Archive;'Odessa Ranch 6'{Ian Jacobs}( MM, sm, ws, scat, bd )[ 6 of ? ]
Odessa Ranch
Part 6, The Soil: Brief History and Current Usage
The hands started a tradition a few years ago that has taken shape organically as the population of the hands has changed. Now each hand has a bandana, with a design or color specific to him. They are different enough to be spotted easily. They don't confer rank, but they do confer preference (both welcome and unwelcome). The hands use them at will to mark one field slave as theirs. The tradition is that each hand get only one at a time, but he need not have any. But the rules of the ranch are that all slaves answer to all hands. So if a slave is wearing a green bandana around his neck, and the green hand has given him an order not to listen to any other hand, he is both obliged to follow that order, and suffer the obvious consequences: the slave will either be beaten if he refuses an order, or will be beaten by the green hand if he follows. Just a special torment.
Fertilizer
Shortly after Nick's nap, he heard the noise of the hands returning. The clopping of the hooves slowing as they approached. He watched as Mark and the others stood at attention, eyes down. He did the same.
The hands come in, guide their horse to their stable and dismount. At this point, they can torment the slaves in anyway they see fit. A new hand will almost certainly do it because he will have much more stored aggression than one with more experience. So most hands just leave for the honey room where they will get their fill of abusing if they so opt. They, and the stable slaves, know that if the hands are unhappy with the conditions of the horses or the stalls, the slave will pay for the foul up.
The hands didn't even bother making any commands or much of any noise as they headed out for the honey room and then for bed. The hotter the days (and now summer was beginning in full) the more tired they became and the less abuse they could muster-for some anyway.
"Ever brush a horse before?" Mark asked. Nick just shook his head. "Well you start at the mane and work your way back, treat it like sanding wood, you move with the grain in wood, you work in the direction of the hair."
Because of the length of chain, Mark could only supervise Nick on the horse closest to him. He told Nick to grab the brush and work on that horse. Nick was extremely nervous. He'd never been anywhere near livestock of any kind, and now he was going to have to care for 4 large creatures who looked large enough to kill him without a thought. He watched Mark move the brush roughly down the neck of his first horse. Nick took his brush and moved it timidly down the horse's neck; the stiff bristles barely made any contact with the flesh.
"Keep doing it like that and 4 hands will whip the shit out of you. Do it like this." He held Nick's hand and forced it against the horse and moved it rapidly down the neck. "Don't worry about hurting them, you ain't going to be able to hurt them with the brush. You got to get out all the dust and shit, the hands want the horses to look shiny and new every morning."
Nick did the best he could. He was shaking visibly and Mark could waste no extra time on him. They still had to feed and water them, and be ready to clean the stalls. Most of their work happened at dark, so it was a very different schedule than the rest of the ranch. He had to be wary of his own skin and let Nick learn his lesson at the end of the lash like the rest.
After they finished brushing the horses. Mark showed Nick how to feed and water them. A barrel of each was kept for each slave, and in the mornings it was their responsibility to keep them filled. Nick hung the buckets from each horse's head and waited until they were finished and put water in a little water trough for each beast. Nick liked the motion, the simple act of standing up, but he didn't like the horses at all and would have a very difficult time choosing between the stable and the honey room if offered the option.
The job so far wasn't all that bad, and perhaps for some, the worst part of the job would still be much easier to tolerate than even a shower in the honey room. Nick got to see very closely horse shit and piss. He also go to see what hung like a horse meant. He had always been a city boy so those phrases were idioms with no reference. He looked to Mark again.
"You do what you can to handle the shit at night. There ain't nothing you can do about the piss til morning when they unchain us for the rest of our duties. Get your canvas square and lay it out like this." Mark took a dirty canvas square--about 4 feet to a side-and laid it out flat in the open hallway between the stalls. He went around behind one of his horses and came back with his hands full of horse shit. He dropped it in the center of the square and looked up at Nick. "You have to get every bit of the shit or they will make you eat it. No lie."
Nick went about the job holding his breath as much as possible. He thought about having to be toilet paper for whomever stuck his ass in his face and concluded that at least he could hold this shit at arm's length. His horses finished shitting about the same time everyone else's. They all wiped their shit covered hands and arms with the dirty canvas. Nick mimicked them.
"What now?" Nick asked.
"Couple of things, you try to sleep a little, but you keep an ear out for more shit. Second thing, you owe me a fuck."
Nick walked over to Mark, who was standing, stretching. Nick kneeled before him like he had been trained before the ranch.
"Look at this Ed." He laughed. "Thanks all the same Nick, but we don't like you doing that to us, we see it as disrespect. Stand up." Nick stood and almost apologized, but decided that would only make things worse. Not even a full 24 hours after being promoted and his mind was beginning to process again.
