I had come here with a purpose, and one purpose only. I needed a fucking fix, a fix without consequence, one I wouldn’t be able to call on again. I had a problem, I was addicted. I was never satisfied. I was always wanting more, and my small town only had limited access and even that pool was drying up. The wildness stirring inside me needed to be reined in; this was only one way to remedy it.
The dust had settled, but the scent was still clear and fresh, as well as the scent of the beasts that had kicked it up. I approached the chaos searching. I knew what I was looking for. It was the one who need not be in the forefront of his peers, and he was the one that could command silently. His eyes spoke volumes if anyone cared to pay attention. They told his secrets of darkness and hidden desires without uttering a single word. I knew he was here. There was always at least one.
There was something about putting your life on the line that came with taking back the control when your life was spared. It didn’t matter if you were the strongest or bravest of men, your life was in a gamble every time you saddled up. I completely understood the high that came from risking your life. I had been a part of the scene since I was a child. You were either born with the ability to connect with this lifestyle or you were not. It was as simple as that. Muddy water and hard work pumped through my veins.
I meander through the crowd; women dressed in cheap country apparel giggle and shout amongst each other just to be noticed by any of the men. Every other man is either taking a hit of chew or spitting it. It’s a cultural thing. My dad and brother both chew, and some of the women I know do too. It doesn’t disgust me, however, it doesn’t appeal to me either. My eyes continue to roam the corners and crevasses of the crowd. In the distance, I see a shadowy figure with his head hung as if he is working on something, I try to keep my eyes on him as I dodge more people to get a closer look.
Like a beacon I was drawn to him. He is using a pocket knife to dig something out of the hardened flesh of his palm. He puffs on a cigarette, using his teeth to hold it in place as he exhales while he concentrates on extracting the lodged object in his palm. His arms are large. The fabric of his dust covered black t-shirt cling to his form. Undiscernible black ink covers his arm. His age is undeterminable, as well, from a lifetime spent outdoors. His hat is molded to his head, and a sweat stain is clearly visible above the band. I love the ruggedness of him. I am not the kind of woman that needs a well kempt man. I want that wild, free and don’t give a fuck attitude on a man. It matches mine. He’s a real horseman, not some playboy cowboy. He isn’t here to impress anything upon anyone. His sole purpose is to compete against himself. His thrill is to live to ride again.
As I get closer I scan the area. I want to make sure I am not stomping on someone else’s territory. It is unusual for this type of man to have a companion, as they are typically loners like myself. After I assess the area and feel confident he is indeed alone, I stand within mere inches of him. So close I can smell the mixture of horse and man. It’s a smell that goes right along with my addiction. I just stare at him. No words need to be exchanged. An experienced man knows his mark. Just as I know what to look for, he’s equally keen to my purpose. We are both the same, yet different in our primal urges.
“Yeah?” He doesn’t bother to look up from what he is doing.
“Bailing wire is a bitch when is splinters.” Looking up at me, his facial expression is blank.
“You a circuit slut?”
“No.” I try not to sound offended. I look nothing like the circuit sluts. If my tanned skin from years on the back of a horse doesn’t give it away immediately, my boots should. They are well worn and broken in for riding. I was born on the back of a horse.
Just as I thought, he looks down at my feet, and nods his approval. He points to the back of a trailer. It has living quarters, but those are accessed through the front. He wants to take me to the back where he stores his livestock. As I walk past, I can see the glossy glow of a horse’s eyes peering out of a small window. He opens the smaller side door, and the creak is eerie.
Once I enter, the smell of his horse is incredibly soothing. It sounds silly to the common person, but the smell of a horse for a rider is a comfort. A feeling of home. He flicks on the terribly bright florescent lights, and I can now see a huge, magnificent, blacker than a moonless night, stallion. His coat is so shiny. It’s as if lacquer had been applied to him to make a sheen. His nostrils flare. He throws his head from side to side in agitation, and his eyes speak of the same devious behaviors of his master. He was born to breed. The scene was so very erotic, where man and animal fight for dominance. Stallions are the fiercest of all the horses, fiercer than the broncos. Broncos need to be provoked, a stallion does not. They have an air of superiority to them. They are frightening and alluring. To successfully ride a stallion is an accomplishment.
