Captured in Wyoming Chapter 3

Author: lithium500mg
Title: Captured in Wyoming Chapter 3
Date: 01 March 2015

Captured in Wyoming Chapter 3

Let me review. You already know that I got sidetracked by rural Wyoming cops, ordered to strip off my leathers in a trumped-up detainment for possible terrorist-related reasons, and left tied naked to a post in a sitting position by cops at an even more rural ranch. I was attached to the post only by a makeshift collar. My hands were cuffed behind me and my legs spread wide apart and fastened to a section of pipe. After a while and with nothing to keep me occupied, I found myself with a major hard-on.

The only other time I got bound naked I got a great blowjob from a cowboy. There seemed the prospect of a repeat when the cops came back to release me. After a time of contemplating this possibility and enjoying the boner that I couldn’t touch, I fell asleep.

When next I heard cars and voices, it was Slim, GOB (the good ole boy) and someone else. The third man turned out to be both the County sheriff and the owner of the ranch. After a while the three came into the wood shed, talking. “Stand him up, let me check the goods.” This was the sheriff talking. After removing the attachment to the collar, each of the cops took me under one arm. They pulled me up so that I was standing, and held me to keep me from falling. I was still handcuffed naked with my legs forced wide by the section of pipe, so wide I couldn’t hold my balance by myself.

“Sir?” I said, and got a slap to the balls from the sheriff who was now right up close to me. My knees buckled, but I was held up by the two cops, both still in uniform.

“Speak again without being spoken to and you’ll be gagged with horseshit.” These guys didn’t mess around, and I obeyed. The sheriff fingered my balls and dick, digging his forefinger uncomfortably into my piss-hole. He ordered me to open my mouth and, after a real or imagined inspection, ordered me to clean this finger. I did. “I love the muscles. A good mouth. Bend him over.”

The uniformed boys bent me forward. The sheriff reached to pull my buns apart. I could have resisted, even with my legs pulled apart, having very strong gluts like all wrestlers. They meant business with the horseshit, and I relaxed my backside. This submission to opening my butt did not bode well for the future.

“He won’t be missed for two weeks,” Slim answered. “He’s a biker. And we found a singlet and wrestling shoes in his stuff. He’s real strong.”

“Nice restraint job. I can see why you locked the legs open. How are we going to keep this one in line?” The sheriff was looking me over like a luscious piece of meat. “You want to say something real bad, don’t you kid?” He was twisting my nipples, rubbing my muscles, fingering my dick, squeezing my balls, generally weird and creepy stuff. I think he was trying to make me hard, but it wasn’t happening for this queer.

“Will the shock collar be enough?”

“No, but we’ll put it on him, keep him cuffed and you can control him with the cattle prod.”

I was beginning to understand what was going on. The cops were pimping for the faggot sheriff, and had done it before. I have nothing against faggots. My experience at the 101 Ranch was that they give great head. But this guy was disturbing.

Previously I described the physique of the cops, who both had good but different builds. The sheriff was not so nicely put together. He had a soft belly, thinning hair, and a face that one might attribute to too much liquor. I would guess he was about 50 years old; I never found out for sure. He was dressed in a Sheriff’s uniform, and was about 175 cm tall (5’9”), and about 90 kilos (~198lb).

“Collar him and bring him into the house.”

The cops went to a bin and pulled out the shock collar and prod. I was terrified. I was particularly terrified of getting a cattle prod shot to my cock and balls. I didn’t fight the inevitable.

The shock collar fit tight to my neck, which is a thick wrestler’s neck. It was tight enough to force my head up more than normal. GOB tested it out, of course, but only after greasing it with what I think was a conductive material. I found out that it was a good method to enforce compliance. I thought my neck would be burnt through, and, when I tried to scream, my vocal chords were not working. Everything was OK shortly after the shocks stopped.

A lock was applied to the stainless steel collar. I found out later that these things were available online, and pricey. These guys obviously had used it before, and planned to use it again.

Slim and GOB dragged me out of the barn with my hands cuffed and my legs still splayed out wide and attached to the pipe. I couldn’t walk at all, so my legs dragged behind with my toes scraping against the ground. I got dropped twice, and barely avoided eating the dusty soil. They turned me sideways to get me through the ranch house door, and set me down on a hard chair in the kitchen. It was uncomfortable to have my cuffed hands against the chair back, my bare butt not fully on the seat, and my legs open wide.

Slim and GOB gave the remote to the collar to the sheriff, said their goodbyes and drove off.

“Boy? Welcome to the ranch. You’ll be spendin’ a few days here. I want to be your friend. Let’s get to know each other.”

By now I was getting hungry and thirsty. It had been several hours since I was stripped and cuffed, and I was feeling a little weak.

“Let’s clean up and I’ll fix us some dinner. First of all, let me try this out.”

He helped me out of the chair onto the floor, so now I was face up with my hands cuffed behind and legs splayed out, still helpless. I could somewhat relax, had my hands in a reasonably comfortable position in the small of my back, and had pressure on my ankles from attachment to the pipe gone.

“You look real good, muscle boy.” He took off his shirt, kneeled down and started rubbing my chest and nipples. “I bet you get real horny. You like this boy?” He moved his hand to my groin and started trying to get me hard. I was having none of it. After a while, he reached over for the remote, knelt down over me, one knee on each side of my chest, and activated the collar.

When the shock hit me, my body jumped and I cried out, screamed really. “That seems like a good setting.”

“Now boy, I need you to make me happy.” He took off his shoes and socks, and followed with his pants and shorts. His naked body was soft and disgusting, and his tiny dick was barely visible in his pubes. He got down on his knees and put his dick over my face. He gave me one more shock after which my tongue dutifully met his cock and balls. I cleaned his balls, began working his dick, and accepted his cum. He repeatedly said “swallow” and I did. The collar straightened my neck and it was actually easier for me to swallow the unwelcome fluid than to spit it out.

He got off of me and left the room. When the shame of the degradation hit me in a few minutes, I started to cry. I was crying not only because I sucked a man’s dick and balls and took his cum, but because I was captured and helpless. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me, and I wanted so badly just to be able to close up my legs.

When the sheriff came back into the room, he was cleaned up, dressed only in boxer shorts, and carrying the cattle prod. “I feel much better, boy. Let’s do that again sometime.” He touched the cattle prod to my balls.