Chapter 5
Despite considerable misgivings, Tim had accompanied Dusty the several miles off the main highway to the older youth's ranch. The spread, he had been told, of course wasn't Dusty's; it belonged to his parents, who, at present, were conveniently out of town for several days. The jeep circled around the gray clapboard house and headed out towards a tall barn that stood on a rolling knoll.
"You getting hungry?" asked Dusty.
"Yeah. Guess I could use a bite," replied Tim eagerly.
"Tell you what. Show you around the place first, then we'll shag on down to the house. Plenty of cold chicken and potato salad in the refrig."
"Sounds super."
"In the meantime, grab us a couple of beers and I'll give you the tour."
Tim dutifully found the brew, flipped the can lids, and tossed one to Dusty. They climbed out of the jeep, Tim's watchful eyes not failing to notice that the young rancher had left the vehicle's keys in the ignition. Good thing to remember, he reasoned, if things got a little out of hand.
Several geese strolled by, cackling and raising a ruckus. A big gander started pecking at Dusty's ankle but he quickly, almost with sadistic delight, kicked the bird away.
Beyond the barn to the north was a hog pen and off behind it were the sheep. More wool on the hoof than Tim had ever seen before in his life. Considering Dusty's earlier remarks about the animals, Tim was immediately defensive.
"Don't get any funny ideas now about your farmyard friends, okay? I'm adventurous, but I'm not hard up!"
"God damn it to hell. I never did see such a prissy, uptight city kid!" Dusty shook his head. "Okay then, you want to come in the barn and see some of my civilized type toys?"
Tim shuffled his feet. His eyes nervously darted from Dusty over to the barn door and back again. The battered old barn looked innocent enough. Still...
"Dunno," he stammered, "what kind of toys?" His mind raced back to the city, his father's makeshift dungeon, and the torture gear the old man had conveniently labeled "toys".
Dusty grinned, rubbed his hairy chest, and opened the barn door. "Just some stuff I picked up last trip to San Francisco." He jerked his head towards the open door, beckoning for Tim to follow along. "C'mon, Tim, maybe we can work up an even stronger appetite."
"Aw, shit, I dunno if I'm in the mood."
"Follow me, dammit." Dusty said, then took a swig of his beer.
Tim frowned, slowly shook his head, and shuffled inside the barn after his companion. His friend was loco! Hell, he was hungry enough to eat a bear. If it was sex the ranch kid was after again, he could damn well wait. He wondered if that was all Dusty Shawn ever thought about. He wasn't long on conversation about anything else.
Two narrow columns of sunlight streamed into the barn from overhead skylights, illuminating the musty interior. The ranch was void of cattle and it appeared the barn hadn't been used for much of anything except storage. A fairly new tractor was parked at the near end along with some cultivating equipment, and several crates and pieces of old furniture lined one wall. A workbench and storage cabinets occupied the other side of the structure.
Dusty paused and pointed to a ladder that led to the overhead hayloft. "Let's go up here. Watch yourself on the rungs or you'll be picking slivers the size of toothpicks out of your bare feet."
Climbing quickly, the older youth stood at the top of the ladder and looked down. Playfully, he kicked a pile of straw over the edge of the loft and laughed as the debris raffled down on Tim's head. The teenager's beer fell to the ground and rolled away.
"Hey! Watch it, you bastard!" Tim shouted.
Shaking his head like a wet dog, he scurried up the ladder. When he reached the top, he was surprised to see that the loft was far bigger than it had appeared from down below.
Dusty pointed to a boarded-off corner at the far end of the haypile. "Over there," he said a bit boastfully, "that's my secret sanctuary. The old man's got arthritis so bad he can't climb up here. Makes it nice and private this way."
Curious and expectant, Tim shuffled through the hay after Dusty. When they reached the boarded up area, Tim could see that it wasn't a room but a closet or storage area, half the front of which was a hinged door constructed of flat timbers. The latch bore a heavy padlock.
Dusty reached into his denims and found a key. He quickly had the lock open. Smiling in self-satisfaction, he slowly swung open the door, then stood back for Tim to gaze at his secret little cache.
"What do you think?" the ranch youth asked.
At first Tim thought he was looking in on a closet of harness equipment for mules or horses, but his eyes became accustomed to the dim light and he saw that the tools and leather accessories lining the walls were of a diabolical nature. Some of the gear, he had, in fact, seen before! All of them, he knew, were meant to be used on humans -- the long cat-o'-nine-tails included.
