Desert Studs E-Book

Zack Fraker

• Herausgeber: Bruno-Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

When Joe and Alan decide on a backpacking expedition in the Arizona Desert, they want the trip to be tough, grueling, and hot. But what they encounter is heat of a different kind—rutting studs! Kidnapped on the desert sands, they are flown to a luxury hideaway and meet Uli, mastermind of sex and drugs, slave master over a stable of young studs trained to please every perversion the rich can pay for … In this searing dream world of wild sex, where anything goes and no animal urge is denied, lust goes berserk in a prison with its own rules—can Joe and Alan take it?

Leseprobe

To Alan Purnell

who sowed the seed…

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man.

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

~

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Inhalt

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

About the Book

About the Author

Impressum

More Books

CHAPTER ONE

Truck-Stop Pick-Up

The Peterbilt 587 truck swung south off I-40, known locally as Needles Freeway, some two hundred miles east of Bakersfield. Its engine noise altered, dropped away momentarily on the gear change and then whined more loudly as the big rig dropped down the feeder road to join Kelbaker Road south-bound. The lengthening sun to the driver’s right cut long shapes from the slumped forms of the two hitchers he’d picked up on Highway 58 at the intersection for Mojave Air & Spaceport. Behind him in his mirrors, the shadow of the Interstate 40 overpass slashed a black line across the deeply crazed surface of the desert-colored two-lane. Seven-thirty in the evening and the sun was already slipping behind the far range of ochre hills in the west. Deepening blue-purple shadows fled away from the low scrub bushes dotting the otherwise featureless Sonoran desert floor.

Tyler Garrett eased his back. He could almost close his eyes on this road, which cut a sword-straight line through the wasteland. His big truck powered effortlessly along the narrow ribbon. Road and vehicle were the only marks of civilization under the great dark blue dome of sky, that and the guttural growl from its big exhaust, which broke the evening stillness. Inside the rig’s expensive cab the powerful engine was muted to a low purring and a gentle, almost sensuous vibration which insinuated itself through the soft leather of the seats into the thighs of the three men.

His two passengers had been lulled into sleep by the still-warm rays of the sun and the hypnotic rhythms of the cab after three and a half hours’ non-stop driving. But Tyler remained alert and watchful, although his eyes were not fixed entirely ahead. His attention drifted back and forth between the tedious road and the sleeping form nearest him. His dark, deep-set eyes lingered on the bare, thickly-muscled thighs, their down of golden hair almost invisible against the dark-tanned, taut skin. His gaze flicked to the tight, travel-stained army khaki shorts, their legs rolled up into the crotch. He suspected the grime came more from design than desert wear. Both men smacked of city. They must have flown into Mojave from L.A. or San Francisco, perhaps from San Diego. Somewhere urban, anyway. On climbing aboard they introduced themselves as Ryan Deever and Ethan Flint, and it was Ryan slumped next to him, his bulky naked shoulder tucked just under Tyler’s arm, who Tyler had in his lustful gaze.

As he watched, the young guy slipped farther down into his seat to get more comfortable and spread his legs wider. It was an unself-conscious movement, for his eyes remained firmly closed under the mantle of sleep, but it had an electrifying effect on the trucker. As Tyler snatched a look, a small balloon of heavy scrotum extruded from the confining leg of the shorts, and it filled suddenly and tightly as a fat testicle followed it out. Tyler’s mouth ran dry. He ran the flat of his tongue across first the upper and then the lower lip to moisten them.

