Gay Erotic Stories

This story is based on the 1950's TV show Cheyenne. For those of you who remember, it starred Clint Walker as a wandering cowboy who in almost every episode took the opportunity to bare his magnificent hairy chest. In only one episode did our hero get stripped to the waist, strung up by his wrists and was prepared to be taught a lessen by a rancher with a powerful bullwhip. Unfortunately for us, Clint was rescued from his fate before the whip had a chance to kiss that beautiful muscular back. The fantasy story you are about to read gives those of us who were left with great disappointment with Clint’s escape the satisfaction that justice can finally be served.

For those of you that are too young to remember and those who want to refresh your memory, there is a great picture of him at http://members.tripod.com/~BrianJ1/clintwalker2.jpg and also a web page called "The Clint Walker Shrine" (if you can find it) with wonderful pictures of our leading man. You may want to visit it before you read so to enhance your mental images of our hero in distress. CHEYENNE’S DATE WITH DESTINY BY spicejoe@hotmail.com Our scene opens in the town of Outback. Sheriff John is at his desk when his deputy walks in to tell him that there’s a new stranger in town.

"Yeah John, we’ve got a new visitor in town and according to the Mitchell boys he may be trouble. They said he got between them and a drunk Indian who needed an ass kicking."

"So we have ourselves a cowboy with a social conscience here, what else do you know about him?"

"His name is Cheyenne and he’s doing odd jobs at the Roberts ranch while their in Kansas City. Think he’s going to need a visit?"

"I’ll take a ride out there this afternoon Mike; you keep an eye on things here."

Later that afternoon Sheriff John takes a ride to the Robert’s place. As he approaches the entrance he sees Cheyenne putting in some new fence posts. Cheyenne is concentrating on his work digging the post hole. The sheriff stops to size up this new arrival. With his back to the sheriff, John can examine the magnificent specimen before him. He looks strong as an ox. The sweat on his bare back glistens in the hot afternoon sun. The sheriff is in awe over the breadth of this man’s shoulders and how the heavily muscled back tapers in a V to his narrow waist. The sheriff imagines the excitement he would feel to watch a bull whip decorate this back with welts and cuts. As he sits on his horse taking in the pleasure of his dream, Cheyenne senses his presence and abruptly turns around.

"Can I help you Sheriff?"

John now can see the other half of this powerful man. He is struck by the perfection of his physique. Supported by muscular shoulders were arms which bulged with massive biceps. His rock hard pec’s were covered with a layer of light brown fur which almost hid two silver dollar sized nipples. The hair narrowed and thinned as it went down over rippled abs and into his pants. Once again the Sheriff’s mind drifted to imaging this cowboy strung up spread eagle, stripped to the waist and instinctively fighting to no avail to get away from the potent sting of the whip.

Noticing the stare of the Sheriff, Cheyenne said once again, "Sheriff, do you need something?"

"Oh, yes. I just wanted to stop by and have a little chat with you. I understand you had a little problem in town with the Mitchell’s."

"You could say that. They need to pick on people who can defend themselves."

"So I take it that just might be you and you are going to take every dam drunk Indian’s part each time you come to into town?"

"If I find it’s necessary, Sheriff."

"How long are you planning to stay in our fine town?"

"For as long as it takes me to finish up these chores for the Roberts and to check out some stories I’ve heard - about some skimming off of Federal Indian Money’s by some your local dignitaries. Do you might know who I’m taking about?"

"Not really, but you might need to be careful, the last fellow who came through here with those kind of accusations was hanged for horse stealing. I’d hate to see a strong good looking guy like you be wasted by hanging from a tree."

"I here you, but I’ve always been known to be able to take care of myself."

"So be it, Good Day Cheyenne."

And the Sheriff rode off, still with the image of Cheyenne spread eagled in the hot sun fighting uselessly under the lash.

Back at his office the Sheriff spoke to his deputy, "Mike, The visit with Cheyenne today was troubling. I think he’s on to our arrangement with the Mitchell’s and the federal agent. We got to get him out of the picture."

"You mean frame him and then hang him like we did to Perez?"

"The framing is fine, but I think a good whipping and then sending him packing would do just fine."

"Sounds good to me sheriff, I’d love to lay some leather on that hunks body, and from the bulge in your pants I think you really want to too."

"You can say that again, I want this to be a very special flogging, one we’ll all get to enjoy, one that I can savvy every agonizing moment that arrogant cowboy goes through. Call the Mitchell’s and tell them the story line, after what he did to them the other day I think they will want to join the party. Let’s make it for noon tomorrow."

The next day as Cheyenne returned to the ranch from working on another area of fence, he saw six men waiting for him at the barn. It was the sheriff, his deputy and the four Mitchell boys.

"What can I attribute two visits in two days from you sheriff?"

"There’s been a horse stolen from the Mitchell’s ranch last night and a man matching your description was seen riding away with it."

"Why that’s impossible--I was here all last night!"

