by Roz Lee
Oh, how I love to play the virtuous woman when deep inside I’m anything but. That’s the power Travis holds over me. He knows, and he loves me anyway.
I don’t know why I can’t accept his love, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with him or his gifts and everything to do with me. I’m fucked up.
My fuckedupedness grabs me by the pussy, and I glance in his direction again. Sure enough, he’s looking right at me, warning written in every line of his face. He’s told me before drinking won’t make the fuckedupedness go away, and I know it’s true. Lord knows I’ve tried to drown it in alcohol more than once. With Travis, I tried going cold turkey, which lasted all of three weeks before I went on a binge. That’s when he decided it was up to him to give me what I needed, measuring the doses and doling them out on an as-needed basis. In between, he would be all mine.
I don’t know if I would have gone for the plan if he’d discussed it with me ahead of time or not, but he didn’t, and I didn’t. Go along with it, I mean.
Yet, here I am, creaming the panties I don’t have on and clutching an empty shot glass to keep from touching myself. My insides quiver, and, like a junky, I need a fix. Thank God, Travis will give me one.
With one last warning look, he turns his attention to his date. His lips move, and I wonder what he’ll convince this one to do. Whatever it is, it will be enough. He has never disappointed me, unless you count the first time. Even then, my initial response might have been shock instead of disappointment. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.
I chuckle inside at the absurdity of the thought. I’m a rancher. I know how to use a gun, but I also know better than to turn one on the man I love. If I’d been in my right mind, I probably would have castrated him. I’m sure he would’ve rather I just shot him. But then, he has nothing to worry about. I don’t hate him.
I hate myself. Or more specifically, I hate what drives me, sexually.
I’d never thought about how I came to be perverted until Travis asked me. He said he needed to know everything if he was going to help me. Once I started looking back, I couldn’t stop. Everything poured out of me in a stream of sordid details I still find impossible to believe I remember.
Most people would call me a late bloomer. I was nearly fifteen before I got my first period, yet, by then, I knew more about animal husbandry than most adults. I grew up on a cattle ranch. Words like semen, vagina, mating, and insemination were common over supper. I knew about extracting semen from prized livestock, and I’d witnessed many a cow and mare be covered under controlled situations by the time I hit puberty. It didn’t take a genius to extrapolate that, in respect to procreation, cattle and humans weren’t much different.
My prepubescent self decided the whole thing was a business decision rather than an act of pleasure for those involved. Livestock are given little or no choice in breeding matters. However, when my hormones kicked in, I noticed the way our prize stallion, Zeus, behaved in the presence of a mare in heat. I still remember the way my body came alive the day I put it all together.
The mare was already hobbled when I entered the barn. She’d been kept in a stall next to Zeus for the last few weeks, waiting for the right time to breed her. Zeus had been his usual unruly self for the previous few days. It had taken four strong men to lead him into the barn. He danced in snorting and wild-eyed. He was magnificent, his giant penis waving below his belly.
There was a lot of shouting as the hands confirmed the mare had been prepared. Through it all, the beautiful lady danced as much as she could, given the leather straps on her legs, and turned her head to see the approaching stallion.
Zeus had reared up on his hind legs, landing on the mare’s back. One of the men guided the horse’s engorged penis to the right spot. There was pawing and biting and snorting and high-pitched whinnying as the big guy humped the helpless mare.
I couldn’t look away. Later, while hiding in my room, I touched myself for the first time, reliving the breeding in my mind while I brought myself to climax.
I told Travis my story one day while we lay in bed together. Instead of being shocked, he smiled, flipped me over onto my stomach, wrenched me up on my hands and knees, and fucked me silly. I’ve been his mare of choice ever since. And, if I’m being honest, there isn’t another stud on the planet I want humping me. He’s that good.
The blonde he’s with shakes her head, tossing her perfect curls. In an instant, I want to slap the bitch from here to kingdom come for flirting with my man. Except, he isn’t my man. I have no claim on him. Not really. The only vows we exchanged were the ones we said to each other when we were as intimately connected as two people can be. I’ve always heard those don’t count. But I meant every word I said to him. I’d say them again if only we didn’t have this thing between us.