Ryan’s head fell onto his far shoulder and he began to snore softly. After a minute Tyler heard occasional mutters and the kid’s eyeballs moved under closed lids as he began to dream fitfully. The deeper slump in his seat pulled the well-worn khaki of his shorts tighter around his hips and now Tyler could see the humped outline of a fat, soft six inches of cock. In his fervid imagination, Tyler visualized it resting in the dark, sweaty warmth of the shorts, and lying on the thick, bushy crotch hair. A teamster’s life can be a lonely one, out on the trackless highways of America. Some he knew whiled away the long hours singing to Country and Western cranked out at top volume from their onboard sound systems; others still loved their CB radio, tuned to channel 19, to chat with other truckers and the invaluable hobbyist relayers chained to their desks throughout the nation. Tyler couldn’t be bothered with much of that sort of stuff. He preferred sex, and if the real thing wasn’t available, he’d simply mind-invent it. And he was good. Take the kid with the better part of one delectable gonad on show next to him. Those dreams; Tyler shared them…

His dreams are of the kind that appear in that half-world between sleeping and waking, mingling fantasy with reality. Far away, Tyler-Ryan can feel the vibrations of the transmission through the damp warmth of the leather seat at his back and under his butt. It’s as if the engine’s quivering is transformed into gently stroking fingers which trace the outline of his cock and balls. The lingering attention ignites them with a warmth that spreads through the muscles of his body. The setting sun is hot on his face and the blood-red hues color his dreams. He feels rather than sees the soft yet hard body beneath him, the muscles curved and sinuous, feels the hot skin rubbing his own flesh.

The other writhes and struggles, not wanting to escape yet not ready to submit. His mouth meets another mouth, opens, and all at once it is as if their bodies have become their tongues and they roll together and search each other in hot, wet caverns filled with blood-red light, coiling and uncoiling around each other, stretching and pressing their muscles.

Then suddenly the body is beneath him again and he becomes aware that his cock is hard, massive and throbbing, more urgent than he has ever remembered it. Pre-cum juices drip from the tip as he pushes it between the hard ass cheeks. He begs at the gates for entry and pushes urgently, hungry for entry. He groans as he begins to lose control. He feels his cockhead slip into the hot pulsating hole, feels muscles squeeze, feels ripples send white hot needles coursing up his cock and into his balls.

Tyler shook his head and turned at the light groan which escaped the young man’s lips. He drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the long, thick dick pushing against the shorts until it almost burst out of the waist onto the tanned bare abdomen. The big Peterbilt’s momentum faltered briefly as its over-imaginative driver glanced at Ryan’s partner. The Flint kid—Ethan—looked to be fast asleep as well. Tyler reached up and unbuttoned the front of his dungarees—white but grubby from honest work, not designer fashion—and pulled them down off his chest. In the overhead interior mirror, angled so he could always see himself when fantasy required some physical help, he could admire the strong, thick shoulders which capped his torso and below them the bulging muscles of his squared pectorals with their widespread peaked nipples of dark skin. An abundance of thick black hair surrounded the taut peaks and swept down between the pectorals in a long thick line, down his ridged abdomen to disappear into the dungarees.

He pushed a rough, thickly-veined hand into the dungarees and hauled out his rapidly swelling cock. He shuffled in the seat a bit so his fat pendulous balls could spread over the front of the pants. He made a fist around his ball sac and squeezed hard until his balls pushed themselves out from one side of his fist. He grunted at the pain of it and squirmed his ass into the seat. His cock was soon rock hard and pressed against his abdomen, almost reaching to the deep cleft between his pecs. He turned his head and looked at young Deever again.

Tyler-Ryan dreams. The taut body beneath him rises and falls to grind its ass against his balls. As he feels his burning cock being rhythmically squeezed by the strong muscles inside the hot, sticky ass passage he begins to pump, arching his body backward until the muscles stretch into the perfect tense definition. He grips the hard ass-cheeks in front of him and lets his body take over.

Tyler watched the gentle surges through Ryan’s muscles, relished how they raised him slightly up off the seat. He saw the rippling pulses of the hot cock beneath the khaki. He gradually slowed the rig down to a more manageable pace and then wrapped his fist around his own cock. He collected a mouthful of spit and then dipped his head briefly to let it pour over his cock. He slicked the sticky gobs up and down his meat and began to work it, at first sliding his hand up and down the shaft so lightly his fingers barely connected and the lubricating saliva slid between the bare grip of his fist. He looked at his young passenger and saw Ryan’s thighs tensing and relaxing in time with the pulses in his hidden cock.

