

Jake opened the pouch and started to peruse the papers and maps, with Yancy peering over his arm.

 

 

Part 18

 

The fact that Jake and Yancy had now achieved the status of Texas Rangers made the two stalwart men feel even more enthusiastic about going on their new assignment. Any concerns regarding the dangers inherent in such a mission were automatically supplanted by a feeling of utter responsibility.

From the window of his cluttered office, Howell observed the two new Rangers as they attempted to digest what was contained in the papers that had just been given to them. These two gullible men would soon be suffering unspeakable tortures in Twisted Eagle’s camp. And Howell was living for the moment when his arrival at the Indian camp would signal that the “festivities  should begin. Years ago, Howell had come to the realization that, despite his talent for making a strong man suffer, it was the American Indian who had devised ingenious methods of torture that, at its most successful, could cause an otherwise robust man to beg for a quick death. Howell’s heartbeat quickened as Jake and Yancy rode up a high hill before disappearing over the other side.

After the passage of several days, it became apparent to the Texas Rangers that there was no wagon train to be found. After a fitful night’s sleep, the two men decided to backtrack in the hope that perhaps they had taken a wrong turn. This attempt proved to be a waste of their precious time. The instructions had indicated that they were to meet the wagon train at a certain spot within a specific time period. And that time period had long since passed. So the two men rode even harder to reach the point at which they had been before they decided to retrace their steps. Then they continued to ride even harder beyond that point, while following the instructions as best they could.

As Jake and Yancy rode on, it became evident that the July heat was becoming more and more unbearable. Both men had already unbuttoned their shirts to the waist, exposing impressive manly chests. Their water supply was also getting to the point of becoming dangerously low. It also became obvious that a wagon train was not going to be sighted anywhere at any time.

With that realization sinking into their handsome heads, the Rangers railed against Howell for having duped them. It was then that Yancy spotted a Comanche arrow as it hit the dirt below his horse’s right leg. Another arrow then struck the right eye of Jake’s horse, knocking them both to the ground. Picking himself up, Jake knew immediately what he had to do. After removing his gun from its holster, he took aim at Dusty, putting his beloved horse out of its misery.

“HOP ON, JAKE!” Yancy’s loud command summoned Jake to climb on the surviving horse, which he did with the utmost alacrity. Jake shouted, “RIDE LIKE HELL, KID!!” The Rangers took off at a hearty clip. Turning his head around, Jake could see that the two of them were being hotly pursued by perhaps a dozen Indians whooping it up along the way. Howell had led them into a trap. That bastard was responsible for what was occurring right now. Hell-bent for leather, Jake and Yancy were determined to outrun the Comanche. Their hats had long since flown off their heads in the attempt to seek refuge.

Yancy was soon hit in his right arm with an arrow. No longer able to steer his horse, he toppled to the ground. Jake had no choice but to go back and rescue his friend. The Comanches were already all over Yancy, who tried to fight back, even while in a weakened state. As Jake dismounted, a club struck him in the head, knocking him to the ground. But Jake still remained conscious. Any hope for a quick death for the two men were dashed as rough hemp was tied to the Rangers’ wrists. They would be force walked back to the Indian camp. Twisted Eagle was already making preparations for the arrival of the two white dogs. And miles away, Howell was about to receive the news he had been waiting to hear. The two muscular Rangers had been captured.

 

 

Part 19

 

The young warriors were all over both the cowboys.  There were so many of them that resistance was futile. Jake had only been stunned by the blow to his head and came to quickly to feel his arms pulled painfully behind his back. A stout branch was inserted behind their elbows to which their bound wrists were bound anew. More hemp was wrapped around their biceps and tugged back so hard that their shoulders were taut and their chests thrust upward and out causing their shirt buttons to stretch and almost pop off.  To stifle any protest, stick gags were thrust between the prisoners’ lips, forcing them to bite into the wood. Each end of the stick was then attached so short rawhide strips that were wrapped around the back of their heads.  As Jake and Yancy struggled testing their bindings, their biceps bulged erotically.

 

Our heroes had little choice but to succumb to their bindings like sacrificial lambs.  The binding of the new captives was slow and torturous and the Comanches relished every minute. Thus gagged and bound, the new cowboys could only grunt their useless protest and exchange alarmed glances with each other while they flexed their hard bodies as if testing each new loop of rope that encased and enslaved them.

 

A rope leash was tied around their necks and then to the necks of the Comanche war ponies. With a gleeful shout the procession started off to the encampment.  The grinning bucks shouted and chanted in a celebratory way and the war ponies moved forward with their helpless captives in tow.  The prisoners stumbled and tripped on the occasional rock, fallen branch, or prairie dog hole, to jeers of the Indians. Once when Jake lost his footing he fell face down in the hot dirt.  The teenager holding his leash sadistically kicked the flanks of his horse so that it jerked foward and dragged Jake several yards. The rope tightened and Jake started choking.  His larynx was being squeezed and his face went from crimson to a sickening blue. With his arms bound behind him he could do nothing but squirm like a fish at the end of a line, caught and being reeled in.  An older warrior shouted his displeasure and intervened allowing Jake to stand.  Twisted Eagle would not be pleased if the white man was strangled to death in the dust on the way to his ordeal.  No, this virile ranger was made for something else.  His destiny was a slow and painful ordeal under the watchful eyes of his captors. 

