by Cleo Page
I took a big swallow of wine and placed the glass on the floor next to the couch. Next, I hiked the hemline of my dress up and under my substantial ass until it rested under the small of my back. My pubis exposed, I could see the sculpted triangle of trimmed hair that I liked to leave above my labia. I always kept everything below smooth as glass, but that small soft patch of hair above always made me feel like a woman. Call me old-school, but a pussy isn’t called a pussy because cats don’t have fur.
I resisted the urge to dive right in. I wanted to hear Randall’s voice before the first touch of my glistening lips. Let’s get this party started, Connor! I instructed myself. Unable to help myself, I added a little Woot! Woot! because, well, I’m kind of a dork like that sometimes. I took a deep breath and dialed the phone.
My right hand was poised above my pussy like a runner at the blocks waiting for a starter’s pistol to fire. Ring. At the sound of the first ring I felt my fingers twitch just a little as the ache inside me grew stronger. Ring. The second ring brought about a fresh wave of wetness just from knowing that hearing Randall’s voice was seconds away. I dug my heels into the couch and my ass lifted just slightly from the tightening of my already taut back muscles. Not sure that I could, or wanted to, hold out on myself any longer, my brain sent my hand a stern memo informing it that it was to remain in its holding pattern until further notice. That was just as the third ring of the phone began. Mercifully, that ring was interrupted by the glorious moment I was waiting for.
“Good evening. This is Randall Hemming.”
An appropriate response to such a fine telephone greeting as the one Randall had just offered could have been just about anything. A simple hello would have done it. Perhaps even a nice civilized Good evening, Randall. This is Connor. Hell, even a Yo, baby! would have been better than the insane gasp I let out at the first sound of his voice as my fingers touched down on the electrified fence that was currently my clit. Oh. My. God. Are you kidding me right now? How in the hell was that discreet?
“Hello?” came Randall’s voice over the receiver.
Feebly attempting to regain my composure, I stammered out, “Hello. Sorry. Hi. I was daydreaming there and I got a little startled when you answered. This is Connor. Connor Lyall. We met earlier today. At the coffee shop.” There is no way he’s buying that daydreaming line.
“Seems like I’ve made a habit of causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. That’s the second time today that I’ve given you a start, and we’ve only just spoken the two times.” My fingers slowly circled my hot button while he spoke. Our call had only just begun, but my breath was already quickening and I forced myself to keep a controlled pace for the time being. He was certainly right about my hairs standing on end though. The sound of his voice gave me goose bumps.
“Well, I’ll admit you do have a way of getting me going . . . flowing . . . adrenaline! My adrenaline flowing!” Holy hell, Connor! Are you for real? I was not impressed with my sudden metamorphosis into a babbling fool. However, it didn’t seem to matter to Randall. And it didn’t stop me from changing my slow circles into a more pressured diagonal stroke that was almost frictionless thanks to the copious amount of lubrication I had generated.
He let out a super cowboy-y heh heh that made my stomach flutter with a fresh batch of butterflies and, without hesitation, followed that up with, “I’m real happy to hear that, Connor. I was hoping I wasn’t the only one to feel that way. Adrenalized, that is.” He drew out the i in adrenalized in just the same way you’d expect to hear it from a cowboy in an old-timey western. Incidentally, the amount of time it took for that letter i to pass his lips was exactly the same amount of time I took to slide my middle finger past my own lips—albeit lips of a different variety. I just teased my opening, pressuring slightly, but not allowing my digit to fully penetrate myself just yet. I could feel the pulsing of my heartbeat around the edges of the circular shape beneath my fingertip.
Even as I edged nearer to what I could only imagine was going to be a monumentally explosive orgasm, or two . . . or three, I started to find my words again. “I get your blood flowing, do I?”
