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All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Willsin Rowe
Frontier Brothers © January 2011 Kenn Dahll
eXcessica publishing
A Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved
Frontier Brothers
By Kenn Dahll
Table of Contents
Daily life on the American frontier at the beginning of the nineteenth century was at best tedious. Pa homesteaded our little farm twenty years ago. A year later he returned to Chicago and married Ma, a school teacher he’d been courting for two years. I’m the eldest of six siblings; I was born less than a year after the wedding. A decade ago, Pa and I, along with one of my three brothers built a nice place on the property. It was a little cramped and in nice weather I preferred to spend nights in the two-room log cabin Pa originally built and in which the family lived until the farm house was built.
By frontier standards the house was large, with four rooms, two on each floor although the upstairs bedrooms had sloping eaves to deal with. It had two chimneys with four fireplaces to ward off the brutal winter cold. We four boys slept upstairs in the front bedroom, our two sisters slept in the smaller back bedroom. Our parents slept in a small back room off the keeping room downstairs, which held a common sitting and dining space, as well as cooking facilities including a huge hearth with swivel rods for cooking pots and all. We had a well and an outhouse for creature comforts.
Privacy was a problem, especially since I and two of my three brothers had reached what Ma called ‘puberty,’ which she said accounts for our body hair and some pretty strange goings on in our private parts. Pa gave us each a lecture on Onanism, sodomy, and respecting girls; but until some of the events of this narrative, I was still not certain how it all worked. All I knew was that sometimes that part of me from which I urinated would become inflexibly rigid and some mornings I awoke with it both hard and covered with a dried white substance. I’d clean it up and never told Ma.
One winter in my sixteenth year, I thought my fifteen year old brother Zeke–really Ezekiel–underwent a similar experience. He woke me up moaning and thrashing in the bed all four of us shared. Being of curious disposition, I looked under the bedclothes and saw his male member enlarged and unbendingly hard. As I observed his condition, Zeke groaned, started breathing heavily and a white substance was ejected from the tip of his swollen penis. Ma’s said that’s the proper medical term for what we used to call our ‘pee-pee.’ Well over a year later, just before my eighteenth birthday, Jonas, the next oldest brother who had just turned fifteen, woke me up in the middle of the night in the same condition as Zeke had experienced. I awakened Zeke and we both watched Jonas’ member expel the white syrup. Zeke and I discussed the occurrence in quiet whispers but could not determine its purpose.
What I did observe with consternation was the effect on my penis. As we watched Jonas, it enlarged. I reached down to hide that circumstance from Zeke and found that placing my hand on it felt pleasantly warm. I very slowly moved my palm up and down the hard shaft. The excess of skin which usually hung off the end permitted easy movement. Soon a juice leaked from where my piss usually flowed and my shaft became slippery, especially when I rub my palm over the bulbous tip. Only with great restrain did I refrain from yelling when a white creamy substance erupted from the little slit. I didn’t think Zeke saw what I was doing; but, several nights later, I felt the bed shake rhythmetically and heard him stifle a moan. Neither of us discussed such matters.
Once the weather warmed up I slept in the cabin. It was a half mile from the farm house and had its own outhouse. I had the privacy to freely coax my juices to flow. My insatiable curiosity led me to taste them once. They were a blend of sweet and salty. I grew to savor the tangy flavor. My privacy ended after a year when Zeke, who had just turned seventeen, convinced Pa he should use the cabin too. He was set up in the main room in the front section while I moved into the smaller, but more secluded, back room.
Initially I ceased lounging around naked and didn’t strip for bed until I went behind the curtain separating the two spaces. I would don at least the undergarment covering my privates whenever I needed to walk through the main room to go to the outhouse. After finding Zeke in the buff a few times, looking quite unembarrassed at being naked, I decided to forgo the undergarment inside the cabin or in the sheltered woods nearby. We became quite comfortable seeing each other’s unclothed body and often displayed enlarged members when we woke up and need to piss. I sometimes left the curtain open to improve the airflow on stiflingly hot nights and saw Zeke nonchalantly stroke his shaft until the white sap appeared. Sometimes I watched him taste his discharge. He appeared to like it.
