Website Migration Update
I moved the website to a new host, which I think will be more tolerant of the content this website hosts. Nevertheless, I do want to take a moment to remind everyone that the stories and content posted here MUST follow website rules, as it it not only my policy, but it is the policy of the hosts that permit our website to run on their servers. We WILL continue to enforce the rules, especially critical rules that, if broken, put this sites livelihood in jeapordy.
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JUST A SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT TO REMIND EVERYONE (GUESTS AND REGISTERED USERS ALIKE) THAT THIS FORUM IS BUILT AROUND USER PARTICIPATION AND PUBLIC INTERACTIONS. IF YOU SEE A THREAD YOU LIKE, PARTICIPATE! IF YOU ENJOYED READING A STORY, POST A COMMENT TO LET THE AUTHOR KNOW! TAKING A FEW EXTRA SECONDS TO LET AN AUTHOR KNOW YOU ENJOYED HIS OR HER WORK IS THE BEST WAY TO ENSURE THAT MORE SIMILAR STORIES ARE POSTED. KEEPING THE COMMUNITY ALIVE IS A GROUP EFFORT. LET'S ALL MAKE AN EFFORT TO PARTICIPATE.
JUST A SMALL ANNOUNCEMENT TO REMIND EVERYONE (GUESTS AND REGISTERED USERS ALIKE) THAT THIS FORUM IS BUILT AROUND USER PARTICIPATION AND PUBLIC INTERACTIONS. IF YOU SEE A THREAD YOU LIKE, PARTICIPATE! IF YOU ENJOYED READING A STORY, POST A COMMENT TO LET THE AUTHOR KNOW! TAKING A FEW EXTRA SECONDS TO LET AN AUTHOR KNOW YOU ENJOYED HIS OR HER WORK IS THE BEST WAY TO ENSURE THAT MORE SIMILAR STORIES ARE POSTED. KEEPING THE COMMUNITY ALIVE IS A GROUP EFFORT. LET'S ALL MAKE AN EFFORT TO PARTICIPATE.
Burt 'The Roper' Jackson (M/M) - Revival chapters added- 21 Sept 2025
I agree - the covers are very nice! The, er... glimpse of what's to come is much appreciated!
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MountainMan_91
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 362
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Namibia
Another adventure of Burt the Roper!!
Burt peered over the cliff edge; he wanted to get a lay of the land before he marched up to a possible hideout of Red’s men.
He had been tracking Red Roger’s men for a couple of weeks now. After his men helped the cattle thieves escape, Burt went to Cousin Kirby’s farm to get some supplies.
Soon after, he set off to find a trail to the big bad wolf of the West. His cousin warned him not to, but Burt was set on going after him.
Burt looked down into the hidden canyon. There wasn’t much happening; it was an abandoned gold mine, some turned-over mining carts, a building with a waterwheel, but the stream had dried up, and a pile of picks and shovels.
The one interesting thing was a set of railway tracks leading into an excavated tunnel. The tracks were designed for the mining carts, leaving the tunnel and disappearing into the dirt a few hundred feet away.
Burt could see a pathway going into the canyon; he headed toward it, pulling his bandanna over the lower half of his face.
He went down on one knee and investigated the tracks. One set only, passing here maybe once a day. He quickly walked down into the canyon and ducked behind an overturned cart. He kept his eyes scanning the area and his hand on his holster. He wasn’t gonna get caught unawares.
Now it was a waiting game. He had perfect visual of the path and the tunnel entrance. He needed only to wait for whoever it was to come out of the tunnel.
After about two hours, just as the sun was starting to get low, a smallish Mexican fellow walked out of the tunnel entrance. He seemed to be talking to someone, or perhaps he was talking to himself.
He walked up to a hand-activated water pump and started pumping water into a bucket. Once the bucket was full, he picked it up and headed back in, the whole time talking to himself; it sounded like he was a little upset, but Burt couldn’t really tell.
The cowboy seized his opportunity and slipped into the tunnel behind the Mexican man. He kept his distance and saw the man pick up a lantern, then walk deeper into the darkness. Burt kept a safe following distance, then he saw a larger glow up ahead; that must be where the man lived.
Burt heard talking but wrote it off as the man’s monologue that had been going since he first saw him.
Burt sneaked closer and closer; there was some dilapidated scaffolding, and he slid in behind it. It was a tight fit for his muscular torso and thick thighs. His leather chap got snagged on something.
Damnit. He squeezed a little, hoping it would come free; it didn’t. He reached back with his hand and tried pulling it free.
It gave way, but so did the scaffolding that Burt was using to hide; it came crashing down in a pile of dust and timber. The calamity sent a rolling, thunderous sound echoing through the tunnels.
Burt froze; he looked across the cavern that he now found himself in. There were about seven pistols aimed right at him.
Fuck! He was so sure there was only one set of tracks.
“Lookey here, fella’s, we got ourselves a little backdoor action.” The outlaws laughed, a raucous sound filling Burt’s ears. He also immediately realized his mistake. He came in the back entrance used by the cook. He looked over to where his would-be prey was placing a pot onto the fire.
How could he be so reckless? Cousin Kirby was right, again!
“Truss him, boys,” said the same outlaw that spoke earlier.
As the dust settled, Burt felt his wrists being mercilessly bound together; the hemp rope scratched his rough skin, but calluses on his wrists prevented it from hurting him. Burt got flashes of the weeks he was left bound by his trainer; it seemed a lifetime ago.
The Roper felt his elbows being pulled together to an unbearable degree; he let out a small puff of discomfort.
“The ‘ol cowboy feeling a little stiff?” teased the same man who was still holding his pistol pointed right at Burt. He was older than the others, a thick white beard resting on a twig-like body. “Ricky, make sure ya make ‘em knots extra tight. I’ll be damned, but we cot ourselves a real gudon.”
“Yeah, then you also know there are no ropes in the West that can hold me,” Burt said through clenched teeth. He sounded very intimidating; a younger outlaw tasked with binding his ankles actually took a step back.
“Tommy, git back in ‘ere. The big scary man can’t do nuthin’ to ya.”
The young man nervously came closer to continue binding Burt’s boots together.
Burt saw his opportunity; his legs were still free. It was now or never.
With lightning speed, he kicked the young outlaw right in the face, he head-butted another man who was right in front of him, and pushed back hard, toppling over and on top of Ricky, who was behind him.
In seconds, he was back on his feet and started running at the man with the guns. A gunshot rang out in the commotion; Burt heard someone scream in pain. He crashed into the leader of the gang and brought his knee hard up right into the man’s crotch.
The outlaw doubled over in pain and dropped his guns.
Burt sprinted to his exit, the way he came in, the backdoor. Five paces, four, three…
Something flashed before his eyes, and before he could react, he felt a lasso pull tight around his legs. He fell down into the dirt, knocking his wind out. He instinctively pulled his legs apart and tried to kick the lasso off, but the rope was pulled taut.
Burt rolled over and saw a sixth man walk into the dim light cast by the lanterns. What the other four scrawny and young outlaws lacked in ruggedness, this guy made up for. He was clearly the hidden weapon of the gang. He pulled at the lasso again, dragging Burt along the dirt floor.
Burt felt two of the young men jumping on him and slowly felt his hopes of freedom slip away.
His already bound wrists were doubled over with more rope.
“Pull those ropes tite, kid,” said the old man again. “No, no, no. Like this.” He stepped up to Burt, placing his boot on Burt’s hands, pushing them into his back, and pulling on the ropes. The knots were made extra tight.
