James West – Night of Forced Hegemony – Scene 2 (of 3) – by Amalaric

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THE NIGHT OF FORCED HEGEMONY:

Scene Two

James West; secret service agent, handsome and muscular, self-confident, clever, and just generally a cool guy…stood, stripped buck naked, on the cold stone floor of the abandoned factory somewhere in the forested wasteland of the Sacramento River Delta. The year was 1871 and Ulysses S. Grant was the oft besotted President of the United States of America and occasional confident of the captive agent. They had known each other since half way through the Civil War when Grant was a rising star in the struggling Union Army and West an earnest and impossibly young civil servant with extraordinary athletic charm fresh from the flatland of the grassy corn-strewn Midwestern plains. Both wanted something better from life; Grant found it in naked power and the bottom of a bottle, James West in adrenaline-fuelled patriotic adventure.

Though it was true that the pair had indulged, one memorable evening, in some amorous play…it was nevertheless a self-evident fact that James West was, in his own way, as straight as the eventual freeway built in the far future that split the San Joaquin Valley clean in half and eventually ran, all unknowing, within a very few miles of that place in the Sacramento River Delta where even now (in 1871) the captive secret service agent stood stark naked and wracked with uneasy anxiety waiting for God knew what at the hands of his erstwhile partner Artemus Gordon…but I digress. Ah, what the hell!! First, understand- that freeway runs like an arrow for over two hundred miles and James West was every bit as straight as that and, if you are interested, possibly Ulysses S. Grant as well. Still, boys will be boys and war is tough and often lonely business. I know…you want to get to the part where Jim gets tortured, right? We will, I promise, but if you want to understand the inner anguish of the handsome secret service agent…well then, continue to read my brief preamble.

Jim was a dazzling good looking, barely twenty year old freshman stud back in 1864 when the Union was still occasionally getting its ass kicked and Grant, though a little more than twice Jim’s age, cut a reasonably dashing figure himself. The newly appointed junior general, chaffing for further advancement, filled with reasoned ambition and horny as hell from a potent concoction of insecurity, early forty-something testosterone overload, hyped-up battle fatigue and any number of other things, couldn’t help but notice the newcomer stripped to his waist in the camp clearing; all tanned good looks and hairy splendour. James West was a man’s man, easy in his own skin (and he loved to show it), sliding through life like a lithe tomcat, but driven nevertheless by hungers of his own. When Grant invited him into his tent one sultry night it never crossed his mind to refuse- the older man was a general with destiny scrawled all over him thicker than a crazy pendejo’s graffiti spray gun art in the future Los Angeles. Drinks followed…lots of drinks. Jim did feel an odd reticence as a clumsy calloused hand pawed the furry cleft in his chest (it was a sticky, hot Summer night in the waning days of Old Virginia), and some real fear as the buttons popped on the ridiculously high cut Victorian trousers…but the warm slickery feel of his stiffening cock in the general’s mobile mouth was timeless and, if the truth be told, not all that different from the (feminine) camp whore enjoyed two nights before, except maybe for the scratchy feel of Grant’s beard, but even that was pleasantly exotic. He came with a vengeance, blowing hard streams of scalding cum into the general’s slurping maw; arched back and hammering heart not counting any cost whatsoever. It wasn’t until the next morning, with pounding head instead of heart, that James West had second thoughts about the previous evening’s sweaty sport, and then third thoughts, and, well…he would have probably ended up on a shrink’s couch except for the fact that Freud was still a boy and everyone thought that ego and id were simply conjugations from archaic Latin. Rumour had it that the journalist and rising poet Walt Whitman was getting up to much the same thing with anything that walked on two legs and had a cock and balls swinging between them…but that didn’t help all that much. Even so, he and General Grant remained friends of a distant kind, never mentioning much less repeating, what had happened so intimately between them and each eventually went their separate way, though Jim West would always be haunted, somewhere deep inside, by the undeniable realization that…the general’s rubbery lips wrapped around his rock hard rod…had felt damn good… He hated that, boffed the occasional wild west beauty with oddly desperate gusto, and hoped the anxious, fearful dreams would eventually recede.

And now, screw the commercial break…let’s finally get down to some business.

