Me Too

He fucked me missionary style for a few minutes and then turned me on all fours and fucked me like a dog. He finished me in a side split. Once he'd gotten his dick inside me, I gave him everything. I opened up for him, moved with him, moaned and groaned with him, and gave him the sounds I knew he wanted to hear in reaction to his deep thrusts inside me. It wasn't hard to do. He was a master at the fuck and he gave me the full treatment.

When he was done, I lay there with my eyes closed, breathing shallowly, seemingly finally having succumbed to the drug. I wanted to see what he would do if what he had wanted to do with the drug was what happened—if it had put me out for a time altogether. I was surprised and a little frightened what he wanted to do, which is what he did. He kissed me all over and fondled me. Then, using both of our belts, he bound my wrists and my thighs and turned me over onto my belly. With my channel restricted, he saddled himself on my ass and fucked me again, bound. This time, though, he did it without protection. He barebacked me, coming inside me.

Afterward, he removed the belts, cleaned what cum he could out of my ass with his handkerchief, and sat next to me, waiting for me to come to enough to have some idea where I was and what had happened in the first fuck. I played to it, slowly coming half, but not fully conscious, as far as he could see.

Murmuring how nice I was in our "one" fuck, he redressed me and himself and virtually carried me to the bunkhouse and settled me on a rattan sofa on the bunkhouse front porch.

When I could manage, I rose, with a groan, and went into the bunkhouse and too the showers and then to bed. He had fucked me as good as anyone else ever had done before—even the kinky part was arousing. I got checked regularly so a guest could bareback me if he wanted to, even though the ranch didn't publicize that it gave that service. I just had to hope that Trident was clean too.

The next morning Spurs took me aside. "Did he do it? Where? I was waylaid before I could get out of the club room to follow directly behind you. But I couldn't see you inside his cabin and you weren't in the bunkhouse when I went there. I saved the glass he'd put the drug in and got one of the guys to witness me thinking it might have been drugged and wrapping it up safely."

"We sat out under the stars for a while, talking . . . talking," I said. He still wanted to talk about what I could do with a lighting and stage design degree. I think he's mainly just lonely. I think we're assuming too much.

"But he spiked your drink at the bar. I saw him."

"And I'll bet he saw you looking and decided it was all too risky to do anything. We just talked." I'd loved what Trident had done to me—with me. I wasn't ready to set him up and blackmail him just because Spurs was hot and heavy for us to do it—maybe mostly because Spurs was hot and heavy to do it. "Let's just forget it," I said, even while thinking about the next time I could be alone with Trident that Spurs didn't know about.

Spurs just gave me a sour look. I wasn't playing his game as he wanted me to but he couldn't call me in a lie. He couldn't have known that I lied.

* * * *

"I'm sorry if I got out of hand the other night . . . I think the liquor got to me and you are just so . . . so . . . I didn't ask that it be you to take me riding today. If you don't want to be the one—"

"It's fine. I don't mind taking you out," I said. I was cinching up the saddles on our mounts and not looking directly at Trent. I knew exactly why I was picked to take him riding today—why Spurs was matching us. Spurs thought that Trent hadn't made a move on me yet and Spurs wanted his plan to trap the actor and then fleece him to get a move-on. At the same time, I didn't think that liquor had gotten to the hooked actor the other night but, rather, that he had been trying to make sure that the liquor had gotten to me.

"And you're a guest here. We're here to make the guests happy."

"But I know that that doesn't give me license—"

"It's all right, really," I said. "It wasn't like I hadn't done it before and didn't know that there was a good chance I'd be doing it with you. You're a real hunk. I don't think you need to try so hard to get a guy to lay down for you. Most guys would be happy to. I would have been happy to even if I hadn't been feeling a little strange. I gotta say that I haven't had it as good as you gave it to me for a long time, if ever. You're a stud."

