Tool-Shed Memoires

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Author's note: I submit this chapter in memory of ben tover, aka h.s., aka Hank Snow. We were working on the remaining parts of this story when he took ill. He was also doing the editing which is why there has been such a long delay in posting the rest of this story. Unfortunately, he never recovered. I was able to recover these remaining chapters and am attempting to edit them. I hope that you continue to enjoy his humor which borders on zany and his brilliance shown in his method to learn how to spell. If this chapter brings a smile to your face please consider lighting a candle
http://www.gratefulness.org/candles/candles.cfm?l=eng&gi=HankS in memory of Hank and say a little prayer that the Saints in Heaven are now enjoying the Hank Snow show and laughing the halos off!

Flemming was no shirker when it came to work. He put the hands right to the chores that needed to be done to make the place welcoming to their guests and did it ahead of schedule.

Sandy, moving on to the next topic of conversation, waited till James had poured the next round of coffees before mimicking Flemming by suddenly grabbing James basket in a death-grip, with James' loud yelp and a nearly-dropped carafe being the immediate result, and then he grinned at Flemming and said, “Rank has its privileges! Now ... about those books ... I need to see where we stand right now, financially, and I need all of it to get a proper picture of what I'm working with here,” and as he finished, James' eyes began leaking again.

Flemming reluctantly went for the books, but when he handed them to the new a Alfa wolf that Sandy was turning into, Sandy said, "That's okay, I was just testing your willingness to submit to my will. I am sure you have everything in order, except for my salary, which I assume you will be increasing so that I can live in my accustomed fashion."

Sandy then unzippered James' pants and began to toy with his penis using his tongue. James was oozing pre-cum and Sandy caught a droplet on his middle finger and then offered it to Flemming who immediately went down on his knees and licked the finger clean. Sandy then joined him and they both shared James' dribbling cock and occasionally kissed each other passionately... During one such kiss, James squirted both of their faces with his cum as he howled in delight. Both men worked the facial into the skin and it almost seemed that some of Flemming's wrinkles disappeared.

Mark and Josh ran up at just that moment, totally out of breath, and looking at Sandy, Mark said, “Boss, the Sheriff's at the main gate and wants to come up ... he said he 's looking for two escaped convicts! He's got three cruisers and about six big Men with him, too!” and at this Sandy noticed the tent in Mark's Levi's and grinned ... 'This could turn out to be an unexpected pleasure!' he smiled to himself, as he thanked the boys for giving him the heads-up.

At the the Sheriff's posy arrived and parked their cars in the designated spaces provided for "hotel" guests, Flemming greeted them, and invited them in for coffee. But they were too much in a rush to get the word out to the neighboring ranches and thanked Ole man Flemming before heading out so fast that they had to eat the very dust they raised upon arrival.

"We had better form a posy of our own. If those hoods have stepped onto this ranch, we well be better able to track them on horse back than those idiot police in their fancy cars." Flemming suggested and Sandy confirmed his opinion.

Sandy sent the still-waiting Mark to get the hands from their various jobs closer to the house, and sent Josh out to retrieve the ones working fences and other jobs farther out on the ranch, and as he licked remnants of James' com from his upper-lip, he said to Flemming, “What do you think? Where would a couple of escaped cons most likely head to, if they were on this ranch?”

"That depends if they know the region and how smart they are. Smart cons wouldn't go where they would be expected to hide. Food is no problem with all the cattle around, so I'd bet that they would head up the canyon were there are plenty of places to find shelter. Now if we were to send half the men around the other end we would probably be able to trap them somewhere in the middle." Flemming said.

"Okay, based on what you just said, we will ride into town and probably find them somewhere around the sheriff's office, No one would expect to find them there!" Sandy said to everyone's astonishment.

Flemming tried, at first, to hold back his laughter, both at the absurdity of what Sandy had said and at the prospect of maybe being able to make a total ass of the Sheriff, who'd always been a thorn in his hide and had often made it clear that he despised the ranch owner... but Flemming had never known why. He realized, however, upon a moment's reflection, that the kid had a valid point, and said, “Great thinking, Sherlock ... Sir! I like it!” and he blushingly grinned at Sandy, who grinned back, to his relief.