Burt felt his legs getting a similar treatment. Ropes were wrapped around his legs from his spurs up to his knees.
The old man flipped him over onto his side and planted a kick in his midriff. “Take so, ya good fer nuthin’.”
Burt winced as he felt the wind knocked out again. He glanced around. While the two young guys were scrapping him around, the old man stood back, rubbing his crotch. Ricky was lying on the floor screaming, holding his leg—Burt guessed that’s where the gunshot went to. The other outlaw stood back, methodically rolling up his lasso and placing it back next to his saddle.
“Thas enuf, boys, bring ‘im ‘ere.” The old man indicated a spot against the cavern wall. Burt was dragged by his legs to the spot and then helped into a sitting position.
He glared at his captives; his cowboy hat was across the room in the sand, and his hair was falling into his face.
Burt knew he needed to play this very well if he wanted to get out alive.
Part III: The abandoned gold mine
Chapter 1Burt peered over the cliff edge; he wanted to get a lay of the land before he marched up to a possible hideout of Red’s men.
He had been tracking Red Roger’s men for a couple of weeks now. After his men helped the cattle thieves escape, Burt went to Cousin Kirby’s farm to get some supplies.
Soon after, he set off to find a trail to the big bad wolf of the West. His cousin warned him not to, but Burt was set on going after him.
Burt looked down into the hidden canyon. There wasn’t much happening; it was an abandoned gold mine, some turned-over mining carts, a building with a waterwheel, but the stream had dried up, and a pile of picks and shovels.
The one interesting thing was a set of railway tracks leading into an excavated tunnel. The tracks were designed for the mining carts, leaving the tunnel and disappearing into the dirt a few hundred feet away.
Burt could see a pathway going into the canyon; he headed toward it, pulling his bandanna over the lower half of his face.
He went down on one knee and investigated the tracks. One set only, passing here maybe once a day. He quickly walked down into the canyon and ducked behind an overturned cart. He kept his eyes scanning the area and his hand on his holster. He wasn’t gonna get caught unawares.
Now it was a waiting game. He had perfect visual of the path and the tunnel entrance. He needed only to wait for whoever it was to come out of the tunnel.
After about two hours, just as the sun was starting to get low, a smallish Mexican fellow walked out of the tunnel entrance. He seemed to be talking to someone, or perhaps he was talking to himself.
He walked up to a hand-activated water pump and started pumping water into a bucket. Once the bucket was full, he picked it up and headed back in, the whole time talking to himself; it sounded like he was a little upset, but Burt couldn’t really tell.
The cowboy seized his opportunity and slipped into the tunnel behind the Mexican man. He kept his distance and saw the man pick up a lantern, then walk deeper into the darkness. Burt kept a safe following distance, then he saw a larger glow up ahead; that must be where the man lived.
Burt heard talking but wrote it off as the man’s monologue that had been going since he first saw him.
Burt sneaked closer and closer; there was some dilapidated scaffolding, and he slid in behind it. It was a tight fit for his muscular torso and thick thighs. His leather chap got snagged on something.
Damnit. He squeezed a little, hoping it would come free; it didn’t. He reached back with his hand and tried pulling it free.
It gave way, but so did the scaffolding that Burt was using to hide; it came crashing down in a pile of dust and timber. The calamity sent a rolling, thunderous sound echoing through the tunnels.
Burt froze; he looked across the cavern that he now found himself in. There were about seven pistols aimed right at him.
Fuck! He was so sure there was only one set of tracks.
“Lookey here, fella’s, we got ourselves a little backdoor action.” The outlaws laughed, a raucous sound filling Burt’s ears. He also immediately realized his mistake. He came in the back entrance used by the cook. He looked over to where his would-be prey was placing a pot onto the fire.
How could he be so reckless? Cousin Kirby was right, again!
“Truss him, boys,” said the same outlaw that spoke earlier.
As the dust settled, Burt felt his wrists being mercilessly bound together; the hemp rope scratched his rough skin, but calluses on his wrists prevented it from hurting him. Burt got flashes of the weeks he was left bound by his trainer; it seemed a lifetime ago.
The Roper felt his elbows being pulled together to an unbearable degree; he let out a small puff of discomfort.
“The ‘ol cowboy feeling a little stiff?” teased the same man who was still holding his pistol pointed right at Burt. He was older than the others, a thick white beard resting on a twig-like body. “Ricky, make sure ya make ‘em knots extra tight. I’ll be damned, but we cot ourselves a real gudon.”
“Yeah, then you also know there are no ropes in the West that can hold me,” Burt said through clenched teeth. He sounded very intimidating; a younger outlaw tasked with binding his ankles actually took a step back.
“Tommy, git back in ‘ere. The big scary man can’t do nuthin’ to ya.”
The young man nervously came closer to continue binding Burt’s boots together.
Burt saw his opportunity; his legs were still free. It was now or never.
With lightning speed, he kicked the young outlaw right in the face, he head-butted another man who was right in front of him, and pushed back hard, toppling over and on top of Ricky, who was behind him.
In seconds, he was back on his feet and started running at the man with the guns. A gunshot rang out in the commotion; Burt heard someone scream in pain. He crashed into the leader of the gang and brought his knee hard up right into the man’s crotch.
The outlaw doubled over in pain and dropped his guns.
Burt sprinted to his exit, the way he came in, the backdoor. Five paces, four, three…
Something flashed before his eyes, and before he could react, he felt a lasso pull tight around his legs. He fell down into the dirt, knocking his wind out. He instinctively pulled his legs apart and tried to kick the lasso off, but the rope was pulled taut.
Burt rolled over and saw a sixth man walk into the dim light cast by the lanterns. What the other four scrawny and young outlaws lacked in ruggedness, this guy made up for. He was clearly the hidden weapon of the gang. He pulled at the lasso again, dragging Burt along the dirt floor.
Burt felt two of the young men jumping on him and slowly felt his hopes of freedom slip away.
His already bound wrists were doubled over with more rope.
“Pull those ropes tite, kid,” said the old man again. “No, no, no. Like this.” He stepped up to Burt, placing his boot on Burt’s hands, pushing them into his back, and pulling on the ropes. The knots were made extra tight.
Burt felt his legs getting a similar treatment. Ropes were wrapped around his legs from his spurs up to his knees.
The old man flipped him over onto his side and planted a kick in his midriff. “Take so, ya good fer nuthin’.”
Burt winced as he felt the wind knocked out again. He glanced around. While the two young guys were scrapping him around, the old man stood back, rubbing his crotch. Ricky was lying on the floor screaming, holding his leg—Burt guessed that’s where the gunshot went to. The other outlaw stood back, methodically rolling up his lasso and placing it back next to his saddle.
“Thas enuf, boys, bring ‘im ‘ere.” The old man indicated a spot against the cavern wall. Burt was dragged by his legs to the spot and then helped into a sitting position.
He glared at his captives; his cowboy hat was across the room in the sand, and his hair was falling into his face.
Burt knew he needed to play this very well if he wanted to get out alive.
Last edited by MountainMan_91 1 month ago, edited 2 times in total.
Ooooh, the Roper himself roped! This ought to be interesting...
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CowboyStud
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 88
- Joined: 7 years ago
Great continuation. I love it when the roper gets the tables turned on them.
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MountainMan_91
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 362
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Namibia
Burt's new position is one he doesn't like...
I hope you enjoy the next installment.
Burt rested his bound arms against the cavern wall behind him.
He looked around, taking in his surroundings and sizing up his captors.
There were six people in the cavern with him.
There was the cook, who was off to one side; he resumed preparing dinner after the action had subsided. He never showed interest in Burt, even while the others were fighting him—perhaps an ally if Burt needed one.
