Lesbian Cowboys

by Sacchi Green

  “I grabbed a knife,” I told Julia. “We were in the kitchen, and I saw it, so I grabbed it. They’re lucky I didn’t stab them. We’re all lucky. The local police came, but they didn’t do anything. They laughed.”

  “Male cops?”

  “Yeah. They didn’t take it seriously once they knew we were all women.” I felt nauseated. My head throbbed.

  I knew nothing about handling animals or surviving on the land. After the self-destruction of patriarchal civilization, I would be useless until I learned a whole new set of skills. Now it was clear that I still couldn’t stay out of trailer-trash dyke dramas. I just wanted to disappear.

  Julia pulled me up from my chair, turned me around, and held me close. “Baby.” She poured the syrupy word into my ear. “You’ll be all right.”

  I couldn’t stand her sympathy. “I’m not the victim,” I reminded her. “I grabbed a knife. I’m not a person who does that. I manage an office now, and I have a frigging degree. Jesus.”

  I tried to ease myself out of her custody, to no avail. She pulled back to look at me but kept me in a firm grip. “What do you feel so bad about?”

  Shame boiled up out of my belly like bile, almost choking me. “I have to go,” I babbled. “I just have to go. I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem.”

  I could hardly believe what I saw in Julia’s eyes. Amusement, affection, sympathy had all been there before, but now she almost beamed with a kind of predatory anticipation. “Did you really want to get busted? Do you think you deserve punishment?”

  Yes! screamed a voice in my head. “I don’t know,” I said. Did I want her to accept my violent streak, thereby showing a lack of class? Or did I want her to demonstrate pacifist feminist values by kicking me out in the snow?

  “Yes you do, honey. What do you need to feel before you can forgive yourself?”

  “Oh. I see what you mean.” I saw the gleam in her eyes. Omigod. I saw her hands itch to help me do penance. It would all be in fun, of course, if a rough game that left real marks could be called fun. I had been warned about Julia, and I had driven for three hours on an icy highway to get here. I couldn’t pretend to be shocked.

  “Smart girl. If you see what I mean, do you trust me?”

  “Yes. Julia, you’ve always stayed out of the bullshit, as long as I’ve known you.” I remembered her comment about shoveling shit. The stuff she dealt with was bound to be more useful than the waste products of those with nothing better to do.

  She pressed her lips to mine in a long, warm, tongueful kiss. I felt myself melting inside. “Do you want me to show you a few things?” Her eyes dared me.

  “Yes, ma’am. I do.”

  I felt as if I had stepped through an invisible door into a world I had been peering at for years, telling myself that what I wanted was impossible. If I had known how easy it was to say yes, I might not have driven Bert crazy by being half-present, never quite there.

  “What will you say if you want me to stop?”

  “Mustang,” I told her. “I’ll say that.”

  “Okay, varmint, I’m the sheriff around here, and you’re under arrest. I’m not letting you go until you show the proper attitude. Take your clothes off.”

  She wasn’t holding me. I could have run up the stairs, grabbed my stuff, pulled on my parka, walked out to my car, and hit the road. But I didn’t want to. “Really?” I wondered how serious she was.

  She grinned. “Really. If you want to play, you’ll follow my rules. Unless you’d rather go back to the barn to work. I might make you do that anyway.”

  I felt strangely free as I pulled my sweater over my head, unhooked my own bra, unzipped my jeans, and wiggled out of them. After I had taken my panties off, revealing the dark triangle of hair between my thighs, my socks followed. When I had neatly folded all my clothes and left them in a pile on her kitchen floor, I straightened up for inspection.

  “Nice, baby.” She walked around me, casually running a warm hand across my back, over my ribs, across my puckered nipples, and then over my sensitive stomach to my crotch. “Bend over.” As I bent forward from the waist, she shoved two fingers into my cunt as far as they would go. I bit down on a squeal.

  “Um, you’re wet. Good girl. You want me, don’t you?”

  “Oh, Julia,” I groaned. “Ever since I met you.”