 

Yancy snarled and growled thru his stick gag cursing the warriors incoherently and stomped his heavy boots which were now covered and caked with dry dust and dirt as if these futile protestations would help his partner.  This display of bravado did not go unnoticed by the Comanches. 

 

As the trek continued,  Yancy would cast his eyes upward into the blazing sun and feel the sweat running down his body. His upper torso, that was exposed, glistened with sweat and he could feel the sweat funning down his legs into the thick woolen socks which sloshed around in his tall boots.

 

A short distance off, preparations at the Comanche encampment were underway. Stout poles were being lashed together to erect two torture frames.  They would have to be especially strong to hold up under the anticipate thrashing and writhing of the captives.  The poles were thick and would be set deeply into the earth. Strips of buffalo hide were being cut and then soaked in brine to make them pliable.  Even the women were  included in the preparations.  Many had lost sons or husbands to the hated white dogs that invaded and threatened their way of life.  The women were especially astute in the ways of making a man suffer and several were busy honing some deer antlers into tiny needlelike pieces.  So much to prepare, so much to anticipate.  They fervently hoped that the new captives were young and strong….

 

 

Part 20

 

The women were soon to discover that they were not going be disappointed. Several of the younger women had been posted on the outskirts of the village. It was their responsibility to alert the tribe when the returning hunting party could be seen in the distance. The nineteen-year-old Yellow Feather was the first to spot a man being dragged on the ground, and swiftly motioned for the other women to join her where she stood. There was a second man who faltered and eventually also found himself being dragged along the dry earth. From what Yellow Feather and the others could now see, both men looked rather young and strong. Firm muscles could be seen underneath their tattered shirts. And as the hunting party found itself closer to the village, the women could see that these two captives were indeed also handsome. The oldest woman in the group was screaming with delight as she indicated the thick pelt of hair decorating Jake’s upper chest. She would have fun slowly pulling out some of those hairs, or burning them off with a sticks of fire.

By this time, the entire village had assembled as the two captives approached the village. Jake and Yancy were on their feet, but struggling to maintain their footing as they traversed rather rocky terrain. Tired and hot, they were indeed a sight to behold.

“Ah! They will make good torture,” stated Twisted Eagle as Jake and Yancy were pushed to the ground in front of the chief. Both captives were too exhausted from their arduous trek to offer much resistance, even though Yancy decided to mumble some curses under his gag that were aimed at Twisted Eagle. This foolish attempt at defiance was met with a quick kick by Twisted Eagle to the young man’s ribs. Yancy rolled over in intense pain. “You have kept your word, Howell. I can tell that these two will suffer well for me.”

And at that moment, Howell emerged from behind one of the larger tepees. “Hello, men. You thought that you could defy me. Let me show Twisted Eagle what he has to work with. STAND THESE TWO UP!” Howell then proceeded to roughly strip Jake and Yancy of their shredded shirts. Yancy and Jake were now both mumbling curses at Howell from behind their gags. The captives’ eyes were open wide with hate as they stood stripped to the waist for all to observe.

Twisted Eagle was impressed by the sight of the two well-muscled torsos before him, and he began to feel something dancing under his breechcloth as he circled the two men. Still tethered at the neck, and arms tied at their wrists and to the stick at their elbows, the two captives were at the mercy of Howell and what were most likely his equally sadistic friends. Jake tried to struggle in an attempt to escape, but Howell grabbed his neck leash and gave a strong tug, almost causing the well-built Jake to lose consciousness.

As Howell pointed ominously to the already constructed torture frames, Jake and Yancy could only think of the tales they had heard back home. These tales of young male settlers who had been found dead after having undergone what must have been some of the most horrific tortures known to man, would send chills up and down the spines of anyone who heard them.

“HANG THEM UP!! STRETCH THEM OUT ON THE FRAME!!” As Howell continued to exclaim his orders, Jake and Yancy could be seen struggling as they were led to their unavoidable fate.

 

 

Part 21

 

Twisted Eagle’s directive was met with a shout of sadistic glee. Yancy and Jake were uncerimoniously dragged to the torture frames. There were two stout upright poles with a slightly thinner cross piece over the tops.  Twisted Eagle crossed his arms and stood with feet firmly planted to survey the scene and direct the action.

 

“Untie them and rebind them to the posts!”

 

The torture frames were faced each other so that the captives not only would experience their own suffering but have it enhanced by being forced to watch the torture of their comrade.  Howell was particularly enamored of this little detail especially when he suspected a strong bond between the prisoners.

 

As the Indians unbound their captives they roughly seized and held their arms as the procession to the frames continued. “Free their mouths so that we may hear their cries of agony and useless pleas of mercy”  A drum started to beat somewhere nearby as if to provide some rhythm to the proceedings.  Both cowboys struggled valiantly. Jake even managed to boot one of the younger braves in between the legs causing him to cry out and fall back.  This defiance was met with a swift blow to the head that dazed him for a moment but permitted the Comanches to get him to the frame more easily.  Jake’s head lolled as they held him upright between the poles. When the stick gags were removed, Yancy loudly cursed his captors.  Several more seized the young man as he bucked and struggled.  The fight was a useless display of bravado that only served to whet the sadistic hunger growing in the camp.

 

These were truly worthy enemies…so far.  Their heroism would soon be sorely tested. Four warriors went to some water-filled oaken barrels and retrieved long strips of leather that had been soaking for some time and delivered them to another set of warriors holding the rangers.  The captives’ arms were jerked upward and spread apart.  The long strands of wet rawhide were wrapped around their wrists and knotted, then tugged to the top of the poles on either side where they were knotted again and cinched. 