There was the leader, an old scrawny man. His bald head a stark contrast to his full white beard. He was by far the weakest, but he had by far the most years of outlawing in the band. His clothes were just as old as he was, tattered and worn. He was tending to the gunshot wound he had inflicted on Ricky.
Ricky was one of the young’uns. He seemed slightly more built than the other two. But the injury surely made him less of a threat.
The other two young outlaws were huddled around Ricky, watching, wincing, and commenting on everything ‘Old Pops,’ as they called him, did. They were not much; Burt could take them with one arm tied behind his back. Unfortunately, both arms were tied behind his back.
Then there was the lasso guy. He was every bit more of an outlaw than the other four. His body looked better fed; he was better clothed. He was definitely one of Red Roger’s men; the others were just hired guns. He was sitting a few feet away from Burt, watching every single twitch that ‘The Roper’ made. If he didn’t like a movement, the six-shooter was pulled out with alarming speed.
Burt couldn’t really rely on his body right now; he was tied up. The bonds felt slightly weak, but he couldn’t really tell. With hot stuff sitting right across from him, he hadn’t had time to really test the bonds.
Burt would have to rely on his mouth for now.
“How much?” mumbled Burt.
The man’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed.
“How much does Red pay you to do his dirty work?”
The outlaw kept a steely gaze locked onto Burt, not falling for his trap.
Burt raised his voice loud enough for the ragtag outlaws to hear him. “How much does Red pay you to break the law? I bet it’s double what you are giving these experienced gunmen.”
The old man looked over. Burt had a glimpse of hope, but it was shot down instantly, with the white beard moving up and down as Old Pops laughed. He shouted back, “We ain’t workin’ fer coins; we workin’ for fun. An’ we ain’t experienced for horse shit.”
He walked over, leaving Ricky and the other young boys to fuss over his wound.
“Yous can take a walk, Slick. I’ll watch the Roper fer ya.”
Slick looked at the old man and grumbled, rubbing his temples.
Burt was right; there was friction. He was just barking up the wrong tree with the money question.
He was soon going to be alone with the old man. Perfect time to work on sowing some discord with his words.
Burt’s plan was snuffed as Slick walked up to him and, using his foot, pulled Burt away from the wall and pushed him onto his front in the dust.
Slick was on him in a jiff, and Burt felt his ankles being pulled up to his wrists. Slick gave the rope a yank and placed his boot on Burt’s legs, forcing Burt’s spurred ankles into his ass, before tying the knot down. Burt was pulled back uncomfortably with the tight hogtie. Slick then added more rope to Burt’s wrists for insurance.
As Slick walked away, he grumbled to Old Pops, “Gag him, Pops. This’un has a big mouth.”
Old Pops’ mouth spread into a grin, revealing some missing teeth.
Burt wanted to protest but was able to compose himself, not granting his captor any delight.
“You made me shoot my own grandkid, you good fer nuthin’ bounty sack.” As Old Pops said this, he walked closer and plunged his hand into his pants and scratched his crotch.
He squatted before Burt and smelled his fingers. “That’s the smell of an old Pop. You, Roper, are gonna have a tough life.”
Old Pops pulled the faded blue bandanna that was resting around his neck off. He pushed it into his pants and rubbed his crotch into it.
Burt pulled a slight face, trying to hide his disdain, but he didn’t manage.
“That’s right, boy. Yous gonna taste an old man.” With that, he pulled the bandanna out and placed it over Burt’s lower face.
Burt got the first breath of stinky old man crotch, and he felt his stomach turn over. The normal musty scent of man was combined with an old dusty scent and some other foul smell Burt had never smelled before.
For the first time, Burt didn’t care about the façade he was holding up; he pulled his head away and felt his wrists tug at their rope prison, causing his ankles to pull closer and his knees to bend. He couldn’t get away.
“Hahahaha. I made ‘im squirm,” shouted Pops to the others. The younger outlaws, Tommy and the other one, walked over, joining in Pops’ laughter as they watched Burt struggle to get away from the smell.
Burt felt his emotions take over; he no longer had the calm, cool, and collected appearance. He thrashed at his bonds again, moving only inches away from the putrid bandanna.
“You boys do that too, common quick.”
The boys followed Old Pops’ instruction, taking their bandannas off and rubbing their crotches with it.
“Good, Tommy,” said Old Pops as he took the bandanna from the boy. “Now open up, Roper. Hahaha.” He was having such a good time.
Burt was having the worst time. He held his mouth shut, but it didn’t last long; the two young men jumped on him, one placing his head in a vice-like grip, the other prying his mouth open.
Old Pops forced the rancid bandanna into his mouth, and Burt tasted the scents he was smelling the past few minutes. It was horrid. In that split second, he almost felt sorry for the ones who he had gagged in the past using similar material. But they deserved it; he didn’t.
Tommy’s bandanna was pulled between Burt’s teeth and tied behind his head, keeping Old Pops’ bandanna safe and sound in Burt’s mouth.
“Now yers, Bobby.” Old Pops took the red bandanna and folded it up, placing it over Burt’s already gagged mouth. “Git me Ricky’s,” Pops instructed Bobby.
The last bandanna, a grey one, was also tied around Burt’s head, covering his nose and mouth.
Burt tried to let out a protest, but his words were reduced to only a slight muffle.
“Mmmmpphhh.” He closed his eyes, pulling on his inner strength to get him through the next moments. As he breathed in, he smelled and tasted the mixed body scents of four men. If he needed to identify each one to save his life, he would fail miserably.
The smells and tastes combined to form a foul-tasting concoction.
When Burt opened his eyes, Slick was crouching in front of him.
“Good job, Pops. I know exactly what’s needed.” Slick pulled off his own black bandanna and proceeded to tie it around Burt’s head, blindfolding him effectively.
The Roper, once again lost to his emotions, wanted to go into a frantic struggle, but the second he put pressure on the ropes binding his wrists, he felt it.
A slight give.
He immediately composed himself and decided to wait it out.
He knew he could get free; all he needed was an inch of freedom, and his training would take over from there.
Now it was a waiting game. Once his captors were all asleep or out, he could free himself and get his revenge.
But the wait would be long and torturous with that putrid taste and smell he was experiencing.
I hope you enjoy the next installment.
Chapter 2
Burt rested his bound arms against the cavern wall behind him.
He looked around, taking in his surroundings and sizing up his captors.
There were six people in the cavern with him.
There was the cook, who was off to one side; he resumed preparing dinner after the action had subsided. He never showed interest in Burt, even while the others were fighting him—perhaps an ally if Burt needed one.
There was the leader, an old scrawny man. His bald head a stark contrast to his full white beard. He was by far the weakest, but he had by far the most years of outlawing in the band. His clothes were just as old as he was, tattered and worn. He was tending to the gunshot wound he had inflicted on Ricky.
Ricky was one of the young’uns. He seemed slightly more built than the other two. But the injury surely made him less of a threat.
The other two young outlaws were huddled around Ricky, watching, wincing, and commenting on everything ‘Old Pops,’ as they called him, did. They were not much; Burt could take them with one arm tied behind his back. Unfortunately, both arms were tied behind his back.
Then there was the lasso guy. He was every bit more of an outlaw than the other four. His body looked better fed; he was better clothed. He was definitely one of Red Roger’s men; the others were just hired guns. He was sitting a few feet away from Burt, watching every single twitch that ‘The Roper’ made. If he didn’t like a movement, the six-shooter was pulled out with alarming speed.
