by Maxine Marsh
He spoke to DJ in as low a voice as he could. “Okay, all you have to do is get to the fence and pass the lead over to me. Don’t get in the stall with her.”
“I’m not stupid,” she murmured.
Movement. He heard a short exhale, then DJ came out of the stall across the way. She took a step toward the horse, then another. Sadie turned her head to watch.
Dina Jo moved a few paces closer, looking up at the horse with wide eyes. She stopped, seemed to be gauging the distance between them, then began to whistle. Clayton thought the tune sounded familiar but didn’t think too much about it. He leaned to get a better view. DJ stepped closer, whistled gently at the horse. Sadie stomped. DJ froze.
“Easy, easy, girl,” she said in a shaky voice.
She was frightened but steady, kept eye contact, and stood at the right angle to keep the horse’s attention. Little things he’d mentioned to her over the weeks that were simple tricks of the trade but could keep situations like this manageable.
Then she did something that utterly pissed him off.
Still whistling, occasionally whispering words of ease to the horse, she reached down and took several sugar cubes from her pocket. She held one up toward the horse’s snout then dropped it on the floor so that it made a singular and recognizable noise.
The horse snorted and bent down to take the sugar. DJ repeated the action. The horse bowed again. She dropped a third cube. This time when Sadie bent down, DJ reached and attached the lead to her halter in one smooth motion.
It took several more sugar cubes and moments of slow backward walking to draw Sadie back to her stall. Dina Jo handed the lead over the fence to Clayton, who was still perched halfway over the wall. Sadie had calmed during her little walk back and went all the way in after DJ threw the last three cubes into the stall for her.
Clayton considered it a near miracle when he managed to pull the horse to him with the lead and take the halter off quickly without a fuss.
He climbed back over and out of the stall, somewhat breathless. He wasn’t too winded though to reprimand DJ as she resecured the gate. Her shoulders were already up by her ears like she knew it was coming and was bracing herself for a good scolding.
“You’ve been sneaking her sugar!”
“So what, Clayton? She needs extra love.”
He stood and glared at her.
“I got the damn lead on her didn’t I, and got her put away?” she pleaded.
“She needs decent nutrition, is what she needs. Dang, Dina Jo, what am I going to do with you?”
The look on her face suggested she was about to say something smart at him but then she seemed to think better of it and just stood there with her lips pressed together.
He huffed. “Twice a week only. You hear? Two treats a week, since you’ve already got her used to it.”
DJ smiled at him. “Okay,” she said quickly. “Thanks,” she added.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said tiredly.
They closed up and walked to his truck together.
“Well, that just about ruined me. Look, I’m still shaking,” she said to him, holding up a trembling hand.
“Yeah.” He threw his bag into the back of the truck and then wiped his sweating palms on his jeans.
“I need a drink.”
“Want me to take you to Ronny’s?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I was hoping you would take me to your place. Maybe I could draw the sunset again if there’s time…” She looked up at him from under her eyelashes in an adorably demure way.
The sun was dropping rapidly. Their work day was definitely over.
“Get in, then,” he said.
Chapter Six
She liked that the light was almost gone when Clayton rolled up the long driveway and pulled the truck up in front of his house. She didn’t waste any time in getting out her notebook and starting to sketch the contrast between the property and the fading light of the sky. This was why she worked with charcoal—to catch the smallest variations of shadow and light and make the most of them.
Clayton went in and poured them a couple whiskeys while she sat on the top step of the porch and sketched. She took her time. He watched her, seemingly satisfied with her quiet scratching and rubbing and the comfortable hush that hung between them.
She drew a couple of pictures, one of the landscape and then one of him. When she was satisfied she’d caught him at the right angle and worked his face to some resemblance of real life, she closed her notebook, set it aside and finisher her drink. Finally, she got up and made to go inside.
“Where you going?” he asked.
She held up her glass. “To make myself another, boss,” she said, disappearing into the house.
DJ went through the motions of making enough noise so that he didn’t think she was snooping. She took a moment paused at the screen door to look out at him. He was sipping his drink, staring out at the twilight. She imagined him sitting there on nights past, alone and living with the stillness and quiet. She was taking a chance invading his privacy like this, but it was what every part of her ached to do.
His head cocked when he heard the porch door open, but he didn’t turn to look at her, just kept staring out into the countryside. It gave her the perfect chance to walk to the porch railing, to settle and lean over right in front of him.
In her periphery, she noticed him do a sharp double take. He’d have noticed she was completely naked, her bare bottom presented to him, fully his to view and admire.
She heard the clink of his glass when he set it down.
“Spread your legs more,” he said, voice low, almost a growl.
She felt a wave of relief, partly that he wasn’t automatically turning her down, and partly for the command in it. She was starting to crave it. She did as he said.
“Lift and stick your ass out so I can see every part of you,” he said.
She did.
“Reach down between your legs and touch yourself.”
She reached and ran a finger along her slit, feeling how wet she already was. She teased herself the way she thought he might like, careful to angle her bottom up so he could see everything she was doing. She spread her labia open, holding in a moan. She already felt so much need.