Artemus Gordon didn’t know anything about any of that. His lust for other men, and James West in particular, was infinitely more direct and, in some ways, far more simple. In other ways, as Jim would soon discover, it was also more complex and Artemus was impatient to acquaint his captive with some of the rougher nuance of sexual obsession. He motioned toward one of the bogus Union soldiers, ‘Get him up on the block!’ Jim spread his hairy legs, gripping the cold floor with splayed toes determined to make a stand but was no match for a burly pair of fake soldiers armed with slender rods crackling with electricity. Crouching down, Jim lashed out with a muscular leg, catching a surprised thug in the crotch. The man screamed, dropping his odd weapon even as his partner brandished his own, thrusting it at the secret service agent as his cat-like eyes darted back and forth looking for an exit from the factory. Jim bellowed frantic pain as the electric shock caught him by surprise, blazing a trail of molten fire the length of his left rib cage before balling up like a ravenous beast chewing a hole straight through one of his nipples into the hard definition of his deep hairy chest. He sank to his knees, panting with exhaustion, even as massive biceps continued to flex against the shackles binding helpless hands behind his back, chastened by the dim realization of blood seeping beneath the slick iron from abraded wrists. James West heaved a ragged sigh of grudging gratitude when his tormentor withdrew the electric rod, panting, bull-like head bowed submissively, staring with tear-blurred vision at the grey stone floor.

‘Get up, Jim.’ Artemus Gordon spoke dispassionately but an edgy coldness belied his intentions. James West staggered, once again, to his feet but this time his posture betrayed a different attitude; temporarily subdued, he waited passively for the next command. Still, as Artemus was well aware, the wily, athletic agent was a seasoned veteran of many a scenario similar to this one and needed to be…ah…handled carefully. Yes, very carefully…and firmly. He motioned with a nod of his head, ‘Over there…boy…that’s good, now, mount the block.’ West gritted even white teeth and did as he was told. Crossing the cold floor he slowly mounted the few steps to a raised platform referred to as ‘the block’, affording, in the process, a fine view of his lightly furred ass clenched tight and pumping nicely over the motion of muscular legs. Once on the block the young agent was doubly aware of vulnerable nudity, feeling the pelt on torso and wiry carpeted legs prickle with shame as the hot landscape of his tanned body was devoured by multiple pairs of hungry eyes. West was commanded to stand perfectly still under threat of unspeakable pain as the thug who took him down gleefully obeyed Gordon’s suggestion; switching off his slender electric rod, he traced a ticklish trajectory along the tightly clenched crack of Jim’s hairy ass. ‘Hold perfectly still…or…’ Jim was well aware of possible consequences and obeyed, barely breathing as the rod nosed almost shyly between twin globes of hard muscle. He groaned softly as the cold point butted against the sought after portal, teasing the hard pucker for a few seconds before burrowing deep like a hungry ferret. ‘Good!’ Gordon seemed genuinely pleased, ‘Think of this…ah…intrusion as a little reminder and, ummm, stimulus (he giggled) to good behaviour. Got the point, Jim?!’ West grunted disgusted assent, only shuffling slightly against the discomfort of the slender rod now nestled snugly in the depths of his ass.

Artemus approached the block, licking pig-like lips. His hands twitched at his side, eager to probe and explore but, instead, exercising some restraint, he turned away from the riveting sight of James West stripped naked and on helpless display toward an open door dividing the cavernous space from a smaller room. ‘Gentlemen, please, come in!’ A small group of well-appointed Victorian businessmen entered the factory as Artemus Gordon smiled a bright welcome. ‘Gentlemen, behold the freshly obtained merchandise! He awaits your perusal…take as much time as you need and, by all means, enjoy!’ Gordon paused and his smile became, if possible, even brighter, ‘But don’t forget, bidding begins in one hour.’

Wine was served from an expensive crystal decanter and the overhead gas lights turned up as the purchasing agents perused the naked stud reluctantly standing before them, shaking with impotent rage and gagging on humiliation. Artemus gladly played the role of tour guide; pointing out the most intimate parts of Jim’s muscular body, busy hands illustrating this quality or that which might be found desirable with casual strokes, probes, caresses, pinches, and knowing tweaks as if he had been through the scenario a thousand times…and, in a way, he had…in his imagination. Now at last he had James West at his mercy and Artemus was thoroughly enjoying the handsome buck’s helpless fury. ‘What do you think gentlemen?’ Gordon ran a fluttering hand across the broad sweep of Jim’s broad chest, lightly tweaking sensitive nipples before plunging in precarious descent along the southerly highway of silky treasure trail to a thicket of bristling bronze pubes. Jim winced but, nevertheless, mustered legendary self-control, standing rock still as the other man circled the root of his jutting cock with thumb and forefinger, sliding the makeshift ring sensuously forward along the thick, sensitive shaft. Gordon winked at the gathered purchasing agents and continued, ‘Please, gentlemen, feel free to examine his penis and testicles- major attributes and certainly an important selling point, don’t you agree?’ They did indeed, and Jim endured several moments of rough fondling as cock and balls were pawed, probed and commented on.