Burt couldn’t really rely on his body right now; he was tied up. The bonds felt slightly weak, but he couldn’t really tell. With hot stuff sitting right across from him, he hadn’t had time to really test the bonds.
Burt would have to rely on his mouth for now.
“How much?” mumbled Burt.
The man’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed.
“How much does Red pay you to do his dirty work?”
The outlaw kept a steely gaze locked onto Burt, not falling for his trap.
Burt raised his voice loud enough for the ragtag outlaws to hear him. “How much does Red pay you to break the law? I bet it’s double what you are giving these experienced gunmen.”
The old man looked over. Burt had a glimpse of hope, but it was shot down instantly, with the white beard moving up and down as Old Pops laughed. He shouted back, “We ain’t workin’ fer coins; we workin’ for fun. An’ we ain’t experienced for horse shit.”
He walked over, leaving Ricky and the other young boys to fuss over his wound.
“Yous can take a walk, Slick. I’ll watch the Roper fer ya.”
Slick looked at the old man and grumbled, rubbing his temples.
Burt was right; there was friction. He was just barking up the wrong tree with the money question.
He was soon going to be alone with the old man. Perfect time to work on sowing some discord with his words.
Burt’s plan was snuffed as Slick walked up to him and, using his foot, pulled Burt away from the wall and pushed him onto his front in the dust.
Slick was on him in a jiff, and Burt felt his ankles being pulled up to his wrists. Slick gave the rope a yank and placed his boot on Burt’s legs, forcing Burt’s spurred ankles into his ass, before tying the knot down. Burt was pulled back uncomfortably with the tight hogtie. Slick then added more rope to Burt’s wrists for insurance.
As Slick walked away, he grumbled to Old Pops, “Gag him, Pops. This’un has a big mouth.”
Old Pops’ mouth spread into a grin, revealing some missing teeth.
Burt wanted to protest but was able to compose himself, not granting his captor any delight.
“You made me shoot my own grandkid, you good fer nuthin’ bounty sack.” As Old Pops said this, he walked closer and plunged his hand into his pants and scratched his crotch.
He squatted before Burt and smelled his fingers. “That’s the smell of an old Pop. You, Roper, are gonna have a tough life.”
Old Pops pulled the faded blue bandanna that was resting around his neck off. He pushed it into his pants and rubbed his crotch into it.
Burt pulled a slight face, trying to hide his disdain, but he didn’t manage.
“That’s right, boy. Yous gonna taste an old man.” With that, he pulled the bandanna out and placed it over Burt’s lower face.
Burt got the first breath of stinky old man crotch, and he felt his stomach turn over. The normal musty scent of man was combined with an old dusty scent and some other foul smell Burt had never smelled before.
For the first time, Burt didn’t care about the façade he was holding up; he pulled his head away and felt his wrists tug at their rope prison, causing his ankles to pull closer and his knees to bend. He couldn’t get away.
“Hahahaha. I made ‘im squirm,” shouted Pops to the others. The younger outlaws, Tommy and the other one, walked over, joining in Pops’ laughter as they watched Burt struggle to get away from the smell.
Burt felt his emotions take over; he no longer had the calm, cool, and collected appearance. He thrashed at his bonds again, moving only inches away from the putrid bandanna.
“You boys do that too, common quick.”
The boys followed Old Pops’ instruction, taking their bandannas off and rubbing their crotches with it.
“Good, Tommy,” said Old Pops as he took the bandanna from the boy. “Now open up, Roper. Hahaha.” He was having such a good time.
Burt was having the worst time. He held his mouth shut, but it didn’t last long; the two young men jumped on him, one placing his head in a vice-like grip, the other prying his mouth open.
Old Pops forced the rancid bandanna into his mouth, and Burt tasted the scents he was smelling the past few minutes. It was horrid. In that split second, he almost felt sorry for the ones who he had gagged in the past using similar material. But they deserved it; he didn’t.
Tommy’s bandanna was pulled between Burt’s teeth and tied behind his head, keeping Old Pops’ bandanna safe and sound in Burt’s mouth.
“Now yers, Bobby.” Old Pops took the red bandanna and folded it up, placing it over Burt’s already gagged mouth. “Git me Ricky’s,” Pops instructed Bobby.
The last bandanna, a grey one, was also tied around Burt’s head, covering his nose and mouth.
Burt tried to let out a protest, but his words were reduced to only a slight muffle.
“Mmmmpphhh.” He closed his eyes, pulling on his inner strength to get him through the next moments. As he breathed in, he smelled and tasted the mixed body scents of four men. If he needed to identify each one to save his life, he would fail miserably.
The smells and tastes combined to form a foul-tasting concoction.
When Burt opened his eyes, Slick was crouching in front of him.
“Good job, Pops. I know exactly what’s needed.” Slick pulled off his own black bandanna and proceeded to tie it around Burt’s head, blindfolding him effectively.
The Roper, once again lost to his emotions, wanted to go into a frantic struggle, but the second he put pressure on the ropes binding his wrists, he felt it.
A slight give.
He immediately composed himself and decided to wait it out.
He knew he could get free; all he needed was an inch of freedom, and his training would take over from there.
Now it was a waiting game. Once his captors were all asleep or out, he could free himself and get his revenge.
But the wait would be long and torturous with that putrid taste and smell he was experiencing.
Last edited by MountainMan_91 1 month ago, edited 1 time in total.
I much prefer to think of our hunky bounty hunter gagged than to consider the grossness he's gagged with... great chapter! I can't wait to see if and how Burt gets the upper hand!
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Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 449
- Joined: 7 years ago
- Location: UK
[mention]MountainMan_91[/mention] this is gripping stuff! When I was a horny teenager, in those prehistoric times before the Internet, I'd while away an hour or two in libraries with a pile of westerns, skimming through and (with the help of the chapter headings - there was always a Captured! or Caught!) finding the tie-up scenes. This was always a reliable genre for roping and gagging but, inevitably, the descriptions never went far enough for me. Your story is everything I wanted those westerns to be!
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
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Muscle-Flex
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 62
- Joined: 4 years ago
- Location: USA
What a (delightfully) foul predicament Burt finds himself in! Will he escape? What if he doesn’t? Perils of the Old West indeed!
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MountainMan_91
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 362
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Namibia
Howdy
Enjoy this continuation...
Burt knew if he was left alone, he could escape the bonds. He needed to wait for the correct opportunity to escape.
He could hear the outlaw gang talking around their fire; it was getting more rowdy by the minute. They were definitely drinking.
This was good news for Burt. It meant some of them might pass out; the scrawny youngsters shouldn’t be able to handle alcohol well.
Burt felt the ropes digging into his wrists. He sighed; the rotten taste of the crotch sweat filling his mouth felt like it was burning his tongue. The massive gag was doing a good job at keeping Burt silent. He knew there was no way he could get an intelligible sound out.
The blindfold needed to go, decided Burt, and he started rubbing his head against the ground, trying anything to dislodge the bandanna tied around his eyes. It wasn’t working; there wasn’t anything to catch it onto.
Burt wiggled and rolled over, trying to get closer to the cavern wall. As he rolled onto his back, he felt his spurs digging into his ass. His wrists burned as the extra pressure on the ropes dug into his skin. He rolled over further, getting back onto his front, this time feeling pressure on his crotch, that was by now rock hard.
He managed to get close to the cavern wall and scratched his head against it, dislodging the bandanna from around his eyes. He tried doing the same with his gag, but it was tied too tight.
The exertion made Burt breathe heavily; each breath drew in smells of the four crotch bandannas that were wrapped around and inside his mouth.
