The Cowboy's Babygirl: A dark cowboy romance

by Lee Savino

  I couldn’t help smiling at her antics. Underneath that hard shell and bluster, there was a sweet girl. I was going to protect that innocent core of her. At the same time, I’d show her the darker side of desire. It would be a fine line, but I could walk it. And I had a feeling I was going to enjoy that process very much.

  “What’s next, boss?” Carrie asked once she’d wheeled the manure out to the heap at the back. She wiped her hands on the back of her pants, and grinned at me with a combination of eagerness and mischief.

  “Well, I thought you could groom Megan today,” I said.

  “Can I ride her after?”

  I snorted. “After that stunt you pulled yesterday? No chance.”

  Fury flashed in her eyes. “You know why I did that yesterday. It was a one-off, and it won’t happen again.”

  I shook my head. Two spankings, and all that feistiness was still there. It hadn’t gone down a single notch. Just like a wild pony. They could turn docile one minute, but the next day they’d be as wild as ever, as if they’d forgotten everything you’d taught them.

  “You could have hurt Megan,” I said sternly. “You don’t go racing off a horse like that without knowing the ground. She could have fallen down a gopher hole or something. If she’d broken a leg, I would’ve had to shoot her in the head, and that would have been on you.”

  She gasped. “Shoot her?”

  “Yup, there’s no fixing a horse’s legs when they’re broken.”

  Carrie went to Megan and pressed her forehead against Megan’s nose. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered, stroking the horse’s neck. “I was just real scared and not thinking straight.”

  “And this is exactly what we’re going to work on—thinking straight. Which begins with routine and discipline. Now, I’ll let you brush Megan.” I handed her a currycomb. “Don’t be afraid to put some elbow grease into it.”

  Carrie was hesitant at first. But I put my hand over hers on the brush and showed her she didn’t need to be too gentle. When she could see that Megan was enjoying it, she relaxed and got into her task. Forehead furrowed, lips pressed together, her face was a charming picture of concentration. I could tell she wasn’t thinking, wasn’t worrying or remembering. She was here, in the moment, and it was beautiful to see.

  She wasn’t used to paying attention to detail though, and I pointed out a few spots she’d missed on Megan’s thick coat. She was nervous about brushing Megan’s legs—with good reason, because Megan had been a real kicker when I first got her. But I showed Carrie how to do it—how to let Megan know she was coming, so she didn’t startle and kick out.

  When Carrie had finished the rear legs, I handed her a nylon brush and she brushed Megan’s mane and tail until they were silky.

  She stood back and admired her handiwork.

  “Looks like a show pony doesn’t she?” I said.

  “She sure does.” Her eyes sparkled with pride. “I’ll make sure she looks like that every day.”

  I nodded, pleased. “I know you will.”

  When I led Megan back into the stable, Carrie’s face fell. She’d apparently expected I’d relent in the end.

  Well, she needed to learn that I always stuck to my guns. No point making rules if you broke them all the time.

  “What’s next?” she demanded in a slightly sulky tone.

  “You can watch me lunge Rex for a while,” I told her.

  I went to his stable and started the process of getting a collar on his head. I’d bought him at an auction a month earlier. He was a wild horse that someone had tried to break, and screwed up in the process. He was kind of my special project. I didn’t really expect him ever to be rideable. But if I could civilize him a little, then I’d see it as a success.

  Rex fought and kicked, ears back, eyes rolling, showing the whites. But eventually I got his head collar on, and led him out of the stall. Well, it was more like battling than leading. It took all my strength to stop him from bolting. I told Carrie to go and stand on the far side of the corral fence, and I dragged Rex in on the lunge rain. Inside the enclosure, he reared and bucked and did just about anything he could to fight me. But I kept pulling him along, using a lunge whip to keep him at a distance. Eventually, he kind of settled—figured out what I wanted from him, and consented to run around approximately in the circle, eyes rolling the whole time, and foam flying from his lips.