He clearly was pleased. "Well, I mean it. If you don't want to take me up into the Tetons, I can ask for—"

"Which the ranch foreman would take as a rejection of my services," I answered dully, turning to look at him for the first time in this discussion. "He'd take that the same as you complaining about me. We're not supposed to make the guests uncomfortable with us servicing them. I'd probably lose my job here. They'd probably take it that you wanted to lay me, which is fine with them, and I'd said no. And I didn't say no. You fucked me and I raised my tail for you."

"No, no. Of course that's not what I want," he blustered. "Again, I'm sorry. I won't make any trouble for you and we can just take that ride."

"But you were hoping that some cowboy would be sent with you who you liked and wanted and who would let you jump his bones?"

"Is that what all of the men who work here do—let the guests jump their bones?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"No, that's not what I expected. Well, yes, it was. But there are other rides. We could just enjoy the mountain scenery on this one . . ."

"Let's mount," I said, holding his horse steady for Trent to rise up on and throw his leg over. "The foreman is watching. I think he's wondering why we're taking so long. And don't worry, if you've forgotten to bring rubbers, I have them. If you want to jump my bones again, you're more than welcome to. You want to mount me again and ride me up in the hills, I won't buck you off. We should do it with protection, though."

I didn't look at him to see his expression as I rose up in the saddle of my own horse, but I heard him give a little gasp. I gave Spurs a hard look—I knew exactly why he had set this up—and absorbed the hard look he gave me back.

We didn't go any higher than the western foothills of the Tetons. Trident seemed interested in gazing at the mountain peaks as we rode nearer to them rather than being up there on the snowy peaks.

"I've never seen them from this side," he said. "I go to Jackson Hole frequently, and I enjoy viewing the mountains from there and from Yellowstone, but they are just as magnificent on this side—maybe more rugged and pristine without all of the park setup and people on roads below them."

"But you came to the western side this time," I said.

"Yes," he answered, without explanation. I knew that he did, this being the less populated side, because he was under fire nationally from having been caught up in the MeToo movement and having lost his television show and movie gigs and maybe even facing criminal prosecution. He wanted to get away from all of that. The press probably knew he went to Jackson Hole, which is the reason he didn't go there this time. There were claims that he liked his men young—some maybe too young—and in the throes of passion the other night he had remarked several times of how young I seemed—even though I was old enough to be doing what we were doing. Or, I should consider, that he had been doing to me. It was clear that he didn't require permission to fuck me and had thought he had me compromised to where I couldn't say no. I think I'd put him off center by letting him know I would have said yes anyway.

He just didn't know that I wasn't as out of it as he thought, that I was into it more than he realized, and that Spurs wanted me to make Trident feel like he was taking something from me. That, of course, was the crux of the matter—the root of Trident's problem and of his vulnerability. He wanted to trick it out of his sex partner and have the feeling it wasn't by consent.

After a couple of hours of riding, we stopped in a grove of trees beside a foaming stream tumbling down from the mountains. I took the saddles off the horses and laid them out near the side of the stream, hobbling the horses and leaving them to rest and graze on the grass.

"Would you like to go for a swim?" I asked.

"It looks much too cold for me—and that's quite a current."

"Cold it is, but the current is strong only down the middle. Off to the sides, it isn't so deep, and it's pure mountain water. It's like nothing you've experienced before. After the first temperature shock, you don't notice the cold."

"I'll still beg off, but feel free to go in, if you like."

"I think I like. It's a real treat after the primitive showers at the bunkhouse." I stripped, knowing full well what effect I might have on the man. This had been a scenario that Spurs had said I could try. "Do it innocently," he'd said. "Knowing the man's fetishes, I'm sure he'll go over the edge."

The kicker was the battery-powered miniature video camera Spurs had given me to set up while I was working with the horses. Attached to a tree taking in the area of where the saddles had been put, the camera would give Spurs a front-row seat to the action when we got back and he looked at the film.

I knew that Trent watched me strip and wade into the stream, diving in when the freezing water became overwhelming. Going whole hog was the best way to get past the coldness of it. He was standing there between the stream and the saddles, with a towel in his hand when I came out of the water, my teeth chattering. He enveloped me in the towel—and in his embrace. He buried his face in the hollow of my neck. He moved him hand down to my groin and took possession of me. I was trembling as much from his passionate, insistent embrace as from the cold water of the mountain stream.

