Cowpoke

The girl kneeled on the hard-packed dirt, watching the cowboy pace in front of her with wary eyes. She hadn't been this terrified since the first time. The rowdy noise of woman-starved cowboys was simply a fence away. If they saw her, whether over the plank fence or through a loose board, or if either of them made too much noise, she doubted Richard could keep them from having their turn. Worse, she wasn't entirely sure he would even try.

This certainly had not been the fate she'd expected when she'd responded to his tentatively scribed letters, which he'd shyly admitted to her were dictated to another. It didn't take long indeed for her to realize that all the shyness and romanticism of a tender young man was projected on the page from an innocent imagination. She knew that if she read those letters now, the voice reading them would be gruff and far surer of itself.

"Take off your dress," he said quietly. The volume aside, there was no choice of refusing him in his tone.

She unbuttoned the bodice, slipped it off to bare her tender skin to the air. She took a deep breath and her small naked breasts heaved. A moment later she had loosened the lacing at the waist of the skirt and pulled the fabric over her head. She gathered the clothing in her arms a moment, but laid them in the dust beside her. Any dirty place was as good as another, nearly. Besides, she hadn't felt clean these last few weeks and doubted she ever would again.

Those were all the clothes he'd let her wear today, no decent under-things. She didn't need them, he said. Pretty clothes were useless out here, as were prim women. It was impractical in the Texas heat to layer on corsets, shifts and under-skirts, drawers and stockings and shoes. But still, they were layers she desired between the wild, Western men and herself.

"I want you while I'm sittin' up against that fence. It better be good, or I might have to teach you a lesson."

She tried to keep her mind from running through the lists of lessons she'd already learned, and the methods with which they had been taught. Neither list would help her give him what he wanted, except for inspire the enthusiasm he desired.

Rough fingers stroked the sides of her face. She kept as slack as possible, letting him turn her chin from side to side, but his pants remained fastened for now. He leaned low and whispered again. She was sure no one on the other side of the fence could hear him speak, but there was no way to know he would stay so hushed.

"That milky white skin of yours shows the lash so nicely." It had been a few days since that. He hadn't been as harsh as he could have; she had received harsher lashings from her father for lesser transgressions. But the marks still remained, pink across her soft buttocks and thighs. Then he'd taken another strip of leather and a leather awl and cobbled an old belt of his into a sort of chastity belt, with the wide band of leather pressing against her clit and holding apart her nethers. He'd made her wear it until the chafing made her come spill onto the leather.

Kneeling, she was belt-high and she fixed her gaze on it. She wasn't afraid of either of the belts anymore, but she rarely raised her gaze above his waist. It was his eyes she was afraid of catching, hungrily looking at her, seeing her naked even when she was clothed, hiding thoughts of what he might next do to her to satisfy his lusts. They were her lusts, too, she was starting to realize. Her body grew wet for him, and sore as it was, it now accepted him easily within.

Richard knelt in front of her, his clothes brushing against her naked, vulnerable body. He was older than her age of nineteen by about ten years, but those ten years had made him hard from head to toe. When he lay against her, she could feel every hard muscle and it only made her feel all the more soft. She might become less tender and soft as this hard life wore on her, but she still had sloping curves and pale skin, firm breasts. When his calloused hand cupped any part of her body, she felt like she was pressed against the roughness of a brick wall. And when his cock ravaged inside her, he might have been fucking her with a wooden pole.

Still, as rough hands roved over her body now, she felt the tell-tale signs of her body succumbing to him. Her nipples puckered and her breasts tightened as he squeezed them. Her belly quivered a little when he stroked it and she felt that spot between her legs sending begging messages that he bring his fingers there. That was what had been most confusing to accept -- that she craved even his rough caress, his hard, impassionate fingers stroking between her legs.

His hard hands explored her body ruthlessly. She thought there wasn't a place on her that he hadn't touched, but sometimes she was wrong and he found a new place, a new sensation. When she took his member into her mouth once, she hadn't understood how erotic the stroking and pulling of his fingers in her hair could be, for instance. She had thought she'd be diminished, gagging on his salty taste, but her scalp tingled pleasantly as he rubbed through her loose hair.

"Move forward a little," he said, moving behind her. She moved one knee forward a scant inch or two, then brought the other to its side. She glanced over her left shoulder, hoping she wouldn't see anyone particularly tall walk by. The fence was high, but she could hear boots in the dirt and see the very tops of hats lope past. It was evening, but it was still plenty light, and the small town would fill up fast as the work day ended.

"A little more," he said, a little louder and with a painful pinch on her backside. She dutifully obeyed and tried not to think about the fence or the lusts of the men she was barely hidden from.

Richard sat down after removing his belt and unfastening his fly. His stiff penis bobbed as he got comfortable, shoulders against the fence behind him. He was reclining a bit, leaving her position farther in front of the fence than she imagined, but she tried not to think about it. This would be over soon and he would let her dress, hide her away again. He wouldn't risk allowing another man to father a babe on her, would he?