 

Jake was coming around as he felt the leather pulled tightly and his arms stretched.  Yancy was directly across from him. His biceps swelled magnificently as the rawhide thongs were tied and his arms spread also.  When their upper bodies were secured, the warriors knelt at their feet kicking their legs apart. Rough hands seized the boot shafts and began winding additional wet rawhide around the ankles of the rangers’ leather boots.  They pulled them tightly as the boot leather creaked and groaned in protest as each man flexed his toes and tried to pull his ankles.  The boot bindings were then stretched and knotted to the bottoms of each upright frame.  It was a slow and torturous process that the savages took great pleasure in.  When finished they took back to observe the finished product. Two strapping Texas Rangers, stripped to their waists, spreadeagled with wet rawhide on Comanche torture frames, writhing erotically as they tested each binding and contemplated their collective fate.

 

Twisted Eagle smiled broadly and gave his men an appreciative nod.  A spontaneous whoop rose from several of the young braves and even two of the older squaws as a vigorous dance broke out.  Another drum joined the first and beat an ever increasing and furious pulse.  These moments seemed to go on forever for the stalwart Rangers.  They silently stared at each other across an expanse of about eight feet of dry caked earth.  Twisted Eagle stroked between them. He turned first to Yancy allowing his eyes to appraise the handsome youth. So young and strong with the body of a young bull and the defiance of a young mustang. Twisted Eagle pressed his hand to the boy’s chest and slowly explored it, allowing his fingers to roam and explore the taut flesh from his neck and shoulders to his flat and heaving abdomen.  He mumbled as he did and seemed to be making mental notes for later reference.  Yancy sneered at him and allowed hot saliva to build up in his mouth. He finally spat it out making a direct hit at the startled Comanche chief who raised his hand as if to strike, but stopped, allowing his painted face to slowly break into a hideous snear.

 

“Your cries of agony will echo from the walls of the canyons only to be blown away by the winds”

 

Twisted Eagle turned to Jake who presented him with a defiant unblinking stare. Twisted Eagle smiled again, savory the beefy prize before him.  Both hands slowly caressed the bound muscled flesh before him, cupping his pecs, tugging at the sweat matted chest fur, patting the abs, gently squeezing the biceps that flexed and unflexed as the ranger continued to test the bindings.  Twisted Eagle turned on his heel, but without warning jerked around and with a clenched fist pummeled Jake’s heaving stomach. “UUUUUGHHHHF”. The blow took Jake by complete surprise and caused his body to jerk and sway.

 

The sun was nearing its zenith. The rawhide was beginning to dry. Before long it would shrink and contract.

 

Howell sidled up to Twisted Eagle, whose loincloth was tented obscenely. Howel, as if in a trance, groped himself between his legs.

 

 

Part 22

 

“YOU REALLY ARE TWO SICK BASTARDS!” Yancy shouted this at Howell and Twisted Eagle as the young Ranger observed the sexual arousal of the two men who stood before him.

“Not as sick as you and your fellow Ranger are gonna feel once my friend, Twisted Eagle, begins workin’ on you two.” said Howell. “His braves, and especially his women here, know how to keep you boys alive and suffering for a long time. You two look mighty purty hangin’ like that with all those muscles showin’. I told the Chief here that you both would provide him with a good show.”

Twisted Eagle indicated to Howell that he should circle each torture frame to better observe the two suspended captives from the front as well as from the back. Twisted Eagle followed Howell several feet behind. It was during this stroll that Howell noticed the Chief had removed a rather large hunting knife from a beaded sheath tied around the sadist’s thin waist. He held it firmly in his right hand.

As Howell and Twisted Eagle delighted in observing the play of muscle evident on the two torsos, which were already gleaming with perspiration, Twisted Eagle began to rub the cool blade of his knife along Jake’s well-haired ridges of pectoral muscle, occasionally slapping the blade against the two twitching mounds of muscle, and running its sharp edge along the thin line of hair decorating Jakes undulating abdominals.

 

“NNNNNGGGGGHH,” was the only sound emitted by the muscular Ranger as the Chief cut a clump of hair from Jake’s lower abcominal area. The Chief then stuffed the hair into Jake’s already gaping mouth. Jake tried to spit out the hair in disgust, but his mouth was already too dry to accomplish this admittedly simple act. The knife was then dug down deeply under the handsome Ranger’s waistband. The Ranger sucked in air as the blade of the knife came between his manhood and scrotum.

“CUT HIM. CUT HIM NICE AND SLOW NOW, CHIEF!” Howell, was obviously anxious for the real fun to begin, but Twisted Eagle quickly quelled any attempt by Howell to rush the proceedings along.

“We have time, white hunter. We will have much time with the Rangers. They will give us good torture.” And with that last comment having been said, Twisted Eagle began to slice into the fabric of Jake’s pants. The Comanche sliced until the pants, even though still attached to the Ranger’s sexily thin waist, were almost completely shredded.

Both Rangers could already feel their muscled limbs stretching out in the frames. The sun, which was still at it’s zenith, was doing a fine job of causing the wet rawhide to shrink.

Howell was then handed the hunting knife by the Chief, who indicated that Howell should approach the frame from which Yancy was spreadeagled. The Ranger was approached from behind, after which Howell began to rub the knife blade along the quivering ridges of muscle on Yancy’s back. Yancy felt its coolness. There were deep male groans from Yancy as Howell suddenly made three tiny cuts along the wide upper back. Small amounts of blood became evident.

