Tool-Shed Memoires

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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!

The Chief 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 why I'm seeing your partners in crime tying up those folks in the coral?"

The astute Mr. Wood hastened to correct, “That's jist 'Wood', Chief ... well, them city-fellers are plumb wild about what they think is 'cowboy stuff' an' we all jist wanna let 'em have a good ol' time whilst they're here with us. Lassoin' 'em and tyin' 'em up is a great way fer 'em ta see life from a calf's point o' view, don'tcha think, Chief?” and the inimitable Mr Chuck Wood became lost in a long and loud, nearly donkey-esque hee-hawing laugh, which made the Chief laugh, too, despite his urge to throttle the cowboy.

The thought of throttling Woodcock reminded the stout officer of the Law and that he needed a word with Flemming.

"Oh I think I saw him heading to the tool shed. Do you need a whooping, or shall I go fetch him fer ya?"

As the Chief prepared to ponder the meaning of that last remark, the ever instructive cowboy added, “And that's jist 'Wood', Chief.”

The Chief decided to take the path of least noise, and simply said to the bountifully helpful Mr Wood, “Just get him for me, if you could, Woody,” and waited for the inevitable correction.

“That's what all the fellers call me, Chief! How'd ya know a thing like that??? Sha-ZAAM, guess that's why you're a police man and I'm jist a cowboy, said the cowpoke, who'd recently received his Master's degree in English Literature from Montana State University's online degree program.... and who loved the game he'd been playing with the Chief.

"Ok, inspector, why don't you wait over there next to the wood pile, in the shade, while I locate the ole man." Woodchuck clucked.

Chuck Wood hiked over to the hallowed tool shed and deftly slid down the wooden ladder and as he pushed the metal door open, called out, "Hey boss, the Head PIG (Pride Intelligence & Guts, a police motto), is waiting for you by the wood pile!"

Chuck soon found himself getting a woody as he focused his eyes on the veritable orgy talking place before him. "I can keep yer place warm for you, if you want." Cocky Wood offered hungrily.

It should be noted here that the dedicated Mr Chuck Wood was a broad-shouldered, well-muscled, six-foot-tall, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, rogue of a stud, who regularly charmed the pants off any target of his choosing ... regardless of gender ... and Sandy, Josh and Mark all wanted very much to have him join in with them, helping these inmates adjust to their new status at the ranch of sex-slaves.

“Hell, that's a great idea, Chuck! Strip outta them clothes and c'mon over ... you're gonna hafta take Flemming's place, all right! Josh, you think you can help this hard-workin' Man feel welcome here with us?” and he grinned evilly at Josh, who was obviously in favor of this new and sexy addition to the group.

“Hell, yeah, Boss! I'll take take good care of Chuck's fuck-chute for 'im! C'mon, Woody ... get yer cock in this bad-boy and I'll give you a real good pluggin' myself!” ejaculated the very happy Josh, and the transfer of Woody for Flemming took place quickly and eagerly, leaving Flemming to get dressed to meet with the police chief.

“Hell, that's a great idea, Chuck! Strip outta them clothes and c'mon over ... you're gonna hafta take Flemming's place, all right! Josh, you think you can help this hard-workin' Man feel welcome here with us?” said Sandy, grinning evilly at Josh, who was obviously in favor of this new and sexy addition to the group.

Unbeknown to Chuck, the portly and impatient public servant decided not to wait and began walking to the venerable pleasure palace of a tool shed and stood staring down into the trap door as Flemming look up the hole.

Well, are you going to come down here and take your punishment like a man or do I have to come up their and give you a piece of my mind… ?"

Flemming said as he sashayed up the ladder thinking what a close call having the chief so close to his prey, but then realizing that there was no way his rotundness would be able to come down the rickety ladder.

The Chief wondered what in tarhooties that last remark was all about, but before his heavily-larded synapses could process a reply to it, Flemming got up and out of the dungeon and closed the trap-door, locking it, saying only, “Had ta check on the canned goods ... pickled beets ain't quite ready yet ... what can I do ya for, Chief?”

On the brink of sputtering in abject confusion, the Chief finally opted to say only, “Here's the wanted flyer for those two excaped cons ... wanted ya to have copies out here just in case.”