“Thunder Clouds Rumble is the best stallion in the country,” he states proudly as he pulls out a dingy blue handkerchief from his back pocket. I watch intently as he raises his hat exposing his brow then wipes the sweat from his forehead with the handkerchief.
“Quickly strip, I don’t have all night. I have ambers waiting on a nice porterhouse.”
I unbutton my top, I have no bra on. I have never needed one and don’t care for them. He lights another cigarette and watches without any visible interest. This is when I realize I may be a little out of my own league here. I usually can get a hint of a smile, or their eyes show some change. His disinterest in me is palpable. I shimmy myself out of my jeans leaving me in my cotton horseshoe print panties. There are always lucky for me. I remove them as well then stand before him, my arms at my sides as he looks me over and quietly smokes. Once he stubs out his cigarette, he summons me toward him and sweeps away the straw on the wooden floor with this boot. I take that as an indication that he wants me to stand there. I comply. He reaches up to a hook that clearly has a pulley system attached to it. I watch as he lowers it, paying me and my nudeness no attention. He reaches for the dirtiest and most worn rope there is hanging on the trailer wall. You can barely tell that this rope was twined together. It’s been well used, and it’s stiff. Walking behind me he binds my hands roughly together. The rope already abrading my skin slightly. My excitement is starting to build.
I am hung like a side of beef waiting on the butcher. I try to hide my smile but I feel sexy like this. My small breasts hang in such a way that make them more appealing, like perfect tear drops. My abdomen is stretched out making me appear more toned than usual. My eyes follow his right hand. He removes the dingy handkerchief and begins to manipulate the fabric. Immediately I know I will be blinded to this small world.
He doesn’t bother to take care with my hair, it gets pulled and tangled in the knot. It feels like tiny needles in my scalp. My hair is pulled taut but not enough to break free from my skull causing a constant discomfort. The smell of his sweet sweat is strong, along with stale smoke. The smell of a cigarette on a man’s breath is so appealing to me. A dim light shines through the bottom of the fabric. I close my eyes to become more comfortable. I listen as his spurs clink as he walks. This excites me. I want him to fuck me with his boots on. I want him to fuck with his pants around his ankles.
“Scorpion. Do you understand?” His voice pulls me from my own vision of him fucking me.
I wait for his response, or further instructions, but there is nothing. The anticipation gnaws at me, and my body is starting to shake from being in this position. I am fully aroused.
I hear the crack of a whip. My breath shallows, and panic raises up from my toes. I can feel the flush of my skin. I don’t have a high pain tolerance, and it doesn’t really turn me on. I like to be used. I enjoy the fact that a man wants to use my body for his pleasure. Pain is not my forte. A bullwhip is not where I want to start exploring pain play.
Suddenly a rough edge rubs my pussy. I was so caught up in fear I didn’t hear him approach me, or he may have removed his boots. The object is uncomfortable, and I wiggle my hips to find a more enjoyable surface of it. I am whirled around, and my hair pulled roughly making my head snap back. It’s hard to swallow.
“Maybe I wasn’t clear, but I am going to say this once and only once,” his voice is low and menacing. My heart is racing, adrenaline is surging through me. “I am the one in charge here, you are here for me to take what I fucking want and possibly what I have to give. Right now, me giving you anything isn’t in your favor. You got it you little cunt?”
“I got it.” I state weaker than I intended, but my head is tilted so far back it is affecting my ability to speak. He releases me.
He plunges the rough object up my pussy. My arousal does nothing to help lessen the sharpness of the object. I hold as still as possible while he rolls it in his hand, my own lubricant finally helping to take the edge off. He begins to pull and push it in and out of me. I adapt to the sensation, my tensions unraveling. A pounding on the trailer startles me, making the whole vessel move from side to side. I hear Thunder’s hoof dig into the wood, it is a sign of him establishing his territory, a warning to not come near him.
“Rock! Open the door, we’re fucking hungry out here!” The man’s voice is annoyed, the pounding continues.
“Give me a fucking minute Brody!”
“Fuck you Rocklin! Hurry the fuck up!”
