Merry Month of Masturbation 2013-Day 4 -"Stoney End" The Wild Wild West (TV Show)
Title: Stoney End
Fandom: The Wild Wild West (Original TV Show, NOT the 1999 Movie)
Pairing: Artemus Gordon/James West
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1475
Warnings/Kinks: Prostitution, under-age, child prostitution, cross-dressing. Read at your own risk.
Notes: Written for MMOM Day 4. Prompt from khylara and vanillafluffy. Unbeta'd. Comments and concrit welcome.
Summary: Corset, chaps and a rain-storm.
The Wanderer wasn’t going anywhere and neither were Jim and Artie.
Torrential rain was pouring down on the entire Sacramento Valley, threatening to flood the banks of the American River for the fourth time that year and thunderclaps kept booming around the station from which they’d been planning to depart that evening.
Artie watched as Jim filled the time making sure each gun was oiled and in working order and that each throwing knife was sharpened to its most lethal capacity. Meanwhile Artie took a complete inventory of his disguises and the various accoutrements that went with them. Frayed collars were mended, boots were polished, and even the fake mustaches and beards were carefully groomed in preparation for their next use.
With his weapons, lovingly attended to, Jim then dealt with some outstanding correspondence, including a report to their superiors in Washington. President Grant was always curious as to what went on in California, especially where Governor Haight was concerned. They two men were known as friends, but Grant was savvy enough to know that friendships didn’t always transcend politics and Haight had his own ambitions which might extend beyond Sacramento. There was also the matter of requisitions and expenses, for which Jim referred to the ledgers that Artie so painstakingly filled out to keep track of exactly how much it cost to solve crimes, protected the President, and foil the plans of megalomaniacs to take over all or part of the United States. It wasn’t cheap.
As nighttime fell, and candles were lit, Artie sensed a restlessness building up in their shared accommodation. Neither of them had ventured out for hours. To open any of the doors was to risk a thorough drenching. Jim was getting bored and Artie knew where James West’s mind was likely to go at time like that. It was time for one of his favorite indulgences.
The train had no shortage of whiskey or fine cigars, but as Artie ostentatiously opened a volume of Shakespeare, as if planning to immerse himself in an evening of reading, he heard the words that never failed to produce a deep-seated rush of passion throughout his being, in this case punctuated by the flash of lightning just outside the passenger car.
“Get the corset.”
The corset had been his mother’s and it had seen years of use before Artie volunteered to work the mines in her place. She tried to talk him out of it, but her cough and shaking hands said more than she ever could. Those very same hands laced his fourteen year old body into the corset for his first day alone among the miners.
He quickly learned there were two kinds of men; the ones who would have preferred a girl and those who actually wanted a boy, but didn’t necessarily want to admit that they did. With the help of the corset, a wig and some pots of face-paint, he was able to service both. It was the earliest revelation of his talent for impersonation, the skill that would eventually get him out of Kentucky when he met a mining engineer working for the US Geological Survey. He rode away from the mines without looking back and began a career in government service that led to a partnership with one James T. West.
James was different than any man he’d ever known. His liking for the ladies was no secret, and he’d never chosen to approach Artie for those purposes, no matter how long they might be without female companionship. On the other hand, he’d always shown a fascination with Artie’s ability to transform himself into the feminine form when the job required it. Something about the corset, maybe its rigidity, or the elaborate ritual of the lacing seemed to spark his interest, a very particular kind of interest.
Artie was no longer the boy whose painted smile had often been smeared earning enough to keep him and mama fed, but he still knew how to negotiate for what he needed in return.
“You get the chaps.”
“All right.”
Eventually they sat facing each other in near darkness, one flickering candle between them.
Jim didn’t need Artie to get into a dress or even to don a wig. It was Artie himself, clearly a man, cock exposed and engorged, his upper body encased in the corset that he wanted to say. Maybe he liked the contrast between freedom and constraint, between male and female, or maybe he just had a bit of an inverted streak and this was the only way he felt comfortable acting on it. Artie didn’t care, he was just happy to give James what he wanted and get his own personal object of desire in return.
It was Jim, naked except for a pair of leather chaps. God he was beautiful. His body lean and taut, chest and abdomen well-muscled, and his prick a thing to be worshipped, which Artie would have done in a heartbeat.
The rain continued to batter the top of the train and surrounded countryside to the same rhythm that Artie picked up as he began stroking himself, wanting to breathe deeply, but unable to do and there was a certain tense eroticism to that fact. He knew Jim liked the little whimper that emerged as his torso strained against the whalebone.
Jim’s pace was more leisurely. Artie noted a certain lazy insolence to the way he slouched in the armchair, a leg casually draped over one arm, making himself even more exposed to Artie’s hungry gaze. A bit of a performer himself, James West was, even if he didn’t go in for theatrics the way Artie did. Right now he was putting on a show and Artie didn’t want to miss a moment.