His long legs pressed against her knee and calf, and he urged her to step over, straddling him. She felt so terribly exposed this way. She couldn't help but imagine his view, her ass-cheeks split and gaping like they needed a man between them, her round white thighs spread over his muscled ones. He moved and she could even feel his leather gun holster still strapped around his thigh, though he had unfastened his gun-belt.

She looked down, tired of staring forward into the hushed barn. Staring forward without him in front of her only made her more afraid someone would approach and see their coupling, her humiliation. Instead she looked at his boots.

He must have been admiring his view for a while, for he said and did nothing. Then he pressed his hand into the chasm between her legs, fingers tangled in her bush and wrist pressed up against her splayed labia. He flexed his fingers, massaging her pubis, reaching towards her hip bones and belly button, but what she could really feel most was the flexing of the tendons and muscles in his wrist, pressed hard against her clit. He pushed against her so firmly, he might have curled his bicep a bit more and lifted her right off the ground.

She held in a whimpered, "Oh, God," and let him do as he might. He rubbed her and opened her more. She felt embarrassed that she was beginning to leak all over his forearm, as he pulled and rubbed and flexed. When he finally released her, she was more than ready for his cock. She might have behaved in all sorts of wanton ways to feel him inside her.

"Lean forward." His whisper was hoarser now. She obeyed, putting her hands on the ground on either side of his knees. This position showed off her bum and she arched her back almost without thinking to open even more fully to him. If she thought about it, she might have been ashamed to arch her back like a cat in heat, but she was past some of that embarrassment now.

Both of his hard-skinned hands roamed over her buttocks and down her open thighs. She imagined him leaning forward and licking her; it was a shocking thought and it made her close her eyes. He hadn't done that, not once, but if she could take him in her mouth, couldn't he do the same? He wouldn't though, she decided. She could feel it when his fingertips ran over the welted skin from her beating, and once or twice he followed a line across, dipping deep between her buttocks as it crossed the crease.

A finger slipped into her wet hole unexpectedly. It dove deep and on the second thrust, was joined by another. It hurt a little, despite her readiness, because of the roughness of his fingers. Not to mention, he rarely left her alone, not since their first night together. He pounded into her without mercy night after night, and while she was quickly schooled and ready, she had no relief from the onslaught to recover. His fingers sawed into her, forcefully and without rhythm. Her body twitched in unwilling response and something inside her let go and drenched his fingers with lube. They slid more easily, but then he added a third finger, stretching her. Still, she began to rock with his movements, a little unconsciously.

Suddenly, he pushed all three fingers deep and held them there, pushing up, almost lifting her up.

"Sit up, hands off the ground." She obeyed, but a little weakly. Strong hands assisted, pulled her back up against him. He was sitting straight up now and her naked back and buttocks pressed against his clothes. They were scratchy and stiff against her skin. His free hand reached around and began to tug ruthlessly on one of her nipples, most of his other hand still knuckle-deep inside her. She moved slightly and felt his cock-head brush against her ass cheek. She leaned a little more in that direction, pressing it.

He growled in response, and she wasn't sure if it was sexual or anger at her teasing.

"When this stops hurting," he said, punctuating his harsh words with a rough thrust of his fingers inside her, "I'm going to take the other hole. That will take a lot longer to get used to, I think." His words made her heart flutter; what did he mean? His fingers slid free of her cunt, and pressed into her crevice, moving backwards. One slick finger pressed against her asshole, forcefully demanding entrance.

Her face flooded with heat and shame. Surely that wasn't done, something not possible. But his finger breached her with the same lack of sympathy with which he had taken her virginity some weeks past. He pushed it in past his first, then second knuckle. He was still lubed from delving into her pussy, but it shocked and hurt her. She muffled a whimper with a hand tight over her lips.

"That is not for today, but I thought you should know." Did his voice hold a note of pleasure, of twisted satisfaction?

He removed his finger from her bum then urged her back. His hands guided the joining, letting the head of his cock rub against her before popping inside. She leaned forward again, palms to the ground. This is what she knew, what she had begun to crave: his hard cock delving into her softest place. She sank onto him, feeling stretched and a tiny bit pained. Splayed over him, with the gleaming steel of his cock buried in her to the hilt, the rest of the world faded: the dirt beneath her knees, the looming darkness of the empty barn in front of her, the sun dipping lower in the sky to her left. She slowly began to move and work him inside her, knowing this one time what he wanted and everything else fell away.

Richard looped his second belt around her waist as she rode him -- the belt he reserved for her, but slung across his hips today as they left the house, crossing it with the gun-belt he wore every day. She felt briefly like a bridled horse, but he had other plans in mind. He threaded the end of the belt through the buckle and doubled up the loose end until it was almost the right length. She could feel the belt cinching around her waist, tightening, as he pulled the free tail down in front, until the doubled-up strip of leather pressed against her parted labia. She moved up and down on his glistening cock, and the belt moved with her, rather consistently tight around her waist. But she could feel that the rounded edge just wouldn't quite reach her clit, if that was his intention. His arm lay heavy over her right thigh, but he didn't say anything, didn't tell her what to do.

