Unbridled

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “Marsh, please. For God’s sake.”

  She growls and grabs both of my legs to jerk me toward the end of the table. I pull my knees up and open to her. Her fingers close on one nipple and twist hard.

  I cry out at the pain but buck my hips at the pleasure it gives me.

  “I’m only allowing you to come to take your edge off so you can concentrate on your lesson.” Her voice is tight, words fierce. Need, not anger. She wants this, too.

  Then her mouth is on me, flicking and licking. She doesn’t tease, and I am so ready that pressure builds almost immediately in my belly. “Yes, Marsh. Yes.” She sucks hard and my clit swells tight, then explodes in waves of orgasmic pleasure.

  As my climax fades, I feel suddenly dizzy and shove the blindfold up to orient myself. Her eyes are indigo pools as she looks up at me from between my legs. My juices wet her cheeks, and my legs still tremble from my release.

  “You want to stop?”

  Stop? I need more. I want her inside me. I want her on top of me. I want her under me. “No. I was a little dizzy. I needed to reorient my brain.” I replace my blindfold, a little surprised that I’m instantly plunged back into the world of nothing but my spread legs and her hot breath. I like being temporarily blind. I shiver when her tongue bathes across my tender sex again.

  “You taste like the finest caviar,” she says.

  I’m being lifted but this time settled on my feet. Her breasts press against my back, angling me forward, and her hands guide mine to the table.

  “Keep your hands there and wait.”

  I listen to the slap of her bare feet as she leaves the room. Surprisingly, the waiting is as delicious as foreplay. Marsh is teaching me many things. The minutes seem endless before she’s beside me again, roving my nakedness with her hands, massaging my breasts, tweaking my nipples, skating down my belly and finding my still-dripping sex. She strokes through my folds, kissing across my shoulders as she fingers my entrance. I am so ready for her.

  “I need you inside me,” I said. “Please, Marsh.”

  “I’ll give you everything you need, Lauren, and more.”

  “Yes.” My belly clenches as she thrusts a fat dildo between my legs and guides my hand to feel the length of it. “God, yes.” I push against her hips, bending more to give her easy entrance, but her warm flesh moves away.

  “Not now. You have a lesson to master.”

  She turns and lifts me. I wrap my arms around her neck, my legs around her hips, without thinking. I feel only the brush of her breasts against mine, the leather harness around her hips biting into my soft inner thighs, and the thick dildo bumping my belly as she walks. Then we are sitting, straddling a padded bench, and her mouth is on my neck, hot and sucking.

  “I knew the day you walked into my stable that you would be an exquisite equestrian. Only you are holding yourself back. I don’t want you to do that. You can touch me, too.”

  Afraid to unleash all that I feel, I hesitantly reach for her cheek, then trail my fingers down the strong curve of her shoulder. I palm the soft flesh of her breast and taste the rigid contour of her nipple, nipping it and smiling when she stiffens. She lifts my thighs to overlap hers and draws me closer, then slides her hand between my legs. I am stretched wide in my desire to press against her, and she easily thrusts two fingers inside. I gasp and cling to her.

  She whispers in my ear as she pushes me back to lie on the bench. “Are you ready, Lauren?”

  “So ready.”

  She pushes her way into me with a single smooth stroke, stretching me, filling me completely, just as she has filled my dreams since first I saw her. I clutch at her as she lifts me and reverses our positions. My blindness again threatens to disorient me, but the movement of the dildo and her soothing hands anchor me. She is lying on the bench, and I’m perched on top with my feet on the floor.

  She draws me down and kisses me, her tongue exploring my mouth as her hips flex and her cock massages my ache. It is so delicious. I begin to move, sliding along her eight inches of pleasure, but we are out of sync. Marsh grasps my hips to stop me, and I whimper.

  “You have to let go to flow with the rhythm, Lauren, rather than try to control it. Feel it.”