Dusty Shawn had carefully arranged his collection, the smaller items of a shelf above, the masks, studded belts, restrainers, whips, and chains on hooks below. On the floor, neatly lined in pairs, were an assortment of heavy leather boots. Hanging on a hook above the large minor that lined the inside of the door was a black leather motorcycle jacket. Suspended from one epaulet was a circular band of leather a couple of inches in diameter, covered with pointed steel studs. From the other epaulet hung a single steel ring of the same diameter.
Awestruck, Tim's eyes consumed the contents of the closet slowly, then they roved to the mirror, the jacket, and finally the curious shoulder ornaments. He hesitantly reached up to one of the epaulets and lifted one of the suspended objects.
"What are these?" he asked, innocently.
Dusty's eyebrows shot up perceptibly. "Shit, you never seen a cock ring before? You are green, aren't you?"
Tim blushed slightly, but didn't take his eyes off the black leather ring with the big studs. "Hell, I've seen a lot of this shit before. Just never seen one like that," he offered, covering.
"Take off your britches," Dusty snapped.
"Now?"
"Yes, now, dammit."
"I thought we were going to eat." Even before Tim had completed the statement, Dusty was at work on the buttons on his fly.
"And don't go tiring up a hard-on! Not yet," the ranch boy instructed as he quickly removed the leather cock ring from the jacket. "Makes it easier to put on when your meat is soft." Expertly, in less than a second, Dusty had the studded black leather band under and around Tim's cock and balls.
For the first time the teenager noted that the circular band had studs pointing in both directions, inside and outside its circumference. Both ends were pointed and encircled his meat, except for the adjustable snaps where the piece joined together. Dusty drew the cock ring as tight as he could and Tim cried out in pain.
"Jesus! Too tight!" he cried as the steel studs bit into his balls and cock. Instantly, his meat surged and began to swell; his balls became big and swollen as the ring pinched tighter and tighter.
Dusty looked on in obvious approval. "There. See what I mean? You're learning fast, kid. Now you know first-hand what a Goddamn cock ring's all about. Your whang'll not only get bigger than ever before, but it'll stay hard as a rock."
"But my balls, dammit, they're killing me!"
"Horseshit. You love it."
The older youth was already at work cramming his own jewels and prick into the circular steel ring he had retrieved from the other epaulet.
"This one's a little different," he advised. "Does the same thing but you've got to get all your meat through the ring before you're too fucking horny. Once you're erect, there's no way possible you can get the cock-sucker on. Tighter than hell, too. You can see it won't adjust, and if you buy the wrong size -- shit, better get a hacksaw or choke to death."
Tim was barely listening to Dusty and paid no attention to his companion's cock ring. He was fascinated by his own new toy. His tortured prick was sticking straight up, every little vein along its shaft sticking out like a road map. The knob on its end was bigger than he had ever seen it before, red and angry all over and twitching with convulsive little jerks.
The two youths looked at each other's dicks. Dusty's smile was bland, almost mocking. His cock had swollen as big as a baseball bat and clearly was an inch longer than Tim's.
"Like I said earlier, kid, you've got a lot to learn to catch up with me." Turning aside, he thrust his well-tanned arms and shoulders into the leather motorcycle jacket.
Nursing his curiosity, Tim watched Dusty dress. He was excited, but afraid.
"Now then, the cock ring is just a start," the ranch youth said, poking his head back in the closet. A second later he bobbed back out. "Here. Put on these."
He handed the teenager a black leather vest and a wide, studded wristband that matched his cock ring. Then he withdrew from the top shelf a black face hood designed to cover the entire head and lace under the chin. He handed it to Tim but the youth pushed it away.
"Afraid of the dark?" Dusty asked in a bitter tone.
"I don't dig that kind of bondage," snapped the teenager firmly.
Dusty Shawn placed the face mask on the floor, off to one side. "What kind do you go for?"
"None of it." Tim paused, reflecting on his escape from his father's clutches just hours earlier. "Not any more."
"Bullshit. You're a slave all the way. I can tell. Wait and see."
As if he had timed his remarks very carefully, Dusty withdrew a six-foot-long length of chain from the closet. At each end were leather hasps and one of these he fastened to his ankle. The other hasp, when Tim saw it, was much larger -- it was, in fact, a dog collar with big silver studs!
"Put it on," growled Dusty, sounding very much like a belligerent Doberman himself.