She breathed in and pulled in her stomach as tightly as she could, hoping for just that extra inch of slack so the knob of leather could press against her clit. The leather tightened around her waist, gave just enough to graze and torment just the very tip of her clit. Or Richard wasn't quite pressing it as far as he could; it was hard to tell.

She shifted a little to aid the belt, lost the rhythm she'd been building up, and Richard found a tender bit of skin to tweak painfully. She'd early on learned to hold back any negative response, but she gasped. He must have enjoyed the sound, since he gave a little tug and the curled edge of the tough leather belt pressed more fully against her clit now.

The pleasurable feeling made her inhale in a near-gasp. It was the only sound she made, and she quickly stifled even that. The traffic flow behind her had increased, and even now she smelled cigarillo smoke on the wind. She imagined someone leaning against the fence, shoulders propped against the wood much like Richard's only a couple of feet higher, casually smoking and hopefully unaware of what was taking place scant inches away.

Her pace increased and the nub of leather scraped and prodded at her clit at Richard's discretion. The tightened belt around her waist remained the same, though. She might work and work him, and he might still not let her come. One night he worked her until she was raw and begged to stop, but had lost track of how many times she peaked with pleasure. It was a confounding game he played.

His free left hand curved over her waist, guided her faster. She put her left hand over his, moved as he urged. The thin band on her third finger pressed into his knuckle. Suddenly, his fingers bit into her waist, pulled her down fast and hard, bottoming out inside her despite her controlling position. Each hard thrust hurt, bruised her a bit where the bruises wouldn't show. A few more hard yanks and she felt his hot spurt, his cock twitching inside her. His grunts and final groan were muffled into the back of her shoulder as he sat forward and pressed himself against her again. He bit the back of her neck lightly, remaining still, arms binding tightly around her body; he squeezed one breast with a little more force than necessary, the other arm around her waist.

Her knees were sore, her breath taken from her, and she had not found relief. Her pleasure, however, was not his highest concern. It would come, she knew, but he might pick a place and time even more inappropriate; she was glad church services were rare in this town.

He abruptly let her go, ordering her to stand. She awkwardly rose to her feet, unsteady and suddenly very cold without his body near. She turned to watch him tuck himself away and then he stood too. He wrapped his own belt around his narrow waist, through the loop of the holster and fastened it. The belt he used on her, whether on her buttocks or between her legs, was still looped around her bare waist.

"Come here." She stepped close. "Spread your legs." She widened her stance. He moved the belt from around her waist to between her legs. He pulled the long cord out of his pocket and once again fashioned the leather chastity belt that rubbed her clit and split her apart in an indecent manner. He had never had her leave the house bound up in it before. It affected her walk, certainly, and she worried it might be obvious what was going on to every eye that lit upon her in the street. It was a long walk through an increasingly crowded town with lots of eyes. On the bright side, the friction would surely bring her to completion, even if she was far too obvious about it in front of the saloon or the laundress' or the general store.

He let her dress after making sure the leather hadn't stretched so much that she was comfortable in her belt. He carefully adjusted it, fingers coldly pulling her labia this way and that, feeling his hot cum on his fingertips as it began to drip out of her and onto the leather. She felt glad to get back into the clothes; she wasn't sure she would ever be used to being naked under the big sky. It felt too unprotected, too open. She carefully adjusted her skirt and bodice, hoping that the bulges of the extra belt leather weren't too obvious in the folds of fabric.

"I'm ready for you again," he whispered into her ear when she was ready. "I hope we can make it home without me lifting your skirts and pushing you up against a building in front of everyone."

She wouldn't be surprised if he did that one day. Today the belt might be in the way, but tomorrow, he might conceive of a different way to torment her. It made her stomach clench, but not in an entirely bad way. She wanted him still, again. She was desperate for a climax, two or three, for the rough sweaty pounding until she was so exhausted she couldn't protest anything he might do. Against a building, in a more or less un-traveled alley, would suit her right about now. What worse could he do? She briefly imagined them fucking on the stage at the saloon, to hoots and hollers of men waiting their turn. Oh, there was plenty more he could do. The thoughts erased her chill, made her hot and flushed.

Richard led her back through the barn and out onto the street. She felt that everyone was looking at her. It may have just been that she was one of the very few women in town, but it felt like they saw the raw and filthy nature of her soul, the desires she was now trained to embrace. She felt naked, though she was as clothed as she was when she had walked towards the new barn and its high-fenced pen earlier on her husband's arm.

Her breasts felt bare and exposed enclosed in just the thin calico fabric of her dress. The bodice clung to her breasts, and beneath the sweet flower pattern, her still erect nipples were clearly visible. The fabric had just been washed and starched just a little to keep away the worst of the wrinkles, and so rubbed her sensitive skin as she moved. She felt the eyes of so many men glancing up and down her body impolitely, but did nothing more than blush. She could only keep telling herself that there was no way they could see the belt, that the dimming light kept her unbound breasts just a little less obvious. It didn't help when Richard's fingers surreptitiously pinched a nipple within the guise of patting her hand where it looped over his arm. He just reached a bit too far, sorry dear. He smiled at her and her face burned red.

It was her husband's job to keep her safe from the leers and advances of this man's world, and it was only his mercy she needed to worry about.