The she-bitch continues to protest, but, even with her back to me, I know she’s smiling. She’s playing hard to get. Little does she know, before the evening is over, she’ll be sitting in a cab all by her lonesome wondering what she did wrong.
You’re not me, bitch. That’s what you did wrong. His heart isn’t up for grabs—not like his ass is.
When Travis stands, offering her his hand, I almost come out of my seat. Rising to her feet, she slips her fingers in his back pocket, sidling up close to him. He wraps his arm around her shoulders, steering her to the dance floor.
Here it comes. Wait for it.
Wait for it.
There!
I’d bet my last dollar the bitch has been taking dancing lessons—everything from ballet to ballroom—since she could stand on her own two feet. But she can’t master a simple line dance? Yeah, right. Good thing Travis is there with his big, strong arms to keep her from falling on her collagen-enhanced face. Busting those lips open would make a really big mess.
“You watchin’ this?” Penny asks.
“No,” I lie. I’m watching. It’s foreplay for me, and Travis knows it. The second he has blondie back on her feet, he looks my way, his gaze locking on mine, and he smiles.
Yes. I see you. Yes, I know what you’re doing, and I hate you for it. It’s such a fuckin’ hardship, isn’t it?
No matter how many times he tells me the other women mean nothing to him, I’ll never believe him.
How can I believe the vows he made while buried deep inside me when he says shit like that?
My fuckedupedness did this to us. It destroyed our trust.
With Travis’s arm around her, she can suddenly dance. It’s fuckin’ Dancing With the Stars out there.
You don’t have to work so hard, bitch. He’s a sure thing tonight, at least until he puts you in a cab. Twinkle your perfectly manicured toes at him, darlin’. Sparkle and laugh and play cowgirl for a little while. Tomorrow you can tell your sorority sisters all about it. Cry on their shoulders for the cowboy who broke your heart.
I signal for another shot, down it without taking my eyes off the dance floor. It won’t be long. The only way sorority girl could be more blatant would be to strip right there in the middle of the club.
The tequila does its job. If I ever had any virtue, I can’t find a speck of it now. I want the gift Travis has brought me, and I want it without further delay.
There has always been this connection between us—like some kind of alien mind-melding thing. Sometimes, I wish like hell it would go away, but then there are times like this when we are so in sync it blows my mind. His eyes flash, and just like that, he leans down and whispers something in his dance partner’s ear.
She turns into putty, letting him steer her into the darkness surrounding the floor.
It’s show time.
My Fuckedupedness
I slip a twenty from the small clutch containing my driver’s license, a debit card, my cell phone, and the keys to my car and my apartment. Pushing the bill toward Penny, I make an excuse about needing to get up early, and leave. I’ve done it often enough no one thinks anything about it. Before anyone can try to convince me to stay, I duck my he
ad and disappear into the throngs of people gathered close to see the band.
It takes me a few minutes to make my way across the building. The quiver in my belly has become a full-on earthquake. Anticipation has made my thighs sticky, so it’s difficult to walk.
The Lone Star is full of dark corners and secluded alcoves, but I know where I’m going. I stumble along, avoiding the drunken catcalls and lurid remarks thrown my way. It’s Friday night, and nearly every ranch hand from here to Waco has come in to blow off steam. They won’t be blowing it off on me. I’m taken. Even if I won’t acknowledge it to the man who holds my heart in his big, competent hands. The jerk.
I arrive at the appointed place and slink into the darkest corner. Floor lighting, like the kind on airplanes and in movie theaters, provides the only illumination, but it’s enough to see Travis and the bimbo aren’t there. As I contemplate the possibility he really left with her, my heart trips over itself. He’s given up on me.