 

 

Part 23

 

Howell was aroused by the way Yancy’s back muscles flex under each tiny incision and how the young man groaned softly and tossed his head back.   Howell breathed heavily as the blood oozed from the tiny cuts and then was diluted by the profusion of sweat causing it to run down the back all the way into the waistband of his trousers. Howell proceeded to emulate what he had seen Twisted Eagle do.  He began to slit Yancy’s buckskin trousers along the back of the boy’s thighs from just under the curve of his buttocks to his boot tops. The slits gapped open revealing muscled flesh and leg hair.  Howell moved the sides and slide the knife along the seams up and down.  He moved to the front of the torture frame and gave Yancy a sly grin.

 

“Gonna enjoy watching you get slowly carved up boy…oh yeah….carved like a Thanksgiving Turkey….”

 

Howell jabbed the blade point into the front of the pants and sliced and tore away some fabric until the strips of buckskin hung attached at the top to the waistband and tucked into the boot tops below. Strong sweaty hairy leg muscle was exposed with some cuts oozing. Rivulets of sweat/blood cocktail ran down the legs and stained the trousers here and there.  Howell’s hands trembled with lust and the blade had cut deeper and more often than originally intended. Yancy bit his lips and took it.

 

Twisted Eagle supervised carefully. He knew that Howell was no expert at torture. His methods would kill a victim much too quickly. His skills were crude in comparison to those practiced and honed by the Comanche.  On the other hand, Howell would have to be given his “pound of flesh” if only to ensure the continuing supply of offerings that Howell could procure from the continual stream of settlers.

 

Jake and Yancy observed each other without a word. Even the stripping of their bodies was taking on a ritualistic aura and braves and squaws busily seemed to be arranging and preparing for something while casting the amused and appreciative glance in their direction.

 

 

Part 24

 

“Enough, Howell!” commanded Twisted Eagle as he observed that Yancy was losing a fair amount of blood. “You cut young one too much and he die too fast. Be smart, Howell! The white dogs must last long to give us good torture. You have chosen good, Howell. These men are brave and very strong. And the young one is very handsome.”

While Twisted Eagle harshly summoned two old squaws to minister to Yancy’s bleeding wounds, Howell stood back to admire his handiwork. He wiped the dripping sweat from his brow with the back of his thick hand as he observed Jake and Yancy writhing in their respective frames. The rawhide was continuing to shrink at a more rapid pace than Howell had expected, and the sight of the two sweaty Rangers moving in erotic rhythms within the strong frames was sexually stimulating him almost to the point of release. But he wanted to hold on. He had to wait for the real fun to begin. Howell knew that this was just the beginning of the Rangers’ ordeal. Meanwhile, he was able to stand back and observe the flexing muscles as the two recently appointed Rangers faced each other in their respective frames.

It was while Howell was deep in his reverie that Twisted Eagle took it upon himself to strip the Rangers’ pants completely, leaving them suspended only wearing their boots. While Yancy cursed at one squaw who was trying to rub a homemade salve on his wounds, she made teasing remarks about his semi-erect manhood. Jake, on the other hand, was moaning loudly as the other squaw slowly and deliberately teased several individual hairs from his left pectoral with the aid of a primitive pair of tweezers. She then proceeded to do the same thing along Jake’s sexy abdominal hair. The old squaw then viciously slapped his manhood with her small veined hand, leaving Jake hanging from his tethered wrists.

As the afternoon seemed to proceed apace, it progressed much more slowly for the two spreadeagled Rangers. They tried to give each other words of encouragement, but even these brave attempts failed to register after awhile, due to the fact that it became more and more evident that their lives were indeed in peril.

Twisted Eagle and Howell had by this time sought the comfort of a shaded area of the village. Only some small children continued to face the heat of the afternoon while tormenting the Rangers as only young children can do. Jake and Yancy tried spitting at the young braves, but the Rangers’ mouths were dry as dust. Neither man wanted to beg for water, but their heads were beginning to ache from the lack of it. And they were trying to find a comfortable position within the frames as the rawhide was shrinking even more. Their limbs were now tightly stretched.

By late afternoon the two old squaws were once again approaching the torture frames. This time they bore with them small amounts of kindling which each one carried under their wizened arms. Twisted Eagle and Howell emerged from the shaded part of the village to observe what might be happening next. The two sadists had imbibed a more than average amount of firewater, and were ready to see what the squaws had in mind.

Twisted Eagle was quick to suggest that the Rangers’ boots be removed. As the kindling was set down on the earth between the spread legs of the Rangers, Twisted Eagle untied the wet rawhide binding the Rangers’ ankles to the frames. He quickly tied one of each of the Ranger’s boots to a waiting scrotum with new lengths of wet rawhide. The Rangers’ ankles were then swiftly reattached to the bottom of the frames with new lengths of soaked rawhide. 

The boots hung heavily as Jake and Yancy bucked as best they could within the confines of their frames. It was only when they began to feel the heat between their muscled legs, and began to smell the smoke, that they realized the kindling had been lit.

Without having to be told what to do, the children began gathering small stones and placing them within the boots of the tortured Rangers in  incremental amounts. This was the “fun” that Howell had been waiting to witness. And as he listened to the laughter of the children nearby, he suddenly realized that this was going to be a very long night
indeed.