At least he could see what was going on.
He lay to one side, just outside of the orange glow of the fire. Old Pops, the cook, and the three youngsters were all seated around the flames, drinking and talking loudly. Old Pops had picked up his hat and was wearing it. Burt got a little mad seeing his hat atop some greasy old man’s head.
Where was Slick?
Burt scanned the room, trying to locate the tall, dark cowboy. He almost decided that Slick wasn’t in there when he spotted a dark figure walking toward him from the darkness.
Slick walked right up to him and sat himself down at Burt’s head, resting against the cavern wall.
“So, Burt the Roper,” he brushed the hair out of Burt’s eyes, connecting his gaze. “I expected slightly more, to be honest.”
Burt made a dismissive grunt. Just wait for me to escape, then I’ll show you, thought Burt.
“Amateurs,” Slick said as he looked across at his scrappy posse. “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be caught with them. But here we are. It’s good to finally have someone to talk to.” Slick grabbed Burt’s chin and forced his face upward to look into his eyes. “Haha. Too bad you’re gagged like that.” He let go, and Burt’s head fell back into the dirt.
“I want to see something. I’ve heard the legends; let’s see if they live up to their grandeur.”
Slick rolled Burt onto his side; Burt craned his neck forward to see what was happening.
He saw and felt Slick suddenly grab his crotch through his pants.
“Ggrrraaaaaahhhh!” shouted Burt, trying to dissuade his assailant.
“Oh, yes. I am not disappointed in that.”
Burt strained against his bonds, his body tensing as he felt his fly being opened. He twisted his body, trying to get away from Slick, but it didn’t help. Slick merely held him down against the floor and the cavern wall.
Burt looked over at the fire circle; they were all oblivious to what was going on here.
All of Burt’s frustrations were replaced instantly with a pleasurable sensation running over his exposed dick.
He looked down to see Slick’s head bobbing up and down as he sucked at Burt’s pecker.
A deep moan escaped Burt’s gag as he felt the sensation speed up. He was so torn; his mind wanted to be free, but his body was in bliss. In the end, his body won, as he slowly started thrusting his waist in tune with Slick’s head bobs.
His thrusts became quicker as he felt his body tensing; he could feel the buildup. He was so frustrated; he wanted to grab Slick’s head and force it deep into his crotch; he wanted to wrap his thighs around the cowboy’s head and feed him his seed.
Slick didn’t stop, though, as Burt climaxed. His bound body jerked a few times as his jizz shot into Slick’s mouth.
“Aaaaaaahhhhhh,” a satisfied moan escaped Burt’s throat.
Slick sat back, and Burt saw him wipe his lips on his sleeve. “Now that was what I expected.” Burt could just make out a wink and a smile in the dim firelight. “That’s a good boy.”
BOY. Burt hadn’t been called boy in a long time, and he didn’t like the sound of it.
He relaxed his muscles as Slick tucked his still-raging cock back into its confines; he felt the slack in the binds get more. Slick ruffled Burt’s hair as he got up and walked back into the dark side of the cave.
As Burt watched him walking away, he couldn’t wait for his revenge; he would not make it as easy for him.
The fire circle reached a new level of noise, and Burt looked back to them, settling himself as comfortably as he could, waiting for his chance…
He must have slumbered in, but he jolted awake; the fire was no longer, there were only some embers, and a lonely lamp was casting a dim light in the cavern.
It was quiet, and Burt didn’t waste a single second; he started exploiting the slack in the rope wound around his wrists. He worked circular motions together with tension, and soon he felt his wrist slip free. It was child’s play from there, and Burt pulled down the bandanna from around his mouth and spit out the foul-tasting bandannas.
Very soon, Burt was silently walking over to where Slick disappeared to.
In the dim light, he could just make out where the cowboy lay sprawled out, his holster resting on his saddle.
Burt didn’t waste time; he silently slipped the revolver out of its holster.
He placed his rough hand over Slick’s mouth as he held the cold metal barrel against his temple.
Slick groaned as he opened his eyes but was shocked awake as soon as he comprehended what was happening.
“Howdy, Partner,” whispered Burt.
Enjoy this continuation...
Chapter 3
Burt knew if he was left alone, he could escape the bonds. He needed to wait for the correct opportunity to escape.
He could hear the outlaw gang talking around their fire; it was getting more rowdy by the minute. They were definitely drinking.
This was good news for Burt. It meant some of them might pass out; the scrawny youngsters shouldn’t be able to handle alcohol well.
Burt felt the ropes digging into his wrists. He sighed; the rotten taste of the crotch sweat filling his mouth felt like it was burning his tongue. The massive gag was doing a good job at keeping Burt silent. He knew there was no way he could get an intelligible sound out.
The blindfold needed to go, decided Burt, and he started rubbing his head against the ground, trying anything to dislodge the bandanna tied around his eyes. It wasn’t working; there wasn’t anything to catch it onto.
Burt wiggled and rolled over, trying to get closer to the cavern wall. As he rolled onto his back, he felt his spurs digging into his ass. His wrists burned as the extra pressure on the ropes dug into his skin. He rolled over further, getting back onto his front, this time feeling pressure on his crotch, that was by now rock hard.
He managed to get close to the cavern wall and scratched his head against it, dislodging the bandanna from around his eyes. He tried doing the same with his gag, but it was tied too tight.
The exertion made Burt breathe heavily; each breath drew in smells of the four crotch bandannas that were wrapped around and inside his mouth.
At least he could see what was going on.
He lay to one side, just outside of the orange glow of the fire. Old Pops, the cook, and the three youngsters were all seated around the flames, drinking and talking loudly. Old Pops had picked up his hat and was wearing it. Burt got a little mad seeing his hat atop some greasy old man’s head.
Where was Slick?
Burt scanned the room, trying to locate the tall, dark cowboy. He almost decided that Slick wasn’t in there when he spotted a dark figure walking toward him from the darkness.
Slick walked right up to him and sat himself down at Burt’s head, resting against the cavern wall.
“So, Burt the Roper,” he brushed the hair out of Burt’s eyes, connecting his gaze. “I expected slightly more, to be honest.”
Burt made a dismissive grunt. Just wait for me to escape, then I’ll show you, thought Burt.
“Amateurs,” Slick said as he looked across at his scrappy posse. “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be caught with them. But here we are. It’s good to finally have someone to talk to.” Slick grabbed Burt’s chin and forced his face upward to look into his eyes. “Haha. Too bad you’re gagged like that.” He let go, and Burt’s head fell back into the dirt.
“I want to see something. I’ve heard the legends; let’s see if they live up to their grandeur.”
Slick rolled Burt onto his side; Burt craned his neck forward to see what was happening.
He saw and felt Slick suddenly grab his crotch through his pants.
“Ggrrraaaaaahhhh!” shouted Burt, trying to dissuade his assailant.
“Oh, yes. I am not disappointed in that.”
Burt strained against his bonds, his body tensing as he felt his fly being opened. He twisted his body, trying to get away from Slick, but it didn’t help. Slick merely held him down against the floor and the cavern wall.
Burt looked over at the fire circle; they were all oblivious to what was going on here.
All of Burt’s frustrations were replaced instantly with a pleasurable sensation running over his exposed dick.
He looked down to see Slick’s head bobbing up and down as he sucked at Burt’s pecker.
A deep moan escaped Burt’s gag as he felt the sensation speed up. He was so torn; his mind wanted to be free, but his body was in bliss. In the end, his body won, as he slowly started thrusting his waist in tune with Slick’s head bobs.