“Darlin’, you can’t even imagine.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I can.” And I was. Imagining, that is. And the more I imagined, the harder it was becoming to keep my concurrent activity to myself. I wanted so many things all at once. I wanted to know everything about Randall. I wanted to hear a steady stream of his voice wash over me. I wanted to come like a motherfucking screaming, roiling, tidal wave made from geysers that shoot laser beams into a whirlpool of exploding dynamite! But, I couldn’t. Not yet. Dial it back a bit, lady, I told myself. I brought my finger back out from tempting the opening of my vag and began to slowly run it, and the rest of my fingers, from the top of the hood of my clit down, over the drenched lips of my pussy, past my taint, right to the tight pucker of my asshole and back again. My hand glided over the changing elevations of my Connor Range with the ease of a silk kerchief following the undulations of a wispy ocean breeze.
My change in motion slowed the oncoming O train, but I knew not for long. Arriving at the station, so to speak, was an inevitability that would come to pass sooner rather than later. So, not wanting to just break out into random caterwauling in the middle of dead air in our conversation, I steeled myself as best as I could under the circumstances and added, “I noticed the logo on your card. RH Farm. I’m no detective, but if I were to guess, I’d guess the R and the H stood for Randall Hemming. Annnd that you . . . own a farm?”
I was being a hair cheeky. I wasn’t really expecting him to say that he did, indeed, own a farm. But, I suppose I wasn’t really expecting him not to either. “My, my. Turns out you’re a good detective after all, Ms. Lyall.” His tone was sarcastic, but in a good way—a playful way. I already loved how we spoke to each other. It was so easy. Like we had known each other for a thousand years.
“Well, how do ya like them apples?” I said. “From here on out, it’s Detective Lyall!” I heard Randall chuckle that deep chuckle of his and it stirred me up even further. Get him talking, Connor! the voice in my head that was attached to my very worked-up self quite adamantly demanded. I continued, speaking quickly, “Now, please do tell me all about this farm of yours! I want to know everything!” Not much of a segue—like, at all—but I was becoming increasingly aware that my voice had a bit more breathiness to it by this point, and if I could hear it, I was pretty certain that Randall would pick up on it soon as well. If he hadn’t already. I was hoping he was as good an orator as he was a charmer and had a lot to say on the matter of his farm. Really, really hoping. I was nearing the point of no return.
“You want to know everything, do you? That might take some time.”
“Oh, I have time. Loads of it. All night. Take as much time as you need,” I babbled enthusiastically as the pace of my hand rubbing my whole soaked area from top to bottom picked up speed.
“Fair enough. You just let me know if I get to boring you.”
“Ain’t gonna happen,” I quickly assured him.
“Okay. Well, as you so expertly deduced a moment ago, I do indeed own a farm. A thoroughbred horse farm, to be more exact. Anything you can think of that has to do with horses, we do. From breeding, breaking, or rehabbing, right on through to the thing which we are most passionate about, training those horses to be champions.”
The succession of words emanating from Randall’s mouth was like sweet ambrosia for my craving body. Every cell of me was greedily drinking each syllable as though my very life depended on them. It was time to step up my game. Guided via a remote control combination of my brain and Randall’s voice, my hand stopped the quickened, all over up and down movement I had been enjoying and proceeded to extend my index and middle finger. I knew immediately that what was coming next was not going to be easy to keep quiet, but I was beginning to care less about my cover being blown as the moments continued. For the time being though, I continued my stealthy so
journ to electric lady-land. I slid my rigid digits past my ludicrously soaked lips and, once again, found myself resting on the pulsing opening to my vag. The pause there was brief. I pushed past the gentle resistance of my entrance and curled my fingers upward. I landed my fingers on the ridged flesh of my, definitely not mythical for me, g-spot with the precision of a skilled marksman. This, of course, was not without consequence. I had to bite my lip so hard to try and keep myself quiet that I actually hurt myself enough to let out a squeaky moan.
“Connor? Are you okay?”
“Me? Yes. Fine. Very fine. Thanks. I just . . . uhh . . . I’m good. I’m good. Do go on.” So, yeah, the words had left me again.