  I kept at it for a good twenty minutes, until he’d tired himself out.

  “He’s sweating a lot,” Carrie said from behind me when I brought Rex back to the stable. I’d been so focused on making sure that Rex didn’t kick me in the head that I’d lost track of where she was.

  “It’s all fear,” I told her. “If it was one of the other horses, I’d brush him off now. But there’s no way in hell he’d tolerate that.”

  Now he was calmer, and he munched on his feed happily. Carrie hung over the stable door and watched him.

  “It was amazing the way you controlled him,” she commented. “I could see how wild he was, but by the end, he respected you.”

  I snorted. “I’m not sure Rex respects anything. He was a fighter—you can tell by all the scars on his body. A dominant stallion. Horses like him weigh almost ten times as much as a man, but you’ve got to show them who’s boss. Show them you’re worth submitting to.”

  Carrie turned to look at me, and there was something questioning, curious, in her gaze. And as I thought about the wildness of the horse and the wildness of the small, feisty girl in front of me, an idea began to form in my mind.

  A dark, exciting idea.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’re going to the barn.”

  She startled, trepidation flashing across her features. “What for?”

  “We’re going to do some training of our own,” I said over my shoulder as I strode ahead.

  Carrie began to follow me but at a distance, her steps sluggish.

  “Come on, girl, keep up,” I called.

  Once we were inside the barn, I switched on the overhead light, and the bare bulb filled the room with a yellowish glow.

  I looked around, at the wooden uprights and horizontal beams, some with hooks attached, for hanging various things from. I hadn’t worked out all the details of what I had planned, but I was surrounded with infinite possibility—all it took was a little imagination and a girl who was in need of a firm hand.

  “Sit down over there.” I pointed at the hay bale which was where I’d left it after I whipped her yesterday. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I went to the tack room and returned with an array of leather equipment.

  Carrie was sitting with her legs crossed. She looked bratty and defiant, but she was also fidgeting nervously. I smiled to myself. She reminded me of one of my horses when it was acting up.

  I dumped all the stuff on the bale beside her.

  “Now,” I said. “It’s come to my notice that your posture is terrible—like a lot of young people—and you can’t expect to have a good seat on a horse if you can’t hold yourself up straight.”

  Carrie shrugged.

  “Do you agree?”

  “Guess so.”

  “Stand up and take a turn about the room. I want to see if you can fix it by yourself.”

  “You serious?” Her expression turned sassy, teenagery. She was one beat away from rolling her eyes at me.

  Irritation flared in me and I worked my jaw back and forth. “Yes, I’m serious. Is there a problem?”

  “Seems kind of dumb.”

  I clenched my fists. “You sassing me again, little one?”

  She rolled her lips between her teeth but then answered. “No, Steele.”

  “Good girl. This is part of your training. And when I tell you to do something, you do it. Unless you want another taste of the belt.” I raised a brow, and she flushed. I chuckled to myself. I’d have to be careful. Belting her wasn’t a total punishment.

  Dragging her feet a little, she began to trail around the room, approxi
mately in a circle. She kept looking back at me as if she couldn’t quite believe what I was making her do. Her shoulders were rounded; her arms hung at her sides.

  “You want me to use the lunge rein on you?” I called.

  “What?” She frowned.

  “Want me to treat you like a wild horse?”

  “No. ‘Course not.”

  “Well, straighten up then.”

  She tried, but I didn’t see a whole lot of difference.

  Shaking my head, I walked out of the barn and went into the house.

  I returned with a book, which I held out to her. “This is our family Bible. Me and my brother aren’t real observant these days, but it’s been in the family for generations.” I opened the cover and showed her the flyleaf, upon which the whole family tree had been written. One name after another in faded cursive script. I was proud of it, touched to see those generations of dedication.

  “I’d hate to see something happen to it,” I told her. “So when you put it on your head and walk around, you’re going to make sure it stays there. Understood?”