"Then you wouldn’t mind us looking around. Go search the place boys."

Within minutes Tom Mitchell came out of the barn with a horse with their brand on it. "Here she is sheriff; we’ve got a horse thief here. Let’s go hang the sucker."

The sheriff and his deputy pulled their guns on Cheyenne. Paul tied his wrists behind his back. Cheyenne saw it was useless to resist and now saw the meaning to yesterday’s threat. The sheriff said, "Hold on, we’re not going to have a hangin’; instead we need to administer justice--swiftly and meaningfully. Gather up his things and let’s take him to Riser Hill. After we’ve taught him the error of his ways, we’ll put him on his horse and send him out of town--never to be seen these parts again."

They gathered Cheyenne’s belongings and put him on his horse for the ride to Riser Hill. It was a spot in the desert, totally barren. Cheyenne did not know what was in store for him but his instincts told him it was not good. He saw in the distance a wagon which must have been left earlier by the posse, a pile of kindling ready to be light and a large wooden frame in the shape of an inverted V. It was made of good solid timber well secured in the ground. The base had to be twelve feet wide and the top of the V had to be fifteen feet above the ground. After they got Cheyenne off his horse they took the bound man to the frame. A gun was put his head by one as the others quickly untied his hands only to retie them individually to ropes which were attached to pulleys on the frame. Within moments his arms were pulled up and outward stretching towards the frame. Next, his feet were stripped of his boots and socks and systematically tied to stakes in the ground spreading his ankles three feet apart. While this was going on another one light the fire.

The high noon sun burned down on the figures in the desert, especially Cheyenne who could not move due to the tightness of his bonds. The sheriff came over and they stared at each other in silence for what seemed an eternity to our victim. Then in a sudden jerk the sheriff grabbed Cheyenne’s shirt and ripped it off. For the men who had not seen Cheyenne bare-chested, it was site to behold and their anticipation for the flogging to begin grew.

He then unbuckled and removed Cheyenne’s belt, loosened the top two buttons on his pants and slid them down so they rode low on his waist exposing more tender skin. He stepped back and smilingly admired the beautiful captive he had before him. Addressing Cheyenne the sheriff said, "Well my friend, we’re going to give you a real treat. We’re going to let you demonstrate how strong and brave you are. I’m going to get great pleasure watching you squirm as Mike makes that bull whip caress every inch of that smooth tender back of yours. In fact, Tom loosen the top ropes by six inches so we can watch our friend flex his big muscles as he fights to get away from each burning bite."

With that Tom made the adjustment to the ropes and the sheriff made one slow inspection around his prey. The ropes were just loose enough that as Cheyenne instinctively pulled his biceps and pecs bulged. His whole physique was tensed and flexed as he awaited the agony he knew was before him. The men watched as the sheriff teased his prey by feeling his strong arms and chest. Cheyenne struggled uselessly against his bonds to get away from the probing fingers. His gut reminded John of a washboard as his hands worked down toward Cheyenne’s manhood. Slowly his fingers went beneath the belt line to feel the heavy fur around his crotch. The sheriff then said, "Enough playing with you, I’ts time to watch you squirm.”

Mike had gotten the long black bull whip from the wagon and was making a few practice shots to the side to help unnerve his victim with the loud menacing cracks. All the men stood feeling the excitement build in their crouches as they anticipated the muscular hunk slowly tortured before them. Cheyenne had never felt the pain of a whip before and he did not know how much he could take, but he was determined to not give these bastards the scream of agony which they so wanted to hear.

The sheriff took his place directly five feet in front of Cheyenne so as not to miss one precious moment of expression on his face and torso. Mike finally took position and let loose the first blow with all the power he had. The whip rode down Cheyenne’s smooth back from the right shoulder to the tender skin just above his left hip leaving a wicked red welt as its calling card.

Cheyenne’s face looked startled at first for the burn of a whip was worse than he had ever imagined and then twisted in pain as he held back the scream wanting to be surfaced. Mike continued at a slow deliberate pace with about 30 seconds between each blow. They wanted to torture not only Cheyenne’s body but also his mind. They wanted to break him by having this proud man scream for mercy.

As each blow came the sheriff delighted in watching Cheyenne’s muscles bulge, uselessly trying to break his bonds and to get away from the burning whip. Mike was merciless, continuing the wretched pattern on that beautiful back. By the tenth landing the whip stared to break the skin with tiny cuts. The flexing of his back and shoulder muscles reminded them of a powerful race horse in the final moments before the finishing line. By the twentieth lash, his body was soaked with sweat. His head rocked back and forth as sweat dripped off his face. The hair on his powerful chest was all matted and wet. All the strength he had was being expended against the ropes. His chest heaved as his oxygen starved lungs grabbed for air. The sweat on his tortured back glistened in the hot sun as it mixed the many welts and blood which was now starting to turn into rivulets of red.