By now I was near certain that Randall was on to me and knew I was up to some funny business. My stammering was only the latest piece of evidence. He let me off the hook again though—sort of—and continued speaking. “Heh heh. Okay. I’m glad you’re very fine, Connor. And by the way, I have to agree. You are indeed very fine.” Holy mother of fuck. I am going to explode soon. My fingers now took to an in and out motion, fucking my pussy, while keeping a steady pressure against the top wall of my insides. Going for broke now, I also made sure to keep my thumb pressed against my fully engorged clit so it would be stimulated at the same pace. I seriously could have been an instruction manual for how to maximize sensation while playing with yourself.
At Randall’s last comment, I managed to eke out a sort of demented giggle, but really I was just holding on for dear life at this point. Release was imminent, and I was barely keeping quiet while hammering away at my pussy.
“Anyway, we have a very unique way of training the horses. We actually use . . . dogs to run them. It really is quite incredible to watch. In fact, I’d love for you to see the animals in action. Seeing them run in person is so much more impactful than trying to explain it and understand it with words. Here’s an idea. Why don’t you come up to the farm for a few days? Take some time off. Relax. See the run I’m talking about. It’s quite moving. It just might change your life.”
Under normal circumstances I may have been a touch more cautious. Maybe I would have told Randall, Thanks for the invite. Let me get back to you. Or something equally befitting of a logical, well-adjusted woman who doesn’t generally accept invitations for a sleepover at a stranger’s farm after meeting them earlier that same day. At the very least, I would imagine that I would have paused, you know, for longer than, oh, not at all before answering. These were not normal circumstances though. Far from it. I was teetering on the edge of what was going to be one of the most intense orgasms of my life, my right hand was moving so fast it was a blur that very well may have been approaching light speed, and my eyes were already beginning the elevator trip to the top floor of my eyelids as they slowly started rolling back in my head. In fact, given the circumstances, it was actually kind of impressive that there was a tiny sliver of conscious thought left in my melon and that it managed to fire out, “Sure!”
“Well now. That was just the answer I was hoping to hear.” Randall sounded genuinely pleased by my minimal, but affirmative, reply.
Now, it would make sense that the next order of business would be for him to find out when I wanted to visit. When it would work with my schedule, his schedule. That sort of thing. And that’s exactly what he did. It’s just that I wasn’t at all prepared for the words he used. There is no way he didn’t know precisely what he was doing when he said, “So, Connor. I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but . . . would you like to come now?”
And that was it right there. There was about a two second gap where time felt like it just froze. Like we were in some kind of suspended animation. Then the floodgates opened. Both figuratively and literally. As I started to come, I inadvertently answered Randall’s suspiciously phrased query with a very enthusiastic, “Yesssss!” Meanwhile, somewhere in the background, where life was still happening outside of my soul—and pussy—exploding, I heard Randall say, “To the farm, I mean.” Fucking hell! To. The. Farm! But there was no stopping this ride now. Also, there was not to be any more speaking from me until the convulsing subsided if I didn’t want to follow up my Yesssss! with a bunch of crazy-town moaning. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut. The thing is, this kind of power has to come out somewhere, and for every grateful cry that might have passed my lips—but didn’t—my body thrashed and pulsed that much more. I pressed the back of my head hard against the arm of the couch as the rest of me writhed while my pussy squeezed tight around my fingers. I could feel wave after wave of my juices running down from below my fingers, coinciding with each tensing of my muscles.
I have not a clue as to how long this went on for, but to Randall’s credit, he didn’t say a word for the rest of the time that I was gushing like the most glorious fountain of pleasure that ever existed. Whether he knew that I was having the finest, most orgasm-y orgasm of my life right then and there while we were on the phone together, or he just instinctively felt there needed to be silence for a few moments for everything to sink in for the both of us, I don’t know. What I do know is, the man had good timing. Just as I began to regain my composure, he said, “Tell me where I can send Quinn to pick you up. He’ll be on his way as soon as we are off the phone. I’m very much looking forward to seeing you and I don’t want to have to wait a minute longer than I have to.”
I rattled off my particulars without hesitation. “It will be a few hours for him to get there,” Randall said. “I’m hoping that will be long enough for you to get some rest and gather whatever you need for a few days?”