“Ya spelt it wrong ... it should b...” Flemming started to say, but was cut off.

“Yeah ... I know ... Woodchuck tole me awready it's 'Superman wearin' a S-Cape' ... damn, I never thought I'd be gettin' spellin' classes out on a ranch!” the exasperated Chief spat out.

"Well, is that all you needed? Damn I had to sacrifice a fuck... a full pot of cucumbers that I am pickingly just to have you hand me a couple of ugly mugs. Chief, don't you have a better way to waste our tax dollars?" Flemming said in order to keep the incompetent incumbent off balance.

“Well, there's no need to be hostile to a civil servant, MISTER Fleming!” snorted the Chief, as he attempted to pivot on his heel to turn and leave ... with riotous results – he ended up flat on his back with the crotch of his uniform pants split from the top of his ass-crack to the bottom of the zipper in front.

Flemming nearly bought the farm, laughing like he'd never in all his born days seen anything quite so terrifically funny, and while the inconsolable Chief attempted to regain his two-footed waddle, he said to him, 'Ya'll come back, now, y'heah?” ans resumed laughing as the utterly deflated (and deflatulenced) Chief thundered off to find his patrol car, and hoping his ignominious appearance wouldn't be seen by anyone else before he found it.

Flemming decided to go back to the ranch house for a quick snort of vitamins, stopping to ask James, who was cooking, “What's that unusual smell, boy? I like it,' to which James replied, “Sir, it's ginseng root ... it's real good for what ails ya, Sir!” and he smirked knowingly at his Master. Flemming wondered what he'd meant.

He left to return to the belly of the tool-shed, to finish what he'd begun, and on the way, he saw all his guests tied to the corral posts, and just shook his head at the weird behavior of city-folks.

"Wonderful!” “Great!” “Fucking Hot!" were some of the responses that he heard, and thought maybe the ranch hands had misunderstood what he meant by calf-roping.

Regaining the tool-shed, he again unlocked the trap-door and hurriedly climbed back down, where he found the six Men still busily at it ... but now, one inmate with his hands cuffed behind his back was being forced to fuck the other one by Woody, whose cock was lost up the inmate's ass ... Mark was receiving Sandy's cock down his throat while Josh fucked Sandy's ass.

Flemming was confronted by a veritable smorgasbord of delights and pondered, however briefly, where he would choose to ... insert ... himself.

Flemming couldn't help but think about how much his ranch had been transformed ... from a tranquil haven into a veritable orgy of cowboy sexcapades ... and how grateful his was for the changes. He hadn't felt so alive in years ... nor so naughty.

Deciding to plow Woody's ass, he stripped down and positioned himself behind the hunky ranch-hand, burying himself in one thoughtful, yet gratuitously brutal, thrust, and from the volume of Woody's yelp in response, he's done made a proper job of it ... Woody soon began to moan in pleasure as the older Man expertly plumbed his depths with the needy weapon of lust between his legs, and this was, in turn, translated into a reinvigorated fucking of the convict on the end of his own pole.

“Ah, that was the Po-lice Chief ... the Sheriff is County law, the Po-lice are City law ... ya mean you don't know the difference? Anyway ... he was handing out fliers of two escaped desperadoes and asked us to be on the lookout ... but I can see that Woody here has his eye already peeled!” and here he laughed out loud, knowing that the man he was himself fucking was in turn fucking one of the wanted felons.

Suddenly Flemming interrupted his laughing as it dawned on him that he had told one of the ranch hands to teach the four guests about bare back riding and now he was wondering just how did that ranch hand understand what he had said.

"Hey you two, where did you think you were going to go after you got out of the prison?" Sandy asked as he maintained a constant vacillation of his mid body.

Sandy's gentle and easy thrusts were filling Mark's throat completely each time, just as Josh was filling Sandy's ass for him every time ... it was a most hypnotically soothing exercise for all three.

The inmate who was both fucking and being fucked spoke up, carefully and respectfully, saying, “Sir, we didn't have no real plan ... we jist wanted out of that God-fersaken place ... Sir, it was awful how they treated us there!” and his voice sounded like he was close to tears.