Rocklin, as his friend referred to him, abruptly pulls out the object in my pussy and hisses in my ear. “I am going to be right back, but in the mean time you need to hold onto this,” just as he says ‘this’ the same object that was just in my pussy is shoved in my ass. It burns and hurts. The cry that escapes me is horrifying. “This better be right as I left it or you are at the mercy of the other end of this.” I can hear him clearly, but my mind is not processing. My ass is on fire and pulsing in pain. Tears stream down my face. My senses are on overload. The lights behind my eyes must be from the fire in my ass. I can’t focus on any one thing.
I hear his spurs this time as he walks away, and the heaviness in my ass is overwhelming. The creak in the door makes me tense up even further with the possibility of others seeing me blinded, bound and sodomized. I clench my ass trying to adjust to the pain and to keep it from slipping out. The actual pain is not allowing me to feel if it is slipping out or not, but I refuse to risk it. I keep telling myself the pain will subside any second. My body is rigid and in terrible discomfort. I try to concentrate on listening to what is going on. I wait for another creak of the door indicating it closing once more, but it doesn’t come and I feel a slight temperature change, albeit subtle, but with my senses are on high alert. Another indication the side door is still open. I begin to weep. I start to imagine people watching me like a freak show, phones capturing my vulnerability, and exposing my private depravities. I want to scream ‘Scorpion’ but that may draw more attention to me. I can feel Thunder shuffling around reminding me I am not alone.
Someone wolf whistling in the distance pulls me from my threatening thoughts, and I try to compose myself. I will be rewarded for this discomfort, no doubt. I know how this game is played. This is the most extreme that I have gone. I made it this far. My limits are being tested, and I can do this. I will my body an inch at a time to relax. Slowly, the burning in my ass starts to subside. I clench my cheeks to keep the object in. My ass is tight, but I am not willing to go through more discomfort at this point. I have no idea what’s on the other end of this object, and I don’t want to find out. So, I force myself to focus. I hear men chatting, cans of some sort being opened. Thunder is moving and shuffling around still. I can smell meat searing on a grill. I stay as still as possible, my ass cheeks hurt from clenching. I have no concept of time. It could have been five minutes or an hour. I just keep telling myself that any minute he’ll be back…any minute.
The trailer shifts to the right, and I know exactly what that means, someone has entered the trailer.
“Ah, fuck Rock! Seriously?!”
I hear an amused grunt, and the trailer shift to the right again from the weight of another person entering. I start to sweat. My whole zen has been interrupted again. My nerves are bunched up tighter than before. I hope I won’t have to take them both. My ass can’t handle that.
“She the fucking devil. She even has a black tail!” I know that’s Rocklin, and it’s the first time I have heard anything other than hardness in his voice.
“Dude! You have some fucked up habits. What happened to you man?”
“Could be all the head trauma from all these years of being thrown off bronc’s and bulls?” He says as he walks around.
“Fuck this shit, I’m out.” The trailer shifts for the third time, and the trailer door is slammed shut.
“I’m impressed little one. I didn’t figure you as one to be put on display. Although you like to be used, you have a shyness to you.” He is right, but I am not willing to so much as twitch at this point. He has proved he likes to push boundaries. I don’t want to error.
“Hmmm, what a good girl.” His praise gives me some reassurance this torture is coming to an end.
Until this moment, I hadn’t noticed my breathing had become shallow once again. Closing out everything going on around me. I try to steady my breath. Just as I start to get my body back in check, my left nipple is pulled so I sway forward, and he holds onto it tighter as force of the sway draws me back. My nipple is pulled tight. The flesh of my whole small breast is supporting my weight and feels like my whole breast could rip right off my body. He twists it bringing a whole new kind of pain to the area. My eyes water, and I take a slow but shaky deep breath.
He is brutal, and once again, ‘Scorpion’ is on the tip of my tongue. He lets go, and I swing back and forth. My breast doesn’t feel any relief like I had imagined it would once I was free from his grip.
His rough hand lands on my hip startling me and steading me from the swaying simultaneously. His other hand moves to my throat, and I close my eyes tight. I cannot and will not have my breathing restricted. I lick my lips ready to end this, but his hand lightly frames my throat and gently runs down my middle in a contrary sensation to all his previous behaviors.