Oh, how Ryan Deever dreams in Tyler’s mindscape. Waves of convulsive pleasure sweep through his muscles and surge in his veins as the slippery inner recesses engulf his pounding meat… deeper, deeper. And then the trembling begins in his legs and flushes into his thighs. Now it’s in his torso and reaching down toward his groin, uncontrollable shuddering that takes away his mind and makes his body buck and thrust wildly, violently into the ass beneath him. His balls are seared with fire as the spunk shoots out of them and heads for release. And the world explodes in redness and ecstasy as his cum erupts into the body beneath him.

In between keeping the truck on the straight and narrow, Tyler watched fine tremors shoot through Ryan’s body and the other’s dreamy arousal fired his own need. He began to thrash his own meat wildly. Christ but he wanted the young man in his mouth, fucking his face, those strong square hands gripping his hair forcing the cock in further, deeper. A soft moan escaped Ryan’s barely parted lips. Tyler tore his eyes from the road to see a spreading damp patch spread across the boy’s shorts and then a gobbet of shiny cum forced itself out of his waistband and lay in a spreading pool on his abdomen.

Tyler’s foot beat a tattoo on the gas pedal from the spasmodic shuddering of his thighs which kept pace with his hoarse breathing. He allowed the Peterbilt’s momentum to drop away until the vehicle had slowed to a crawl. Impulsively, he let go the wheel completely and, leaning across himself, in a swift movement wiped some jizz from Ryan’s abdomen with a finger of his left hand, put it to his mouth, and licked it up. The taste of Ryan’s cooling juice sent him into free-fall. He slapped the hand back on the wheel in time to avoid a swerve as the rig drifted on the road’s camber, and with his right he jerked his cock in a tight grip until a jet of cum shot upward. It easily reached his chin and then fell back to splatter the hairs on his chest and run in hot rivulets down the ridges of his abdomen. Waves of tingling disorientation made driving difficult and the stars whirling in his vision didn’t help, but jeez that orgasm had felt so good.

After a few seconds, the worst of the enervating effect receded and he was able to reach under the seat to pull out a greasy rag. He wiped his face and body. A drowsy half-sneeze alerted Tyler to Ryan’s stirring. He began to speed up the truck again—30, 40, 50, ease off at 60.

Ryan drifted upward from his dream enveloped in a sinuous warmth, gradually becoming aware of the purr of the rig and feeling the now cool leather on his back. For a moment he had no clear idea of where he was. He sat up and stretched his arms out in front and glanced toward the driver. What’s his name? Oh, yeah, Trip or, no, Tyler. I think. Oddly, he could remember the guy’s surname better—Garrett, that’s it. In the confused moment Ryan became aware of three things: the big, bare torso of the trucker hulking beside him; the smell of male sex; the sticky wetness of his shorts. He looked down sharply with his eyes, not moving his head, and saw the dark patch there at his waistband. He cocked a sideways glance while casually covering the dampness with one hand.

“Hey man, sorry to fall asleep on you like that.” He checked on Ethan, still sitting in repose, eyes closed. “I guess we were more tired than we thought.”

“That’s OK, these straight desert roads get to you like that sometimes.” The man turned briefly and smiled slightly. “It’s a good job one of us stayed awake.”

Ryan returned the grin and acknowledged the weak joke with a nod of the head. And then as the trucker turned his attention back to the road a couple of small pearly-white drops glistening against the dark hair of the shelf of the man’s big pecs caught his attention. What the hell? He studied the trucker a little more closely, beginning to hope that his suspicions were right. He traced with his eyes the thick veins which ran up Tyler’s wide forearms, the bulging biceps as he held hands tensed on the wheel, and the long black nest of hair under his armpit. He could smell the man’s warm sweat as it trickled in rivulets down his side. If he was aware of Ryan’s scrutiny, the trucker ignored it. He felt himself getting hard again. To distract himself, he fished out his iPhone. “You got a USB slot on this fancy rig?”

“I surely have… several in fact, but it won’t do you no good.”

Ryan frowned.

“No juice out here.”

“Nothing at all?” Ryan sounded scandalized.