My stomach twists in knots, partly because of the three shots I consumed on an empty stomach and partly because I’m afraid my worst fears have come true. I wrap both arms around my middle and bend over, hoping I’ll either throw up or pass out. Or both. A pair of familiar boots move into my line of sight, and a big, competent hand caresses my back. I breathe deep, taking in the sexy notes of his cologne and Travis’s unique scent. Relief is so swift, it makes me dizzy. Or maybe that’s the tequila, too.
I stay bent over while his wonderful, warm hand rubs circles on my back. It’s the first time he’s touched me since the day he did what he did. Months have passed, and I’m no more immune to his touch than I was then.
“She went to the bathroom. To freshen up.” He says it with such disdain I can almost believe he doesn’t want her. “You’re lookin’ good tonight, Bailey Rose. I like that shirt, uh…blouse thingy you’re wearing.”
He’s seen it a million times, but I don’t mention it. Just the fact he noticed what I’m wearing makes me tingly inside. He has always been good at noticing stuff. His attention to detail is how we got in this predicament to begin with. He noticed my unusual interest in a sex scene when we were watching a movie together. Damn him.
His hand stops making circles and heads toward my waist. Closing my eyes, I swallow hard as he slides his palm over the back of my skirt—which is scandalously high, bent over as I am. His fingers find my pussy. Just one stroke through my wet folds and I’m his bitch again. He strides off. I want to follow him, but my feet won’t move.
I force myself to straighten just in time to see him lead the blonde bimbo into an alcove. Someone outfitted it with a low, cushioned bench covered in faux burgundy leather, perfect for all kinds of shenanigans, and I’m certain it’s seen more than its fair share. Even if blondie didn’t have stars in her eyes for my man, she couldn’t see me. This place is like a cave, dark and intimate.
I tuck into a corner, sort of a closet to the cave, I suppose. I can see everything. Travis found me because he knew I would be there. No one else will see me.
He drops his white Stetson on the bench and pulls her close. She looks at him like she’s won the lottery or something. It’s those genes. Darwin knew what he was talking about. Survival of the fittest, and Travis is fit—a prime example of the human male—strong, confident, and beautifully made. When he walks anywhere, women practically bend over and spread their legs in invitation. He’s that potent.
She wiggles her hips against him, no longer playing hard to get. She wants him, and God, if she doesn’t get him soon I’m going to expire. He’s been promising me a show since he set foot in The Lone Star, and my patience is wearing thin. But he likes to string them along, make them think they’re getting more than his body—though, if I am to believe him, no one ever will. He belongs to me. All I have to do is say the word.
Holding her ass in one hand, he brushes her tawny locks from the side of her face with the other. She probably thinks it’s sexy, but he wants me to see their tongues dueling and her mane will get in the way.
She slips her arms around his neck and parts her barn-red, collagen-enhanced lips. Travis adjusts his grip. The arm formerly holding her ass wraps around her head from behind. He grabs a fistful of her hair, holding her in place. Moaning, she grinds against him, thinking he’s going all dominant male of the species on her, when, in fact, he’s protecting my view. He strikes quick as a snake, taking her mouth like a man starved for the taste of her. For once though, I agree with blonde bimbo. The move is sexy as hell. Especially since his free hand is feeling her up.
If Travis ever gave up the rodeo he could make a fortune as a porn star. He has the moves. You know how the guys are always angling the woman for the camera shots? Moving her hair, adjusting her legs? Travis wouldn’t need directing. Ever mindful of me watching, he does subtle things in such a sexy way the women he’s with never realize he’s doing it for someone else.
He works her skirt up over her hip. Her bare globes resemble twin orbs in the firmament. I doubt she even realizes he’s tucked the hem into the waistband, so she’s mooning me, and anyone else who happens to walk past. He parts her, exposing her thong. She might as well be wearing nothing.
I can almost feel his calloused fingers moving on my skin as he dives down her crack, slipping beneath the thin ribbon to find her honey. She’s so into him—what with the tonsil hockey going on upstairs and his fingers diddling her downstairs—she doesn’t even care when he slides his hand lower and hikes her knee up to his hip. He tucks her ankle behind his thigh then goes back to exploring her ass.
