by Sacchi Green
She ran her hands across the yoke of Buff’s shirt, and then settled her body next to him with one arm around his shoulders, just a half inch of her ass on his stool. “I got your letter, Buff,” she purred into his ear. “You sure you ain’t in town to see me yourself?”
Buff chuckled. “You know you’re something special, darling. But no, not this time anyhow. You want to meet Vance, also known as ‘The Bulldog’?”
Beulah laughed and clucked her tongue. “It’s early yet, Buff. Let’s let ’im stew for a while. Anticipation is part of the experience.”
“Yeah, yeah. And the more my hands sit around here, the more they’ll spend on food and drink.”
“All part of the price, my dear.” Beulah flashed Buffalo Jones a smile, then slipped away to greet another customer, her hand trailing off Buff’s shoulder as she went, as if she didn’t want to lose contact until the very last moment.
Vance climbed the stairs following Beulah Kitt like a lost miner following a rescuer with a lamp. The other hands had bought one or two rounds too many, she thought, and she clutched the banister like it was the railing on a rocking ship. Beulah’s lacy, ruffly, bustle of an ass was swaying almost right in front of her eyes as she went up and up and up.
Vance wanted to reach up and grab it, but she was sure that any cowhand who did that would earn a smack and maybe even a boot out the door. The cheers and jeers of the other hands were still audible behind her, so she just concentrated on not falling down.
Was it the alcohol that made Vance’s face burn such bright red that she could feel the heat coming off it? Or was it how Beulah had come up to their table, standing right behind Vance’s chair, and run her hands down Vance’s cheeks and said, “Sweet honey dear, have no fear, you’ll be shaving in no time. Because tonight I will make you into a man.”
Vance’s heart pounded. What Beulah said had a kind of truth to it, too. If Vance could come out of this somehow unexposed, the night with Beulah would buy her a surefire image as a man. That would probably be good for two years if she stuck with Jones’s crew, before she’d have to move on and start over again somewhere new, lying about her age as well as her sex. As it was, Buff’s boys thought she was still in her teens. She was closer to twenty-five, and the harsh wind and sun were going to start showing on her face soon.
Still, it was a horse she’d ride as far as it could carry her.
Miss Beulah pulled open the doorway to a satin-bedecked boudoir and Vance followed her in. The moment the door shut behind them, Vance couldn’t help herself. She wrapped her arms around Beulah from behind, the rigid ribs of the corset like a saddle in her arms, and breathed in the scent of the skin on the back of her neck. “You smell so pretty.”
Beulah turned quicker than Vance would have thought possible and slapped her across the face. “None of that, mister. If you’re going to spend a night with Miss Beulah, you do as Miss Beulah says.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Vance said, chagrined and wringing her hands. She’d left her hat downstairs. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I just got carried away.”
“You don’t touch and you don’t look unless you’re invited. Are we clear on that?”
“Clear as crystal, ma’am.” Oh, God, Vance thought. There was no way she was going to get through this then. She’d been hoping the whore would let her take the initiative, and please her and satisfy her (hopefully) with such enthusiasm that...that maybe she wouldn’t notice certain deficiencies? All right, it had been a stupid hope, but it had been a hope nonetheless. “I’m sorry. I’m...I’m normally real shy.”
“You must be,” Beulah said, looking Vance up and down. “Or Buff wouldn’t have bothered to bring you to me.” Her demeanor softened, and she looked both kind and alluring as she stepped close again and put her hands on Vance’s belt buckle. “Come on, now, let me...”
“Er...” Vance blushed hard and jerked back, not quite ready for it all to come down around her. “I’m...I told you I was shy.”
She swallowed as Beulah’s hand slid down over the bulge in her jeans. “Funny,” she said in a voice that was warm and breathy with desire. “You don’t feel shy.”
“I...well...” But then Vance moaned as Beulah ran her hand up and down her phallus, sending jolts of pleasure through her hidden clit. Vance thrust her hips, moving the strap back and forth against her clit and moaned again.