  She pushes my shoulders so that I’m sitting again. Is she stopping? I’m going to beg, plead. She can’t stop now.

  “Raise yourself a few inches.”

  I do as she asks, and she begins to pump into me. It isn’t nearly enough, but I almost weep in relief.

  “Feel the two-two beat. It’s like a horse’s trot.”

  My frustration is growing. I only want to feel the thrust of her cock, hard and fast.

  “Concentrate. Master this, and I promise to give you a ride you won’t forget.”

  Two-two beat. Two-two. Thrust, thrust. Thrust, thrust. Thrust, thrust.

  “Now, on every second beat, you’re going to rise and move your hips forward until my cock almost slips out. Then you’ll sit back down on the next first beat.” Her hands are on my hips. “Relax and let me guide you. Ready? Two-two-one.”

  My breath catches in my chest as the cock head scrapes across that spot inside that makes my clit swell and my body sing. One-two, one-two. Nothing exists but that long, shallow stroke, followed by a short, deep penetration. One-two. Long-short. Oh, ah.

  I am so lost in our dance, the burst of orgasm catches me completely by surprise. I cry out and lose my stride, scrambling for the security of Marsh’s embrace.

  “That’s how you post a trot,” she says when I still. “You came without asking for permission. I’m going to let that slide and save that lesson for another time.”

  “I may need to practice it a few more times.” I’m nowhere near sated and groan as she withdraws her cock slowly and smoothly.

  I snatch off my blindfold and toss it away, then lick at the sweat coating her belly. I hold her eyes as I move lower, pulling the harness and dildo down her hips to expose her blond curls. “May I reward the teacher?”

  Now she groans but nods her consent.

  Her clit is long and fat. I suck it between my lips, then tongue the length of it. She is thick and salty, and she growls as I feed hungrily on what she offers. She tangles her long fingers in my hair and tugs painfully, and I clamp her tender tissues carefully in my teeth. Her hips surge upward, and my tongue finds the hard knot of nerves that makes her curl up from the bench with a shout and shudder.

  Her grip on my hair relaxes as her climax releases her to fall back to the bench. “I think that was worth extra credit.” I’m pleased that she sounds a bit breathless.

  I sit up and pull the harness over her hips again, quickly tightening the straps.

  “No. I have a different extra credit in mind.” I stand and turn my back to her. Then I bend to place my hands on the bench, presenting myself to her at eye level. “Show me how a professional rider does it, Marsh. Show me everything.” I close my eyes. I want to focus on the pleasure she promises.

  I shiver at her fingertips caressing my sensitive buttocks, then her warm lips placing soft kisses in their wake.

  “I like to gentle my rides, so I check them over before I mount.”

  Her fingers slide across my stiff clit, then into my slick entrance. I’m dripping halfway down my thighs after two orgasms, and she gathers my moisture to spread it upward. I’ve never been much for anal play, but I squirm at the surprising sensation when she circles my anus, pressing only lightly.

  “Do you like that, Lauren?”

  “I haven’t…it does feel good, but I haven’t—”

  “It’s okay.” She presses a little more, then eases back.

  More kisses along my buttocks. My belly, my sex clenches. I want her inside me, pushing, filling. The kisses move up my back, and her hard nipples rake across my butt cheeks, then press against my shoulders. Her teeth are sharp as she bites
my shoulder. The bulbous head of her cock presses into me. I feel nothing but its slow, tortuous progress past that sweet spot of sensation as she stretches and fills me fuller than I’d ever felt before. Only then do I realize that while I concentrated on her cock stretching me, she’s also pushed her finger into my ass.

  Sweet Jesus, yes.

  “Good girl,” she croons. “You took that well. Now, let’s put you through your paces.”

  She starts slow, too slow, easing her cock and finger out, then in. Out, then in. My fingernails bite into the padded bench, and I arch my back like a shameless whore in heat as she rides me.