Tim's eyes flinched and he looked away. Still, his balls and cock were hot and horny; he wanted the collar at the same time he was appalled by it. His brain swirled. The image, he knew, was ridiculous -- but nonetheless exciting.
"Wh-Who needs it?" he finally stammered, his hand pushing the collar away.
Despite his youth, Dusty had some previous experience at the master-slave game. For one thing he had learned not to take no for an answer. Never this early in the little program, at least. Instantly, before Tim could protest again, he had the studded collar around the teenager's neck. Another two seconds and it was firmly secured.
"But I told you..."
"Shut up, slave!"
As long as the two youths stood close together, the chain length permitted Tim to remain standing, but if Dusty moved even the shortest distance away, he would have to stoop or crawl after him.
"I don't like to be called slave."
"Before we're through, you'll love the word. What's more, you'll learn to call me Master!"
Dusty Shawn silently continued to dress for his role. He pulled on a black leather G-string covered with row after row of shiny pointed studs, pulled his cock and balls through a big hole in its center, then tightly secured its heavy supporting chain to his waist.
"Like this, kid?"
Next he put on a long, leather wristlet and a pair of black motorcycle boots with big silver buckles. He smiled thinly.
"Costumes, baby. That's what the whole friggin' world is about. More fun this way when we kick the skit out of each other!"
The cowhide-garbed youth's tone was gruff and uncompromising. He completed his wardrobe with a pair of black leather driving gloves.
Tim's face grew ashen. He had no intention of kicking the shit out of anyone. Fantasy he could handle -- with all its play-acting fears and implied threats. Even controlled pain he could consider. But this? And there wasn't another living soul around for miles! Jesus! His father had never told him about times like this. And there was no pretending taking place here. All this was past the point of pretending.
"Well?" Dusty asked defiantly, his eyes narrowing.
Tim wanted to say something strong, something final, but his raging hard-on betrayed him. Worst of all, his frightened, bewildered eyes invited Dusty's attack.
The older youth jerked the chained dog collar violently and pulled Tim to his knees with a thud. Without a moment's hesitation his legs were thrust forward and his cock jammed into the teenager's mouth. With his free hand Dusty reached behind him, found the riding crop hanging in the closet, and quickly brought it into play. Whap! The leather struck Tim's rump.
"Suck my cock good, slave!" he ordered, bringing the whip back and gving the youth another stringing blow on the ass.
Tim shuddered, but his mouth and throat were forcibly filled with Dusty's big meat and he couldn't cry out. He tried to jerk away, but his tormentor locked his knees tightly around his head until his ears pained. Then Dusty started fucking him in the mouth, slowly at first, then deeper and faster. Caught up in a flurry of feverish passion, Dusty tossed aside the riding crop, bent over, and thrust two fingers of his gloved hand into his startled captive's asshole.
Tim tried to get away, but his thrashing about only made him choke and gag on the older youth's relentless, driving prick.
Dusty went from two to three, then finally four fingers were pushing and probing around in Tim's asshole. Finally, he took off the leather glove and thrust his entire hand back in the boy's shitter. Slowly at first, then rapidly, he rammed it all the way in past the wrist.
Tim squirmed, moaned, and protested with wild kicks of his legs. The studs on Dusty's leather G-string repeatedly slammed into his face, bruising his lips and nose. Never in all his life had he been subjected to such misery.
"You like it, slave?" asked Dusty, viciously grinding his knees into the sides of Tim's neck.
The older youth's cock slipped out of the teenager's mouth.
"No! Dammit, no!" Tim screamed.
"And I say yes!"
"Please, Dusty! Dammit!"
"You need a little rougher treatment, that's what you need. How about a little studded fuck, huh?"
Dusty jerked violently on the dog collar, almost choking the teenager. Then he brought up his boot and placed it on the youth's frail shoulder.
"Lick the dirt off my boot, slave. Plenty of sheep shit on it. Clean it off real good with your tongue!"
Tim looked up at Dusty with imploring eyes, considered the boot, briefly licked his lips, but didn't obey.
"You hear me, you little bastard?"
Tim continued to stare blankly away.
Dusty's eyes narrowed. Impatient, he ground his heavy boot into Tim's chest, propelling the youth to the floor of the loft, then jumped astride his nude body.
"Stubborn little asshole, aren't you? Just like a fucking mule if I ever saw one! Well, that's just fine, seeing mules are meant for riding. Take all kinds of abuse, too."
He tugged at the dog collar, puffing Tim's head up and away from the floor, stretching his neck to the limit.
