“Reckon I got me a real feisty filly this time,” he drawls, squatting down for a closer look.
“I’m a lady,” she protests, trying to cover herself where the dress has ridden to her waist, revealing white lace panties. “You let me go at once, or I swear, I’ll get the sheriff.”
For a while he just looks at her, drinking in the sexy disheveledness. At her left shoulder, the strap of her dress is down, revealing creamy flesh. And again, at her thighs, just below the bottom of her wispy panties. She sees that she’s lost her shoes, too.
Finally the mysterious cowboy just laughs, showing his killer dimples. The sound is like warm cocoa on winter night. Pushing back the brim of his white Stetson to reveal his gorgeous blue eyes, he says, “The sheriff won’t do you no good, little lady. In fact, he’s backing me on this, along with the entire of the town. Seems like everyone agrees you need a little taming.”
“Taming!?” Stacy tries to sound horrified, but she’s thrilled, secretly, and even as she dreads what she knows he’s going to do to her, she craves it at the same time. “How dare you!” A woman must retain the outward semblance of being a lady, in spite of her darkest desires.
He just looks down at her, hands on his hips, aloof, cracking only the tiniest of smiles.
She can see in his eyes, though, he’s not nearly as indifferent as he’s letting on. He wants her. Sexually. She can see it by the swell in his dusty jeans, right below the big, gold belt buckle.
Stacy’s chest heaves; she is getting flush. Lying in the dirt, her golden hair tossed carelessly about her, the thin, flowery dress stained and straining against her curves, she doesn’t know if she can stand it much longer. Deciding to test him, she looks up at him, releasing a well-aimed stream of spittle at his face.
He lets it remain there, trickling, this weird look on his face, like it’s all some joke. The next thing Stacy knows, he is roping her like a calf, hands behind her back, ankles tied together and drawn up, perfectly hog-tied. Finally he picks her up bodily, like a small sack of potatoes and takes her to the barn.
She swallows hard as he tosses her down in the straw. “Can’t we go to your room?” she asks, her voice small and dry.
A smirk develops under the brim of the Stetson. “Fillies like you belong in stalls,” he counters. “For their training.”
***
For a while, Stacy thought about seeing a counselor about the dreams.
“Grief does strange things to a girl,” her mother told her one day while she was trimming her hair at the salon she worked at.
Yes, it does, thought Stacy, recalling the dozens of men her mother had been with over the years since her father’s death. Come to think of it, her mother liked to play games, too, because she remembered finding a pair of handcuffs once in the closet, along with an elegant little leather flogger.
“Thanks, Mom,” she said. “But I’ll work it out on my own.”
The answer came a week later in the form of Luke, a new hand who’d just been brought in from Henryetta for the upcoming cattle drive. She’d never been shy with men (that’s how she’d drawn Hank’s eye at the honky tonk that one night four years ago, after all) and besides, she was the boss now, which made meeting the man a piece of cake.
Bold as a mountain lion, she came right up to him one day while he was repairing the fence on the north pasture.
“There’s something at the house,” she told him, “I need your help with.”
Luke looked at her, his bare, sweat-covered chest heaving. The posthole digger was still in his gloved hands and he looked good enough to eat. If she could, in fact, she’d lick the sweat from his stomach and beg him to take her, right here on the prairie.
“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he smiled, his brown eyes noting the lines of her figure beneath the gingham dress.
Stacy had him to sit on the porch. She gave him a tall, cool glass of lemonade and a towel to wipe himself.
“Don’t bother,” she told him when he tried to put his T-shirt back on.
His smile had a real slant to it now. He was over six-foot tall, and he looked damned good sitting in that carved wooden rocker. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” he tipped his black Stetson. “But I’m thinking there ain’t nothing here needs fixin’.”
Stacy sat at his feet. “Oh, but there is, Luke, there is.” She took his large, capable hand and put it on her chest. “It’s my heart.”