She put her fingertip to her clitoris and began to circle it.
“No,” he said sternly. “You’re not to make yourself come. Just touch yourself.”
She might have whined but caught herself and went back to playing around, avoiding her clit all together. Her thighs strained back toward him and she forced herself to count each breath, to take air in slowly and to let it out just as slowly. She chanced a glance back. His face was set hard in the way she’d noticed it got when he was turned on. He had a palm over his crotch, silently commanding his cock to stay put.
She watched him watch her, wanting to arouse him even more. Moving deliberately, she slid a finger into her pussy and this time, couldn’t help moaning. When he didn’t chastise her, she figured he liked the way it looked and began slowly fucking herself, feeling her finger grow slick and pressing it in farther.
“Add another finger,” he said.
She did as she was told.
“Faster.”
The evening was quiet, punctuated only by her whimpers and the sluicing noises with the give and take of her fingers each time they thrust in and out. Twice more, he told her to add another finger until four of them worked inside, four of them making her ache and throb and swell. Clayton seemed content to watch her play with herself without allowing her to find completion, but she was tortured and her clit throbbed relentlessly. She thought she might soon start begging.
She glanced back at him again. How could she please him? “What can I do to convince you I deserve to come?” she asked.
He smiled. “Put your fingers in, and stay that way.”
She did as he asked. He got up and went inside the house. Ages passed—he was gone forever as far as her pussy was concerned.
Her sex pulsed around her fingers and her back began to ache from leaning over the porch railing for so long. She listened for him, heard his footsteps from somewhere up above, and then eventually, when she began to think she couldn’t keep still for much longer, she heard him coming back down the stairs and onto the porch.
“Good girl,” he whispered from somewhere close to her. “Fingers out. Get up.”
He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her when she rose, then held her firmly against the railing. A firm tug on her hair and his mouth met her, his tongue pushed through her lips and he kissed her possessively.
He released her. “Now stand up straight.”
She did, saw him stand back and look at her body. He held something, some contraption, in his hands.
“Breasts out.”
She pushed her chest forward, tried to breathe, wondering what he was going to do to her. The contraption he held consisted of a leather strap with a ball and two metal chains hanging with clips at the end. She remembered the story he’d told her at the ranch earlier that day.
First he put the leather strap around her head and said, “Open.” She opened her mouth and breathed heavily while he placed the ball gag gently inside. It wasn’t as challenging to breathe as she thought it would be, and she relaxed her mouth around it. He worked the strap until it was snug around her cheeks and stayed on by itself. Two chains, one on either side of the gag, hung loose, the cold metal brushing against her breasts and her nipples. He took both nipples and pinched and twisted them between his thumbs and forefingers until she groaned through the gag. When they were perky and red and swollen under his touch, he attached the clamp to the first nipple. She winced but didn’t struggle when he reached for the other.
“Breathe,” he whispered, watching her face.
She took a couple of deliberate, deep breaths and pressed her breasts out again toward him. He tweaked the clamp on her right nipple and smiled when she squealed. She quickly recovered and waited attentively for him to attach the other clamp. The second was less of a shock but just as much stimulation. She closed her eyes at the ecstasy and pain of the little device, wondering how such a small thing could make her feel so much.
He stood back, looked at her. He nodded, a satisfied gesture. “Sit on the railing in front of me. Spread your legs as wide as you can and stay.”
He sat back in his chair, picked up his drink and kept watch. At first she had to focus on remaining balanced while feeling exposed. Slowly, then, the sensations flooded in, transforming from subtle twinges to aches and stabs that gathered and dominated her awareness. Wind blew in small gusts around her, the chains moved and tugged at her nipples. They throbbed, hot and angry while she struggled to sit motionless. The throbbing traveled from her nipples to her clitoris, where she pulsed and dripped. All she could do was sit there spread open and watch him watch her. He sat easily, in no rush, enjoying his view and her quiet torment.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, trying to please him with whatever discipline she could muster. Eventually, though, he took a last sip of his drink. He took a remaining ice cube in between his fingers and rose.
“Don’t you move,” he said sternly, kneeling down before her until he was face-to-face with her pussy.
When he placed the ice cube over her clit, she felt like she’d been burned. She wasn’t sure how she kept from bucking or losing her balance, but felt her cunt squeeze in at the sensation and cried out through her gag. The ice pressed over her heat; chilled liquid dripped slowly down her labia and lower to the pucker of her ass. She felt pulsing so close to the sensation of orgasm that she wasn’t altogether sure she hadn’t had one.
Clayton rose, tossed the remaining bit of ice aside and lifted her down. Silently, he led her upstairs, occasionally reaching out and tugging slightly on one of the chains, eliciting a jump and cry of ecstatic shock from her. He led her to the bedroom, placed her down on the bed, and spread her legs.
“Do you think you’ve earned your orgasm?” he asked, looking down at her.
DJ was having a hard time thinking. She wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was. Did she know what she felt? She nodded before she could think an answer to herself.