 

 

Part 25

 

To their dismay, their boot shafts were quite tall and it would take plenty to fill them.  The children laughed gleefully and their female elders urged them on to “fill the boots”. Rather than seeing this as destroying their innocence it was a way to cement the next generation’s hatred of the white man.  It became quite a game, quite a competition.  One could sense that the two men writhing on the torture frames were not considered men at all, but toys of some kind. As each new rock was tossed in, the boots pulled and tugged, stretching the scrotums of the captives.  With each torturous tug, their abs tightened and flexed and those near them could hear the grunts and moans coming from the men eliciting nods of approval from the women.

 

At last the boots were filled to their tops. This was all that the children would be permitted.  What was yet to come could never be considered a game.  The women gathered the children together and herded them away from the scene. One wizened white haired squaw stood before each of the men and savagely kicked the weighted boots so that they swung between the outstretched legs of the captives.  Her gleeful cackle was mixed with more manly moans as Jake and Yancy hissed expletives at her…”fucking bitch…argh.damn….nghhhhh”.

 

For a few brief moments the men were alone with agony and each other.  The heat continued to sap their strength, their lips were parched and near the point of cracking, the sweat that ran down their brows into their ears burned with an insidious sting.  Their throats were beginning to spasm and swell and even their saliva seemed to evaporate.  The slow gradual pulling on their shoulders, wrists and ankles created an erotic display of masculinity as they lost more and more of their ability to move.

 

It was then that Jake noticed two warriors carrying orange and white gourds with elongated tuber-like necks.  They were hollowing out the bulbous ends to form a bowl and were using buffalo grease to lubricate the long fibrous necks.

 

 

Part 26

 

Jake and Yancy were practically delirious with pain from the scrotal agony with which they suffered. However, the long afternoon was winding down, so the gradual setting of the sun at least afforded the two men a modicum of relief from the misery of that “great ball of fire” having been situated directly above them for quite some time. With mouths dry as dust, the two Rangers continued to writhe in agony as they attempted to allow their outstretched limbs even a bare moment of peace from the stretching of the rawhide. But the incessant pain to which their generously muscled frames was being subjected continued to be harsh and cruel.

The women continued to emit cruel remarks directed at the way the Rangers continued to suffer on their respective frames. Their verbal humiliation of Jake and Yancy rang in the ears of the suspended men. The two captives eventually gave up their attempts at a similar verbal assault aimed at the women as the suffering Rangers continued to grow increasingly weak. They eventually could be seen sagging in their bonds in a barely conscious state. 

“Ah! The gourds are here.” Twisted Eagle smiled with delight as the two braves moved forward holding the curious objects. Howell began to lick his lips in anticipation as he wondered what Twisted Eagle intended to do with these gourds. The fact that their ends had been hollowed out made him even more curious. But it didn’t take Howell long to realize that the long greased necks of these gourds could very easily soon find a warm dark place to  call home, and that it was the Rangers who were going to bid them welcome. Howell anticipated the air being thick with the deep masculine screams of the muscled Rangers. Hopefully, their vociferous pleas for mercy would soon rang in the night air. And Howell soon felt his manhood thickening at the thought of the Rangers begging for a quick death.

After Twisted Eagle had been presented with the gourds, he stood there holding one in each of his hands. “WAKE THE WHITE DOGS!” One of the braves who had carried a gourd quickly moved to the frame holding Jake fast to it. The brave then kicked the stone-filled boot as hard as he could. The sound made by Jake at this moment was like that of a badly wounded animal in supreme pain. The sadistic brave then did the exact same thing to the boot suspended from Yancy’s tortured scrotum. Yancy began to writhe intensely in the frame as he loudly moaned at the suddenness of what had just happened to him. His young muscles had become deliciously flexed in agony. 

As Twisted Eagle held the two orange and white gourds high in the air, Jake and Yancy recoiled in horror. Even in their dazed state, the well-built Rangers could plainly see that, by greasing the long necks of these gourds, they had now been turned into diabolical instruments of torture.

 

 

Part 27

 

Twisted Eagle and three of his warriors approached the prisoners. Directions were given, but the men seemed to know what they were doing.  It had been done to previous captives, but the torture of the gourd visited upon these prime specimens would provide extra pleasure.  Twisted Eagle moved first behind the spread form of the hirsute older ranger.  His large hands grip and kneaded the hard buttocks. Jake was not used to being handled like this and flexed his glutes in response. The movement of the hard ass muscles brought murmurs of approval from the Comanches.  Twisted Eagle then gripped both mounds of ass flesh and spread them apart wide. Jake shot out a curse from this increased sense of exposure and vulnerability.   It was only seconds later that his sphincter muscle felt pressure. Something was pressing and rotating at his asshole.  Twisted Eagle bent over the painfully stretched shoulders and hissed into his ear,  “Suffer white dog!”  With a steady push the long neck of the gourd was inserted into Jake’s ass.  First a couple of inches and after a brief pause another four inches, then a final push. Jake arched his body and sucked in gulps of air at the invasion of his body. The torture gourd has been inserted up to the large bowl-like knob at the end which now protruded from between the butt cheeks like some obscene orange balloon.  

 

Yancy could not see what was being done to his partner. He could only read the expression on his face. A grimace, a moan, his heaving pectorals and ever tightening abs. What were these savages doing to him?!!!.   Twisted Eagle smiled over Jake’s shoulders at Yancy.  A glance that sent further chills down the young man’s body despite the intense heat.