“Good boy,” Beulah said. “Maybe you should come for me right now.”
“Keep doing that, I will,” Vance said, and it was nothing but true. “Let...let me lie down and I’ll...”
Beulah pushed him back and Vance fell onto the bed. When had they moved so close to it? The whiskey here was strong. Beulah’s hand went up and down, pressing hard and making everything in Vance’s body tighten. She had her boots on the bed, but she didn’t care, bucking up against that hand trying to get more stimulation. “Faster!” she begged.
“Hush, honey, I gotcha,” Beulah crooned, tugging at it a bit through the thick denim.
Vance cried out as she came, thinking for half a second that God, wanking was never going to be the same again, and then not able to think anything else as the orgasm wiped out everything.
When thoughts flowed again, the first to emerge was: Beulah Kitt made me cream in my pants. The second was: Here she comes.
Beulah climbed astride the flushed, staring cowboy, her flouncing skirts coming to rest all around his groin. She settled her crotch against the seam, centered on the bulge, and made friction by sliding her hips forth and back. “Mm, how’s this, boy? Reach up and grasp my waist.”
Strong hands settled at the curve of her corset and helped her rock back and forth. God, how she loved to feel a firm grip like that. “That’s it, yes...” She let Vance work her up and down his cock, falling silent as her breaths became more rapid and then small cries came forth in time with the motion. Oh, yes, that was the way, that was... She pressed her hands against his chest, her hips thrusting hard, again and again, and then clung to him, thrusting until she came. The orgasm went right through her, all through her, and she fell back because the corset would not let her fall forward.
At last she took a deep breath, wiped her brow with her forearm, and declared, “And you’ll tell ’em you made Beulah Kitt come before you even took your trousers off.”
The answer was a breathy, “Yes, ma’am.”
Beulah righted herself, her skirts covering the sight of their crotches. She rose up onto her knees but didn’t take her eyes from the cowboy’s face. “Reach down there, boy, and take that pecker out. There’s nothing I love more after coming hard like that than a good fucking.”
Miss Beulah was good at poker, and she saw the tell, as Vance blanched a second when any other red-blooded American cowboy would have said “yee haw!” But then Beulah knew what to look for. “Go on,” she said, quiet-like, and Vance’s hands sped through belt buckle and all. Beulah reached between her legs to find her hand wrapped around a sizable but not ridiculous protuberance. She stroked it and found it reasonably smooth and stiff, but it could still use a little help.
“Reach into that drawer there, wouldya fella, and get that little jar out?”
Vance could reach the side drawer enough to pull it open but couldn’t quite see into it or reach anything. Beulah leaned over and grabbed the grease. “Here you go. Butter up that corn cob of yours.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Vance was the perfect picture of lust, skin flushed and damp, hair flung back, and helpless with need. Beulah wondered how many orgasms it would take to satisfy this one.
She took a bit of the grease and reached behind herself. “Gonna ride you, cowboy,” she whispered.
Holy mother of Jesus Christ Almighty, Vance thought, as Beulah Kitt lowered herself onto her prick. Holy shit, I’m fucking her.
The motion was slow and smooth, until Beulah came to the bottom of the pole and rested there. “A nice fit,” she said, and Vance almost wanted to ask, Just blurt it out, you know it’s not real, right? That’s w
hy you had me grease it up?
But then Beulah was moving, and each time she lifted up and impaled herself again, another spark went through Vance. It was beyond arousing, it was overwhelming. Meanwhile Vance forgot all about the not touching without being told, and ran her fingertips along the top of Beulah’s corset, where the creamy flesh of her bosom was softest. Beulah seemed to have forgotten about it, too, though, because she didn’t scold, just sighed and rocked harder.
Time stopped moving for Vance. There was fucking Beulah, and then still fucking Beulah. This time release was gradual in coming, but Vance could already tell it was going to be even bigger than the previous one, which had up until then been the hardest she’d ever come in her life.