  I handed her the Bible. She frowned at it uncomprehendingly.

  “Have you done this before?”

  “No,” she mumbled.

  I shook my head. As a child, my grandma had made me and my brother and all our cousins take turns around the house with the Bible on our heads—to teach us to face life with a straight back. The sort of discipline Carrie needed.

  “Go on. Balance it on your head and start walking.”

  Hesitantly, Carrie put the Bible on her head, fumbling it around until it stayed there by itself. Then she began to walk at a shuffling pace, hands held out in front of her and eyes full of trepidation. It was kind of comical to see.

  But she hadn’t gone ten steps when the book fell off her head, and she barely caught it in her hands.

  “Try again,” I told her. “This time, don’t shuffle. Lengthen your stride. I want you to walk confidently.”

  “How can I lengthen my stride?” she exclaimed, full of indignation. “It makes my head bounce about too much!”

  “Exactly. When your posture is good, your head doesn’t bounce.”

  She tried again, and again, but her personal best was twelve paces before the book dropped off.

  I sat down on the hay bale and watched her, the idea I’d been turning over flaring in my veins like electricity.

  She came to a stop in front of me. “Can’t do it,” she said sulkily.

  “You can. And you will,” I said.

  “This is stupid.” She slapped her hand against her thigh.

  “Girls half your age can manage this.”

  “Guess I left it too late to learn.”

  “It’s never too late. But if you want to learn something, you’ve got to put the effort in. You can’t just give up when things seem hard.”

  That was what was wrong with her generation. Technology made everything easy. Kids felt like they didn’t need to try anymore. Well, I was going to make sure she turned out right.

  I looked her up and down. What she needed was to feel vulnerable. More vulnerable than she’d ever felt before. It was the only way to tame her to my will.

  “I want you to try again,” I told her. “But this time, undressed.”

  She blinked. “Undressed?”

  “You heard me.” With an effort, I kept my eyes on her face, and set my jaw.

  “But why?”

  “Because you behave a lot better when you’re naked.”

  She continued to stand in front of me, arms crossed, not moving.

  “You need this discipline, babygirl. I’m going to give it to you. Do well, and you’ll get a reward.”

  She looked intrigued at that but didn’t move.

  I raised my hand and snapped my fingers in front of her face, just as I would with a sub.

  She jolted to life. With hurried fingers, she unbuttoned her shirt and discarded it, followed by her boots and jeans, until she was standing in front of me in just a pink bra and panties. Heat flooded my cock and I hardened instantly. I leaned forward so it wasn’t so obvious.

  “And the rest. No need to be shy. I’ve already seen all there is to see.”

  Her face went beet red. But she reached behind her back for her bra clasp.

  Good. She knew better than to disobey me.

  I stopped breathing as her pert, round breasts were revealed to me again. It wasn’t cold in the barn, but her nipples were erect, two hard little buds. Then, more slowly, she eased down her panties, covering herself with her hand at the same time.

  I suppressed a smile. She was about to find out that wasn’t going to fly with me.

  I returned the Bible to her. “Put it back on your head, and try again.”

  She soon discovered that she couldn’t hide her sweet pussy from me and make sure she didn’t drop the Bible, and her hands rose up in front of her again.

  This time, her posture was different. Ramrod straight. And what an effect it had. Her shoulders went back, lifting her little breasts higher, so her erect nipples pointed toward the ceiling and her round, pert rear was displayed at a lovely angle.

  She started off at a shuffle again. But little by little, she figured out that she could take bigger steps. Her hands dropped to her sides, and she began to walk more confidently.

  I watched her, my erection raging beneath the zipper of my jeans. This was what she needed, I told myself. But it was all I could do not to grab her and ravish her over the hay bale.

  When she’d completed a full turn, I gave her more instructions—shoulders back, hands on hips, take bigger strides—and she did as she was told.