He nodded. “Heard about Mr. Rivers. I’m right sorry, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” She lowered her eyes, studying his boots. She liked that he was so comfortable and secure in himself and that he wasn’t put off by her forward behavior. “Do you ever dream things, Luke?”
“Sometimes,” he replied with the brevity typical of all the cowboys she’d ever met.
“I do, Luke. I dream about sexy things. Would it be all right if I shared things like that with you?”
“It’s your nickel,” he shrugged.
“I dream about cowboys, Luke. One in particular, who’s very strong and mysterious. I don’t know his name, but I can tell you what he does. It starts with him lassoing me on the trail, and hog-tying me. Then he takes me to a barn and lays me in the hay. The ropes come off, and
then, just like that, he tells me to get up and strip off all my clothes. I get up, but I stay dressed. ‘And if I don’t?’ I ask defiantly.
“My cowboy just shrugs, and drawls, ‘Then I’ll rip them off. Pity, though, what with you having on such a nice dress and all. If it were me, I’d want something to put on after, for when I had to walk back home.’
“I feel the blood drain from my face. Everything is fixed, whether I like it or not. I’m going to be used by him, and if I fight, then I’ll have to find my way back to the house naked, passing a dozen or more men with nothing to cover my violated body.
“‘The hair, too,’ he adds as I begin with trembling hands to undo the long row of buttons down the front of my dress. ‘And the shoes. Everything.’ When I am totally naked and my long hair has been released to cascade down my back, he tells me to put my hands at my side, forbidding me to cover myself from his appraising glare.
“‘Not bad,’ he informs me, as though I am some specimen of livestock. “With a little work, you’ll be a blue ribbon winner.’
“He has his hands on me now, casual, blunt. I have to open my mouth, turn and cough, and of course he runs his hands up and down my belly, over my breasts and in between my legs. I feel so used, so ashamed, and yet I am aroused, too, in a way I have never been before.
“I give a little shudder as he pauses to roll the nub of my clit between his calloused fingers. I do not look away but gaze wonderingly into his eyes. He has conquered me already and we both know it. Just a word now, a simple gesture and I will be on my back, open and creaming or else on all fours, ready and available for whatever he chooses to bestow by way of pleasure or pain.
“He gives no such order, however. ‘Giddyap,’ he says instead, delivering a harsh crack across my bare bottom with the palm of his hand. After several more such blows, each of which excites and demeans me all the more, I am prepared to obey. I am to go outside, to the corral, to be run in the corral, under the lash, round and round in the circle.
“I am held by a lead, in his hand, which attaches to a leather collar round my neck. With the other hand, he manipulates the long, thin black snake, making it dance over and over across my bobbing, sweating flesh. The whip is like a lover, taking, demanding, inflaming. He marks my proud breasts, my golden flanks, my firm butt cheeks.
“All the while I am thinking of him having me, and hoping I will please him. When he has had his fill of trotting me, of seeing me cringe and prance and flaunt myself, he hauls me to the center of the ring and puts me to my knees in front of him.
“Instinctively, I know what I must do. I do not use my hands, but take him out instead using my teeth and lips alone. Only once my mouth is fully engulfed by his huge and throbbing cock does he tell me what he has
in store for me. The words alone, combined with the sensations of having that sweaty dick in my mouth are enough to make me come. And I do, right there in the open, with the dirt staining my knees, his hard denim-covered ass under my palms. I climax, Luke, without even having a lover inside me.”
All through her dialogue, Luke had said nothing.
Stacy reached out to claw at the cowboy’s jeans. He made no effort either to resist or to help her as she worked his zipper down, pulling his already stiff cock free.
“And then he says the words I most fear and dread,” she continues, breathless as she strokes his hardness. “I swoon when he says them. He even lifts his boot to tap my thigh in the exact location he’s talking about. ‘I’m gonna brand you, little lady,’ he tells me.
