Peyton stopped yowling and started moaning as the sensations emanating from his ass underwent a metamorphosis. He was taking what Tex was doling out, not backing off or running away. And he wanted it—wanted Tex’s hands on him, wanted Tex’s correction. The combination of pride and physical contact generated a flush even warmer than the one Tex was raising on his rump.
When Tex had tipped him forward, aiming his ass at the roof beams, his dick had ended up between Tex’s thighs. It’d been soft then, scared. But it firmed up now as it started to notice it had a male body to rub against. He started bucking—writhing not in escape but to maximize the friction of his cock against Tex’s thigh, pushing back to meet the palm slamming down.
And then, just when he thought he might actually be able to come like this, Tex stopped.
“Such a good boy,” he murmured as he stroked a hand lightly up and down Peyton’s flanks. “You did so well with that. Come on up here.”
With Tex helping him, Peyton managed to rotate his wrung out, throbbing body around until he was sitting upright on Tex’s lap. The denim covering Tex’s thigh that had felt so good rubbing against his cock stung like nettles against the heated flesh of his ass, but he ignored the burn, reaching for Tex with his hands, his mouth, his very soul.
“There, there. Settle down. None of that.” Tex corralled his groping hands and evaded his seeking lips.
Peyton whimpered. He needed.
“I’m your trainer,” Tex reminded him, pinning his arms to his sides with a tight hug. “I’m proud of you, very proud of you, and I understand you need some aftercare right now, so you’re going to get it. But no lovey-dovey.”
With that, he contradictorily gave Peyton a quick kiss on the lips. But he refused to give more, tucking Peyton’s head under his chin so it rested against his chest and keeping him wrapped up too tightly for anything else. Peyton was proud of himself for making it all the way through his punishment and glad Tex was proud of him too, but he felt like there should be more. All that lead-up and no climax. It didn’t seem right.
Eventually his dick went down. Then Tex stood him on his feet and pulled his pants up for him, tucking everything away. The fabric was rough against his skin and seemed to trap the heat, echoing it back with double intensity. He ached, more so now than when Tex had stopped because he wasn’t turned on anymore. Now there was only the lingering pain of punishment and a lot of uncertainty about what happened next.
Which, unbelievably, turned out to be more stall mucking.
He was so tired, physically and emotionally. The moment he picked up the pitchfork, he felt again the soreness in his chest and abs and arms, the soreness that had led to him refusing to continue, which had led to the soreness he now had in his ass. Quitting again was out of the question. He couldn’t take any more punishment and he didn’t want Tex mad at him, not after those moments they’d shared.
Even without the sex he’d been angling for, there’d been an intimacy—an intimacy he’d never felt with another man if he was being honest. He’d been vulnerable to Tex, had let Tex see his demons, his fear and pain, his tears. The bond they’d started to form, though new and tenuous, wasn’t one he wanted to break. So he mucked. And mucked and mucked until he was ready to cry all over again.
At some point, Tex picked up a pitchfork and started helping. He didn’t say anything, just worked at his side as if he knew Peyton was about to drop. He’d said he wouldn’t give Peyton anything he couldn’t handle, and Peyton saw it was true. Because eventually all the stalls were clean. He’d done it. Well, they’d done it together. But the point was, it got done. Every single stall.
He wiped a shaky hand across his forehead, surveying the row of clean stalls with satisfaction. Tex clapped him on the back.
“That’s what success looks like.”
Success.
Peyton turned his face up to Tex’s and smiled a smile that felt new and exciting and really, really good.
Chapter 5
Peyton crawled into bed. It was barely afternoon but he felt like he could sleep for the next eighteen hours. Then he remembered his fucking schedule. If he accidentally blew off another appointment, there was no telling what the consequences would be. With trembling hands, he pulled out the stapled sheaf of papers and scanned down the bullet points for day one.
Dayone. Dear God, he had thirteen more to go. However much resolve he tried to summon, he couldn’t fool himself into believing he would make it. He’d probably been assigned to KP duty for the rest of the day or something equally heinous. But no. To his immense relief, he discovered the next item on his agenda was listed simply as “checkup” with the location as “clinic.”
A doctor’s visit. This was great. Maybe he could get a medical exemption from hard labor. And from spankings, though he had mixed feelings about those. His ass said “don’t ever do that to me again” but the warmth emanating from his ass found its way to his heart, as if Tex had left a piece of himself behind.
He asked for directions to the clinic and arrived at a squat, brick building, incongruous amongst all the wood. Inside, he gave the receptionist his name, then sat on one of the hard chairs lined up across from the reception desk, trying not to squirm too much. If spankings were part of the program, they could at least provide cushions.
Werespankings part of the program? The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became that spankings weren’t the ranch’s official punishment. That would be ridiculous. Sex abuse. Or just plain abuse abuse. Tex had obviously gone rogue, no doubt spurred by desire. He wasn’t the first man to want a piece of Peyton’s ass, though most guys took a different approach.
When Peyton’s name was called, he went into the exam room and dutifully changed into the paper gown the nurse handed him, then sat at the end of the exam table and waited, grateful the table was cushioned but wishing the air conditioning wasn’t set quite so high. His nipples were as puckered as they’d been while Tex had been spanking him, and he couldn’t help stroking a thumb over one. The stimulation plus the memory of how thoroughly Tex had peppered his ass had his cock plumping under the paper until the door opened and he dropped his hand into his lap to cover the evidence.
Both the doctor and his nurse were good-looking men. Peyton wondered if it was a requirement for employment at The Bars and Stars, that everyone be gay and gorgeous. Didn’t hurt, anyway.
“Good afternoon,” the doctor said formally. “This is your first day with us, yes? And how did you find it?”
“Painful.”
The doctor nodded as if he’d been expecting that answer. “That’s why we like to check you over, make sure you’re handling the program all right.”
“It was awful, doc. I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”