  “Yet you didn’t say anything.” Her work-hardened fingers stroked my soft, wet channel, almost bringing me to the brink of an explosion. “If you want to be with me, you have to tell me what you want. Will you do that?”

  “Yes.” Answering her questions was hard. That was obviously the point.

  She removed her fingers from inside me, releasing the smell of my lust to mingle with the aroma of the soup on the stove. I had never realized before how pungent and wet and viscous my desire could get. It wasn’t just a feeling. It was physical evidence. I could never hide it from her again.

  She waved her fingers under my nose to reinforce her message. With her other hand, she straightened me up as though I were her toy. “My belt or my hand?”

  I must have changed color as an icy jolt ran up my spine. “You’re—are you really planning to beat me?”

  “I’ve got other things too, but I don’t think you’re ready for them. You’re not a very experienced little filly, are you?”

  “No, ma’am.” I wasn’t willing to brag about what I could take. She would find out soon enough.

  She ran a hand down my back and then slapped my behind—just lightly, as an appetizer. The slap left a faint echo in my flesh, not enough to reach my awakened clit. I wanted it harder. “You’re not too chicken for a spanking, are you?”

  “No, ma’am.” I felt as if I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. “Please use your hand, ma’am. It’s part of you.”

  “You have a lot to learn, Chris. Everything I use is a part of me. But I’ll give you what you want. You’d better be grateful.”

  I couldn’t help shuddering when she calmly unbuckled her belt, hesitated a moment as though she had changed her mind, and then pulled it through the loops of her jeans and dropped it onto the floor, where the metal buckle thunked on the hardwood. I watched as she efficiently unbuttoned her shirt and shed it like a second skin, shucked her jeans, and stood in a matched set of red satin bra and panties, trimmed with lace.

  “This what you want to see? Thought I wore granny panties, didn’t you?”

  “You look—beautiful, Ma’am.” She did, too. The frilliness of her underwear actually seemed to bring out the lines of her lean torso and strong arms. It was like seeing a world-class athlete in a lingerie ad.

  “Look fast because they’re coming off. I work better in the nude.” She removed her last scraps of clothing without wasting a motion. Her breasts were even more impressive than I had imagined, and they were crowned with full brown nipples. Her hips had the sleek curves of a statue.

  “You know my hands aren’t soft, don’t you? The hand cream I use is for healing cuts and blisters, not keeping my skin delicate.” She sat on a kitchen chair and beckoned. “Over my lap, my girl.”

  I stretched awkwardly over her lap, bracing myself with my hands and tiptoes on the floor. I loved the warmth of her thighs and the tangy smell of her armpits.

  She ran a hand over my buttcheeks and tickled the crack. “Tough chick with a shank. You’re soft and sweet here, though. Not a hard-ass at all. We need to work on that.”

  Her hand came down, just hard enough to make a sharp sound. The sting hit a second later and made me clench the muscles in my empty cleft. Slap! I squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position. Slap! Slap! The irregular rhythm kept me off-guard as it heated my ass. I heard myself squeak, as though from a distance, but I wouldn’t beg for mercy.

  When my face was wet with tears I couldn’t hold back, she stopped. “That’s enough, Chris. You need to know your limits.”

  Every movement I made echoed in the burning skin of my behind. I rose off her lap awkwardly, grateful f
or her hands on my arms. “You impressed me, baby, but you’re not finished. You got me all worked up.”

  I could have said the same. My clit was screaming for attention, and I wondered how long I would have to wait.

  She stood and held me for a moment, and then squeezed each of my nipples in turn, making me jump. “You’re so touchy. I need something to hold you in place. Come with me.” She pushed me ahead of her toward the stairs. As I suspected, she herded me into the guest room where the bedding still held the shape of my body.

  “Don’t you make the bed in the morning? Lazy bitch.” I felt mortified. I hadn’t really believed I would be coming back here.

  “Lie down.” I crawled cautiously into the center of the bed and eased myself gently onto the rumpled quilt. Where my bottom touched it, it felt like sandpaper. “Arms up.” I stretched my arms up, feeling my lungs expand with my reach.