Within a couple of hours the ranch hands lead by their fearless leader, were waiting to high-jack the Greyhound bus which was heading toward town. "I figure these cons are going to be looking for a way to get away without attracting attention to themselves." Sandy said as they flagged down the bus and made all the passengers get off. Then Flemming donned the uniform of the bus driver and the other hands posed as passengers dispersed around the bus. Sure enough, as soon as the bus stopped at the depot, the band of escaped convicts all boarded pretending not to know one another. Sandy had told everyone not to make a move until the bus was on its way out of town.

Flemming drove the bus as safely and as much like a real driver as he could, and the two felons were not tipped off ... until they'd crossed the city limits into the country, when a general melee took place aboard the bus, the ranch-hands grabbing the cons and stripping them, most efficiently, while Sandy and Flemming shared a 'Boys will be boys!' grin through the driver's rear-view mirror, and neither made a move to try to stop the boisterous lads at their play with their new toys.

Flemming headed back to their cars and everyone transferred including the now striped naked escaped cons who were taken back to the ranch and neatly cuffed down below the humble tool shed. Sandy and Flemming hadn't even had time to plan how these veritable slaves would be put to use when the first two pairs of dudes came trapping through the main gate lugging their baggage.

When they saw Flemming and Sandy and the other bus rustlers they were in shock until it was explained to them that it was all a stunt to make them feel part of a wild west extravaganza. Sandy showed the guests to the bunk house where each pair was given a sort of private area where they could unpack their things before dinner would be served.

The two inmates, meanwhile, were being guarded well, if not over-zealously, in the dungeon by Mark and Josh, who were taking great pains to help the cons accept their present situation, and to let them know that their fates were by no means certain ... the whole while fondling the cons genitals and tits to make their helplessness more obvious.

Suddenly their ball game was interrupted by the entrance of Flemming and Sandy who ordered Josh and Mark to take their wards into the shower room and duche their asses. Both men protested and cursed, but Flemming held up a cow prod and let it spark in the air, Both cons immediately quieted down and submissively submitted to the rectal cleansing in preparation for the removal of the petals from their flowers which Flemming and Sandy intended to administer.

Once the water gushing from their still-intact virginal poop-chutes ran clear, it was time for the festival to begin, and Mark and Josh strapped the two cons over a couple of fucking-benches, taking the time to smack their asses and squeeze their balls as often as politeness could possibly require, hospitality being foremost on their minds.

"Come on guys, we need to tenderize those beefsteaks much more than and give them each a good spanking so that they learn never to protest or question what their masters command." Sandy said and Josh and Mark each grabbed their instruments from among those hanging on the wall. Mark chose a nice long and thin paddle while Josh preferred the more rounded one. The spanking continued for about ten minutes before the two cons were pledging obedience and a willingness to do anything that they would be asked to do.

Sandy looked at Flemming, who was already looking expectantly at him, and he nodded, Sandy adding, “You two stiff these felons' mouths with ranch cock while my assistant professor and I give instruction on the proper way to pop a cherry!” and with no visible delay the two hands jumped to it, each grabbing a con's face and, forcing the reluctant lips apart, drove their excited tube-steaks home in single, mighty thrusts, with the inmates jerking and writhing wildly in response. Sandy and Flemming stepped up to the plate then, and, grinning to each other, they separated their students' ass-cheeks, spit on the targets and 'barged right on in like they owned the place', giving the inmates something to REALLY jerk and jump about. Flemming and Sandy quickly found a common tempo and pressed their points home.

Both inmates felt so violated and vanquished in their miserable attempt to escape the frying pan, they fell into the fire. And now the heat was being turned up as pain gave way to pleasure, as rebellion metamorphized into to submission and their burning ass cheeks because sensual buffers into which the two bosses slammed their crotches making it clear that intruders would be shortly be made into intrudees.

Both Mark and Josh were having a great time, as the cons were aware that the time for resistance was behind them, and they sucked the cocks in their mouths as if their lives depended on them doing a great job ... a point very close to the truth ... and watching Sandy and Flemming boring their fuck-holes for them the way they were, in manly and nearly-vicious battering-ram thrusts, was giving the two ranch-hands a double thrill ... in short, all four fuckers were having a great day ... such, tragically, was not the case for the fuckees, who were trying to learn how to breathe and didn't have the time, or the oxygen, to try screaming.