Early Sunday morning the family got into the horse-drawn buggy and drove ten miles to attend church services. Because of the demands of the farm animals, Pa would stay behind until I was old enough. Then we took turns. The number of us alternating Sunday’s increased once Zeke could handle the chores alone. However, he got sweet on one of the Whitmore girls and often asked me to take his place. Sunday was the only day he could talk with her as we were home schooled by Ma. Since I wasn’t interested in any of the local girls, I agreed, giving me two of every three Sundays to pursue my favorite activity.
One summer Sunday after the family left for church, I hurried through my chores and returned to the cabin where I stripped off my clothes. As I ran my hand over my bare chest paying special attention to the little nubs on my chest, my member filled with blood and became long and rigid. I enjoyed the feeling as my hands roamed all over my upper body, which by then was quite muscular by dint of the hard farm work. I hefted my balls and felt their fullness as my member strained for relief. Then I moved outside, admiring myself in the tiny mirror by the door. In the fresh air, I went to my favorite tree with its bed of soft grass under the boughs. I languidly lay there, bare assed and leisurely stroking my hard shaft in anticipation of the first of at least three releases for the day, when I heard a twig snap.
I stood and turned towards the sound to find myself face-to-face with an Indian youth of about my age or a year older. I wasn’t afraid as the natives in the area were peaceful. This particular brave had long black hair held back in braids. He had less black hair on his chest than the few stray blond strands I grew although he had as much hair in his arm pits as I did. He wore a deerskin loin cloth which went between his legs, the front and back of the leather material hung over a thong that went around his waist. His high cheek bones and large black eyes gave him a dignified handsomeness. I was so caught up studying my visitor I forgot I was more naked than he and that my penis was hard.
“Young white man has a warrior’s lance,” the Indian said with a glance at my privates.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” I said, valiantly trying to rescue myself from the uncomfortable situation.
“Sorry, but not really sorry,” he replied ambiguously. “My weapon too is ready for battle.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused by his response.
“My English is not so good. Can I show you?”
“Yes,” I said hesitatingly, not knowing what I was agreeing to.
The brave moved closer to me, so close that, as we were the same height, my rigid appendage was poking the front panel of his breech cloth. I could feel his ‘weapon’ through the leather and it was indeed ‘ready.’ He placed his hands on my broad shoulders then let them drop to my muscular chest. When he bent forward and ran his pink tongue over my tanned torso, I moaned softly. Then he licked my burgundy nipple and my moaning became louder. My legs got weak and the young brave lowered me onto the bed of soft grass where he joined me.
Reclining next to me with our bodies touching from shoulders to hips he surprised me by placing his lips against mine. Soft lips insistently pressed against mine caused a dizzying sensation in my feeble brain. Without thinking, I hugged him closer to me and pressed back on his lips. He hugged my body even closer and his hands explored my back before they drifted down to cup my melon-like ass globes. Nobody but nobody ever touched me there since I was an infant.
I couldn’t resist reaching down to feel his leather-clad butt cheeks. They were unexpectedly firm yet supple. My new found friend grunted as I massaged his ass. He rolled over on top of me and sat up on my thighs. Then he reached to his waist and untied the cord on his leather garment, which fell open uncovering his very large and hard organ, the same reddish brown as his skin. The tip of his shaft, which was barely visible through the folds of his uncut foreskin, was a deep burgundy, much deeper than even my nipples. Only a few black hairs were visible at the base of his shaft and a few more adorned the bag with his male eggs which hung down below his penis. His loose skin at the tip of his pole didn’t hang off the end like mine did even when it was its most rigid.
The Indian lad smiled broadly, displaying remarkably white teeth, as he held our two manly rods next to each other. His was longer than mine, about a hand’s breadth in length, but not as fat. When he placed his hand around my member he couldn’t touch his fingers with his thumb, as he demonstrated he could do with his own pole. He used both hands in the experiment and left one hand holding onto me in place as he reached between my thighs and fondled my ball sack. “Christ!” I yelled–the first expletive of my young years. “Please let go or I will soil your hands.”
“That is my plan,” he replied cheerfully as he moved the one hand up and down my tool. “I like to see the sheath on your lance cover and uncover its top. I want to see what happens when your man seed is expelled.”
“Damn, that feels mighty fine!” I wanted to show him some pleasure too so I reached out and grasped his slender shaft and fondled his hanging pouch.