 

A snap of Twisted Eagles fingers produced a terra cotta bowl.  Several squaws had been carefully grinding some leaves and stems and chattering among themselves.  With considerable pride they presented the bowl to Twisted Eagle. 

 

Howell sidled up to him. “What the hell is that stuff?  What you gonna use it fer?”

 

Twisted Eagle was silent for a moment as he mixed the contents of the bowl. He finally answered.

 

“The juice of desert nettles has been ground with the stems making a thin paste”

 

“Holy shit!”  screeched Howell.  “That juice will drive a man crazy with itching when it gets on his skin!” You gonna put it on their bodies?”

 

This time Twisted Eagle did not respond but brought the lip of the bowl to the hollowed out bulbous gourd protruding from Jake’s flexing and sweat drenched buttocks, tilting it so that the thick torture sap would slowly ooze its way down the hollow neck of the gourd.

 

Howell started an obscene jig in his sadistic delight.  “You red bastards sure know how to torture a man!!”

 

“Please chief. While you do this guy, let me do the kid.”

 

 

Part 28

 

After hearing Howell’s repeated pleas to torture the younger Ranger, Twisted Eagle finally acquiesced in letting the head of the Rangers torture Yancy with the torture sap. And this decision on the chief’s part made him realize that the Comanche would then actually be allowed to observe both of the captives suffering as one, and that erotic thought was already causing him to feel a thickening under his breechcloth.
 

Dusk was slowly turning into night, and several young braves were lighting small fires along the perimeter of the small village, so that the tormented Rangers would still be able to be seen as they writhed in their bonds. The Rangers’ muscled bodies were in intense pain from having been in extremely tight suspension for so many hours. Yancy, in particular, had several painful cracks on his parched lips. And Jake, while still the more burly of the two captives, was breathing in a more labored way than his companion in torture.

Twisted Eagle ceremoniously handed the second orange gourd to Howell, who accepted it in his thick eager hands. Howell looked into the tired eyes of young Yancy. Yancy stared at Howell with hate in his eyes.

“See this thing, boy? We’re gonna have some fun with it. Yep! We’re gonna have some REAL fun, boy.” Howell slowly stepped behind Yancy, and then repeatedly rubbed the hard neck along the muscular Ranger’s asscrack. Upon watching Yancy writhe and twist, several braves could already be seen with hands aimed southward on their bodies.
 

“But not yet, boy. Not yet, son. We have time.” Howell deliberately placed the gourd on the ground, after which he asked Twisted Eagle for the bowl containing the sap. Howell then moved to the front of the torture frame. After picking up a small twig from the dry earth, he used it upon which to place a small amount of the sap, being extremely careful not to let any of the substance touch his hand. Howell then applied the sap to Yancy’s quarter-sized left nipple. He then did the same thing to Yancy’s right nipple. It wasn’t long before the young man felt an intense itch on his nipples. “Bastard from Hell!!” Howell only laughed at this verbal assault.

By this time, Jake was writhing intensely in his torture frame. As the itching in his anus was already slowly driving him to madness, Howell went behind Yancy, placed the bowl of sap on the ground and picked up the torture gourd. “Get ready, son. Here she comes.” Howell repeated what Twisted Eagle had done to Jake. Yancy’s glutes were smaller than those of Jake, but they were were beautifully rounded and already deliciously flexed for their gluteal onslaught.

Howell slowly pushed the hollow tip of the gourd well beyond Yancy’s sphincter, which caused a round of violent cursing from the Ranger. Howell then picked up the bowl and ran some of the sap down the neck of the gourd from the hollowed out bulbous end. It didn’t take long for the Yancy to feel the itching sensation once the “torture juice” began to find its intended target.

As the itching in Jake’s anus intensified, he began to scream. “Finally, a scream.” Howell was in ecstasy from what he had just heard from the hirsute Ranger. After handing the bowl of sap to Twisted Eagle, both Howell and the chief stepped back at a comfortable distance to await the inevitable scream that would eventually emanate from Yancy’s throat. And as the small fires continued to glow in the distance, both Howell and the chief were content in their knowledge that the night would be long and hard on the two sexily muscled Rangers. 

 

 

Part 29

 

“AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGH!!”  Yancy’s anguished scream suddenly pierced the warm night air. There followed several more deep masculine groans from the throat of the spreadeagled Ranger. It wasn’t long before Yancy’s screams finally joined those of Jake’s in a bloodcurdling duet as Twisted Eagle and Howell moved closer to where the Rangers were positioned. The two sadists had remained at a short distance from the torture frames, but this moment had to be savored as closely as possible.

The fires encircling the camp highlighted the sheen of sweat on the muscled bodies of Jake and Yancy. But it was the torture juice working its “magic” that gave Twisted Eagle and Howell the aroused feeling made evident to all who were observant. The two Rangers were being driven to the point of utter madness. And the itching sensation in their brutalized anuses enabled the captives to put on quite a show for Twisted Eagle, Howell, and the entire village. The writhing and flexing of muscle from within the torture frames took on an almost choreographic appearance, with one Ranger seeming to outdo the other in the fierce quality of their rhythmic pas de deux. The two handsome faces were contorted in a state of pain and discomfort. This exquisite torture would seem to make the night last forever for the two superb suspended specimens.