His thrusts became quicker as he felt his body tensing; he could feel the buildup. He was so frustrated; he wanted to grab Slick’s head and force it deep into his crotch; he wanted to wrap his thighs around the cowboy’s head and feed him his seed.
Slick didn’t stop, though, as Burt climaxed. His bound body jerked a few times as his jizz shot into Slick’s mouth.
“Aaaaaaahhhhhh,” a satisfied moan escaped Burt’s throat.
Slick sat back, and Burt saw him wipe his lips on his sleeve. “Now that was what I expected.” Burt could just make out a wink and a smile in the dim firelight. “That’s a good boy.”
BOY. Burt hadn’t been called boy in a long time, and he didn’t like the sound of it.
He relaxed his muscles as Slick tucked his still-raging cock back into its confines; he felt the slack in the binds get more. Slick ruffled Burt’s hair as he got up and walked back into the dark side of the cave.
As Burt watched him walking away, he couldn’t wait for his revenge; he would not make it as easy for him.
The fire circle reached a new level of noise, and Burt looked back to them, settling himself as comfortably as he could, waiting for his chance…
He must have slumbered in, but he jolted awake; the fire was no longer, there were only some embers, and a lonely lamp was casting a dim light in the cavern.
It was quiet, and Burt didn’t waste a single second; he started exploiting the slack in the rope wound around his wrists. He worked circular motions together with tension, and soon he felt his wrist slip free. It was child’s play from there, and Burt pulled down the bandanna from around his mouth and spit out the foul-tasting bandannas.
Very soon, Burt was silently walking over to where Slick disappeared to.
In the dim light, he could just make out where the cowboy lay sprawled out, his holster resting on his saddle.
Burt didn’t waste time; he silently slipped the revolver out of its holster.
He placed his rough hand over Slick’s mouth as he held the cold metal barrel against his temple.
Slick groaned as he opened his eyes but was shocked awake as soon as he comprehended what was happening.
“Howdy, Partner,” whispered Burt.
Last edited by MountainMan_91 1 month ago, edited 1 time in total.
But of course! We knew they couldn't keep our old Burt down for long! 
That was insanely hot. It was great to see Burt on the receiving end of the roping for a change, but I cannot wait for Burt to get his revenge on Slick and the others! Looking forward to all the ropes and gags that await us in future installments!
I liked seeing Burt in the other end of the ropes, I love when the guy in charge get's brought down like that! Not to mention it was insanely hot seeing him helpless like that! But it's also good that he finally got out, that way we can watch him taking his revenge on Slick!
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Muscle-Flex
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 62
- Joined: 4 years ago
- Location: USA
Uh oh. Burt is free of his bindings and a little ticked off. Will he cut Slick any slack or rope him and ride off with him? I hope he is careful with the rest of the gang snoring nearby!
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that1kid13
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 149
- Joined: 6 years ago
This is still amazing, keep it up buddy
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privateandrews
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 181
- Joined: 6 years ago
Great chapter, Love Burt being forced to cum .
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MountainMan_91
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 362
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Namibia
Hiya!
Continuation of Burt's latest adventure, a short chapter but hopefully enjoyable.
@Volobond @cj2125 @CowboyStud @thesean1 @Straitjacketed @Muscle-Flex @gag1195 @privateandrews @that1kid13 thanks for the comments!!
You will be happy to hear Burt has ton's more adventures to come. If you keep reading I'll keep writing
“Sshhhhh,” whispered Burt, “if you value being alive.”
Slick slowly nodded.
“Good.” Burt produced the bandannas that he had been gagged with just a short while ago; some of them were still soggy from being in his mouth. Burt smiled as he started pushing the soggy ones into Slick’s mouth.
The pinned cowboy pulled his face and groaned as two bandannas were forced into his mouth. Burt took a last bandanna and placed it between Slick’s lips, tying it behind his head, successfully cleave-gagging his captive.
Burt stood back and signaled Slick to get up, the whole time his revolver pointing at the dark cowboy.
Burt grabbed the collar of his own shirt and signaled Slick to undress; the cowboy hesitated, but the click from Burt’s six-shooter loading was enough motivation.
Soon, Slick was standing in the semi-darkness, totally naked.
Burt tapped Slick’s boots with his own; the cowboy understood and pulled on his boots.
Before heading out, Burt made Slick pick up all the ropes that he was tied with not too long ago.
Moments later, Burt was walking behind Slick, heading along the old mining track outward from the cavern hideout.
When they reached open air, dawn was just about to break.
“Ok, Cowboy. I’m glad you had your fun last night, coz there ain’t no more fun for you to have. Turn around.”
Burt grabbed the ropes and grabbed Slick’s wrists, pulling them behind his back and crossing them over each other.
“Hhmmmppp!” was the only response.
“I like this.” Burt slammed his palm down on Slick’s ass, leaving a red handprint.
A displeased grunt was all his captive could muster.
Burt started wrapping rope around Slick’s wrists, first looping around both wrists, then crossing a couple of times between the two, and finally cinching the ropes between Slick’s wrists. Burt made sure to place the knot where Slick would not be able to reach it.
The first sunlight hit the two cowboys standing on the abandoned tracks. Burt had to hurry; the rest of the posse would surely start to wake up soon.
“On your stomach.”
Slick seemed to refuse. Burt pulled back his hand and brought his palm down on the other bum cheek. It must have stung, seeing as how Slick jumped and screamed into his gag.
“On the floor,” repeated Burt.
Slick hesitated briefly but ended up going down on his knees and finally lay on his front, right between the mining cart rails.
“A little damsel in distress,” teased Burt as he lashed Slick’s ankles together before pulling his captive into a hogtie. That’s when he realized something. Slick was holding his waist in the air for some reason; Burt knew exactly why.
Burt pushed Slick over onto his side and gave a long whistle. “Well, ain’t that neat.” Slick was well-endowed, and the raging hard-on he was having was digging into the gravelly ground, making it very uncomfortable for Burt’s captive.
Burt grabbed one more piece of rope and swiftly started tying it around the base of Slick’s dick. “We need this guy to stay alert until we can give him attention. First, we need to handle your posse.”
As if they read his mind, Old Pops and the three young’uns came rushing out of the abandoned gold mine entrance.
Burt was quick to the draw; his revolver was out, and a shot was fired before Ol’ Pops even knew what was going on. A bit of dust jumped at his foot where Burt’s bullet sank into the sand. Burt had one revolver aimed at Ol’ Pops and the other at Slick, who had rolled back onto his front. He was more willing to take the pain in his dick than to let the others see his predicament, guessed Burt.
“Well, well, Ol’ Pops. You been counting your chickens before they hatched.”
It was silent. Old Pops’ hands were raised, and the young’uns were gobsmacked, not clear on what they needed to do.
“Tell you what, you tell me where Red Roger is, and I will let y’all leave scot-free.”
“We dunno where the big boss is. We answer only to him.” Pops pointed to Slick.
“I see,” replied Burt. “Well, why don’t you take your coin and go.”
“I tolds ya, we don’t work for coin.”
“I know, so take his coin,” Burt nodded toward Slick, “and go. I’d say that’s a win for you.”
Pops stood silent for quite some time; just as Burt wondered if the old man forgot the proposal, he brought down his hands. “You’s a smart’un, Roper. Deal.”
The posse headed back into the cavern, leaving Burt and Slick alone on the abandoned track. “So much for loyalty, huh?”
“Mmmmpppkkksssss.”
“Yeah, I agree,” laughed Burt.
Continuation of Burt's latest adventure, a short chapter but hopefully enjoyable.