“Yes, pretty white boy. That feels very good. Let us mingle our life fluids and become fast friends.” For several minutes we held each other’s privates. The only sounds other that the customary forest noises were our grunts and groans which became louder and more frequent as our caresses turned to stroking and squeezing. To the accompaniment of a loud bird cry we both sprayed forth our creamy sauce. I was flabbergasted as both batches pooled on my abdomen; they were indistinguishable. I even tasted some from different spots on my stomach and could not detect a difference.
We lay on the grassy bed for a while striving to catch our breath. Then, laughing like two little boys, we made our way to a small pond on the creek running through the property, dove in and rinsed off. Sitting on a boulder in the sun to dry off, we exchanged names–Aaron and Soaring Hawk.
“Non-tribal people usually call me Hawk,” he said. “I like it.”
“Then, Hawk it is. I like it too and I like you. Will you visit me again?”
“I want to share my body with you and enjoy yours many more times,” Hawk replied.
Two weeks later he was at the cabin as soon as Pa and the rest of the family were out of sight down the dirt road. He had to have been watching the road from a hiding place for a couple of hours. We hugged again and kissed, that time our tongues explored each other’s wet mouths causing tingly feelings in my groin. However, when I reached to stroke his weapon, Hawk held my hand back. “No, this time I give your lance the gift of many tongues.”
He squatted on the ground, took hold of my rigid male member and licked at the tip which was coated with a slippery fluid. “Good God!” I swore. “What are you doing?”
“Tasting of your life force.” He flicked his tongue over the sensitive tip and along the sides. He even prodded beneath my loose foreskin. I was dancing from the multitude of sensations and sweat poured down my hairless chest and from my underarms.
“God damn!” I yelled when his mouth covered the tip of my shaft. “Holy shit!” was my response as more and more of my rod’s hardness disappeared between his luscious, crimson lips. I stared in amazement when his chin rested against my ball sack. My entire member was not just in his mouth, it descended into his throat. Hawk applied a sucking pressure and pulled his lips back until only the tip of my tool remained in his mouth. Then he dropped his lips back down to the few blond hairs I had at the base of my rod. Before he repeated this too many time I couldn’t hold back the torrent of juices bubbling up from my testicles which flooded his throat. I could barely breathe, let alone speak, as I retracted my shaft from his mouth and collapsed on the ground. The Indian brave lay next to me and held me tightly as I recovered from the earth shaking experience.
Being nineteen, I recovered quickly and insisted I give him the same gift. “It is not necessary. Your missionaries would not approve.”
“Fuck them!” I retorted using language I knew was bad but didn’t know why. Hawk relented and sat back. I knelt between his legs, unfastened his loincloth, and tried my best to emulate his actions. Imperfect as I’m sure I was, I managed to bury its entirety in my mouth and throat. The warm hardness felt good and I succeeded in drawing a geyser of warm, tangy juice from his long, thin weapon. Pleased with my efforts, I kissed my native lover and we exchanged his seed from my mouth to his mouth and back several times. We repeated those oral adventures in the woods for several Sundays, until the weather became too cold for Zeke and me to spend the nights in the cabin. Hawk and I then met in the barn, as using the bed I shared with Zeke and our younger brothers Jonas and Jason in the main house could be too risky–stickiness, sweat and bodily aromas considered.
* * * *
Some weeks the snow was too heavy for the family to go into town. At one point I was forced to go six weeks without seeing Hawk. To make matters worse, Zeke, as a typical younger brother, shadowed my every move. Once he interrupted me stroking my shaft in the barn. “Why are you rubbing your chest and pinching your nipples?” He asked. “Your eyes were squeezed shut. You were imagining a partner. Who? Tell me or I’ll tell Pa and Ma you were practicing Onanism. Pa’ll beat the hell out of you.”
“Your sweetheart Miss Julie Whitmore, that’s who.” I replied sarcastically. “You tell on me and I’ll make sure you’ll never have children with her or anyone else. I’ll cut your testicles off!”
“You bastard!” He yelled as he knocked me into a pile of hay and jumped on top of me. He had just turned eighteen and was pretty strong, but at nineteen and fifteen pounds heavier I quickly threw him off and pinned him to the hay with my knees on his shoulders. Since I hadn’t tucked my male member back into my coveralls, the rigid shaft rested on his face.