With one hand still on my hip, I can feel him move, and I think, reach for something. “Inhale this, there is nothing quite like the richness of real leather,” I comply and inhale the musky and earthy scent of the leather. I have no way of discerning exactly what it is.
It could be a number of things in here.
My mind wanders as a coldness touches my sternum, and I recognize it as metal. He pushes it harder into my skin. “I noticed how you watch and respond to my spurs. They excite you.” He punctuates ‘They excite you’ by jabbing the metal further into my skin with each word. Just as quickly as it started, he draws it down my abdomen. It’s then that I realize it’s a spur. The leather I smelled is from his spurs. My flesh dimples everywhere. I have fantasized about this for a long time. He draws the spur slowly down the crease of my thigh, and my clitoris begins to pulse with excitement. My body relaxes while he draws it back up the same thigh. Two calloused fingers run gently around my stiff clit. He stays just out of reach of it, and I fight the urge to move ever so slightly to get him to touch where I need most. I refrain as he moves my wetness all over my pussy lips. My eyes roll back, and I make a conscious effort to not give away the pleasure I am feeling at the moment. Just as I am about to peak he stops.
I grit my teeth and compose myself. My arms get heavy, and I realize the pulley is being loosened and my feet are now flat on the uneven wooden floor. Rocklin adjusts the pulley to get my arms taught again above my head. I let the pulley do the work and resist the urge to fight it and hold my own weight.
I get cock slapped right on my clit, then one hand digs into my right ass cheek while his cock lines up with my entrance. I fully expect him to jam himself into me. But he eases himself into my tightness, and I am reminded of the object in my ass. I had somewhat forgotten about it. His hand moves to hold the unknown object in my ass in place as his cock fights for space in my tight pussy.
The sensation is overwhelming, and the pleasure hits me quick. He hasn’t even gotten a pace going, but my previous stimulation is a factor. He begins to regulate his movement, and my self-control is lost. Warmth covers my body. I go rigid trying to fight it, but I begin to shake. The pressure is too much, and I cum all over his shaft my fluid running down my thighs, the powerful orgasm taking over my body. I fully expect to be chastised for this, but he just continues to fuck me, and I let the pleasurable sensations build again. He twists and tugs at my nipple. I let out a moan of pleasure. Thunder drags a hoof across the wooden floor of the trailer and brays. Rocklin’s hand moves to my clit rubbing circles around it, and I start to shake and the wave builds. The stallion starts to agitate, and the whole trailer begins to move. I relax my body and let the pleasure take over, but he pulls out and a wet, sucking like sound fills my ears. He is whacking himself off, and I am left hanging by a fucking thread. I squeeze my thighs together and try to create some friction with my legs. The thought of his stroking himself is so fucking hot. I love to watch a man stroke himself. It only serves to frustrate me more. The sounds slow, and I know he has come as well.
He pulls the blindfold off, ripping out some hair as he does. My eyes adjust, and I take him in as he unties my hands. His hair is light brown and plastered to his head from sweat and his hat. He is larger than I imagined. He has a scar on his left side near his ribs, and he has a full sleeve tattoo that covers half his chest also. He did leave his jeans on. They are pulled back up, but unbuttoned. I step away, and as I do, the object in my ass is pulled out, hitting the wooden floor with a loud thump. I turn to look. Rocklin has his boot on the thin end of a bullwhip to hold it in place as I stepped away. The handle was thick, frayed, braided leather. It is a well used instrument. He pulls on a different but equally dusty shirt and puts his hat back on.
“Clean that mess up and get the fuck out,” he says as he leaves out the door.
I get dressed and look around for something to clean his cum up with. I am frustrated and ready to leave so I give up quickly, and decide to use my shirt to clean it up with. I remove it once more and use the back of it too wipe up the thick, white, gelatinous goo. I put it back on, the coldness touching my back gives me the chills. The heaviness of his cum is pulling my shirt collar uncomfortably around the front of my throat. I try to adjust as I walk out, only to find a crowd of both men and women sitting in a semi-circle facing the door eating and drinking. I scan the group for Rocklin, and he is talking to a pretty woman intently, not bothering to look my way like most of the crowd is. I step down off the trailer and smile at the people watching me. I head back to my truck with my inner desires tamed…for now.
All right reserved by Melissa Asleson©