“Oh, God, Miss Beulah...” Vance couldn’t quite bring herself to say the rest of it, which was “fuck me until I come,” but maybe it was evident enough. Beulah rode her cock like a mad Cherokee, beginning to whoop. Vance wondered if they could hear it downstairs; they probably could. That was her last thought about anything for a while outside of Beulah and heat and friction and oh, God just one more and I’m going to explode.
When Beulah’s head finally touched the pillow next to Vance’s, she was out of breath (damn corset) and thirsty but too tuckered out to pour herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the stand. Beulah closed her eyes briefly and felt a light touch on her forehead, her temple. Vance was brushing the hair out of her eyes.
She cleared her throat but didn’t open her eyes. “That was a mighty fine ride, bronco. But don’t get any romantic ideas about how horses love their riders and vice versa.”
The hand withdrew and the answer came back in a rough half-whisper. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Gonna tell you a bedtime story now, cowboy,” Beulah said softly, holding back a yawn. “There was a young one I deflowered once, back when I was just the top attraction here, and before I...and Harley bought this place.” Jesus, she had to be careful, but post-orgasmic bliss made her sloppy. “There was a young cowhand who was working for a boss named Black Bill. Black Bill, as you might’ve guessed, wasn’t black-skinned but black-hearted, and he mistreated his hands pretty bad. He was boss of a big herd, though, and working for him paid well, even if they said he was a sodomite and a sinner of the worst kind.”
Beulah opened her eyes to make sure Vance was still listening and hadn’t drifted off to sleep. “Anyway, this hand of his came into town one day with the lot of them, and caused a ruckus of a sort, saying that he wouldn’t leave town again until he’d had a night with me. Now the money he had from Bill so far wouldn’t buy a night with me, and he and Bill had a bust-up first thing when Bill wouldn’t give him more. That got the town all abuzz, of course. So then when he got out of the hoosegow for fighting and disturbing the peace, he started challenging all the card sharks in town to poker, trying to increase his stake enough to buy that dream night with me.
“He was so determined that of course it was the talk of the town, and in the end, when he came up just shy of the amount needed, Harley Lehman himself spotted him the difference. That hand was the proverbial cock of the walk for the longest time after that, and never did go back with Bill and his crew when they left town, but hooked on as a boss himself with Jim Masters.”
She watched as Vance’s eyes widened at the mention of a familiar name. “You’re talking about Buff, aintcha.”
She nodded. “A night with me was the best thing that ever happened to Jones. I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently before that not only Bill but the other hands on that crew thought maybe Buff wasn’t...man enough.”
“You mean...?”
“He liked to take it up the ass,” Beulah said, delighting in the blush that crept over Vance’s cheeks at such crude language. She laughed. “And once a cowboy gets that kind of reputation, well, you know, he might find himself...”
“The butt of jokes?” Vance tried.
“That is one way of putting it,” Beulah agreed. “Anyway, Buffalo Jones knows as well as anybody that a night with me is a good way to solidify one’s masculine image.” She trailed her hand up Vance’s now slimy thigh but stopped short of touching the strap that she knew ran between Vance’s legs.
“And you’re...you’re okay with it?”
Beulah smiled. Such a naïve thing. “Let’s just say that my good friend Harley is a good friend of Buff’s, too. You stick with Buff.”
Vance listened to the story with growing wonder, and in the end all she could really say was, “Thank you. Thank you for your help, and your hospitality, ma’am.”
“Anytime, cowboy, anytime,” Miss Beulah said. “Now if you really want to give ’em something to talk about, we ought to make a reappearance downstairs. I’ll be properly bowlegged, you blush or boast or both, and then we oughtta come back up here. You’ll be stiff as new leather by then again anyway, right?”
“Right.” Vance’s head was still spinning a little with all that Beulah had said, and not said. She’d never come out and said “I know you’re a woman,” had never even acknowledged that Vance didn’t have a real dick.
Maybe it didn’t matter. It wasn’t until two days later, when Buff and Vance were riding together on the edge of town, that Vance finally said thank you, a real thank-you, to his boss. As well as, “She said stick with you, so I figure I better.”