“Hot fire sears my skin. Think of it, Luke. The ultimate degradation. And that smug attitude; the way he calls me little lady, when he’s treating me like a slave. It puts me into orbit. He’s ready for me now, and he takes me from behind after putting me on all fours. My body is wracked with orgasms as I clench the dirt helplessly with my fingers and toes. Afterward, when he’s taken his fill of me, he tells me we’re going back to the house. He doesn’t even bother with my clothes. We’ve gone too far for that. I just crawl ahead of him so he can parade my naked, whipped body in front of everyone. I see the contempt and lust in their eyes, and I know all of them will have their turn with me, too. But my cowboy is tired for now and he wants me alone. We go upstairs, and I attend to him, bathing him intimately. After I dry him, he uses me on the bathroom floor, on my back, and then he chains me for the night at the foot of my own bed. My heart pounds, my every nerve ending is on fire. I can scarcely keep still and yet I must sleep, tomorrow is another day, and much will be demanded of me.”
Stacy looked up into Luke’s eyes; she was finished and now it was his turn. She wasn’t sure why she’d picked him in the first place; call it instinct, a feeling of kindred spirits. At any rate, she was not disappointed.
“That’s an interesting story, ma’am,” he drawled, his voice and relaxed manner belying his excitement. “But it seems to me, a woman like you needs to put her money where her mouth is.”
Stacy caught his meaning immediately. “You’re right,” she rasped, her eyes sultry and vixen-like. “Your wish is my command.”
The cowboy’s cock was good. Firm and tasty. She wrapped her fingers round the base and made a series of little stabbing motions, taking him to the halfway point and releasing him from her mouth over and over.
Luke sat forward. “That ain’t how we do it where I come from.”
Stacy nearly gagged as he thrust himself to the back of her throat. He was a big man and thick, too. She creamed in her panties as she thought of how he was taking charge of her, forcing her to do his will.
“Stand up,” he ordered at last, taking the still rigid morsel from her mouth.
Stacy whimpered in frustration, but did as she was told.
“How about if we take that dress off,” he crooned, “so I can see what I’m getting.”
Stacy could hardly lift her arms, she felt so deliciously weak. How she’d dreamed of this moment. “I’m yours,” she told him, posing before him wearing nothing but the bra and panties.
“Pull your drawers down to your knees,” he told her, indicating the lace bottoms. “Turn around and bend over.”
Her face slack with lust, Stacy skinned down the decidedly feminine scrap of material. Her yellow bush was glistening wet underneath. “Are you going to fuck me?” she asked throatily as she turned her back to him.
Luke waited till she was firmly grasping her ankles. Running his hand along her crack, he said, “Eventually.”
Through her parted knees, her feet firmly planted on the wooden porch, she watched as he pulled the belt from the loops encircling his waist. He did it slow and easy, with agonizing male confidence. When the bottom of the unfurled leather touched the ground at his side she nearly swooned.
He was going to beat her with it.
“I expect to be paid time and a half for this,” he quipped, cracking the belt over her quivering cheeks.
“Yes,” she hissed, reveling in the pain. “Yes, sir.”
The belt flew again, this time hitting her upper thighs. “You ever been fucked in the ass?” he asked.
“No,” she moaned, feeling the heat surge through her body. “No, sir.”
“That’s what I’ll be wanting, then. Is that a problem?”
The third blow came right across her nether split, sending her spasming with delicious pain.
“No, sir,” she gasped, trying to keep her balance.
He paused to cup one of her fiery red buttocks. The touch was cool, and yet maddeningly hot at the same time. “How’d you know I liked doing this sort of thing, anyway?”
Thrusting herself upward like an alley cat, she said. “I didn’t. I took a chance is all.”
“I’ll be using you all day, you know. And most of tonight.”
She felt his cock pressing against the lips of her cunt. “I’m yours,” she repeated.
“In the morning,” he continued, pushing himself inside her warm, wet hole. “You’ll cook me breakfast and give me the rest of my pay. With a ten thousand dollar bonus.”
Stacy swallowed. “I can’t make you stay then?”
“Nope. One night only.” Luke withdrew now, moving to the narrower channel as promised. “Seems to me I got you over a barrel, don’t I?”