"Stop! You're choking me!"
Dusty's free arm held the youth down flat as he guided his big cock, without a speck of lubricant, into Tim's sore hung.
"You like a good dry fuck, slave? How about those studs? You feel 'em on your ass yet?"
He started pounding his cock into Tim's dry asshole, fucking relentlessly, furiously, quivering all over with mad excitement.
"NO! NO!" Tim screamed in terror. The studs were slamming into his rump, leaving red marks wherever they hit; his asshole felt like it was an inferno of fire.
The teenager's cries only made Dusty more delirious with sexual excitement. "Teach you, you little bastard, not to lick my boots when I tell you." His breath came in short, labored gasps. "When we finish here, I'll show you how to fuck sheep, too, if they don't shit in your face first. Wowee! Slave, you ride better on a dry fuck than you do on a wet one! Take that cock, baby!"
Suddenly Dusty cuffed Tim with his open hand on the side of his face. His ear burned with pain. The older youth struck again! And again!
Tim could endure no more. His pain threshold had been reached and passed too many times to recount. Pleading, he had come to learn, was not only futile, it served to inflame his captor. Summoning every last ounce of his strength, he suddenly heaved himself to one side, dislodged Dusty's cock, and groped for the nearby riding crop.
Reaching it and holding on for dear life, responding only to a blind, wild, inner anger, he struck. Repeatedly, viciously, he flailed at Dusty's head and back. Again and again the whip came down as the older youth buried his face in his arms and cowered.
Then Tim was on his feet, his entire body taut, his adrenaline pumping out of control. Not relenting, despite Dusty's cringing and whimpering, he struck again with the whip. With his free hand he quickly removed the restraining dog collar from around his neck. Then he aimed the riding crop lower, striking at Dusty's broad back. When he saw that the whip bounced easily off the cowhide motorcycle jacket, he quickly turned to the youth's bare butt and struck with renewed fury.
A sudden, frightening change came over Tim's former tormentor. Instead of fighting back, defending himself, and meeting the smaller youth's intense onslaught face to face, he screamed and cowered.
"Oh, God, no!" he shouted.
Hiding within himself, shrinking inside his heavy leather jacket and burying his face deeper and deeper into his hands, he started to cry -- softly at first, then in great gasping sobs. His head bobbed up and down, then all at once he dropped his hands and looked up at Tim. The teenager looked at Dusty's tormented, tear-stained face and held the whip in mid air, no longer able to bring it down.
"Don't stop!" Dusty gasped between sobs. "I'm sorry I hurt you! Go ahead, get your revenge. All you want. Hit me harder, please!"
Tim stood transfixed, his brain numb, at once confused and repelled by the crazy turn of events.
"Go ahead! Kick the shit out of me!" Dusty shouted.
His submissive eyes moved fleetingly from the riding crop still suspended over his head to Tim's set face, then back again.
"What are you waiting for?"
"This is crazy," Tim said, lowering the weapon.
"No! No, it's not! I love you, Tim. I know it. I knew it from the minute I picked you up back on the highway. I've never experienced anything so beautiful! You've got to understand, I didn't want to hurt you. It was just an act!"
Tim slowly shook his head and dropped his eyes. He wanted to walk away, but unfortunately, thanks to the studded cock ring around his privates, his prick was still pointing straight up. He glanced over at Dusty's meat. A curious contrast to the cowering spectacle he was making of himself -- his cock, too, was stiff as a board.
"It was only an act," the older youth pleaded, tears continuing to flow unchecked down his cheeks. "I know I need you. I'm in love with you. Hit me harder. Please, I want to be your slave!"
Tim frowned. He wanted desperately to put distance between himself and his misdirected, fucked-up companion, but he also felt a stronger urge -- an insistent, deep-rooted desire for revenge, to fuck the hell out of Dusty Shawn, to abuse him, humiliate him, exactly as his host has done to him.
The older youth's tears came in uncontrolled, gurgling sobs. Feeling no remorse or sympathy, Tim could only look on with contempt. A powerful, consuming urge suddenly gripped the teenager and he swung once more with the riding whip, letting it snap with all its stinging fury across Dusty's bare ass. Almost instantly a long red welt formed, matching the several already found criss-crossing his neck and hands. Then Tim dropped the crop, with one hand grabbing Dusty by the neck and with the other backhanding him repeatedly across the face.
"Stop your crying! Stop it, you silly bastard!" he shouted angrily.