  “Faster, baby. I need you to fuck me, damn it.”

  She pauses, her breathing heavy. She must need it, too. She slowly withdraws her finger from my ass. I’m surprised to miss it and open my eyes to look over my shoulder at the sound of her fumbling with something.

  “I need both my hands free,” she says. “And you’re open enough to handle this. Close your eyes again.”

  I do as she bids and jerk at the cool, smooth object pressed against my puckered hole. She flexes her hips, working her cock as she pushes the slim, oblong object into my ass. It goes easily, then begins to vibrate.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” My hips buck involuntarily, and then Marsh is bent over my back again, her arm encircling my waist, her hips thrusting into mine in a steady rhythm.

  I want to hold on forever, but the vibration in my ass, the glide of her cock in and out of my pussy, and my clit stretched tight as I’m filled again and again are too much. All of it gathers low in my belly and bursts like an overfilled balloon, flooding through me in wave after wave.

  Marsh rides out my climax in steady, smooth strokes until my screams die and I’m gasping for breath. I expect her to slow and withdraw, but still she rides me.

  She rises and grips my hips. I gasp. Her change in angle hits something different. Her thrusts are deeper, more forceful. Yes. Sweet Jesus. Yes.

  I give myself up, give her my control, feel her rhythm.

  Her hips slap against my butt as she increases her pace. Out, IN, out, IN, out, IN. Her groans turn to growls. She jerks my hips back as she thrusts forward. IN, IN, IN. Slap, slap, slap. Her cock bores into me again and again. Slap, slap, slap.

  I vibrate with each penetration. She takes me higher, closer with each stroke. My abused sex impossibly swells again, so full I think I’ll die from the bolts of pleasure that radiate through me each time she pounds into me.

  We are approaching the big jump and gathering to take it together.

  “Lauren.” Her call is hoarse and tight, and my heart and mind and body sing as I answer it.

  “Marsh, yes.”

  “Touch yourself.”

  My hand flies to my clit, and we cry out together.

  Epilogue

  Are you ready?”

  Marsh leads Butter out to where I’ve tacked up Fancy for my lesson. Butter has been stabled most of the week since he was delivered to Langston Farms because Marsh wanted to make sure he wouldn’t colic after his long trailer trip. Technically, he’s my horse now, but I’m waiting for Marsh to give me her expert okay.

  “Are you going to ride him?”

  “Nope. You are,” she says.

  “Really?” I don’t try to stop my grin.

  “He’s your horse, and he’s perfect for you.”

  I glance around. The last class of kids has pretty much cleared out, and Alex is watching Jules ride Crescendo in the big ring. I steal a quick kiss. “You’re perfect for me.”

  Marsh smiles and draws me to her for a longer kiss. “Let’s see if those lessons pay off,” she says when she ends our indulgence.

  She gives me a leg up onto Butter. He’s taller and not as round as Fancy. Marsh adjusts my stirrups and double-checks the girth. “How’s he feel?”

  I grin down at her. “Fantastic. He’s tall.”

  “He has a longer stride than Fancy, so take him in the ring and walk him a bit until you feel comfortable. Then I want you to try a trot.”

  I make myself breathe and relax. Horses can feel your moods, and I am so nervous the reins would be slipping out of my hands if I wasn’t wearing soft leather riding gloves. Halfway around the ring, I’m marveling at how smoothly Butter moves. Maybe that’s where he got his registered name, Smooth as Butter.

  We don’t make it fully around the ring before I lift the reins and use my knees to urge him into a trot so smooth, I have no trouble sitting it. So, I press again with my knees, and he cleanly shifts into a faster trot. I ride nearly the length of the ring realizing that I’m posting his trot with no problem. We’re in perfect sync.

  “Oh my God, Marsh. He is so incredibly smooth.” I urge him into a canter. It’s like riding a rocking horse. I slow him again, curious to see if I can still post his trot. Several more times around the ring, and Marsh waves us in.