"Well if you had it bad, you deserved it, I'm sure. The state would never put a good man who works hard and looks after his wife and kids, in jail." Flemming said.

"I swear to you Sir, I had just got out of my car to buy a pack of cigarettes when the police surrounded everyone on the corner and accused us all of selling drugs. Later all the pushers turned states evidence against me! I went to jail and they are still on that corner pushing coke." the second convict claimed.

Sandy said, “Well, there's a chance we may be able to do something for the both of you ... if you're willing to tell us how happy you are to be here with us right now, sharing our playtime like this ...” and here he waited, hoping to hear a pair of eager inmates jumping at a chance to put their prison-life behind them (no pun intended).

Meanwhile Sandy's father who was trying to manage the ranch kept wondering where so many of the hands had disappeared to. Well, they will have to answer to Flemming for all the stock that wasn't being attended too.

"What do you have in mind Sandy? Another bus hijacking? Flemming said, with the glee of a bad boy that just loved screwing behind the law among other things.

The thought of another caper pushed Josh over the edge and once one of the tool shed gang popped his wad, the whole shaft became one big uncorked Champaign bottle and the bubbly began to flow in and out of cocks, mouths and butt holes.

It was a hootenanny of flying sperm and well-exercised vocal-chords, as they all exploded in the ancient ritual of release, and air in the oubliette commonly known as The Dungeon was once again filled with the piquant and enervating aromas of pheromone-laden sweat and cum ... and the two inmates couldn't remember having had so much fun being abused in their lives, with both of them smiling hugely as proof.

"Romero, Romero where forth art thou," one of the prisoners called out in ecstasy.

"That was oubliette, not Juliet, he means shaft, but he is so hoity toidy he said oubliette and now we have to wait for all the readers that ran off to find their dictionaries to get back!" said Mark.

We need to cum up with a plan so that even that lard ass chief of sheriffs can see who the pushers are." said Flemming.

"Actually, I think they already know. It has to be obvious that if these two were in jail, and the drug point is still operating, then they put away the wrong people. But if the police are on the take, then it is in their interest not to upset the veritable apple cart." Sandy observed.

Mark was guiding the inmates mouths to each and every free-Man's cock in the dungeon, carefully training them to always clean the cocks which fed them with their mouths, and to WATCH their teeth ... which could be removed if need be! As he performed his little training exercise, Flemming slowly pulled his by-now limp cock from Woody's fuck-chute, and waggled it at one of the inmates who wasn't, at that moment, engaged in cock-cleansing, and said, “These two are still in a heap of trouble for escaping ... even if we clear them of the original charges ... and it just might be wise to keep them here, indefinitely, to save their nice-tight asses from being thrown back into prison.”

For the next ten minutes, Sandy laid out a plan of insidious cleverness, of inimitable craftiness, and of soaring illegality : the utter enslavement of the two inmates, for the long-term, probably to last one, or maybe two, years ... and maybe a lot longer ... with them living discretely there on the ranch, and receiving daily instruction in the many ways to properly serve and service free-Men. Discipline would be a thrice-daily requirement, for starters, and strict adherence to all rules and regulations given to them would be maintained.

The two escaped convicts turned yellow with fear until everyone seeing their reaction burst into laughter at Sandy's prank.

"Okay, guys, this is what we are going to do. We will challenge the inmates at the county jail to a rodeo. Everyone in the state will be there to see it. Then we will, one by one, drug the corrupt cops, switch their clothes with an innocent inmates, and then bring those legal ingrates back here and drop them down our juliete, and enslave them as they deserve!"

Everyone remained wide eyed amazed at the sheer genious of Sandy's plan that was so wacky it had a good chance of succeeding.

Mark, becoming pedantic for a moment, said, “Uh ... that's 'oubliette', Sir ... and the plan sounds really good to me, Sir!” while one of the inmates was cleaning his cock for him, for the seventh time.

Sandy then added, “These two inmates will still need to be shielded from any future prosecution, and having them here long-term would serve to do that ... and any other cons we liberate at the rodeo, too,” as he held the head of the second inmate to guide him in the proper cleansing of his cock ... his tenth, at least.

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.