‘Very nice…’ One of the potential bidders casually fondled Jim’s walnut sized testicles, one after the other in their sweaty sack between trembling fingers, ‘but is he, ah…potent?’ ‘Do you mean,’ Artemus arched a dark eyebrow, ‘that you would like a demonstration of his sexual prowess…at least,’ he shrugged with mock modesty, ‘in so far as we are able to do so in this rather, er, public venue?’ The customers all nodded in eager unison. ‘Well, gentlemen, I think I can assure you that what you see standing in naked splendour before you, one James West, formerly a secret service agent in the employ of the President of the United States…is also an accomplished stud, at least that’s what his numerous feminine conquests stretching from coast to coast have to say.’ The guests didn’t really require much convincing but were, nevertheless, eager for the show. ‘And so, gentleman, I think that yes- a demonstration of his famed prowess may just be in order.’ Gordon motioned toward one of the leering thugs, ‘Bobby, would you please fetch that brass bowl over in the corner?’

James West thought that he knew the taste of humiliation only to discover that he had merely taken a few tepid sips. Now he quaffed the dregs of that foul cup in deep, forced gulps. In other circumstances the irony might have brought a wry smile to his handsome face…but not now. ‘What’s this? Can’t get it up?’ He actually tried, just to make them stop, to prove… Prove what?! To who!!!? Gordon had made a decent show of it all, positioning the brass bowl beneath the dangling head of Jim’s thick cock, lathering up his hands with some sort of aromatic oil, and beginning the slow stroke. ‘Relax Jim and just concentrate- let yourself get hard for these gentlemen and then I want to hear some music in the bottom of this bowl…just so we can all see what kind of a stud you really are.’ And he tried to obey as they all looked on, just as the bastard said, to get it over with…to somehow end this phase of the nightmare and give himself room to manoeuvre. Where was the fucking cavalry anyway? Time for a rescue, boys! Way over time if you ask me!!! The initial results were promising; West’s cock thickened considerably and expanded an inch or two…and then stalled; stubbornly, irrevocably…riveted on the old memory of a night spent in the general’s tent and its bitter aftermath. Artemus Gordon tried every skilful twist and stroke in his extensive repertoire of moves to no avail; James West cut a fine sight with his proud, well-shaped and sizeable dick semi-erect and tight balls glistening in the mellow gas light…but the bottom of the brass bowl remained as dry as stale memories.

In truth, Artemus wasn’t bothered in the least. Always an improviser and no man’s fool, he relished the ironic humiliation as his macho ex-partner shuddered reluctant impotence under the invasive touch. Though, obviously, Gordon had never seen Jim in live action, he knew instinctively that James West packed enough explosive juice between his hairy thighs to half fill the brass bowl. Suddenly struck with inspiration, he withdrew his hand. ‘Looks like our boy may be just a tad over-rated,’ he sighed with theatrical insincerity, ‘or maybe he’s just being stubborn.’ He then gave Jim’s slackening balls a hard slap. The naked agent’s whole long body convulsed with the sudden pain and he staggered, nearly stepping off the dais. ‘I told you to stay put, BOY!! Come to think of it, I’ve told you a few things recently and the results have been something of a disappointment. Well, first things first…’ Turning toward the assembled bidders, all wide-eyed fascination at the unfolding drama, Artemus Gordon put on an oily tone, ‘Gentleman,’ punctuated by a long sigh, ‘I haven’t lied to you about the studly prowess of the merchandise. He is (how do you say it??) simply being…obstreperous…and that, as you all know very well, can also be understood as the mark of a spirited buck, great sport to be had breaking him in and all of that.’ The clients nodded their understanding already having come to that conclusion. Gordon continued, ‘I do, however, feel a certain obligation…’ trailing off for a pregnant half moment before making his portentous announcement, ‘and so, my friends, we will extract from Mr. West what was not given willingly.’ The small crowd broke into wide smiles and murmurs of approval.