He didn't talk. I didn't beg him—neither to leave me be nor to fuck me. He didn't ask for permission or signal in any way that he would respect my wishes if I didn't want to do this. He had approached me with more than a towel. He also had strips of leather, which, after he'd manhandled me over to the saddles and pushed me belly-down onto one of them, he used to tie off my wrists above my head. He also tied off my ankles. He treated me a little rough.

I knew then that he wanted a little resistance, so I did a little "Go slow; don't hurt me" pleading and added appropriate groans and sobs. He ignored the pleadings. He probably enjoyed ignoring them immensely.

And then he knelt behind me, eating me out and pulling my cock through my legs and sucking me off and, when he was satisfied I was open enough, he folded himself over me, thrust inside me—still fully dressed with only his meaty erection in the open—and rode me and rode me and rode me. He'd brought his own rubbers. After an initial pretense of struggle to give him the sensation of forcing me, I joined him in the ride, bucking with him and taking his hard cock deep and strong, gripping it with my channel walls, and making love to it as much as it was working to ravish me.

When he was ready to blow, Trent rolled off me, ripped the condom off, knelt by my head and ejaculated onto my cheek. He pulled back to lie against the other saddle, a hand still stroking his long cock, and sat, staring at me as he controlled his heavy breathing.

"Is that it then?" I asked. "Will you untie me now and we can continue our ride? I told you you could fuck me again and you've taken it from me like maybe I didn't want it from you."

"I'm sorry, Mike," he murmured. "I can't help myself. It's what arouses me. You are so young and sexy. Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, yes," I said. "I knew you'd fuck me. I'd hoped you would fuck me. What now? Are you going to release me or fuck me again?"

He didn't say anything, but his actions said it all. He was stroking himself to another erection with one hand and fishing around him his jeans pockets for another condom packet. He made no move to release me.

"You're going to fuck me again bound, aren't you?"

"Does it make you feel helpless to my lust—like I'm taking you by force?"

"Yes, it does," I answered, knowing this was what aroused him.

"Yes, Mike, I'm going to fuck you again as a captive. You're just too nice to resist. And this is the way that I like to do it best. To just take it. I like my young men to be helpless in the fuck. I can't help it. I tie them up or otherwise incapacitate them and fuck them."

"Then don't untie me," I said. "Take it the way you want it. I'll give it to you anyway you want it." That explained the drug even though he had the body to get what he wanted without that. It probably also explained the trouble he was in.

That visibly surprised him. He hesitated, but he didn't untie me.

"I'm going to fuck you again," he said. "I'm going to rip it out of you. You'll be helpless to stop me."

"Then do it," I said. "I'll try to resist. I'll tell you I don't want it, that it's not the way I like to be with a man. But you'll do it anyway—you'll take it from me by force."

This was what he wanted to hear. This time he stood and stripped off his clothes. He had a magnificent body for a man his age.

He turned me over and released my ankles—but not my wrists. My shoulder blades were plastered to the ground, the small of my back rising up the side of the saddle. My ass pointed up the sky, as he knelt between my spread thighs, his fists holding my ankles high and spread.

"No! Oh, shit, please no!" I cried out. "I've never . . . I can't . . . I don't want . . . Oh, fuck, you're killing me. You're too big. Fuck, fuck, fuck." I knew it was what he wanted to hear. I reduced my responses to whimpers and sobs. It was all an act and we both knew it. It was more resistant and pained then sex with him had been before. But I could tell that it moved him to higher realms of arousal.

He fucked me interminably in long, initially slow, but eventually vigorous and deep strokes, this time not pulling out until he'd filled the bulb of the condom.

Once again, I went with him, bucking against him, meeting him thrust with thrust, willing my channel muscles to make love to the cock, and crying out in want for everything he could give me. He could give a lot and he gave it expertly.

When we had both come, he leaned down into me and took my lips in a kiss.

"You are a real honey," he said.