“Swear you’ll never tell!” I ordered my younger brother. He was afraid to open his mouth to say “no” with my weapon so close to his lips. Shaking his head back and forth caused my hot flesh to rub on his face and leave a trail of stickiness as my shaft expelled the juices that made it slippery. In response to his obstinacy I reached back and crushed his testicles in my fist–hard! “Swear it!” I hollered, squeezing once again. After several minutes, his face covered with my slime, he capitulated and nodded agreement. I released his sore balls.
“Kiss it as a pledge!” I told him referring to the hard flesh tube in his face. Knowing what the penalty for refusal would be, he planted a quick peck on the tip of my penis. It reminded me of Hawk’s hot mouth and I lost control. I grasped my swollen weapon and stroked it until my cream coated Zeke’s face.
“You shit head!” He bellowed. “I should tell Pa anyhow.”
“You swore. Besides, do you want him to know you had a face full of man seed?”
“No,” he said somewhat subdued. “But now my member’s hard and I need relief. You won’t tell if I stroke it a while?”
“Go ahead, just do it up in the loft so I can’t see or hear you as I finish my chores.” As Zeke climbed up the ladder I heard a sound from the area where our farm tools were stored. I went to see what caused the noise, but found nothing. Although I thought I saw a flash of red disappear around the corner of the barn. “Wasn’t Jonas wearing a red flannel shirt at breakfast this morning?” I asked myself.
The matter blew over and finally it was spring. Zeke and I moved back into the cabin. Jonas wanted to join us but we convinced Pa he should grow a year older first. Then we had a little talk with the pest. We convinced the kid he would be a lot healthier, and intact, if he left us alone. “But I’m sixteen and I have to sleep in the same bed as a snot-nosed thirteen year old who snores and stinks.”
“It’s that or risk life and limb with us,” Zeke told Jonas holding a pitchfork at his younger brother’s throat. Jonas saw the light and the pain in the ass left us alone, for a while.
Hawk appeared the first Sunday I was alone at the cabin, dressed only in his loin cloth and moccasins–in the winter he wore deerskin leggings. After we hugged and kissed a while, Hawk announced “I have a special gift. But first we must be purified.” He showed me the herbal soap he was carrying as we went down to the pond. The water was cold when we jumped in. Then I stood shivering in the sun with my member barely discernible as Hawk soaped up my wet body, paying special attention to my privates and arse. When he was finished, he asked me to soap him up. We then hugged and together went back into the water to rinse off, before lying down on a boulder in the warm sun to dry. Warm and dry, our shafts became hard from being against each other’s body, we moved to our customary grassy lair. We reclined head to toe and took each other’s member into our mouths. I fully expected we would remain in that position until we erupted. Hawk had other plans.
“It’s time for your special gift, “Hawk said and he moved me onto my hands and knees. He squatted between my thighs, placed his hands on my buttocks, and pulled them apart exposing my arsehole.
“What are you going to do?” I asked with a mix of apprehension and eagerness. Everything he’d suggested so far had proven to be exciting.
“I’m going to show you where else your body can enjoy another man’s attention,” Hawk replied. He then used his talented tongue to tingle my puckered shit hole. I realized instantly why we had to be purified as he was not just licking my arse, his tongue was poking into the tight pucker.
“Hot damn! Hell that feels great!” I yelled for the whole world to hear. Hawk feasted on my tiny hole and pulled my rigid shaft downwards, stroking it at the same time. I was confused and delighted at the new feeling his actions engendered. I had never thought of my butt giving me such pleasure.
No longer having a hair trigger, I enjoyed Hawk’s pleasure-giving tongue for quite a while with no danger of losing my man seed too soon. Eventually, my curiosity prevailed and I asked “Can I try this on your hole?” Hawk said nothing but lay down on his back and raised his legs over his head, bringing his pucker up for easy licking–which I did with a vengeance. I started to stroke Hawk’s shaft as I laved and probed his pucker, but he slapped my hand away.
“Not yet, please.”
“Ok,” I said. “But my tongue is getting sore and all I taste is my own saliva, not your sweet juices.”
“It is time for the second part of the special gift then. Place the tip of your lance where your mouth snake was and push it into my secret cave.” I didn’t think that was possible. My weapon was a lot bigger than the tiny opening in his ass. Nevertheless, I decided to give it a try. Hawk had never misled me before. I rose up on my knees, pressed my pole’s tip against the puckered opening and leaned forward, putting my weight onto his little hole. Amazingly enough, the pucker opened and my shaft slipped into a hot, tight haven.