After having just felt like I was going about a million miles an hour in every direction a minute ago, I now felt like this conversation, this situation rather, was moving at the same speed. It’s not as though I’m a real play-it-safe kinda girl, but all of this was a little uncharacteristic even for me. This was way out of my comfort zone, and yet I’d never felt more comfortable at the prospect of the unknown. My lunatic yes reply moments earlier had indeed served double duty and I couldn’t have been more pleased that it did. If things hadn’t just transpired the way they had, I may not have answered the same way even though I would have desperately wanted to.
“Yes, Randall. That will be plenty of time.”
“Fantastic. I’ll see you soon, Connor.”
I hung up the phone and took a deep breath, excited at the prospect of seeing Randall face to face again. It was then that I realized two things. First, a few hours was way more time than I needed to have a nap and get a weekend bag put together. Second, my dress was still hiked up. This is gonna be a lot louder than a minute ago, I said to myself as I slid my hand down for round two.
Chapter Three
It was closing in on one in the morning by the time Quinn sounded the buzzer on the intercom to let me know he had arrived and was waiting downstairs. I grabbed my bag and reached for the doorknob, ready to be on my merry way. Before opening the door, I gave my head a little shake as what I was about to do sunk in. This is nutty. It’s almost one a.m. and I’m about to drive off into the darkness with a stranger to go and spend a weekend with another stranger! But instead of freaking out at the thought, I followed up my incredulity with a little giggle. I was actually kinda proud of myself for being so adventurous.
I made my way downstairs, through the lobby, and out the front doors of my building to where Quinn was standing and waiting for me. “Ms. Lyall?” he said.
“That’s me!”
“Hello. My name is Quinn. Mr. Hemming sent me.”
Quinn seemed like a serious sort, so I made sure to be my usual pleasant self to try and break the ice. “Hi Quinn. I recognize you from earlier today. When you came in to the coffee shop to whisk Randall away. Nice to officially meet you!”
We began to walk toward Quinn’s vehicle. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Ms. Lyall. I apologize for not recognizing you from the coffee shop earlier. At the time, I was concerned that Mr. Hemming was going to be late for a very important meeting.
Being tasked with an objective generally precludes me from paying much attention to anything unrelated to said task. My focus can be quite intense.”
Intense indeed. Where hearing Randall speak was rich and mellifluous—like listening to a cowboy symphony—listening to Quinn speak was more like listening to a lecture. A well-spoken lecture, but a lecture nonetheless.
“That’s no problem at all, Quinn. Being able to focus is a great ability to have.” I thought back to a few hours earlier when all of my focus was on Randall’s words wrapping around me as we spoke on the phone. I grinned a little.
“You’re certainly correct, Ms. Lyall. A valuable asset, indeed.” Quinn stopped walking, which, of course, made me stop walking, and looked directly at me. Not quite menacingly, but very directly, deeply into my eyes. His tone changed, “For some, abstaining from distraction can be as important as knowing how to focus.” He kept his eyes locked to mine for another brief moment, then turned and said, “Let’s continue, shall we? We have a good four or so hours drive before arriving at the farm.” Yeesh. A real barrel of monkeys this one is.
Chapter Four
The drive to Randall’s farm was uneventful and Quinn wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Not with me anyway. Added to that was the fact that it was the middle of the night, and I actually dozed off a couple of times en route. While I was awake though, the conversations in my head kept me entertained well enough. Safety first, kids! Always be sure when you’re driving into the country with a stranger in the middle of the night that you fall asleep for stretches of the trip! Not having any clue where you are or how you got there just adds to the excitement!
Quinn had kinda weirded me out a bit with his Mr. Intense act earlier when he was going on about distractions. He didn’t say as much, but it wasn’t a great leap of logic to figure, or at least assume, that he was referring to me. I obviously had no clue what could have brought it on, since I had only just met the both of them, so I just chalked it up to Quinn being protective of his friend. In any case, the ongoing chatter in my head quickly went to the wayside as we finally pulled up to the front gate of the farm. Quinn broke the silence, “We’ve arrived at the farm, Ms. Lyall. We’ll be at the house in just a few more minutes.”