Realizing that Jake’s nipples had not yet experienced a taste of the torture sap, Howell wanted to make things even by applying some of the juice to the nipples on Jake’s matted chest. Jake’s nipples were somewhat smaller than those of young Yancy, but that wouldn’t prevent them from itching like hell once the sap came into contact with them.

Before picking up a twig with which to apply the sap, Howell moved behind Jake, after which he reached around and slapped the Rangers stretched, but firm, pec meat as hard as he could with both of his hands. “I wanna tenderize ’em, boy. You saw what I did to that young buck hanging next to you. And you have some purty nipples on that chest of yours. I wanna hurt ’em real bad, boy. I mean REAL bad, boy.”

It was then that Twisted Eagle moved forward with the bowl of sap. In an almost quasi-religious manner, the chief handed the bowl to Howell. After hurriedly picking up a small twig from the dry earth below, Howell quickly moved to the front of the torture frame. The alacrity on display here could only be that of a sadist whose anticipation was about to be realized. Howell placed a small amount of torture juice on the tip of the twig, and then applied it to Jake’s left nipple. He then repeated the same thing as he attacked the stretched Ranger’s right nipple. Loud moans soon began to emanate from Jake’s throat. The unbearable itching sensation had already begun. And the night was only beginning!

It wasn’t long before some children started picking up twigs and dipping them in the bowl of sap. Two or three of them had already been seen running to the edge of the camp to light the sap with the aid of the small fires that were still glowing there. As other children could be seen  following in their footsteps, Twisted Eagle’s eldest son was overheard offering suggestions about the best ways to torture the Rangers with the lighted twigs throughout the long night.

 

 

Part 30

 

Before her untimely death at the age of twenty-eight, Little Sparrow had produced four sons for Twisted Eagle. But it was the eldest of these sons, Running Deer, who equaled his father in his hatred toward the white man. This son had fond memories of how he and Twisted Eagle would often stay up late at night, recounting tales of the methodical and sadistic methods used to torture strong male captives who were unfortunate enough to have allowed themselves to be captured. But ideal captives were not easy to find. The capture of Yancy and Jake had more than made up for what had become a long and frustrating interval.

    Twisted Eagle and Howell observed Running Deer as he became more and more enthused while talking to the children about methods of torture they might use on the two “white devils.” This “chip off the old block” made Twisted Eagle extremely proud because he now had proof that his hatred of the white man would be passed on to another generation. 

    Children continued to run to the edge of the camp. Once the sap-covered tips of their twigs were lit by the small fires, they ran back to the site of the two spreadeagled Rangers. Howell and Twisted Eagle continued to just stand back and watch the show as the children mapped out their plans as to how they were going to torture the well-muscled Rangers. 

    Due to what can only be described as sheer ingenuity, Running Deer was directing the children to apply the lighted tips of the twigs to specific areas on the muscled bodies of the Rangers. Yancy and Jake, still dazed from the assault to their anuses, cursed up a storm as the children, some no older than eight or nine, pressed lighted twigs to nipples, the soles of feet, as well as a host of other tender spots on the bodies of these two most worthy captives.

    “BASTARDS!! I HOPE YOU BURN IN HELL!!” As Jake felt a fiery twig being pressed to the sole of his right foot, he cursed at the delighted children. Howell and Twisted Eagle just stood back and laughed loudly. As loud moans, as well as occasional screams, could be heard coming from the throats of the Rangers, the two master sadists encouraged the children to continue their merry play. A scream could be heard coming from Yancy as a lighted twig was pressed over and over again to his already tender and stinging nipples. “AAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!”

    Eventually, some of the women in the village began to take part in torturing the captives as well. Lighted twigs would systematically be handed back and forth between them and the children. Twisted Eagle and Howell continued to stay at a considerable distance, only occasionally indicating to the women and children where a burning twig should be placed. Howell screamed,”TORTURE ‘EM SLOW. NICE AND SLOW.” His leathery right hand could already be seen pressed to his crotch, and he was breathing hard. 

    This was truly a night of unspeakable torment for Jake and Yancy. One particularly sadistic female took it upon herself to tug very hard at Jake’s scrotum as she applied a lighted twig to the base of his already aroused manhood. Yancy was also showing signs of arousal, which only incited the level of sadism being displayed.

    As the Rangers continued to writhe in their respective torture frames, Running Deer asked his father if he was proud of him. “Very proud, my son. Very proud. You have given good torture, my son. You must not forget this night. Even when I am no longer here, you must remember to find the white man who will make good torture. You must promise me this. And you must never forget what I say.”

    Running Deer made the promise to Twisted Eagle that night. It would not be easy to find captives as worthy as Jake and Yancy, but the young brave vowed to himself that he would forever be on the hunt for male captives who would, as his father stated, “make good torture.” 

 

Part 31

  Twisted Eagle and Howell marveled at the way Jake and Yancy still had the energy to erotically struggle and twist in their frames. With the early morning sun already rising in the distance, the writhing of the two stalwart Rangers had finally subsided to the point where their movements were minimal and only evident at erratic intervals. However, this “dance of pain” was still giving the exhausted torturers much pleasure. There was indeed an erotic factor to the way the Rangers now moved, a rare homoerotic display of the subtle flexing of various muscle groups that was enhanced by a sheen of sweat coating the brutalized bodies of both Jake and Yancy.