“Mebbe get a signal over to Essex, but that’s a stretch.”

“So what do you do, if you need, say help or something?”

“Can’t be doin’ with CB, but I got it, and that’s got coverage around these parts.” Tyler grinned mirthlessly and let loose a series of short, stifled barks. When the humourless chuffs subsided, he said, “Anyways, where in hell do you think you’re gonna charge that pretty trinket when the battery goes down?”

“We always knew we’d be out on our own eventually. Just didn’t think it’d be this quick.”

“You guys been backpacking in this here desert before?”

Ryan ignored the amusement in the trucker’s voice. He gestured toward his sleeping partner. “Ethan has, but I usually stick to the forest trails up in Oregon.” He saw no point at this stage in telling the man that he had known Ethan for less than two weeks, and in that time really only a few days.

It started a few weeks back. The old itch to get out of the city for a bit hit worst as he strolled along Folsom. San Francisco had its ups all right, but every now and then he grew tired of the round of Castro and Mission bars, discos, and cruise clubs. In fact Ryan was headed for the Powerhouse, halfway between 9th and 10th Streets, looking to find some action, either out on the patio or in the backroom (Sexual Entertainment In This Room—If Sex Offends You, Get Out!). And that was it. He thought he needed to get out. Go hiking. But alone…? He’d been often enough on his own, but missed the companionship of some of his earlier hikes, ones where the other guy didn’t mind sharing a sleeping bag.

So he scrawled out an advertisement for a young buck to go backpacking with him for a couple of weeks and stuck it on the Powerhouse notice board. Ethan Flint wasn’t the first to text in, but he was the first Ryan liked the sound of and immediately asked for some pictures. He sent three of himself to Ethan and it was clear from the enthusiastic response that he found Ryan a prospect. Ryan texted his apartment address just off Castro on Elizabeth Street and they met the following day.

The voice on Ryan’s iPhone had been quiet yet firm, with a trace of humor and in the flesh it had more resonance, a pleasant baritone. Neither did Ethan disappoint in his form. He stood two inches taller than Ryan, about six feet. His tousled blond hair seemed at first to belie the sharp, strong planes of his face with its high cheekbones, but the attentive light blue eyes were lively and warm.

Ethan wore a plain white T-shirt and Ryan could tell that his taut musculature beneath the stretched cotton was of an entirely different quality to his own. Ryan’s well-defined musculature was gained through regular workouts, though working as a scaffold builder gave additional litheness to his body, whereas the relaxed man standing in his apartment doorway had gained his more naturally out in the wilds, tempering his muscles to the need to survive. He told Ryan he regarded backpacking a kind of exercise in survival.

“Once a year—twice if I can manage it—I go out into the desert with only the minimum of equipment and food. Out there I rely on my skills and strength to survive.”

Ethan’s pleasant baritone added depth to what sounded almost like a reverence for the activity of backpacking. Conversation came easily to the extent Ryan wondered why they hadn’t run into each other before. They talked into the early hours of the next morning, the topics gradually turning from the various aspects of trekking out to their personal lives. It was strange, thought Ryan looking back, that he’d felt no great urge to have sex with Ethan at that time, content instead to hear him speak and watch the gestures of his body as he spoke about his life, loves, and problems—although there seemed very few of the latter.

He was sure too that Ethan approved of him and liked what he saw and somehow—unusually for Ryan—this pleased him and intensified his feelings for the man. Ryan was more used to people admiring him for the obvious reasons of what he offered: a physical charm and the easy amiability of one used to casual sex. Ethan’s regard seemed to suggest a deeper well of interest. He found himself hoping he wasn’t reading the signals all wrong. The language of emotion wasn’t high on Ryan’s list of accomplishments.

Ryan suggested that they take their trip in his old stomping grounds up in Oregon, but Ethan seemed eager to teach Ryan what it was like in the desert. Ryan Deever rarely gave in on the things he wanted, but Ethan Flint worked a magic at a subterranean level. Ryan wasn’t used to it. He acquiesced in the realization that he was falling quite easily into the role of pupil. He wondered at it.