"Hey, Josh, this ole man next to me is weakening and needs some help, why don't you climb on behind him and give him a push!" Sandy said and saw Flemming's eyes widen with glee.

"Hey, Mark, this young master has no stamina, I think he needs a push to get his auto started." Flemming said and enjoyed the expression on Mark's face at the prospect of inserting his dong into Sandy's almost virginal man pussy.

Sandy was torn ... first, by his uncertainty about letting his subordinate ranch-hand have fun with his aching and empty cock-slot, and secondly, by the actual sensation of Mark's hard and cream-filled fucksicle slamming up his ass, almost as if Mark wanted to plant it quickly before the new boss could raise any significant objection to it ... and while Flemming moaned with Josh's cock aiding and abetting his con-raping, Sandy all but yodeled, in shock and blinding pain at the first few seconds of penetration, before nirvana claimed him, in the guise of Mark's happy, and very proficient, cock.

Mark was in a total state of awe, a fucking state of altered consciousness as he plied his trade into the one man with whom he had yearned for, even in his dreams. There was only one thing that could be better than the present moment and that would be to be facing Sandy and be joined in a passionate kiss as well. But close seemed to count and he settled to lick and kiss his shoulder, neck and earlobe.

Josh was plowing away at his former-boss' ass like there was no tomorrow ... like he might be told to stop at any moment ... and he had a most adorable look of seriousness and intensity on his face, as if he were trying to make a good grade on an exam ... while Mark was purely euphoric, riding a high he hoped never to come down from ... filling his younger Boss' ass with his Man-root and holding his firm and muscular young body in his arms was all that he'd ever really wanted, and he went back to nibbling at Sandy's ears and neck, utterly lost in bliss.

Sandy noticed the quality of love making occurring behind him, but continued to plow into the prostrate con's furrow with an intensity that was not due to his need to enter, but his unexpected pleasure of being entered with such adoration.

Meanwhile, the other hands were teaching the city dudes how to rope calfs, but instead of using the calfs which were plentiful on the ranch, they were roping and hog-tying the tourists themselves who squealed in delight as they found themselves in total bondage. Then the cowboys began prodding and pulling at them, right there in the open air corral, when the police chief returned.

Seeing that there was activity at the corral near the house, the Chief approached, and upon seeing what were obviously city-slickers being hog-tied, he raised his eyebrows in disbelief and not a little bit of amusement, and asked the nearest cowboy to him to pass out the flyers he'd brought. At the top of the flyer, the heading the cowboy read was “Wanted : Excaped Convicts”, and he grinned. Then, looking at the Chief with a straight face, he said, “Ya got it spelled wrong, Chief ... ya jist remember Superman ... he wears a “S Cape” ... then ya'll spell it right.”

The Chief looked incredulously at the cowboy, speechless at the seemingly asinine advice he'd just been given ... then he realized that the man was right, and said, “Ya got any other helpful hints, Heloise?”, with a great deal of good-natured sarcasm and a smile.

The cowboy, apparently immune to sarcasm, held out his hand and said, “Don't know who that 'Hello-Wheeze' feller is, but I'm Chuck Wood, Chief ... yeah, I got a real good piece of advice fer spellin' words the right way! Ya jist say 'em “stoo-pit'-like in yer head, or make up a little silly story about a word ... then ya'll always remember ... like, 'there's a rat in separate' ... that's a good one!” and he seemed quite proud of himself, and fully prepared to rage on with his intellectually stimulating oratory.

The sheriff stood opened mouthed, not able to respond to the obviously valuable lesson he had just learned and couldn't wait to use it with one of his underlings back at police headquarters. "Okay Mr Woodcock, how about explaining to me way I am seeing your partners in crime tying up those folks in the coral?"

Dear Readers: Please cut and paste and send to the authors,

so that they may better serve you all in the future!

( ) I enjoy the deep philosophical underpinnings of this parable.

( ) I was moved by the metaphysical analogy between Flemming representing the status quo of a complacent government and the growing unity of third-world nations in their global concern over the warming of the planet.

( ) Forget the political critique and get back to the pure sex for which you are both are famous. Love your other stories on Nifty.

( ) I prefer to read more about cowboys out on the range where the buffalo roam.

( ) I can't answer this poll because my hands are covered with Vaseline and I don't want to mess up the keyboard.