  Running Deer was beside himself with glee, his manhood already standing at attention under his breechcloth. “Look, father!  Are you proud of me and the children?” Twisted Eagle quickly acquiesced. What was once the smooth skin of Yancy now bore the effects of the fire torture. And the handsome Ranger’s face was contorted in pain. Howell’s sadistic laugh could be heard as the hand on his crotch began to make steadier movements. In the other frame was the hirsute Jake, whose virile body was now a map of singed hair along with numerous areas that had been burned by the lighted sap.

    As the sun began to rise even higher in the eastern sky, Running Deer could be seen whispering in his father’s ear. Howell, who wanted to be a part of every aspect of these “festivities,” gave Twisted Eagle a gentle nudge in the ribs with his elbow, which implied that he wanted to know exactly what was being whispered by Twisted Eagle’s eldest son. This gesture, on the part of Howell, annoyed Twisted Eagle, and the chief began to reprimand Howell to such an extent that it summarily quieted his fellow sadist’s curiosity.  Howell realized that he had better “toe the line” with the chief, who could turn on him at any moment.

    Howell continued to remain quiet as Running Deer was heard ordering that the two Rangers be released from their frames. However, before they were cut down, Jake and Yancy were forced to drink an herbal mixture that was guaranteed to weaken them even further, thus preventing any resistance on their part. Once they were cut down, Jake and Yancy collapsed onto the dry earth, their spent bodies at the mercy of the braves who dragged them to a large tepee, which was located several feet away from where the horrific torture of the Rangers had taken place.

    “Good, my son. Let two Rangers rest. They are strong. And we must sleep as well.” Howell continued to remain silent as he witnessed all the members of the village retreating to their respective tepees. He was still uneasy about the way Twisted Eagle had treated him earlier. After all, if it hadn’t been for Howell, these two fine specimens might not have been brought to the chief’s village in the first place! But it was not the time to think about such things now. Howell had something even more important on his mind. Before permitting himself to lie on the ground and savor a restful sleep, he removed his throbbing member from within the confines of dust-covered pants. And with a howl worthy of the name of the person emitting it, Howell found release such as he had never known.   

 

Part 32

 

Howell fell to his knees, his energy depleted. As his equilibrium returned, the torture of Jake and Yancy was still playing itself over and over in his head. He had finally come to realize the extent of his penchant for sadism. While Howell had ordered the occasional flogging when an errant Ranger deserved it, nothing had quite equaled the prolonged torture of Jake and Yancy while in the hands of Twisted Eagle. The virility of these Rangers had stirred something within Howell that he had never felt before. And seeing them suffer while being tortured in their respective frames was beyond anything he had hoped to witness. After a deep sleep, Howell knew he would be treated to the continued torture of Jake and Yancy. And he relished the thought.

As the village continued to sleep, Howell reached for the bedroll that had been offered to him after he arrived. Despite the fact that he did his best to make himself comfortable, he still found that he could not fall asleep. He covered his eyes with his hat to shield him from the morning sun, but even that did not help. Howell came to realize that it wasn’t the torture of the Rangers that was preventing him from finding the peace of sleep; it was the disturbing thought that he  had been attracted to the Rangers. Howell had resisted these feelings for many years, but he had found it difficult to surmount the guilt that he felt whenever these thoughts got the better of him. He had so wanted to prove to himself that he could please a woman. He had tried throughout his forty-four years, but the women he partnered would often laugh at his inability to perform successfully.

It was already late morning, and Howell was still unable to sleep. He suddenly became aware of footsteps several yards away from where he was lying. One of the younger squaws had left her tepee in search of some water. He saw her walking to where the water-filled buffalo skins were hanging. Despite the risk involved, Howell felt he had to prove to himself that he could pleasure a woman. And if he could frighten this one into submission by having her agree not to say a word, he would then be able to safely leave the village without any suspicion directed at him. And, after all, Twisted Eagle had not been very agreeble toward him earlier. It was time to get even.

Howell got up and stealthily walked behind the tepees to where the squaw was standing. He walked behind her, eventually placing his large mitt over the squaw’s mouth. She struggled mightily, but soon found herself dragged a short distance away. After Howell knocked her to the ground, she was surprisingly able to escape before he pinned her down. He had underestimated the skills of his victim.

It wasn’t long before the entire village was awakened by the ruckus, Howell already having been restrained by three strong braves. Twisted Eagle slapped Howell’s face repeatedly. And it didn’t take very long for Running Deer to kick him in the groin, causing him to vomit. “YOU DIE, HOWELL!! YOU DIE SLOW.” Twisted Eagle indicated that the squaw he had attempted to rape would take pleasure in witnessing his torture.  Even though they had been bound hand and foot, Jake and Yancy were summarily brought from the tepee in which they were sleeping to witness what was taking place.

Pointing in the direction of Jake and Yancy, Twisted Eagle said, “These men brave. They took strong torture. They suffer good. They will live. Howell, you die!” Though still exhausted, and in pain from their grueling ordeal, Jake and Yancy just stood there dumbfounded by what they had just heard.

As the stripping of Howell began to take place, one of the torture frames was being readied for its next victim. Cursing at the top of his lungs, the now naked Howell was dragged to the frame to await his fate. The Ranger was strong, if not as well-proportioned as Jake and Yancy. As several braves began to spreadeagle him to the torture frame, Howell cursed The Devil’s Rangers. He cursed the day he had joined. He cursed Jake and Yancy. And he cursed Twisted Eagle and Running Deer. He was still screaming at the top of his lungs when the skinning of his right arm began. And Howell continued to scream throughout the long hot afternoon.

END