"Please hit me and fuck me at the same time," his tormentor-turned-coward whispered, at last making an effort to stifle his sobbing.
Tim struck him again, harder, on the side of the face. "Shut your mouth! Understand?"
Tim's brain was racked with confusion. Was he growing up, learning about human nature, honest emotion -- or was he, in fact, descending to the most fundamental depths of animal behavior, sick animals at that? He suspected he didn't have the capacity or experience to reason things out as properly should be done; in this situation, maybe it was all right to respond to his emotions. He would make it a gut reaction and see where that led him.
"Please. Do anything you want to me," Dusty repeated twice.
Tim's eyes roamed to the ranch youth's treasure of sex tools. Considering the closet full of equipment only briefly, lie grabbed the black leather face hood and quickly, forcefully, pulled it over his whimpering companion's head. Now, at last, the nerve-racking sobs would be muffled. Tim quickly secured the pointed, medieval-appearing mask around Dusty's neck with its leather drawstrings. The only opening in the hood was a tiny air slot under the nose, and there was something forbidden, dangerous about its appearance -- freaky and humiliating as it was for Dusty -- that turned Tim on even more. The teenager's eyes continued to explore the closet.
From inside the black hood, Dusty's muffled voice offered assistance. "Use the thongs!" he mumbled. "Tie me to the wall and fuck me!"
Tim found the long strips of cowhide, shrugged, then dutifully followed his host's instructions. Dusty had blindly pointed to a side wall; on it were several iron retaining rings at head and ankle heights. The teenager wasted no time thrusting his sightless captive into position, then binding him, erect and spread-eagled, facing the wall. He carefully checked the thongs, tight and secure. No way his sex object could wiggle loose!
"When did you say your parents are coming home?" Tim asked brusquely, trying to sound not overly concerned.
"Tomorrow morning. Plenty of time. Don't sweat it," came the muffled, eager reply.
Tim was hot and sweating. Removing the leather vest Dusty had loaned him, he threw it into a corner and stood there nude, the studded ring around his genitals making his cock stick out like a cannon. He started to work up a mouthful of spit but swallowed it back, deciding that no way would he permit Dusty the pleasure of a lubricated screw. Sonofabitch! He'd return the ranch kid's earlier consideration with the driest Goddamn fuck possible! He reached inside Dusty's leather jacket and grabbed his nipples. He pinched hard, rolling and squeezing them between his strong fingers. His captive squirmed and Tim pinched harder. Dusty writhed against the wall, his muscles tensing and flexing.
Tim bit his lip. His boiling, seething urgency was almost out of control. He knew full well that in his present state of excitement he would shoot off rapidly, too quickly, if he thrust his hot cock inside Dusty's asshole now. He had to delay the action, slow things down, just a little. Searching in the closet he found a good-sized dildo, far fatter than his own prick, that had a wooden handle at one end. Grasping the hard rubber tool firmly in his right hand, he rammed it against Dusty's firm, muscular butt-hole. The make-believe cock's big head resisted and went no farther when it struck the youth's pinched-closed bung. Tim withdrew the dildo and thrust again, harder, pushing and twisting at the same time with all his strength.
"God almighty!" wailed Dusty inside the face hood. His body convulsed violently as the huge head of the dildo plunged suddenly past the outer rim of his asshole and up into his gut.
Tim worked the big tool all around, in and out and sideways; finding more pleasure in watching his helpless captive squirm than he imagined possible without his own cock between those ass-cheeks. Dusty tried to fight back against the dry, burning fuck, but Tim only fucked his shitter harder. While the face hood heightened the excitement and added a new dimension to Tim's adventure, the youth wished he could see the expression on Dusty's face. Painful discomfort or abject misery, whatever the reaction, Tim wanted to see it all! It was his rightful turn to bear witness to a little cruelty and he was beginning to revel in it.
Tim Harding screwed his trussed-up captive for several minutes with the dildo before his arm tired. His throbbing stiff cock, he figured, had waited long enough.
Once again Dusty mumbled something from within the leather face hood. Tim couldn't understand what had been said and didn't care. The steel studs around the ring on his cock bit into him deeper and deeper the more his meat would swell. His pecker needed to peck. Now!
Grabbing his captive by the epaulets of his motorcycle jacket, the teenager came up behind the older youth's butt, and pressed his entire body against him. The ranch boy's asshole, stretched to the limit from the repeated thrusts of the monstrously fat dildo, easily gave way to Tim's big cock. Tim flexed his thigh muscles, driving his slender hips farther into his captive's bruised and welted ass-cheeks. His throbbing, hot prick slipped all the way inside Dusty's shit-chute, right up to the studded hilt of the cock ring.