Ryan looked across at his new friend still sleeping in the comer of the rig, the strong lines of his face thrown into deeper relief by the shadows falling across the desert. The incipient urge he’d felt on waking and looking up at the trucker twisted in his mind at the sight of Ethan. He felt a surge of desire and wished Ethan would hold him tightly in those sinewy arms. He wanted to smell Ethan’s strong maleness and feel the guy’s cock deep inside, filling him with creamy juices. He also knew he would wait until Ethan decided to take him. I hope it will happen tonight, our first out here in the wilds.

He shook his shoulders to loosen the kinks from napping slumped in the seat and looked through the wide expanse of windscreen. He saw that they were approaching a range of hills made purple by the twilight.

“How much farther to this campsite?”

“’Bout another half hour,” came Tyler’s terse reply.

Just over the top of those low hills, Ryan knew, was the head of the canyon that would lead them down into the desert proper. They would stay there the night and start at first light.

“You know this area well?” Ryan felt like drawing some conversation out of their taciturn driver.

“Pretty well. I do this trip fairly regular. But I never been out in the desert on foot like you guys intend.” He chuckled throatily as if the iPhone still sitting on Ryan’s lap had told a great joke.

It was one of the longer speeches Tyler had yet made. But he’s holding out on something. Ryan sensed it in his voice… but then, perhaps it was just his way. He decided to press on. “Why not? You look like a guy who keeps himself in trim and knowing the place like you do, I’d have thought you could get all the exercise you want out there.”

“Don’t worry kid, I get plenty of exercise, but not that kind…”

Ryan ignored the implication, which sounded like a mild boast, but Tyler’s next words, delivered in a low, portentous monotone, gave him pause.

“Besides, several guys have disappeared out there in the last few months.” He turned briefly with a dark frown. “You wanna be careful.”

Ryan arched his eyebrows and shrugged carelessly. “We can look after ourselves all right.” In himself, he wasn’t so nonchalant. Something told him there was a lot unsaid behind that warning.

Tyler grunted, but said nothing more. Ryan fell silent. Ethan slept on.

What’s he mean, guys have disappeared…?

CHAPTER TWO

Pool of Lust

The remainder of the trip was made in silence, and twilight had captured the heavens by the time they arrived at the primitive campsite, more a dirt parking lot hidden from the road by a low rocky outcrop. The place was deserted. Tyler pulled the Peterbilt up a few feet from a small shack which announced itself as The Diner.

“Won’t be no one here,” Tyler growled.

That seemed obvious. It squatted on raised wooden pilings in darkness, its shutters down, waiting for the season to begin at the end of the month. Whatever season they have out here.

Ryan turned to shake his friend awake only to find the blue eyes watching him and the lips smiling. Ethan sat up and stretched broadly, legs outstretched in a judder, toes up-pointed to avoid a cramp at the sudden movement. He gave Ryan a quick wink, which signified something beyond Ryan’s comprehension, and peered out the window.

“There’s some cold showers in that building over there if you want to freshen up,” Tyler said. He pointed to a low block at the edge of the campsite. “But there are some hot springs and a rock pool ’bout four hundred yards farther on. Main reason any damn fool comes to camp here.”

Ryan could see the point to that. The place had little to appeal to the average rough-it family. Beyond the nondescript hard-pan of tire-compacted dirt, for three-quarters of the view there was nothing but scrub desert and low sandy hillocks covered with low sage, prickly pear, and creosote bushes. A scattering of daylight shade might be found under the few trees which filled the other quarter and suggested underground water. Ryan recognized pinyon pines, a Californian juniper, acacia, a desert willow, and a clump of Palo Christi trees. Dotted between them, several characteristic Joshua trees stuck up like hairy hands reaching for the sky.

But the fact of its emptiness prompted excitement. His cock throbbed as he thought of the hot pool. And Ethan.

And he hoped the same thought stirred in Ethan’s head. “The place to ourselves, a hot spring and the first night under the stars,” he murmured. “What more could we ask?”