"Since Ed helped you get off this morning, he'll be part of this threesome." Nick's cock, hard already, began to ooze. This much sexual contact without waste being involved, without lashes and screaming was richer than he ever though it could ever be.
Nick looked over at the other two, their chains couldn't reach to him, so there was no way for a full orgy. It made little difference however, because they were already engaged. He watched them kiss and nearly had a spontaneous orgasm. He hadn't witnessed that since before he got on the bus in Atlanta. Tenderness was something he thought stolen for good. He began to realize that in a way, it was being stolen, but that he and his fellow slaves were the ones stealing it. He moved to Mark and kissed him. The two men moved tongues and heads like a soft machine needing no outside command. A new joy waved up and down Nick during this simple act. But it also made him super horny. He was ready for a full fledged, two on one fuck. Not knowing how long anything would last, their thefts of tenderness and sex usually had to be quick.
"Ed, which end do you want?" Mark asked.
"I had the hole this mornin', you take it, I'll take the mouth."
Nick dropped to all fours and just waited for the men to take their positions. Nick relaxed jaw and asshole and let each man do what he would. He felt spasms all over his body as each man gripped him in different places to make their movements easier, more forceful. Ed came first and Nick did what he could to swallow the load of cum. Ed walked back to his spot and leaned against the stall to doze. Mark continued. He took his time, wanting to enjoy an ass still tight from lack of use. It was sweet for him, sweeter for Nick. Nick didn't even bother jerking himself. He just paid attention to the maniacal tickle spreading out from his asshole and going down his scrotum all the way to the tip of his dripping cock. Mark began thrusting harder and harder and came silently and without fanfare.
"Great ass, Nick. Have a jerk, but do what you can to be alert, horse shit tastes like it sounds."
Nick went back to his spot and jerked. He tried to do it slowly so he could enjoy it, but it took less than a minute. He squirted it over his chest. There was only about half as much as this morning, but that was still enormous volume. He spread it over his chest like icing. He closed his eyes as it cooled and tightened the skin of his naked torso. This was a feeling he could get used to, could handle horse shit, man shit, and lashes to get.
Nick woke when he heard some chains rattle. He decided to check on his horses and take care of any extra shit. There was some and he was more tired now, so he cared less about the smell and conditions. He put the extra on the canvas and went back to cat-napping.
In the morning, the hands came. The four whose horses were Nick's responsibility, took a long while to examine their horses. The other 16 were pretty much gone. They looked for any flaws, any shit left on the stable floor. Fortunately, there wasn't any shit, but on two of the horses, he had not brushed the lower part of their legs to their rider's satisfaction. The other two, satisfied, went out to the range.
"Against the post slave." They motioned with their crops to the hook hanging against the post where he slept. He hooked his restraints to it and waited.
Each hand gave him twenty lashes with straps which hung on the wall nearest the door. This was a new pain to go along with his new joys. It was wider and hotter than any he'd felt before. Because they had to be out quickly, they took turns lashing Nicks thighs, ass, and back, rather than deliver their twenty separately. This meant no time between the lashes to try to redirect the pain, it was like a storm surge of pain and noise that lasted about 50 seconds. They left and there was still ringing in Nick's ears.
The slave he'd been delivered to the morning before unhooked him. He also unchained each slave so they could perform the rest of their duties. Mark could not talk while the trustee was watching, so Nick just did exactly as the others. He gathered up the canvas by the corners, making a makeshift bag. He slung it gently over his shoulder, still smarting from the lashes, and went out the back of the barn. They dumped the horse shit in a compost heap about 50 yards away from the barn. On the way back, they stopped and picked up buckets full of oats and water to refill their barrels. The trustee chained them again, locked the door as the day before.
"You did ok this morning. But remember, they like to make you eat shit. So if you miss any, you eat it, if you drop any on the way to the compost heap, you eat it." Mark said. Then he smiled a little. "Now we really sleep."
Nick saw the four drop off quickly. He jerked once more, spread the cum once more, and let himself fall asleep knowing, for the first time, that he wouldn't be interrupted for a good long while.
[The first slaves had to spread topsoil and handle the compost so that the topsoil would remain. It was all done by hand, with water being carried in buckets, just as in the old plantation South. The compost must be kept constantly ready and circulating or the crops will fail their primary mission: to feed the ranch.]
Bandana
Seth woke up with his shackmates and got their breakfast. They all again ate in haste and silence and headed off for the fields.
"Come with me Seth, we have to get compost for the corn." Ty said, heading toward the barn.
Ty grabbed the same sort of canvas square the stable slaves used. He laid it out and scooped compost onto the square until it was full enough. Seth did the same, but put a good deal more on his square.
"You ain't want to do that. They make you eat what you drop, so you best put some back."
[Compost is more than just shit, and, for once, what is report isn't true. Since compost contains potentially deadly levels of bacteria, among other things, the trustees nor the hands would be allowed to make such an order. However, the threat of having to eat it keeps the slaves careful.]