"We at Carters' Ranch are determined to serve," I answered.

"Is that all it is, Mike? Do you take cock like you just did because it goes with the service at the ranch? I got the impression you were fully into the fuck when we got going."

"No, it's not just because of what's expected of the guys as the ranch," I said. "I liked it from you. I liked it the way you did me. I could take it from you again and again. That last time was the best. It was—"

But then I noticed that he was looking a little reserved. "I have to be honest with you, Mike. The first time was the best for me—and the other night when you were a bit out of it—when you were defenseless and vulnerable it wasn't just what you wanted me think. I'm sorry, but it's—"

"I understand," I said. And I did. It was his sickness—the prison of the fetish that he was trapped by. I also understood, though, that he couldn't have it all; he needed to start thinking about compromises. "So, we won't—?"

"Not unless I could recapture the feeling that it was the first time and you didn't have the control over yourself to fully agree to it, even if you said yes. We've done it more than I usually do. It's because you're so nice. But there are some other prospects at the ranch. I'm sorry. I hope you can understand. The first time, and without fully in control. That's best for me."

"Yes, of course I can," I said, pulling in my emotions. The man had moved me. He was actually everything I wanted in a partner—except for this little quirk he had that was getting him into trouble. "But tell me, Trent, wasn't the last time—when you knew I was acting but I gave you what you wanted to hear—wasn't that good for you? You seemed to be well into it."

"Yes, it was good, but it wasn't . . . I don't know, it wasn't everything."

"You know you can get a guy to act like this for you without forcing him or getting him drunk—or giving him drugs."

This gave him pause. He probably thought he had gotten away with the drugs.

"You're a stud of a man and a movie star," I continued. "How important is 'everything' for you? You had a good time with the role play. What's more important to you—taking everything from a guy, especially one who won't go with you again after you've tricked and used him without his OK, or running from the cops all of the time, not being able to have a job you love, and risking prison?" I didn't wait around for an answer, but I could tell he was going over it in his mind while I dressed and began to gather the gear up.

We packed up and headed back down the trail. He had gotten everything he'd come into the mountains to get from me. I hadn't, but that wasn't his fault. I couldn't blame him for being the way he was. He'd been honest with me—at least after he'd gotten his rocks off the way he preferred. I hadn't been honest with him. I hadn't been the innocent one.

Spurs met us at the barn and gave me a questioning look. I put on a sad face and shook my head. After he'd escorted Trident back to his cabin, he came back as I was rubbing down the horses and getting them back into their stall.

"Did he fuck you? Did you get footage? And did you make sure you struggled and made him take it from you? I know he'd enjoy doing that."

"No dice," I said. "He didn't lay a hand on me. There's no footage to show." In truth I hadn't even set the video camera up in the trees. I'd known before we rode up into the mountains that I wasn't going to cooperate in setting Trident up. He was already in deep trouble over his fetishes. What I knew and had experienced wasn't going to make it any worse for him.

He couldn't help himself, and, at least with me, it hadn't been one-sided. I had wanted what he did to me, and I had taken his help in getting connected in the movie industry when I'd finished my lighting and stage design studies at Boulder. The men he was giving references to would know exactly why Trident was providing the references, and he had been clear that they would want favors in exchange for favors as well. This system wasn't going to die in Hollywood just because of the current strength of the MeToo movement. And, to tell the truth, there were those in the movement who knew what was required to give their careers a boost and were prepared to take that step for a ride on the fast track. Few of them were innocents in the woods.

I certainly wasn't an innocent. I was going to ride the fast track if I could.

At the same time, I recognized how evil the system that raised the MeToo movement was—and I did my little bit to support it. Maybe what I'd told Trident had sunk in a bit. Within months he was back in movies—Hollywood can be so forgiving, fickle, and two-faced in that way—and I didn't hear of him getting in sexual assault trouble again. Back at the ranch, Ken and I used the video camera to establish what Spurs demanded of those he hired to work at the ranch, and the next summer when I came to work at Carters' Ranch, the foreman was a forewoman.