Tim was tired, beat to the core and sore all over, but still his horny cock was determined to get full measure. Harder and harder he pounded his prick into Dusty's asshole, jabbing at the walls of the young rancher's butt. His breath became more labored as his passion mounted; his balls bounced and danced as they slapped furiously into Dusty's rump. Faster and faster he fucked, his jabbing rougher and rougher. His knuckles were red from tugging at the biker's jacket, his only leverage; his eyes were thin, angry slits as they focused on the back of the leather head restrainer.
In a burst of energy and passion, Tim thrust his arms up under each of Dusty's shoulders, linked his hands, and almost lifting the heavier, more muscular youth off the floor, bound him tightly with a crushing half-nelson. Though the restraint was unnecessary since Dusty was spread-eagled and well-secured to the wall, the hammerlock hold did give Tim better leverage -- leverage to fuck deeper and faster than he had ever done before.
Slap, slap, slap, slap! The noise of Tim's hips smacking against Dusty's butt-cheeks was deafeningly loud. The pistonlike pounding intensified.
"OH, GOD, I'M COMING!" shouted Tim, caught up in his frenzy.
The cock ring was killing him, his balls burned like fire. His cock, too, was hot and red from chafing inside Dusty's dry, abused asshole.
"Mother-fuck! Ohhhh!"
Tim suddenly got his rocks off and his body convulsed; his wild whang spat repeatedly, jerking in little spasms inside his captive's asshole. Again and again his cock sent a charge of hot, sticky cum into Dusty's fucked-raw asshole. Tim didn't waste a drop, keeping his meat inside the older youth's bung right through the last diminishing ejaculation.
Dusty squirmed and pushed his hips back against Tim, drawing in as far as he could the last thrusts of the teenager's shaft along with whatever trickle of jizz remained.
Tim backed slowly away, a little disappointed with himself for coming so quickly. He had wanted to screw Dusty dry for a long, long time, until his captive pleaded for him to stop, but it hadn't been in the cards. As usual, he had been too fucking horny! Now, as a puny afterthought, he gave his trussed-up companion a stinging blow across the rump with a studded belt he found on the floor of the closet. Dusty yelped as the stud marks formed on his ass.
Leaving his leather-clad captive hanging against the wall. Tim retreated to a pile of hay in the center of the loft and sat, shaking his head. Very carefully he removed the double-studded cock ring from his reddened, spent cock and tossed it aside. His eyes returned to Dusty, still moaning and begging to be flogged. Tim bit his lip. His sex partner was suddenly no more than a grotesque, costume curiosity as he stood there, masked face against the wall. The muffled voice continued shouting. He was begging for more! Tim sat motionless, his ears trying to make out the words but at the same time avoiding them.
"Don't stop!" Dusty shouted. "You haven't finished. Use the whip again, please!" His voice was shrieking now. "Tim! Tim! I really need you!"
Tim Harding swallowed several times, brushing the hair out of his eyes, and clambered to his feet. He looked with contempt at the riding crop for several seconds, picked it up, and slowly turned it over in his hands. Then, his face totally vacant, he draped it loosely around his companion's neck and slowly backed away. He kept backing up, short steps at a time, until his bare feet trampled against his crumpled jeans. Letting out a long breath of air, he shook his head and bent over to pull up his pants.
"I'm sorry, Dusty. Sorry," he said scornfully. "You don't love anybody. You're a two-faced bastard and I pity you."
He finished buttoning his jeans, then turned and shuffled through the hay lo the ladder. Ignoring the muffled shouts and cursing behind him, he skipped every other rung, round the ground, and made a dash for the barn door. He slammed it shut behind him, closing the sordid sounds from within out of his mind. Inhaling vigorously, he leaned against the barn, luxuriating in the clean-smelling desert air.
An instant later Tim turned the ignition key and Dusty's jeep obediently roared to life. Giving the old barn a final, mocking salute, he swung the wheel and tromped on the accelerator. Spitting gravel, the vehicle lurched down the rutted road they had come up earlier.
Damn! he thought, cursing repeatedly to himself. Beyond his heavier concerns, he was hungry! He had gotten to know everything else about the ranch youth but his Goddamn refrigerator. His stomach was grumbling, but it would have to wait. He wanted out of here, now.