James West, knowing the gesture was utterly futile, tried to run but was brought back struggling manfully and lathered with sweat to the block where his legs were wrenched wide apart and bare feet cuffed and immobilized to eyebolts hastily hammered into the wood platform. With wrists still pinioned behind his back and feet bolted to the floor, Jim was utterly helpless and his new posture with legs spread obscenely wide accentuated his shame. I could kill him… The thought danced through Gordon’s feverish mind; instead, he hefted the not inconsiderable weight of James West’s dangling testicles in the palm of his hand. ‘Observe gentlemen,’ Gordon was suddenly all pedantic charm, ‘a man in his prime, gifted with a fine set of equipment…ripe for, ah, exploitation.’ He dropped James’ balls to swing lazily between stretched legs, tracing instead the warm shaft of arching cock with his forefinger. ‘The challenge is simple, gentlemen,’ he demonstrated by a wider perimeter of ticklish exploration running the inquisitive finger from the seam of West’s ball sack to the sensitive flared head of his penis, ‘as the young stud’s juice (a sudden hard flick to the head of his cock caught Jim by surprise and he let out a gratifying yelp) needs to be tapped and in the process moved from here (another hard slap to Jim’s tender balls bringing tears to his eyes) to here (yet again on the head of his cock…). Really, gentlemen, it’s all a matter of engineering.’

Humiliation temporarily forgotten, James West made a futile vow not to give the leering assholes any satisfaction. He’d be damned if forced to squirt, like some prized barnyard bull, in front of a bunch of men. Gordon read his ex-partner’s mind and, catching Jim’s enraged stare, returned it with a patronizing smirk. ‘As I was saying…’ The crowd of potential buyers was growing impatient, ‘the times we live in, gentlemen, are aptly named the Industrial Revolution…as the mind of man invents that which his forebears could only dream of…’ Moving behind his victim as he spoke, Gordon lightly stroked the slender metallic rod protruding from West’s furry ass causing Jim’s breath to hitch suddenly in his broad chest and massed muscles to flex involuntarily. The interest of the gathered onlookers was suddenly re-engaged. ‘Bobby,’ Artemus called to the ever-helpful blue uniformed thug, ‘would you be so kind as to hold the bowl in place?’ The thug responded with alacrity, shoving it between Jim’s spread legs. ‘Observe, gentlemen…one of the many wonders of electricity!’ He flicked a switch, activating the rod at its lowest setting. The effect on the captive agent was, nevertheless, galvanic as James West arched backward in the grip of a steady current channelled straight up his muscular ass. ‘Well, well…will you look at this!!’ Gordon’s admiration was entirely unfeigned as he playfully batted the springy length of rock hard cock suddenly jutting from between Jim’s spread thighs. ‘Please…’ Uttered with guttural, nearly inaudible intensity- more animal growl than supplication- Jim West convulsed in the throws of agony rushing toward unwelcome ecstasy. ‘Watch carefully, gentlemen!!!’ Gordon need not have bothered as all eyes were riveted on Jim’s pulsing cock; at least nine inches of quivering steel now dribbling a steady stream of slick precum onto the dais. Artemus glanced specutively at his pocket watch. ‘I’d give him another ten to fifteen seconds…’ and began the countdown. The explosion, when it came, was all that the group of potential bidders could desire as hot spools of cum shot from the stud’s excited dick and splashed with a gratifying patter on the bottom of the brass bowl. Jim’s virtuoso performance was rewarded with a hearty round of applause.

Artemus Gordon hushed the bidders and, glancing again at his pocket watch, made an important announcement, ‘It seems we still have a few minutes before the time appointed for the auction, gentlemen, and so…’ he frowned, ‘I think another sort of demonstration may be in order.’ Jim winced as his still-slick dick was swabbed clean by the ever-helpful Bobby and listened with sick curiosity as Artie continued, ‘You see…a bad attitude must not go unpunished even as a stubborn slave discredits his master. Mr. West forced the demonstration you all just witnessed and…’ he scooped up a thick glob of Jim’s glistening cum from the bottom of the brass bowl, brandishing it before the horrified captive, ‘it is quite clear that he was, indeed, ah….holding back on us.’ It all seemed so self-evidently true that each one present, in his own way, paused in thought, wondering at the nature of the punishment that now seemed inevitable. Artemus droned on, ‘Besides, the legendary James West is famous for his ability to endure any manner of pain and in any amount it may be dished out. Tell me gentlemen, would you, by any chance, care for a creative demonstration?’ The shouts of assent were gratifying to all but the naked buck restrained on the dais with his legs spread wide. James West merely hung his handsome head and waited for the worst.