He wished he could cross the space between, reach out, touch the smooth skin, feel the coarse pubic hair against his fingers, breathe in James’s scent.
Instead he watched Jim work himself, as skilled at masturbation as he was at acts of physical violence with what were almost delicate hands.
Artie took a second to pinch one of his own nipples and James indicated his approval with a grunt and an upward thrust of his hips, which gave Artie of world of imagination of Jim inside him, while Artie sat in his lap, and that same thrust pushed him in deeper.
Too much. Too much to ask. Too much to think about. He slowed himself down, spreading his legs wide, stroking his own thighs, showing Jim how much he had to offer, watching as Jim sighed deeply in what sounded like appreciation. They had all night to sit there in the rain and caress each other’s bodies with their eyes while each pleasured themselves. Artie touched his balls, feeling the tension rising again. His mining engineer had named Gordon and suggested it would make a good last name for his new life. He’d also had a taste for having his balls licked. Artie had been happy to oblige; as happy as he would been to display his prowess on Jim’s heavy sac.
It would feel so good in his hand and against his tongue. He’d make James West lose all composure with a few carefully time licks.
“Oh god,” he exclaimed, not even meaning too, and Jim’s throaty, somewhat lewd chuckle echoed in the car as if he knew exactly what Artie had been thinking at that moment.
Whether he did or not, something was propelling him now.
Artie could see Jim’s pace picking up, his cock bobbing up and down. He could smell leather and sweat and cigars and whiskey and everything that was James West permeating the railroad car. He could feel his own skin getting clammy and the corset digging into his flesh and he could hear Jim’s breathing growing nearly as shallow as his own.
“Jim,” he called out as his hand moved faster, his toes curled and the shiver of released came up through his body shaking him until he ejaculated in hot spurts, reminding him again of the vicious satisfaction he’d gotten making those filthy miners lose themselves in his hand, at his power.
Jim didn’t say anything intelligible, but in Artie’s mind he was coming inside him and for him. In that moment, James West was his. They were together; that’s what was important.
Artie could have slept where he was, but the corset needed to come off and James required a bit of cleaning up, so Artie rose with a long leisurely stretch and yawn, to carefully remove and store the precious garment. He saw a certain dreamy quality to Jim’s eyes in the candle-light that he chose to call love.
It might be weeks or even months before he needed the corset again, but when he did…when James did… the corset would be there.
Ready and waiting.
Fandom: The Wild Wild West (Original TV Show, NOT the 1999 Movie)
Pairing: Artemus Gordon/James West
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1475
Warnings/Kinks: Prostitution, under-age, child prostitution, cross-dressing. Read at your own risk.
Notes: Written for MMOM Day 4. Prompt from khylara and vanillafluffy. Unbeta'd. Comments and concrit welcome.
Summary: Corset, chaps and a rain-storm.
The Wanderer wasn’t going anywhere and neither were Jim and Artie.
Torrential rain was pouring down on the entire Sacramento Valley, threatening to flood the banks of the American River for the fourth time that year and thunderclaps kept booming around the station from which they’d been planning to depart that evening.
Artie watched as Jim filled the time making sure each gun was oiled and in working order and that each throwing knife was sharpened to its most lethal capacity. Meanwhile Artie took a complete inventory of his disguises and the various accoutrements that went with them. Frayed collars were mended, boots were polished, and even the fake mustaches and beards were carefully groomed in preparation for their next use.
With his weapons, lovingly attended to, Jim then dealt with some outstanding correspondence, including a report to their superiors in Washington. President Grant was always curious as to what went on in California, especially where Governor Haight was concerned. They two men were known as friends, but Grant was savvy enough to know that friendships didn’t always transcend politics and Haight had his own ambitions which might extend beyond Sacramento. There was also the matter of requisitions and expenses, for which Jim referred to the ledgers that Artie so painstakingly filled out to keep track of exactly how much it cost to solve crimes, protected the President, and foil the plans of megalomaniacs to take over all or part of the United States. It wasn’t cheap.
As nighttime fell, and candles were lit, Artie sensed a restlessness building up in their shared accommodation. Neither of them had ventured out for hours. To open any of the doors was to risk a thorough drenching. Jim was getting bored and Artie knew where James West’s mind was likely to go at time like that. It was time for one of his favorite indulgences.
The train had no shortage of whiskey or fine cigars, but as Artie ostentatiously opened a volume of Shakespeare, as if planning to immerse himself in an evening of reading, he heard the words that never failed to produce a deep-seated rush of passion throughout his being, in this case punctuated by the flash of lightning just outside the passenger car.
“Get the corset.”