  Something clanged against the metal bedposts, and one of my wrists was securely restrained by something that was lined in soft fabric but not very flexible. Soon my other wrist was in the same predicament. I realized that I was cuffed to the bed.

  “I need your tongue,” she told me. She crawled over me like a cougar stalking her prey. When her thighs straddled my ears, she effectively cut off my hearing and forced me to focus on her insistent flesh. I heard her say something, but I couldn’t distinguish the words. Her meaning was clear enough. Her wet lower lips and the curly hair surrounding them almost covered my nose and mouth. The smell of her hot musk seemed to fill the room.

  Julia’s cunt felt like the center of the universe. I stretched out my tongue and took a taste. I tried alternating pokes with the tip of my tongue and broad licks on her slippery folds. I found her swelling clit and lavished attention on it. I began learning her movements: which ones meant “Don’t stop,” and which ones meant “Slow down” or “Lighten up.” Her wavelike motion speeded up when I found a responsive spot, so I tried different ways of licking it. Soon she was bucking in an unmistakable way, and I struggled to hang on, or hang in. My face was drenched in her juice, and I felt honored.

  She moved away from my face, leaving it cold and wet. My wrists ached, and I wondered when she planned to release me. Something cool and metallic nudged my cunt-lips, which made the pressure in my wrists recede. I was helpless to escape, and that fact intensified every sensation. I could already feel an orgasm building up in my center like a tidal wave. Her head moved down my body, leaving a trail of hot breath. I felt her mouth on my clit as she pushed the metal object into me. “Oh!” I yelled, wondering if she would gag me for making too much noise.

  She raised her head and laughed. “Are you always this loud?”

  “Nope,” I managed to gasp.

  She fucked me deeply and steadily, gradually speeding up. She obviously wanted to know what other sound effects she could get out of me. She twisted the dildo, spiraling it in and out. My sore ass was bouncing uncontrollably on the bed as I rushed toward a climax like a full cup overflowing.

  “I didn’t say you could come,” Julia told me. “You have to ask permission.”

  “Please!” I yelled. “Ma’am!”

  “You need so much training in self-control. Okay, bad girl, go for it.”

  With great relief, I felt my clit and cunt erupt, sending sparks into my ass and assorted shudders and shivers from my head to my feet.

  I was still catching my breath when Julia took my wrists out of the cuffs and lowered them to my belly, where my hands helped settle my churning insides. She crouched over me possessively.

  “That’s just a taste,” she bragged. “We need to break for lunch.”

  I remembered the soup simmering on the stove and realized I was famished. I remembered that human beings are mammals, with the same needs as the rest. From what I had seen today, play and companionship were no less essential for all beings than food, warmth, and sleep.

  “Feel better?” She leaned over me with concern, and gave me a long, wet kiss.

  “Yes. Julia, you’re something else.”

  “Are you mine?”

  Yes! I wanted to tell her. Oh, Mistress, put me in a stall in your barn and I won’t complain. Take over responsibility for my life, and I’ll be yours forever.

  Except that I couldn’t be. Somewhere in me was a wildness that could be called out by harassment or by unbearable pleasure. It was like a horse that could only be broken with consent, and then only within limits.

  “Yours for now,” I told Julia.

  “That’s good enough, honey,” she answered. She lay beside me, and rolled me into her arms. “For now. We’ll see.”

  FANCY PANTS

  Roxy Katt

  Gert and I stood at the fence, each chewing on a straw, each with a cowboy boot on the rail. We gazed out from under the brims of our cowboy hats and watched Abby, in her fancy new English-style duds, bring old Pie-biter out of the barn for a ride.

  “She’s really done it,” said Gertrude. “She’s gone to the other side.”

  “Yep,” I said.

  “Why would she do a damn fool thing like that?”

  “Too good for the likes of us, I guess. Heard some rich Easterners’ll pay good money to learn how to ride, and that’s the way they like it done.”