The wide crystal tube was exquisitely crafted; roughly four and a half inches in diameter and perhaps eight inches long, one end was sealed by a pliant puckered orifice made of some rubberized material and the other capped by a silver hinged lid decorated with feathery engraving. Twin leather thongs trailed from extrusions attached to opposite sides of the tube on the end terminating in the orifice. Artemus briefly brandished the contraption before his perplexed audience before explaining its use. ‘You will note the purpose, my friends, of the end of the tube sealed by this finely crafted orifice…ah, there!’ Grasping Jim’s cock and balls he levered them past the orifice, which quickly sealed itself around the base of the now extended genitalia visible, as if James West’s cock and balls were meat in a shop window, stretched lengthwise at that end of the crystal tube. The leather thongs were then wrapped around Jim’s sweat-slick hips and tied together over the high rise of his ass, holding the bobbing tube firmly in place. Gordon smiled and motioned toward a small box wrapped in bright Chinese paper at the foot of the dais, ‘Bobby would you fetch that box, please? Be very careful…’ The box was duly unwrapped and Artemus Gordon removed a smaller tube that in other respects was nearly the twin of the one grasping James West’s aching dick and slick, outstretched balls. He held up the smaller tube for all to see and sighed with pleasure, ‘Behold, gentlemen, a rare treasure indeed, obtained at great cost and not unreasonable risk in a remote corner of the Austro-Hungarian Empire…the exquisite and very nearly deadly…Carpathian scorpion!!’ It was true, the smaller tube contained a skittering, clearly agitated, bright red insect at least three inches long with a wicked looking arched tail already dripping yellowish venom.

Now, you just KNOW that at this point there has to be a commercial break. Besides, after innumerable cups of coffee (and some cups of other things as well) and a shit load of fun, well, I reckon this scene needs to get wrapped up and posted over at ChainedMuscle. Tempting to just leave things to the imagination at this point and so, more or less, I will do just that…more or less.

The deadly bug paused at the end of the tube attached to James West’s captive cock and balls, freshly irritated by the change of venue but pausing to orientate itself. Artemus gingerly closed the tiny chased sliver door with a soft snick, locking the scorpion and an all-important part of James West in intimate companionship, each at its own end of an eight inch crystal corridor. ‘PLEASE, ARTIE…I’m BEGGING you, man…don’t do this!!!!!’ Jim had obviously heard of the Carpathian arachnid and was terrified, losing his legendary cool, begging for mercy like a little boy. Artemus stared at the scorpion, ignoring his erstwhile friend and companion. ‘Come on, little guy, let’s see what you can do,’ he chuckled as the scorpion took a few tentative steps forward. Dry, prickly legs dug into the soft shaft of Jim’s warm cock as the curious insect mounted him, danced up the length of the shaft, rooting for a while in some kinks of pubic hair before pushing against the tightly sealed orifice at the end of the tube. There was no way out and, used to getting its way, the Carpathian scorpion was not amused. James West stood as still as the proverbial statue, wanting to jump out of his own skin but instead barely daring to breathe. Out of patience at last, Artemus winked at the fascinated guests, ‘I wonder what would happen if…’ he cocked a finger and placed it against the tube. ‘NOOOO, ARTIE!!! Please…’ Gordon’s fat forefinger snapped against the tube and the surprised scorpion landed a sharp, wetly dripping hook deep into the engorged head of West’s cock. ‘AAARRRRRGGHHHHHHH, EEEEYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!’ Jim’s agonized shriek filled the cavernous room as his body convulsed with exploding fire further angering the arachnid, which reared up and sank another hot barb into his left testicle. Screams eventually turned to ragged whimpers even as the sweat poured off the hairy secret agent like tropical rain. ‘Damn!’ Artemus said, all breathless with delight, ‘that was fun…let’s try it again!’

This week’s show has ten minutes to go, and James West hasn’t even been flogged yet! Shit, Amalaric, when will you quit screwing around and get down to some clean, straightforward business???

The auction, for all of the drama that went into its build up, was a simple affair. James West, former secret service agent in the employ of the President of the United States of America, was sold to the highest bidder; a pasty faced Victorian gentleman with protruding Peter Lorry eyes and the nasty habit of chewing his fingernails. ‘Very good, Mr. Cockburn, you have seen for yourself, but I also want to reassure you- this merchandise is of the finest quality, your employer won’t regret the purchase!’ So…the asshole is only someone’s purchasing agent… Jim, barely conscious after his encounter with the scorpion and still in serious pain, mentally stashed away the information, waiting for his captors to make that fatal mistake…to let their guard down for even a moment.

Nine minutes left in this week’s show!!!

