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Enough Rope

A Gay BDSM Short Story

by

Parker Avrile & Alec Stark

©2018 by Paris April Press

All characters are consenting adults over age 18. This short story is intended for open-minded readers who enjoy explicit descriptions of consenting sex between adult men into BDSM.

All rights reserved. Do not upload this book to unauthorized sites or claim it as your own work. If you want to share it, please share our official link so we can continue to publish the high-steam BDSM romance you love.

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A mystery dom hires Dodge to work on his dude ranch. After three weeks of wrangling tourists, Dodge finds out what his after-hours duties really entail. This kinky gay BDSM short story features an older dom, three younger cowboys, and plenty of rope. 5,000 words.

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Table of Contents

Enough Rope

More by Alec & Parker

Enough Rope

Working on a dude ranch wasn't all posing shirtless in blue jeans while wearing a cowboy hat and a thousand-yard stare. When I signed on for the job, I pictured hot gay sex after hours in the bunkhouse with the other Instagrammable boys of summer. Martin, the absentee owner, had “interviewed” me in the backroom of a public sex dungeon in Austin. Why wouldn't I assume plenty of after-hours kink?

Turned out I was the youngest guy there by at least fifteen years and, hell, I was already twenty-four myself. Whatever Martin may have believed, the onsite manager of the so-called ranch appeared to think old and weathered was more photogenic than young and beautiful.

You a quitter, Dodge?” The old boy literally chewed on a piece of straw as he looked me up and down. “Cuz you sure don't look like a cowboy in those three-hundred-dollar jeans.”

I'm here to work, sir.” And it was actually true since Martin was paying good money for me to be here. Still, after three weeks of wrangling perky tourists from Texas who thought they'd find the real west in New Mexico, I was overdue for a weekend off. The manager, still chewing what looked like the same piece of straw, generously told me I was free to ride my assigned horse into the nearest town.

Is this hazing the new guy, is that what this is, sir?” I asked. “Or is it that you still think I need the time in the saddle?” The old boy had never come out and said so, but he had a way of letting me know the absentee owner had fucked up big time when he hired me without ever seeing me sit on a horse.

He blinked like a hundred-year-old tortoise. In other words, he didn't blink. “It's just that Buzz knows the way.”

Ah yes, Buzz. My passive-aggressive horse was a cynical tourism industry professional who expressed his low opinion of my riding skills by trying to take me under the lowest branch of every tree in the Gila National Forest. He hadn't knocked me off yet, and he wasn't going to, but that didn't stop him from trying. As if a Texas boy was going to quit over an asshole horse. Today's ride wasn't any different. Buzz immediately began to pick his way along an uphill trail, and even I, the guy from Austin, knew their little one-horse town was downhill.

Where the hell was he taking me? And did I feel strongly enough to argue about it?

Fuck it. Curiosity killed the cat, and I imagine it'll get me too one of these fine days. I let the damn horse go where he wanted.

Off the ranch and into national forest. We were still below the tree line, so it was a pleasant ride complete with birdsong. Buzz had an unhurried gait, but he seemed to know where he was going.

An hour or so along, and the path led into the light. A town, but an odd town without any signs to welcome you to East Jesus, New Mexico or to advise you to Drive Friendly. The dusty street was unpaved, yet it hadn't deteriorated into potholes, as it should after only a single year of neglect in the four seasons of the Gila Mountains. The wooden sidewalks and storefronts were of vintage design, but the wood was unpocked by the tender attentions of acorn-stashing woodpeckers.

The place seemed deserted. Yet even a gay fake cowboy from Austin knew a genuine ghost town wouldn't be this well-preserved. It had the feel of a movie set.

Buzz stopped in front of the hitching post outside the town's saloon.

Your stop, sucker.

There were already buckets of oat and water within reach. Somebody expected us. Well, of course, they did. I left the smart-ass horse tied up to the post and pushed my way through the swinging doors.

Hello? Anybody home?”

Something hummed, and the lights went up. The place had an electric eye and thus a generator. How inauthentic. I pushed through the second set of swinging doors, where two guys in their early twenties were playing five card draw with a good-looking silver fox of about forty. The fox I knew, since he was Martin, my employer, but I thought he was still back in Austin holding court in his favorite gay leather bar.

Hey, man,” I said.

Hello, Dodge.” He wore his hair longish, the better to tie it back in a sinister ponytail when he was about to thrash somebody at the club. Here, it was loose, and he'd sprouted a neatly trimmed beard to match. His clothes were city cowboy designer duds down to the five-thousand-dollar hand-tooled ostrich-skin cowboy boots and the oversized turquoise and silver belt buckle. “How are you liking the job so far?”

It's great.”

It's boring as fuck. I expected something else. As you damn well know.

But you can't say what you're thinking to your employer. Especially when you're living rent-free in the bunkhouse. I'd leave at the end of summer with a swollen bank account, and for that I could tolerate a lot of boredom.

One of the twentysomethings drew two cards, and the other one folded. Who still played five card draw?

This scene was staged, all right. I felt as if I'd stepped into a movie. Here I was, Dodge, the new gunslinger in some 1880s shit town, except... oh yeah... I didn't happen to have a gun. And this town didn't really date to the 1880s.

This is Buck, and this is Luke,” Martin said.

Buck was tall and slim, the flexible type. Blond hair let go a little too long, probably so he could throw it around better when he was dancing. Luke was stockier, with more powerful muscles that he'd spent some effort on in the gym. More my body type, which might be one of the reasons my unenthusiastic horse was so unthrilled with me. Muscle weighs more than lean.

Nice to meet you,” I said. And I wasn't being insincere. They were the only guys my age I'd seen in three weeks. Single gay guys don't make a habit of vacationing in New Mexico. San Francisco and Manhattan are more our speed.

Want to make it a four-handed game?” Luke gestured at the open chair.

I don't really know how to play five card draw. I've seen it in the movies, that's about it.”

All the better. We can take all your money,” Buck said.

Ha fucking ha. I know my limitations, and playing poker for money is one of them.”

Sit down,” Martin said. His voice had changed into the leather daddy voice he used in the club back home. A thrill ran up and down my spine.

I sat.

You passed your health exam with flying colors.”

It had been an exceptionally thorough health exam, another reason I'd entertained some porny fantasies. “We've all been tested too,” he said. “You have my word on my membership in...” He said the name of our club back in Austin, but I guess I better not say it here. The point is, I could trust him absolutely on a question of health, just as he could trust me.

I understand,” I said.

For a time, he looked at me as if he was looking into me rather than at my surfaces. We'd played a little, but it was only public play at the club, with other people watching or playing themselves, and we'd never gone too deep.

Tell me your other limitations,” he finally said. “Besides the playing poker for money.”

This was a negotiation of a D/s scene. Which might have been what I was hoping for all along when I first accepted his job offer...

The usual. I can tolerate a lot of pain, but no permanent marks.” Some men want to be pushed beyond their so-called limits, but I assumed Martin was asking me about limits that weren't subject to change. “No blood, no piss, none of that. And no fucking tattoos, although I'm open to being pierced or collared.”

Martin nodded. “What about group scenes?”

He meant the two other guys. “You already know I'm into public scenes and a certain amount of being shared. You should also know I expect the dom to maintain control. You tell me what to do and who to do it with, I'll come through. But I don't tolerate behind-the-scenes sneaking around and fifty shades of fucking drama.”


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