@Volobond @cj2125 @CowboyStud @thesean1 @Straitjacketed @Muscle-Flex @gag1195 @privateandrews @that1kid13 thanks for the comments!!
The story made it past 15000 views!! Thats incredible! Thanks to ALL reading.
You will be happy to hear Burt has ton's more adventures to come. If you keep reading I'll keep writing
Chapter 4
“Sshhhhh,” whispered Burt, “if you value being alive.”
Slick slowly nodded.
“Good.” Burt produced the bandannas that he had been gagged with just a short while ago; some of them were still soggy from being in his mouth. Burt smiled as he started pushing the soggy ones into Slick’s mouth.
The pinned cowboy pulled his face and groaned as two bandannas were forced into his mouth. Burt took a last bandanna and placed it between Slick’s lips, tying it behind his head, successfully cleave-gagging his captive.
Burt stood back and signaled Slick to get up, the whole time his revolver pointing at the dark cowboy.
Burt grabbed the collar of his own shirt and signaled Slick to undress; the cowboy hesitated, but the click from Burt’s six-shooter loading was enough motivation.
Soon, Slick was standing in the semi-darkness, totally naked.
Burt tapped Slick’s boots with his own; the cowboy understood and pulled on his boots.
Before heading out, Burt made Slick pick up all the ropes that he was tied with not too long ago.
Moments later, Burt was walking behind Slick, heading along the old mining track outward from the cavern hideout.
When they reached open air, dawn was just about to break.
“Ok, Cowboy. I’m glad you had your fun last night, coz there ain’t no more fun for you to have. Turn around.”
Burt grabbed the ropes and grabbed Slick’s wrists, pulling them behind his back and crossing them over each other.
“Hhmmmppp!” was the only response.
“I like this.” Burt slammed his palm down on Slick’s ass, leaving a red handprint.
A displeased grunt was all his captive could muster.
Burt started wrapping rope around Slick’s wrists, first looping around both wrists, then crossing a couple of times between the two, and finally cinching the ropes between Slick’s wrists. Burt made sure to place the knot where Slick would not be able to reach it.
The first sunlight hit the two cowboys standing on the abandoned tracks. Burt had to hurry; the rest of the posse would surely start to wake up soon.
“On your stomach.”
Slick seemed to refuse. Burt pulled back his hand and brought his palm down on the other bum cheek. It must have stung, seeing as how Slick jumped and screamed into his gag.
“On the floor,” repeated Burt.
Slick hesitated briefly but ended up going down on his knees and finally lay on his front, right between the mining cart rails.
“A little damsel in distress,” teased Burt as he lashed Slick’s ankles together before pulling his captive into a hogtie. That’s when he realized something. Slick was holding his waist in the air for some reason; Burt knew exactly why.
Burt pushed Slick over onto his side and gave a long whistle. “Well, ain’t that neat.” Slick was well-endowed, and the raging hard-on he was having was digging into the gravelly ground, making it very uncomfortable for Burt’s captive.
Burt grabbed one more piece of rope and swiftly started tying it around the base of Slick’s dick. “We need this guy to stay alert until we can give him attention. First, we need to handle your posse.”
As if they read his mind, Old Pops and the three young’uns came rushing out of the abandoned gold mine entrance.
Burt was quick to the draw; his revolver was out, and a shot was fired before Ol’ Pops even knew what was going on. A bit of dust jumped at his foot where Burt’s bullet sank into the sand. Burt had one revolver aimed at Ol’ Pops and the other at Slick, who had rolled back onto his front. He was more willing to take the pain in his dick than to let the others see his predicament, guessed Burt.
“Well, well, Ol’ Pops. You been counting your chickens before they hatched.”
It was silent. Old Pops’ hands were raised, and the young’uns were gobsmacked, not clear on what they needed to do.
“Tell you what, you tell me where Red Roger is, and I will let y’all leave scot-free.”
“We dunno where the big boss is. We answer only to him.” Pops pointed to Slick.
“I see,” replied Burt. “Well, why don’t you take your coin and go.”
“I tolds ya, we don’t work for coin.”
“I know, so take his coin,” Burt nodded toward Slick, “and go. I’d say that’s a win for you.”
Pops stood silent for quite some time; just as Burt wondered if the old man forgot the proposal, he brought down his hands. “You’s a smart’un, Roper. Deal.”
The posse headed back into the cavern, leaving Burt and Slick alone on the abandoned track. “So much for loyalty, huh?”
“Mmmmpppkkksssss.”
“Yeah, I agree,” laughed Burt.
Last edited by MountainMan_91 1 month ago, edited 1 time in total.
Burt knows how to pick his battles! Now he's got Slick all to himself. 
Another great chapter! Glad Burt got Slick under control! I wonder what devious plan he has to get the info out of Slick! Can't wait!
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privateandrews
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 181
- Joined: 6 years ago
loving it. keep up the good work.
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Muscle-Flex
- Forum Contributer
- Posts: 62
- Joined: 4 years ago
- Location: USA
Slick just learned the hard way that there is no honor amongst thieves and Burt's not called "The Roper" for nuthin'. Short but sweet.
Love this story! Slick is in for a lot of trouble... Though maybe he won't mind it
Glad to see Burt back in action. Thanks for the great chapter.
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MountainMan_91
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 362
- Joined: 6 years ago
- Location: Namibia
Burt's adventures continue... ENJOY
@Volobond @cj2125 @CowboyStud @thesean1 @Straitjacketed @Muscle-Flex @gag1195 @privateandrews @that1kid13
“Now let’s see what I can get out of you.” Burt pressed his boot under Slick’s chest and flipped him back onto his side.
Burt placed his boot on the exposed hard cock and stepped down on it.
“Aaaaaaaggghhh,” screamed Slick as Burt increased pressure.
“Where is Red?” Burt’s question was simple and straightforward, like he was.
Slick breathed in deeply, trying to squirm away from the pain. “Mmmppppuuuuukkkkk.”
“Wrong answer.” Burt dug his spur into Slick’s thigh.
“Aaaaaaaggh!” the outlaw screamed into his gag, but Burt knew it would take so much more to get one of Red’s men to turn on him. Burt let out a high-pitched whistle, and soon Raider trotted over to them.
“Good boy,” Burt praised Raider and patted him on the head.
“Let’s get you into a position where you can talk.” Burt walked back to Slick and started untying the hogtie. Burt freed Slick’s booted ankles, then took a long rope he had grabbed from his saddle and tied a single noose around the base of Slick’s hard dick, where the other cock rope was already tightly tied. “You might want to get ready to walk,” he instructed the confused outlaw, who was still lying on the ground.
Burt hopped into his saddle and spurred Raider into a slow walk. The rope he held in his hand pulled tight, and he looked back.
Slick was struggling to get onto his feet, but the rope that was now taut and tugging at his junk made him work quicker. Slick was almost being dragged along in the dirt by his cock. Burt slowed Raider to a stop, waiting for the outlaw to find his feet.
“You ready, boy?” he asked Slick in a stern tone.
Slick had managed to get to his feet and was now gingerly standing, looking down at his manhood, reduced to an uncomfortable semi-hard-on wrapped up in layers of rope.
Burt spurred Raider, and they were off; this time, Slick was walking along behind them, being led by the leash around his dick.
Slick stumbled once or twice since he wasn’t looking where he was walking but rather was focused on trying to keep the tension in the rope as slack as possible. The stumbles resulted in the rope pulling tight and tugging his body forward.
Burt never even looked back at his prisoner, just smiling to himself every time the rope pulled tight or he heard a desperate yelp into the gag.