  “But you’re still her girl, ain’t you?”

  “Yes’m. Leastways, she ain’t told me differently...yet.”

  “This ranch has always been Western.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, it’s not like there’s any rules against English style, but it don’t quite fit in, do it?”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “I don’t like that foreign English style. Nothin’ personal, but it just rubs me the wrong way. I like to wear jeans and cowboy boots and a cowboy hat when I ride. And I like to see other women who ride wear the same thing, more or less. Sturdy girls, you know, big or small, mounted on a rugged, heavy, Western saddle.”

  “It just seems right.”

  “Damn straight it does. Now the English style, with that little black helmet and the jodhpurs, well, that’s fine for some people...”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But look at her. All in bright white, ’cept for boots and helmet. White jods, fancy white blouse with girly frills on the front, white kid gauntlets—you’re s’posed to be able to get dirty when you’re a cowboy, Chris. What’s she thinkin’? She’s gone lipstick on us. I know she’s your girl and all, but I’ve got to say it: Abby done gone lipstick on us. Double-Q ranch has been Western as long as anyone can remember. Sure, once in a while a dude of one sort or the other comes along in their poncey outfits, but we just smile at them and watch with our boots on the fence railings, suckin’ on a piece of straw, and sooner or later they come to see this just ain’t the place for them, is it? Nothin’ personal, of course.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said.

  “But Abby! Why, she’s a regular. Been here at least five years...”

  “Six.”

  “...and always in the good old Western style. Now she’s kowtowin’ to know-nothin’ city folk. Next thing you know it’ll be ‘steeplechase’ and ‘dressage,’ and makin’ horses do fancy tricks even a monkey’d turn his nose up at. They bring shame to the animal. Hell, she might as well lace on a corset and some frilly undies and sing with the powder puff girls at the music hall. What’s got into her?”

  “It’s more a matter of what she’s got into.”

  “Huh?”

  “Those pants, I’d say.”

  Gert looked at me for a moment, uncomprehending. Then she smiled a little. “Yeah. Well, that’s somethin’ else alright.”

  Abby sure filled out those jodhpurs, I had to admit. They weren’t the baggy kind, by the way, but the kind that’s tight all the way up. She was one of those short-waisted women with super long legs, powerful thighs, and a big ass shaped like an upside-down Valentine heart. You’ve probably noticed the type. Her upper body, on the other hand, was slight, small breasted, and seemed almost
to belong to a different woman. A smaller woman, like myself. Yessir, she was like a small rider on a big horse, a horse with a big, juicy ass. An ass so full and firm you just had to pinch it—if you dared.

  As for me, I’m just kind of small and ornery—although some girls have said I’m kind of cute. Abby was the real looker of the two of us.

  “Must have taken her some time,” Gert said thoughtfully, shifting the straw from one side of her mouth to the other, “to get her thighs in there.”

  “Yep.” I smiled. I wouldn’t have minded helping her into those pants if she’d mentioned it, actually.

  Or out.

  “Sexy as hell, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so,” Gert added, “but is all that getup fit for ridin’?”

  It was funny because Abby was a darned good cowboy and ordinarily looked the part too. She was a blonde with an impressive cable of braided hair; a tanned, freckled face; bold, staring blue eyes; and a big mouth—big in what you might say were the literal and figurative senses—with large, powerful teeth. Those big, beautiful teeth were framed by generous lips, now under deep red lipstick, something I’d never known her to wear before.

  “Anyhow,” said Gertrude, “she’s your girl, you talk to her. I’m out of here. I’m off to the music hall. If’n I wants me a girly-girl, that’s where they oughta be. Not on a ranch.”

  Alone now, I walked over to where Abby was taking some tack out of the barn and getting ready to saddle up old Pie-biter.

  “You used to like the Western style,” I said.

  “Not this again, Chrissy.”

  “I can’t help but feel,” I said, stirring the dirt about slowly with the toe of my boot, “that this marks a change in our relationship.”

  “Meaning?” she said, not looking at me but placing the saddle on Pie-biter.