He frowned. “More training then,” he said.
She groaned loudly behind her bit. What had she been thinking? She wanted him to make her come more than anything, but it was too soon.
She watched, desperately trying to control her breath, while Clayton detached something from the wall. Cuffs. He undid them, then pulled one leg up and back toward her head.
“You’re young and lithe. But shake your head if this hurts your legs.”
She waited for discomfort while he pushed her right leg up as though he were going to tuck her foot behind her head, then held it there and attached one of the cuffs and its strap to the bedpost. He took his time playing with the slack.
“Okay?” he asked her. She nodded.
He repeated with the other foot. It was a hell of a stretch but she was all right, more than anything keenly aware of being exposed and vulnerable with her pussy now free for him to torment and in a position where she could do nothing but take it.
He stood back. “There’s that beautiful, slutty ass.”
He caressed her buttocks, then reached around her head and took the ball out of her mouth and undid the leather strap that had held it in place. The action jostled the clamps on her nipples, and she whimpered.
Clayton chuckled softly. “Excited?” he asked, amused. “Good. Just right for a spanking.”
She pulled back a pulse of embarrassment and helplessness. He moved to sit next to her and the bed, so that he faced her long ways and could get the right angle with his hand.
“I want you to count your punishment. You’ll say ‘please, sir’ and then the number. Every time you misspeak or take too long, we’ll start over. That will be how you earn your orgasm. Do you understand?”
She nodded and answered him. “Yes,” she managed.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
His fingertips tickled the backs of her thighs. “All right. Let’s begin.”
She took a deep breath. I can do this. “Please, sir, one.”
The first slap was to her right buttock and sounded as sharp as it felt. She cried out, loving the feeling and closing her eyes.
Another deep breath. “Please, sir, two.”
The second spank was on the same buttock but to the side of the first. She felt it just as sharply, but this one was accompanied by a slight vibration toward her pussy and her ass. Her abdomen squeezed in and trembled.
Remember to breathe. “Please, sir, three.” This one was hard on her left buttock.
“Please, sir, four.” Smack, hot and so painful she almost bit her lip.
“Please, sir, five.”
Her eyelids squeezed and spoke without thinking. Another spank, this time accompanied by a depth of reverberation through her body that seemed to pull her down to some other place entirely.
A hard slap to her exposed pussy made her eyes fly open and tear up.
“You don’t want to start over, do you?” Clayton growled.
“No, sir.”
“Then stay here.”
He reached over her leg and pulled the clamp off her right nipple. She winced when he found the chain slack enough and attached the clamp to her clitoral hood. The pinch was excruciating. She didn’t think she’d ever felt anything like it.
“Keep going,” he ordered.
“Please, sir, six,” she said with a gasp, praying silently that it was the right number.
It was. And on and on, seemingly past ten, but she held the words close and the sensations closer, and toward the end of her spanking she was nearly in a trance of delight, only barely managing to keep her eyes open the way she knew he wanted.
After his tenth blow, he detached the clamp from her clitoris and placed it back onto her nipple. By now the need for him to touch her between her legs
was nearly unbearable. Suddenly he was somewhere down near her bottom.
“You’ve been a very good girl.” She felt hot breath waft against her pussy.
She bellowed a loud sob when she felt his tongue on her. It followed a long path up and down her sex, unstopping, no teasing, completely contacting her wherever it went. He worked her over until she writhed and strained against her bonds. There was a fast and fantastic build to orgasm that despite everything leading up to it, she tried to push further off, wanting it to come to an end, and not, in equal measure. Every moment she denied herself was a moment she opened to him more and a growing acceptance flourished between them.
He sucked her clitoris into his mouth and pushed her over the edge she fought against. She came, back straining to arch, feet tied and flexing, sweat rolling down her neck, crying without fear of anyone hearing. He slowed his tongue but kept it working over her clit and gently prodding her entrance. She squeezed her legs against the slack of the cuffs, and shook and mewed.
She barely had time to catch her breath while he undressed. He climbed onto the bed, placed his hands against the backs of her legs and with one fierce thrust completely penetrated her. She was melted inside, took him easily all the way from the start, and instinctively tried to move and thrust her hips up to meet him as well as she could in her position. With each slick thrust of his cock. another orgasm began to gather, this one deeper and profound in its solid, slow burn. The world got steady and quiet. She felt entranced, almost hypnotized by the pull and push of their bodies rocking together on the bed.
Clayton reached and twisted the clamp on her left nipple. She felt the sharp agony, came out of her revelry as though breaking the surface of water to breathe.
“Slowly, my girl. I’m taking my time. I want you to take yours,” he said, nearly breathless himself.
She understood and felt the ease of his words and his ability to direct her. She came back toward the rhythm of their slapping flesh but more slowly, focusing on every sensation she could. She felt an agony deep inside in a place that wasn’t accustomed to being stimulated. She realized that Clayton had grabbed her hips and lifted her up so that her ass was at an even higher angle that brought him somewhere much deeper than she was used to.