The corset had been his mother’s and it had seen years of use before Artie volunteered to work the mines in her place. She tried to talk him out of it, but her cough and shaking hands said more than she ever could. Those very same hands laced his fourteen year old body into the corset for his first day alone among the miners.
He quickly learned there were two kinds of men; the ones who would have preferred a girl and those who actually wanted a boy, but didn’t necessarily want to admit that they did. With the help of the corset, a wig and some pots of face-paint, he was able to service both. It was the earliest revelation of his talent for impersonation, the skill that would eventually get him out of Kentucky when he met a mining engineer working for the US Geological Survey. He rode away from the mines without looking back and began a career in government service that led to a partnership with one James T. West.
James was different than any man he’d ever known. His liking for the ladies was no secret, and he’d never chosen to approach Artie for those purposes, no matter how long they might be without female companionship. On the other hand, he’d always shown a fascination with Artie’s ability to transform himself into the feminine form when the job required it. Something about the corset, maybe its rigidity, or the elaborate ritual of the lacing seemed to spark his interest, a very particular kind of interest.
Artie was no longer the boy whose painted smile had often been smeared earning enough to keep him and mama fed, but he still knew how to negotiate for what he needed in return.
“You get the chaps.”
“All right.”
Eventually they sat facing each other in near darkness, one flickering candle between them.
Jim didn’t need Artie to get into a dress or even to don a wig. It was Artie himself, clearly a man, cock exposed and engorged, his upper body encased in the corset that he wanted to say. Maybe he liked the contrast between freedom and constraint, between male and female, or maybe he just had a bit of an inverted streak and this was the only way he felt comfortable acting on it. Artie didn’t care, he was just happy to give James what he wanted and get his own personal object of desire in return.
It was Jim, naked except for a pair of leather chaps. God he was beautiful. His body lean and taut, chest and abdomen well-muscled, and his prick a thing to be worshipped, which Artie would have done in a heartbeat.
The rain continued to batter the top of the train and surrounded countryside to the same rhythm that Artie picked up as he began stroking himself, wanting to breathe deeply, but unable to do and there was a certain tense eroticism to that fact. He knew Jim liked the little whimper that emerged as his torso strained against the whalebone.
Jim’s pace was more leisurely. Artie noted a certain lazy insolence to the way he slouched in the armchair, a leg casually draped over one arm, making himself even more exposed to Artie’s hungry gaze. A bit of a performer himself, James West was, even if he didn’t go in for theatrics the way Artie did. Right now he was putting on a show and Artie didn’t want to miss a moment.
He wished he could cross the space between, reach out, touch the smooth skin, feel the coarse pubic hair against his fingers, breathe in James’s scent.
Instead he watched Jim work himself, as skilled at masturbation as he was at acts of physical violence with what were almost delicate hands.
Artie took a second to pinch one of his own nipples and James indicated his approval with a grunt and an upward thrust of his hips, which gave Artie of world of imagination of Jim inside him, while Artie sat in his lap, and that same thrust pushed him in deeper.
Too much. Too much to ask. Too much to think about. He slowed himself down, spreading his legs wide, stroking his own thighs, showing Jim how much he had to offer, watching as Jim sighed deeply in what sounded like appreciation. They had all night to sit there in the rain and caress each other’s bodies with their eyes while each pleasured themselves. Artie touched his balls, feeling the tension rising again. His mining engineer had named Gordon and suggested it would make a good last name for his new life. He’d also had a taste for having his balls licked. Artie had been happy to oblige; as happy as he would been to display his prowess on Jim’s heavy sac.
It would feel so good in his hand and against his tongue. He’d make James West lose all composure with a few carefully time licks.
“Oh god,” he exclaimed, not even meaning too, and Jim’s throaty, somewhat lewd chuckle echoed in the car as if he knew exactly what Artie had been thinking at that moment.
Whether he did or not, something was propelling him now.
Artie could see Jim’s pace picking up, his cock bobbing up and down. He could smell leather and sweat and cigars and whiskey and everything that was James West permeating the railroad car. He could feel his own skin getting clammy and the corset digging into his flesh and he could hear Jim’s breathing growing nearly as shallow as his own.
“Jim,” he called out as his hand moved faster, his toes curled and the shiver of released came up through his body shaking him until he ejaculated in hot spurts, reminding him again of the vicious satisfaction he’d gotten making those filthy miners lose themselves in his hand, at his power.
Jim didn’t say anything intelligible, but in Artie’s mind he was coming inside him and for him. In that moment, James West was his. They were together; that’s what was important.
Artie could have slept where he was, but the corset needed to come off and James required a bit of cleaning up, so Artie rose with a long leisurely stretch and yawn, to carefully remove and store the precious garment. He saw a certain dreamy quality to Jim’s eyes in the candle-light that he chose to call love.
It might be weeks or even months before he needed the corset again, but when he did…when James did… the corset would be there.
Ready and waiting.