Again and again the whip snapped and Cheyenne had to use all the strength he had to hold back his desire to scream at the top of his lungs. All that he would let past his lips was a hoarse a-h and blood from the inadvertent biting of his lips. By the thirty fifth, Mike had covered Cheyenne’s entire back with welts and cuts. The ropes had chewed his wrists and ankles raw.

The men were in awe as they watched this man continue to fight against whip. Mike continued to press on but the sheriff could see after the fortieth blow that his victim’s strength was beginning to be totally sapped as the muscles slowed in their resistance and his legs were stating to buckle. He told Mike to stop and stepped forward, pulling Cheyenne’s head up by the hair and staring at him straight in the face.

"Well big man do you want some more, or you going to beg me to stop?"

Cheyenne looked the sheriff in the eyes and cursed, "Go to Hell!”

"All right then we’ll continue strong man. Tom get the bucket of brine and clean his back"

Tom got the bucket and with a large rough sponge he took the heavily salted solution and began rubbing his raw back from his shoulders to his waist. Cheyenne arched his back and reached for the sky in an effort to get away from the burning inferno on his back. His struggles did not stop Tom from his assignment or the men from laughing in ecstasy at his response. After Tom was finished and things had settled the sheriff came up to his prey and told the men to tighten the arm straps as they had been before except this time Cheyenne’s toes were the only part of him touching the ground. This new position made the heavy muscles in his calves and thighs ache with cramps. Any effort to relieve them caused the ropes to cut even more into his raw wrists. He now had an appreciation of how it might have felt to be stretched on rack in a medieval torture chamber.

The sheriff put his hands on Cheyenne’s biceps feeling the firm strong muscle. He gradually moved down his wet hairy chest, slowly massaging the firm pecs and nipples then worked his way across the rippling abs. Bringing his eyes back up to meet Cheyenne’s he announced, "Now it’s my turn.”

He proceeded to get a whip with three four-foot leather straps. He stood the appropriate distance from his victim’s chest and let the whip swing. Cheyenne had the wind knocked out of him as the leather slashed across his rock hard pecs. The blows kept coming, but the burning sensation was not as intense as with his back due to the protective layer of hair, at least until the seventh blow when an edge of the whip sliced across his tender nipple and tit.

The sheriff knew he had hit his target and continued to work that area. The edge of the smooth side of the lash acted like a razor when it connected with bare skin where as the ruff side grabbed the hair on Cheyenne’s masculine chest and would pull it out--a small bit at a time. The sheriff had to stop every seven or eight strokes, running his fingers through the lash to remove the build up hair mixed with sweat and blood. The intensity of his agony was starting to become unbearable. Once again the energy he was using trying to get away from the wretched whip was causing him to gasp for air. The steady heaving motion of his barrel chest in conjunction with his rock hard pecs made a venerable target for the sheriff and his passion to torture this muscular hunk.

After the sheriff made sure both his nipples were bleeding he then started to move down to the smooth unprotected abs. The edges brutally cut as the ruff surfaces worked like sandpaper on the tender skin. The sheriff was up to thirty strokes as the pieces of leather meticulously worked through the peaks and valleys of Cheyenne’s six-pack. Once again no matter how hard he pulled at his restraints he could not escape the punishing blows. His whole body was covered with sweat. The tender underbelly was now seeing the wicked welts turn into massive streaks of blood.

Finally it stopped and all Cheyenne could do was stare down at the ground, hanging from this monstrous rack. The men walked around their victim admiring the handiwork of both the sheriff and his deputy. When all seemed quiet and peaceful and he had closed his eyes, Cheyenne again felt a lightning of pain as the sheriff began rubbing his chest with sponges of brine. He had taken two brine filled sponges and coated the surface with a layer of salt. The salt attacked his beaten and blooded nipples like a red hot poker as the granules found their way to every raw nerve ending. Once again he reach for the sun as the long withheld scream exited his body like a howling coyote. The men cheered as they finally broke this man of steel. The sheriff methodically continued - slowly down the rippled torso enjoying, yet ignoring Cheyenne’s screams to stop. He finally felt the body go limp, peacefully hanging by its restrains as Cheyenne mercifully passed out.

With their mission accomplished and crotches soggy, they brought him to a bucket of cold water. They untied Cheyenne from the rack, put him on his horse with his hands bound to his cattle horn and sent him off with his belongings in the direction of the next town.

After the Mitchell’s had left, Mike looked at Sheriff John and said, "That’s my kind of justice and looking at your groin I’d say it was yours too."

John replied, "I agree, it would have been such a waste to hang a body like that. Now if we’d had to execute him, my vote would have been to strip naked him and crucify him. Could you imagine that body nailed to a cross - flexing that torso for hours trying to get every last breath of air?”

"Yeah, and we could come up with some real ingenious ways to torture him while he hung there."

"Well maybe he’ll return and there will be a next time. In the mean time I think we’d better go into the shade behind the wagon, drop our draws and unload before we get blue balls."