She’s open to him, and he takes advantage.
My pussy throbs, aching for the same kind of attention. Not being into delayed gratification, I slip my hand beneath the hem of my skirt. Geez, I’m wet. It’s no problem at all to slip two fingers inside my honey pot. My imagination runs at full force, conjuring up thick fingers rough with callouses earned from years of hard work to replace my much softer, slender ones. I scent my own arousal and bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning. I sniff the air like a mare in heat, hoping to catch a whiff of my stud. My imagination produces the bouquet, too—or maybe it’s real, lingering from the sixty seconds he was near me earlier. I don’t fuckin’ care either way. I’m so crazy with lust I could fuck a fence post.
Using the hand he has tangled in her hair, he jerks her face away from his. She’s panting. On the edge and desperate. I can’t blame her, I’m pretty much there myself. Travis mumbles something in her ear then searches her face for agreement. I’m no lip-reader, but I know the word please when I see it.
Did I mention he has moves?
Travis places one booted foot on the bench. The diamond on his championship belt buckle winks at me. Bitch utters a startled cry as he yanks her by the hair, bending her over his thigh which I know is as hard as any rail. He untangles his fingers from her hair, placing his hand on her nape, keeping her down. Dominant much?
Hell, yes. I’m creaming like crazy. Fuck, I love seeing him manhandling the bitch. I withdraw my fingers from my pussy and spread the viscous evidence of my arousal all over my bare mound and up to my stomach. There’s plenty more where that came from. I go back for more, adding another layer over the base coat.
Travis is insane strong. Has to be to ride broncs and bulls the way he does. Removing a thong one-handed is nothing. The scrap of fabric vanishes in a flash, tossed in my direction—his way of letting me know who he’s doing this for. Like I could forget. My stomach cramps with self-disgust at the same time my heart nearly explodes from all the love I’m holding hostage. The man is so much more than I deserve. I think maybe tonight I’ll give him what he wants. Me.
Or not. I hate that he’s given me so much, and I’ve given him so little.
She’s a natural blonde. Her pussy resembles a beautiful pink rose. The outer petals are pale pink. Each successive layer growing darker. Travis opens her up so I can see her dark rose center. Her folds glisten with moisture. Looks like it came a fuckin’ rain shower, no
t just a light dew. She might be plastic on the outside, but inside she’s as much a woman as I am, responding to the alpha male in predictable ways.
Travis dips his index finger inside her, wiggling it around until she’s squirming on his thigh. I almost laugh at the way her ass jiggles. He withdraws and spreads her honey on the tight pucker higher up. I can tell by the way her entire body goes stiff she wasn’t expecting this. Travis explores a little—rimming, pushing the tip of his finger inside, fucking it just enough to give her a thrill she probably won’t share with her sorority sisters. Or maybe she will. She’s lucky it’s only his finger. Dude has a big dick. I should know. I thought he would rip me to pieces the first time he took me in the ass, but he didn’t. He took his time, like he was drilling for oil and the payoff would be worth the time to do it right. He kept telling me to relax, and, once I did, it went easier. He’d claimed me in the most elemental way possible. Buried up inside me, he stroked my back and whispered love words in my ear. Once I was limp, drugged by his presence in my body and his assurances, he dragged me off the mattress and up against his front. Then he went to work on the rest of me. The resulting orgasm was one for the record books.
I’m sure he’s only playing with her backdoor to remind me mine is his. Like I could ever forget. He was the first, and I can’t even think about letting anyone else drill there. I wet a finger and touch the place like a religious person kissing a shrine. God, it feels good. I spend a little time there, applying pressure and remembering the total submission I feel when he claims my ass.
He took a picture with his cell phone once. His big dick buried in my asshole. It used to be the wallpaper on his phone. I wonder if it still is.
The instant he moves on, bitch goes limp. She should have relaxed earlier, would have had more fun if she had. I shrug and remove my finger from my ass. Not my problem if she doesn’t know shit about her shit hole.