The hairy prisoner listened to the agent’s request as if from far, far away, light headed with the damnable scorpion’s poison still running through his veins, but, even so, his pounding heart skipped a beat. ‘My master specifically requested that, if successful in purchasing Mr. West, that he be thoroughly whipped before delivery; ‘tenderized’ was the way he put it.’ So, it’s come to this at last…well, at least I know what to expect… and THAT was the truth; James West was no stranger to the feel of biting leather against the massed muscle of chest or back.

They strung him up, still awkwardly naked, in some lengths of rusty chain dangling from the ceiling of the factory. James West cut a fine figure with his long muscular arms raised high over sweaty pits, chest thrust out, belly flat, and pert creamy ass jutting high in the sultry air. His burning cock and pendulous balls, though still throbbing with fiery agony, didn’t look worse for wear, merely a bit swollen, flopping mightily between muscular thighs. A denim clad cowboy approached, every bit as stern and silent as the Marlboro Man, fingering his twelve foot bullwhip like a long lost lover. Artemus pursed his lips with mild distaste; he preferred a more creative brand of torture, flogging wasn’t really his thing, but the purchasing agent was all wide eyed expectation, panting with anticipation as he sipped a glass of wine. The first slash of hungry leather was, in so many ways, always the worst, though Jim knew perfectly well that the pain had quite a while to build to its explosive crescendo. Got to handle this…been through it before… ‘UNGGGHH!!’ His resolve not to cry out was immediately broken as the first fiery trail striped his broad back. The second and third followed in quick succession and West kept silent through a superhuman act of will, but the fourth slash shattered his new resolve like brittle glass as the searing leather curled beneath an armpit and nipped a bloody mouthful of his exposed nipple. ‘UNGGGHH…AAIYAAA!!!!’ The masculine shriek slammed against deaf walls as Jim twisted this way and that in an instinctive, if futile, attempt to escape the questing leather of the expertly wielded bullwhip. When his back was a mass of crisscrossed welts and seeping cuts the tall whipmaster took a long breath, rolled a cigarette and, shifting his booted weight to the right, went to work on Jim’s fur covered chest and belly.

All good things have to eventually come to an end. The limp form of James West was detached from the swinging chains and laid almost reverently on the floor. Artemus couldn’t remember ever having so much fun and knew that he owed his ex-friend and partner Jim a huge thanks for the opportunity so thoroughly exploited in that long night of forced hegemony. In and out of delirium, Jim dimly felt rough hands insert themselves beneath sweaty armpits as he was hoisted to his feet. Unable to stand unaided, he was dragged on rubbery legs across the open space of the factory where so much had transpired that evening. Birds singing on the other side of a filthy window and a quick glimpse of pearly light told him it was morning, but really…he was past caring about things like that. The blue coated thugs tossed him, naked and bleeding, down the rough stairs of some type of cellar where he lay exhausted in the dust while Artemus Gordon and the mysterious purchasing agent watched from a doorway above. ‘Get some rest, Jim…you deserve it.’ ‘Fuck you.’ Though slurred and delivered with a quavering voice, the rebuke was audible at the top of the stairs. My name is James West, I’ve been through worse than this, I’ll escape or be rescued sooner or later and then I’ll kill you, Artie…I swear it… Artemus, all sprightly good will and lively interest, had always been able to read his partner like a book. ‘Maybe you will, Jim…and then again, maybe you won’t, but in the meantime, we’ve had a shit load of fun, eh?’ Unable to resist, he added a last taunt just before closing and locking the cellar door, ‘Get some rest, Jim…you’ll NEED it. Oh (as if an afterthought) did I tell you who actually bought you this evening? No? I think you may have met before, in fact, I KNOW you’ve met before. Dr. Miguelito Loveless, remember him?’ He laughed and slammed the door.

 

Stay tuned for the third and final scene in this first episode of the ongoing James West series…

________________________

4 thoughts on “James West – Night of Forced Hegemony – Scene 2 (of 3) – by Amalaric

  1. We all know West has been fighting his true sexuality ever since his encounter with Grant, and only uses women to fight his true desires. I wonder what would happen if he were captured and gang raped by outlaws. Or, what he he were captured and tortured by Apache warriors who humble their prisoner by sexually humiliating them and then gaining their strength by devouring their semen? Poor Jim, sucked dry repeatedly and penetrated roughly for hours on end. Get in line!

  2. Woof! (I have yet another manip…of James in the grip of Apache warriors…maybe will share that one eventually as well, if A-dude’s patience holds up?).

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