Seth scooped some of it back so his square held about the same amount as Ty's. He made the makeshift bag and headed off for his patch of corn.
Seth put compost around each stalk and went back to the heap when he ran out. He weeded just as he had yesterday. Weeding, he could tell, would be a daily process, like Sisyphus and his boulder. To some degree, though, Seth was enjoying himself. He had something to do which took physical effort, but which didn't take long to learn. He was out in the open and free from worries he didn't want-the worries he had were actually ones that made his cock rock hard most of the time.
"You was bein' whipped during lunch yesterday, so go get lunch now. I'll make sure the others get theirs, they're deeper in."
Seth made his way to what he viewed as the canteen. A hand approached on his horse. Seth stopped, stood at attention with his eyes down.
"You're the German boy, aren't you?" The accent was flat, like Seth imagined most American accents to be. He also noticed the grammar was standard. It surprised him because he didn't have to try to translate any strange idioms or accents.
"Sir yes sir."
The hand dismounted. From around his saddle horn, he pulled a bright yellow bandana with blue Stars of David on it. "Look up at me."
"Sir yes sir." The hand was the same height. He had brown hair that was getting lighter because of the sun. His eyes were mottled green. His face was average, handsome, but not striking. What did strike Seth, his face was relaxed and appeared kind, for lack of any other word.
The hand tied the bandana loosely around Seth's neck but with a tight knot. It was folded more like a blindfold, so it looked more like a loose collar than a scout bandana. "What's your name boy?"
"Sir Seth sir."
"Seth, just so you know when others refer to me, my name's Tim."
"Sir thank you sir." He wanted to ask what all of that meant. He knew better. It was lunchtime and he hadn't been whipped at all yet, the first day like that since his day one; he didn't want to jeopardize that.
Tim remounted and sauntered off, back toward the range where the cattle feed. Seth continued as before, getting the bowls and going back to the fields.
"Oh shit, Seth." Ty said, taking the bowls from him. He laughed as he disappeared further into the corn to deliver lunch to their mates. When Ty returned, Seth asked,
"Why 'o shit?'"
"That bandana means you marked. Which one was it?"
"He said his name was Tim. Do you know him? What is marked?"
"Don't know him, but I do now. He's yellow with blue stars. It means he sorta owns you. You'll see, I ain't never been marked, just seen what happens. You might be lucky, you might be unlucky." He laughed a little and wandered off to get more compost.
Seth continued weeding. He pulled each weed and put it in a pile as he did the day before [At the end of each day, they take their weeds to a central spot near the shacks. Before he sleeps, the newest hand comes and sets fire to the pile of weeds and douses it when it's mostly burned before he can go to sleep.]. He walked to the edge of the field to piss and another hand approached.
"Fuck." He said. Seth was at attention, eyes down; because he was given no command or question, he said nothing. "Fuckin' Tim, got to you before I could." He jumped off his horse. He actually had a little bit of gut. Seth hadn't noticed anyone without defined abs in the toilet, and couldn't imagine anyone being able to get a gut eating the food they did. It wasn't big, but that Seth couldn't see his muscles caught his attention. "Anyway, kneel fucker and suck me off."
Seth complied. Nothing new, nothing spectacular. He just sucked the guy off, swallowed the cum and went back to his duties.
"Seth." He recognized Tim's voice. He moved quickly to the edge of the field and stood at slave attention. "Did you suck another hand's dick?"
"Sir yes sir."
"That bandana means you're mine. If you do stuff like that you're not faithful to it."
"Sir, but . . ."
"Just turn around slave, hands behind your head." Tim took the crop from his boot and lashed the small of Seth's back. Each stroke landing nearly on top of the one before. Seth winced, but was somewhat thankful that Tim left his still very tender ass alone. This pain was becoming more and more familiar. But now he understood what Ty meant by marked. This was a failsafe system of abuse, not that anyone on the ranch needed an excuse or system, just the means.
"Sir sorry sir." A slave's blanket statement for lashes whether or not they make sense in any other world other than the one they now inhabit.
"Just don't do it again." He mounted and rode off as Seth said his obligatory "sir yes sir."
Ty was eagerly waiting where their squares met. Seth looked at the grinning boy and said, "I understand."
"Hell you better, you're too pretty not to be marked by somebody."
Seth went back to weeding. He almost cried because the bucolic idea of strange freedom he felt before the bandana was now shattered. He knelt quietly, because his ass was still too sore for him to sit on, and thought. The disappointment passed quickly when he realized he was a slave and would feel punishment in some form or other daily. His new world had things that would never make sense fully-not unlike the real world (but in this world, a lash or worse awaited); it would take him a while to accept this new reality fully. Until then, there was weeding, composting, watering, eating, sex, punishment, a certain regularity he could find comfort in, even if his ass was still to raw to bare his weight.