Grimacing, Stacy accommodated the man. “You’ll have your ten thousand,” she promised. “On one condition.”
Luke’s hands moved to her hips for better leverage. “What’s that?”
Stacy gave way to open panting now, like a bitch in heat. “Send me another,” she moaned. “Before you go tomorrow, send me another.”
Luke was true to his word. After putting Stacy happily through her paces and drawing his pay, he went right to the bunkhouse to have a long talk with Sid, a guy from Yuma who was into S and M himself. That night Sid showed up at her door in his best pearl-buttoned shirt, a dozen roses in his hand and a shit-eating grin on his face.
Stacy greeted him in black lace bra and panties, her long legs clad in stockings and garters. “Fuck the roses,” she said huskily, unclasping the front of her bra to bare her well-proportioned tits. “Come and get me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” winked Sid, revealing the riding crop he’d had behind his back.
Arms at her side, chest heaving, she looked deep in his eyes, obedient and ready. “How do you want me?”
“On all fours would be just fine.”
Stacy obeyed, knowing she was going to be the happiest woman on earth. With a bunkhouse full of cowboys and an even fuller checkbook, how could she lose?
Chapter Six
Humbling Rhiannon
The bell has rung and I must prepare.
My name is Rhiannon and I am a slave. It hardly seems real to me, and yet there are facts I cannot deny. A month ago, I had it all. Career. Money. The best clothes, all the men I could wrap round my pinkie. But all that has changed.
In just a few days, you see, I will be sold. A piece of property, going to the highest bidder. Lot 878-KL. Female, age 25, natural blonde, 36-25-34, skin unblemished, no diseases, fresh collar, not branded. Men and possibly women, too, will hear these statistics as they look at my nude body. An auctioneer will point out my desirability on account of never having been owned before, and then he will pose me in various positions. I will bend over and show my arse, spreading the cheeks. I will kneel and cup my non-augmented breasts. I will open my legs, wider and wider, and wider still. Virtues will be cited; the gently convexed abdomen, the delicateness of my lips beneath the golden fleece at the apex of my thighs.
My defects will be discussed, too. The slight fleshiness of my hips. The mole on my inner thigh. My inability to orgasm on command. Amounts will then be shouted out. Dollar amounts which the men, and possibly women would be willing to pay for my body, to have it
as their own.
I think about this often during the night as I lay in my cage in the darkness. The sounds of the others snoring or stirring in their chains are all around me. Sometimes I cry, sometimes my heart beats in terror. Other times I am simply horny and I thrust my hand between my legs making myself come over and over as I think what it will be like to be owned by a man, to be his sexual property. To be utterly controlled and made to feel things, delicious, wicked things.
But the bell has rung now. The men are coming soon and I have no more time for thinking. I must do. My training cage is over an open grate, and that is where I must relieve myself. There is just enough room to squat, chest pressed to knees. I am painfully aware of the odor. Layers of caked sweat cover me along with dried fluids, the leftovers from the last time I was fucked, just prior to being locked in for the night.
The urine begins to trickle out of me and I do my best to aim it between the thick wires of the mesh. I have been sleeping on my left side, rolled into a ball. The mesh has marked my flesh, leaving thick indentations over my hips and thighs and left breast. I feel my cheek. It has the marks, too. The gesture reminds me all over again of the thick metal rings on my wrists. I have identical ones on my ankles. There are eyelets on all four of the rings that allow us to be chained or tied in any position desired.
In my three days in the dungeon of the auction house, I have been enlightened as to many such positions as well as to the excellent teaching powers of the cane and riding crop. The throbbing of my skin is constant; I am well marked on my buttocks and thighs and my back as well.
I hear the second bell, and now I know I have only two minutes left to prepare my body for the coming of the Handlers. I check my cunt for wetness. No problem there, but I must do something about my nipples. The Handlers like them erect and I have seen girls beaten for failing to be sufficiently ready for sex.
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