  She completed three full turns to my satisfaction, and I instructed her to stop. She stood in front of me uncertainly, but didn’t try to hide her body with her hands any longer. Instead, she awaited my next instruction, hands on her hips, and nipples harder than ever.

  When I allowed my gaze to drop, I saw that her sex was glistening beneath the thatch of pale golden fur. I took a ragged breath. She was aroused. Maybe as aroused as I was. She was so ripe, so ready to be claimed.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark, pupils dilated. I saw how much she wanted to submit, to please me.

  I made her wait as I turned over several ideas in my mind, letting her apprehension grow.

  I thought about tying her up, spreading her wide against the wall.

  Yes, that would come later.

  But today, I wanted her to think of herself as a wild pony that needed to be tamed. To really feel it, deep in her bones.

  I grabbed a few rough blankets I kept in the barn, and laid them in a big square on the floor. It would pad her knees a little, but not much.

  “I want you to take one turn around the room on your hands and knees,” I told her.

  She frowned. “Crawl? Like an animal?”

  “Not like an animal—like a girl who’s doing my bidding.”

  While she continued to glower at me with a mixture of defiance and confusion, I retrieved an object from the hay bale.

  My favorite riding crop. All black, Italian leather, from its handle to the keeper on the tip.

  I tapped it lightly against my thigh. She stared at it, as if hypnotized.

  “On your knees,” I said. My voice sounded rough in my ears, practically a growl, and it had an electrifying effect on her. She went down on all fours on one of the blankets.

  “The faster you carry out my orders, the faster you can stand up again.”

  I ran the leather keeper all the way along her back, from the nape of her neck to the crack of her ass. She twitched and flinched like a nervous horse. I pressed down harder on the back of her neck.

  “Now, drop your head, and arch your back.”

  With a grunt of discomfort, she did as she was told, making a beautiful curve in her spine.

  I went behind her and tapped the soft flesh of her inner thighs. “Part your legs a little.”

  She followed my order.r />
  Jesus, the sight of her, all exposed to me, like an offering. Her wet pink pussy, her little bud of an asshole. All sweet and perfect. I swung the crop back a tad and gave her a tap on her pussy lips.

  She gasped.

  “Like that?”

  “Mhhmm,” she mumbled.

  I followed it up with two more, then laid the rod against her cleft, so it pressed up against all her sensitive areas. She made a sound of need, and I drew it back and forth, creating a little friction. When she pushed back on it with a sigh, my cock twitched yet again. She was a naughty, hungry girl. And I’d give her what she needed. But first she had to earn it.

  “You’re going to remain in this position,” I told her. “Every time I tell you to crawl. Back arched, bottom up, thighs apart. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Uh huh,” she muttered.

  I swatted her ass, harder this time. The crop slapped against her bare skin and she yelped.

  “I said, do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” she said, more loudly.

  “Yes, Sir!” I barked.

  “Y-yes… Sir?” she muttered, her voice full of questions.

  I swatted her again and again, and each time, she yelped, more in surprise than pain. “When you answer a question, you call me Sir, okay?”

  “Sir. Yes, Sir,” she shouted out.

  “Okay, good.” A wave of satisfaction went through me, along with a fresh burst of arousal. “Now, move.”

  Reluctantly, she began to crawl across the floor, and I followed her, using my crop all the way. Soon, her behind was crisscrossed with pretty pink stripes. Now it was warmed up, I began to work it harder, alternating my strokes from side to side; across the middle of her cheeks; at the tops of her thighs, now and then a quick sting on her exposed pussy. When she went too fast, I held her back, making her take her time; maintain her beautiful posture.

  When we’d completed two laps, I decided we were done. I sat down on the hay bale, legs wide apart, cock jutting up like a totem pole. There was no point trying to hide it.

  “Come here,” I told her.

  With a grateful look, she pushed up onto her feet and came to me. I saw her knees were red and sore-looking. She wasn’t going to forget this lesson in a hurry, I was certain.