Buff laughed. “She’s a regular font of wisdom, ain’t she? Well, you know what they say, you can’t fake a faker.”
Vance blinked. “What? You don’t mean she’s a man?”
“Beulah? Naw. But she can’t hold that place down by herself. Too many wolves circling around who think a woman can’t do it on her own. So she becomes Harley when she needs to do serious business. Don’t you be telling nobody that, of course.”
“Of course.” Vance took what she was told at face value and didn’t think any more of it. But later, lying alone under the stars, she got to thinking. She had no proof either way that Beulah was a woman or a man. She could have easily been a man in woman’s clothes. Vance never touched her between the legs or saw her breasts. Or it could be as Buff thought, that she was a woman but played the part of a man when she needed to.
Maybe it really doesn’t matter, Vance thought. She’s man enough.
THE HIRED HAND
Delilah Devlin
The air didn’t move inside the dimly lit barn. It was hot, musty, redolent of fresh hay and horses—and with ripe, sensual anticipation. Work was done for the day. Decision time had finally arrived.
A lariat landed around my shoulders, and I pressed my lips together to hide a smile. I struggled against the waxed poly-nylon, but the rope cinched tighter. Then hands dragged it downward, scraping past nipples already spiking hard against thin cotton.
A hot breath gusted against my ear. “Anything a man can do I can do better,” came a whispering rasp.
“Why do I feel like breaking into song?” I muttered. I jerked against the rope, but my arms were pinned to my sides. It was only a show of resistance. We both knew I was hot for what came next. “Should have been a little more specific when I placed that damn ad,” I said, legs braced apart to keep from tumbling to the fresh hay spread on the floor of the stall.
A blanket landed on the ground in front of me.
Muffled footsteps drew near again. “Should have said, ‘Only a cowboy with a dick need apply.’ ”
I tossed back my hair and aimed a glare over my shoulder. Then my glance fell to what the cowboy in question held in her slender hand. “Looks like you still would’ve qualified.”
Ari lifted both eyebrows, a grin wreathing her face. She wagged the dildo in front of me, taunting me. “Tell me you’re not sorry it was me who showed up.”
My breath caught. Even in the fading light inside the barn, my hired hand’s eyes glittered brightly. “I still have reservations that you can get the job done,” I lied. “I might have been seeking someone to wrangle some horses, but I’d hoped for a little action on the side, too.”
“Like I said, whatever a man can do…” A strong arm wrapped around my waist. “Want me to prove it?”
“Oh, God,” I moaned as the dildo trailed down the side of my cheek. “Fuck me, Ari. Fuck me with your big cock.”
A snicker sounded a moment before teeth bit into my earlobe. Then her arms dropped away, and cool air rushed against my back. “Gonna be good if I untie you?”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” I ground out.
“You always make me work damn hard,” she growled.
“I warned you I’m not an easy boss.”
Ari stepped in front of me, dark eyes narrowed, skimming over my frame. She drew a knife from the sheath strapped to her leather belt and lifted one brow. “Sure you want to lose this shirt?”
“I’m not going to help you. I told you I’m not into girls.”
“And I love making you eat your words.” The dull side of the knife glided between my breasts. I shivered as cool steel pressed in a narrow path downward. Ribbed cotton parted, exposing the white skin beneath the ring of tan that ended at my neck.
As the lacy center of my bra was laid bare, one corner of Ari’s lips quirked upward. “Don’t know why you even bother. I like watchin’ ’em bounce.” The bra met the same fate as the shirt, popping open as soon as the lace was severed.
My breasts quivered, rising with my sharp gasp. The cool air inside the barn wafted around my nipples. My relief as the knife disappeared and my breasts sprang free had me sighing before I remembered I should be putting up more of a front. “That’s coming out of your wages.”
Ari’s fingers plucked my nipples. “Worth every penny, too.” Then she ducked, and warm, wet lips enclosed one ripening bud.
My head fell back, and my eyes slid closed as she suckled softly. God, had it only been two days?