  “If he doesn’t feel right, Alex said he’d buy him, and we can find you another horse.” The amusement in her eyes tells me she’s teasing.

  “He’s perfect, and I’m never selling him.”

  “That’s probably enough for him today. You’ll need to ease him in before longer workouts.” She mounts Fancy and waves for me to follow.

  Butter and I ride alongside Marsh and Fancy on the wide, sandy tractor path that leads to the main pasture.

  “I think I figured out your problem with posting,” she says. “Over the years that you’ve been a runner, your body has developed a specific rhythm, and your brain locks it in. It’s not that you were too tense to find Fancy’s rhythm. When you relaxed, your brain wanted to settle into the more familiar rhythm of when you run. So, instead of insisting you learn to find the horse’s rhythm, we needed to find a horse that matches you.”

  “And how did you know it would be Butter?”

  “Seems that your lessons taught me something.” Was that a blush creeping up her cheeks? “I rode Butter for several years, so after a few of our, uh, private riding lessons, I realized the two of you have the same rhythm.”

  Now my cheeks are burning. I’m about to tell her I may need frequent refresher lessons when Butter lifts his head and lets out a long, loud whinny.

  Marsh laughs. “He’s eager to see his old friends.”

  We reach the gate and dismount, then unsaddle both horses and check their feet for small stones that might be wedged in their hooves. Then Marsh opens the gate, and we lead them through. Butter whinnies to his friends again, and they raise their heads to scope out the newcomer. A mare calls to him, and part of the group abandons their grazing to walk toward us. Marsh releases Fancy, and Butter obediently lowers his head when I reach up to pull his bridle over his ears. As a reward, I’m careful not to let the bit clank against his teeth when I remove it.

  It’s a fairly brisk day and his workout was brief, so there’s no sweat under his saddle. I pat his shoulder. “Go see your friends,” I tell him.

  Butter takes a few steps, then breaks into a beautiful prance as he nears the mare who answered his call. They put their heads together, nostrils flaring, and then Butter breaks away and stretches his long legs in a ground-eating trot, mane and tail flying, his greeting party right behind him. We watch as they chase each other, kick up their heels, and then pause to roll in the grass.

  I nearly tear up at their joyous display. “That is unbridled joy.”

  Marsh places the saddle in her hands on the board fence and takes me in her arms.

  “That’s what you’ve done for me,” she says. “Even after I left Maggie, I felt still bridled, with her holding the reins to jerk me back when she wanted. And she nearly did. I always suspected that she killed Jakobi, but I couldn’t prove it. So, when she threatened to euthanize Butter, I believed she would if I didn’t do what she wanted. I was so angry and ashamed when you walked in on that.”

  I sm
ooth my hand over her cheek and touch my lips to hers. “Don’t think about it. She can’t hurt either of us, or Butter, any longer. I may have freed you, but you did the same for me. You are the only one I trust with my deepest desires. So, I’d say we’ve both been unbridled.”

  “I love you, Lauren Everhart.”

  “I’m glad, because I am so in love with you.”

  We pick up our saddles and start the walk back to the barn.

  “Alex and Harrison want us to come over for dinner tonight. I told them I had to check with you.”

  I bump my shoulder against hers in a show of affection. “Only if we don’t have to stay long after we eat. I’m hoping for a little unbridled joy myself tonight.”

  About the Author

  D. Jackson Leigh grew up barefoot and happy, swimming in farm ponds and riding rude ponies in rural Georgia. She is a career journalist but has found her real passion in writing sultry lesbian romances laced with her trademark Southern humor and affection for horses.

  She has published fourteen novels and one collection of short stories with Bold Strokes Books, winning four Golden Crown Literary Society awards in paranormal, romance, and fantasy categories. She was also a finalist in the romance category of the 2014 Lambda Literary Awards.

  You can friend her at facebook.com/d.jackson.leigh.

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