They didn’t go far, just around the hill to where Burt had seen some of the abandoned mining equipment. There were some tracks with an overturned mining cart and an old water tank, a dilapidated shack with some mining tools, and, finally, the thing Burt was after: an old waterwheel, next to a dried-up stream.
Burt led his trussed cowboy to the waterwheel; he dismounted Raider and pushed Slick back against the large, exposed wheel structure. Burt placed his rough hand around Slick’s neck and brought his face in for a kiss but stopped a few inches short, whispering in a menacing tone, “Now, are you going to tell me where Red is hiding? Or do we need to get creative?”
Slick looked into Burt’s eyes, no sign of caving in.
“Good,” said Burt as a smile spread over his stubbled cheeks. “I like it when they resist!”
Burt grabbed Slick’s roped-up cock and squeezed. Slick let out a pathetic whimper.
He is broken, thought Burt to himself, but still not willing to talk…
Burt grabbed rope and started tying Slick to the wheel structure.
Burt made loops around each of Slick’s wrists above the ropes binding them together and placed the free ends of the new ropes around two spokes on the waterwheel. The moment he untied the rope keeping Slick’s wrists together, he pulled tight on the loose ends, and Slick’s wrists were pulled outward into a spread-eagle. Slick barely had time to react before his wrists were tied down again.
Burt continued to add more rope, securing Slick’s arms to the spokes around his elbows, followed by ropes around his chest, tying him to the center of the wheel. Finally, Burt added ropes around Slick’s legs and ankles, spreading them outward along spokes as well.
“Now, let’s see if I can get you to talk.” Burt took the cock leash and roped the other end to Raider’s ankle. “Raider here is gonna go about his day. Let’s hope he doesn’t yank your junk clean off. Unless you want to tell me now where Red’s hideout is?”
Slick’s jaw was shut around the bandanna cleave that he had been sporting since early morning.
“Ok then.” Burt set about starting a fire to cook some breakfast, every few minutes hearing a helpless cry and looking up to see Raider wandering too far and pulling relentlessly at Slick’s crotch.
Burt smelled the lovely smell of baked beans heating up with a single egg he had managed to scout from a nest in the abandoned shack. He looked over at his bounty; two thoughts crossed his mind.
One, Slick was really a handsome guy; it was almost a shame to be putting him through this ordeal, and Burt almost enjoyed last night’s hand job a little too much, but Burt was able to push his feelings aside and get the job done.
The second thought, getting feelings for his bounty, made Burt involuntarily think back to Lambert, the obedient, tame, gentle bounty he will never forget… he wondered if he would see him again.
@Volobond @cj2125 @CowboyStud @thesean1 @Straitjacketed @Muscle-Flex @gag1195 @privateandrews @that1kid13
Chapter 5
“Now let’s see what I can get out of you.” Burt pressed his boot under Slick’s chest and flipped him back onto his side.
Burt placed his boot on the exposed hard cock and stepped down on it.
“Aaaaaaaggghhh,” screamed Slick as Burt increased pressure.
“Where is Red?” Burt’s question was simple and straightforward, like he was.
Slick breathed in deeply, trying to squirm away from the pain. “Mmmppppuuuuukkkkk.”
“Wrong answer.” Burt dug his spur into Slick’s thigh.
“Aaaaaaaggh!” the outlaw screamed into his gag, but Burt knew it would take so much more to get one of Red’s men to turn on him. Burt let out a high-pitched whistle, and soon Raider trotted over to them.
“Good boy,” Burt praised Raider and patted him on the head.
“Let’s get you into a position where you can talk.” Burt walked back to Slick and started untying the hogtie. Burt freed Slick’s booted ankles, then took a long rope he had grabbed from his saddle and tied a single noose around the base of Slick’s hard dick, where the other cock rope was already tightly tied. “You might want to get ready to walk,” he instructed the confused outlaw, who was still lying on the ground.
Burt hopped into his saddle and spurred Raider into a slow walk. The rope he held in his hand pulled tight, and he looked back.
Slick was struggling to get onto his feet, but the rope that was now taut and tugging at his junk made him work quicker. Slick was almost being dragged along in the dirt by his cock. Burt slowed Raider to a stop, waiting for the outlaw to find his feet.
“You ready, boy?” he asked Slick in a stern tone.
Slick had managed to get to his feet and was now gingerly standing, looking down at his manhood, reduced to an uncomfortable semi-hard-on wrapped up in layers of rope.
Burt spurred Raider, and they were off; this time, Slick was walking along behind them, being led by the leash around his dick.
Slick stumbled once or twice since he wasn’t looking where he was walking but rather was focused on trying to keep the tension in the rope as slack as possible. The stumbles resulted in the rope pulling tight and tugging his body forward.
Burt never even looked back at his prisoner, just smiling to himself every time the rope pulled tight or he heard a desperate yelp into the gag.
They didn’t go far, just around the hill to where Burt had seen some of the abandoned mining equipment. There were some tracks with an overturned mining cart and an old water tank, a dilapidated shack with some mining tools, and, finally, the thing Burt was after: an old waterwheel, next to a dried-up stream.
Burt led his trussed cowboy to the waterwheel; he dismounted Raider and pushed Slick back against the large, exposed wheel structure. Burt placed his rough hand around Slick’s neck and brought his face in for a kiss but stopped a few inches short, whispering in a menacing tone, “Now, are you going to tell me where Red is hiding? Or do we need to get creative?”
Slick looked into Burt’s eyes, no sign of caving in.
“Good,” said Burt as a smile spread over his stubbled cheeks. “I like it when they resist!”
Burt grabbed Slick’s roped-up cock and squeezed. Slick let out a pathetic whimper.
He is broken, thought Burt to himself, but still not willing to talk…
Burt grabbed rope and started tying Slick to the wheel structure.
Burt made loops around each of Slick’s wrists above the ropes binding them together and placed the free ends of the new ropes around two spokes on the waterwheel. The moment he untied the rope keeping Slick’s wrists together, he pulled tight on the loose ends, and Slick’s wrists were pulled outward into a spread-eagle. Slick barely had time to react before his wrists were tied down again.
Burt continued to add more rope, securing Slick’s arms to the spokes around his elbows, followed by ropes around his chest, tying him to the center of the wheel. Finally, Burt added ropes around Slick’s legs and ankles, spreading them outward along spokes as well.
“Now, let’s see if I can get you to talk.” Burt took the cock leash and roped the other end to Raider’s ankle. “Raider here is gonna go about his day. Let’s hope he doesn’t yank your junk clean off. Unless you want to tell me now where Red’s hideout is?”
Slick’s jaw was shut around the bandanna cleave that he had been sporting since early morning.
“Ok then.” Burt set about starting a fire to cook some breakfast, every few minutes hearing a helpless cry and looking up to see Raider wandering too far and pulling relentlessly at Slick’s crotch.
Burt smelled the lovely smell of baked beans heating up with a single egg he had managed to scout from a nest in the abandoned shack. He looked over at his bounty; two thoughts crossed his mind.
One, Slick was really a handsome guy; it was almost a shame to be putting him through this ordeal, and Burt almost enjoyed last night’s hand job a little too much, but Burt was able to push his feelings aside and get the job done.
The second thought, getting feelings for his bounty, made Burt involuntarily think back to Lambert, the obedient, tame, gentle bounty he will never forget… he wondered if he would see him again.
Last edited by MountainMan_91 1 month ago, edited 1 time in total.
Burt's brutal tactics always seem to work eventually - I doubt Slick can resist much longer. And I do hope Burt gets to tame sweet Lambert again