Ryan grinned back lustfully.

“I’m gonna stay the night in here,” Tyler said with a leery smile at Ryan as if he knew what was going through his mind.

Am I that obvious? Ryan didn’t react to the veiled taunt. So the guy wanted the comfort of his sleeper in back of the cab. He could have it. Ah what the hell, I might find room for you later, Mister Tyler Trucker Garrett later… after I’ve done Ethan.

“I’ll show you the pools.” Tyler pushed his door open and dropped down with the ease of familiarity.

Ryan and Ethan collected their heavy packs, jumped down from the rig and stretched their cramped muscles in the cooling evening air. Tyler eyed them covertly, Ryan noticed, before turning to lead them across the sandy, sparsely-wooded camping ground toward the head of the canyon. Feathery cottonwoods clothed the foot of the rising walls of rock, indicating the presence of surface water. They felt the warmth from the spring before they saw it, an almost perfectly circular pool about thirty feet across fed by geothermally heated groundwater. The overflow dropped over a rocky ledge to join a small stream that cascaded down a rocky outcrop. Just above the confluence, a natural basin made a cold plunge pool, not that the water tested very chill when Ryan stuck his hand in. Behind, coiling vapors of steam rose from the round pool where the heated water rose to disturb the undulating surface.

“What say we bed down here for the night, Ethan,” Ryan suggested.

“Sure. I’ll go collect some wood for a fire and we can eat.”

As Ethan made his way deeper into the canyon, Ryan turned to Tyler. “You want some chow with us before you tum in?”

He shook his head. “No. I snacked on stuff while you slept.” He nodded. “Thanks anyway. I’ll take a dip in the pool and hit the sack.”

Ryan began to unpack but kept one eye on Tyler, who didn’t move away to strip off, which he did at a leisurely pace. He discarded his shirt last, placed his fists behind his head, and stretched his bulky torso. He held the pose for a few seconds. Ryan concentrated on his task, but it was impossible to miss the show when Tyler flexed his leg muscles and then took a handful of his long fat cock and well-hung balls and massaged them. Still rubbing his crotch, he stepped over to Ryan.

“Say, you have any soap in that pack of yours?” He stood very close, his voice husky and low.

When he bent down to his pack, Ryan felt the trucker gently move his meat against the tight khaki of his shorts. Ryan expected Tyler to make some further move when he stood up, the bulge in his shorts noticeably bigger, but the trucker just said thanks with a knowing grin. As he turned on his heel he made sure his swelling cock brushed the back of Ryan’s hand. Cocksucker! I’ll drain that fucking hot juice out of you before morning.

As he set up camp, Ryan watched Tyler wade into the pool, splash around for a while, and then begin to soap himself. In the near dark Ryan could only just make out his form as Tyler crossed to the far side of the pool, but he could see the white of his cock as he stroked it through his slippery fist until it stood out a hard eight inches from his middle. After a minute he let go to rub his hands over the soap. When they were heavily lathered, Tyler dropped one hand to fall by his side, while with the other he worked the froth up into his ass. Ryan could see his fist pumping in and out of his asshole.

Christ, he must have half his hand up himself.

The beefy teamster stopped suddenly and thrust his hips forward. Ryan assumed he’d found what he was looking for with his engulfed hand and his cock began to thrash up and down in the other soapy fist. Ryan got instantly hard imagining the hot gobs steaming out of the trucker’s hard meat.

“Not bad.” Ethan’s voice came quietly from behind Ryan. “I heard it was possible but that’s the first time I’ve seen it done. Pity though.”

“Why?”

“I was hoping you and me might christen that pool,” Ethan said in his thrilling baritone.

The hand he placed lightly on Ryan’s bare shoulder caused a shiver of pleasure to flood through Ryan’s body. The rough skin of Ethan’s palm acted like an erotic charge. He was about to tum within Ethan’s embrace when he heard him say quietly, “Let’s get something to eat, and give the moon time to rise. Then we can see what we’re doing.” The hint in Ethan’s words did little to calm Ryan’s arousal.