by J K Ellem
“Shut up, I’m the boss.”
Daisy rubbed harder, longer strokes, ignoring his discomfort, enjoying watching his buttock tense in painful pleasure. She knew he was trying to hold back from her teasing. She wanted to see what would happen. She had never seen a man ejaculate before and she was curious. She had felt his release deep inside her last night, hot and copious like lava that filled her. But now she wanted to see more.
“Well, if it’s not a toy you’d better start using it,” she replied with a coy grin. But she didn’t let go. “Hold still,” she ordered, increasing the speed, tightening her grip, focusing on the head of the huge shaft, building the intensity with each stroke.
Shaw moaned, and placed a hand against the shower wall like he was about to pass out. His body tensed and this only made Daisy go faster, harder with her hand, her breath coming in short bursts, wrapped in the heat of her own arousal. She was in control and she liked it.
Shaw arched his spine and threw his head back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Daisy’s hand now a blur, back and forth, rubbing the head hard, almost pulling the appendage from his body. She felt it swell even bigger in her hand, the climax building.
Then it burst.
Shaw convulsed. Hot strands of ropy creaminess pumped endlessly from him. Daisy kept milking him for a good minute after the final spurt until every last drop was expelled.
Shaw hung his head, giddy on his feet. “My god, that was amazing,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Daisy smiled, enjoying her dominance. She was in control, not him.
She still held him in her hand, amazed that he was still rock-hard, unspent, still capable of more.
She didn’t ask, she just told him. “Now me.”
He turned and took her by the shoulders, pivoting her around so she was pressed up against one wall of the shower. She arched her back, pushing her buttocks back towards him, widened her stance, lifting herself up on her toes, improving the upward angle he had from behind.
Water cascaded down her neck and back, her breasts hard, her nipples raked against the rough shower wall. Shaw pushed her further forward, parted her tight round buttocks, splitting her open, her engorged lips parted like a flower, viscous in her natural arousal. It was about her, not him. What she had just done was for her benefit.
“Fuck me,” she groaned over her shoulder. “Do it now.” She was unable to wait any longer, the anticipation driving her crazy. She wanted to wash away the filth and grime, the anger and sadness she had felt today in a wave of sexual ecstasy.
He eased slowly into her, allowing her juices to coat him properly before he slid in fully to the hilt. He fell into a rhythm, slowly at first, then increasing the intensity. He lifted her cheeks wider, opening her up fully to him, going deeper, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Daisy responded instantly, leaving a heavy waxen sheen on him as he thrust in and out, the water running off his hardness.
“Fuck me harder.” It was a command, not a request. Her fingers curled around the cold water pipe, knuckles white. Her other hand bracing against the wall, allowing her to push back against him, forcing him to drive deeper into her. His balls swung back and forth, low and heavy like two rugby socks with a cricket ball in each.
It was purely instinctual to Daisy, her movements, her needs, her body and she gave in to whatever it wanted.
For too long she had trekked across the dry and barren desert without reprieve, while having to endure watching her friends find their own oasis of pleasure. For years she had lived this nomadic, lonely existence. But now she had discovered her own oasis. It had appeared before her, bigger, wider and deeper than any of those her friends had bragged about.
And it was all hers. She was going to share it with no one. She wanted to dive deep into its waters, drink long and hard to make up for all those years of nothing when her cup was dry and empty. Now it was full to the point of overflowing, she was beyond taking little sips to make up from lost time.
She wanted to drown in it
And if she drowned? So be it. It was a beautiful way to die, she thought to herself.
Daisy could feel him tense behind her, she could feel him thickening inside her, her own heat building, a fire starting to burn and grow from the cold ashes of years of loneliness and regret.
Then a deep throaty growl from behind her, not in anger, but animalistic, primitive. A torrent was forming deep within the oasis, a wave slowly building below the surface, approaching the shore, rising higher and harder as it approached, more powerful with each thrust.
Fingers, hard and sharp dug into the flesh of her shoulders, the pain exquisite. She arched her back further and gritted her teeth like she was going to split. A bow pulled back too far, a spring stretched beyond recovery, a delicate vessel too small and fragile for what was being forced into it.
Daisy felt like her flesh was being pulled from the bone the harder and faster he went, like a machine, her own heat in unison with his growing hardness. It swelled and bulged like birth.
She screamed as she climaxed, tears not water ran down her cheeks, her fist beat the wall as her body convulsed in waves of ecstasy expelling her own release from her insides.
Then his wave broke.
The shores of her oasis were swamped by liquid fire that scorched her insides, overfilling her.
Smaller, less violent waves followed behind the bigger one until eventually the swell subsided and the surface of the oasis was tranquil once again.
Daisy let go of the water pipe, the metal brackets holding it in place almost torn from the wall. Her whole body alive and every nerve ending tingling with tiny pulses of electricity that throbbed.
The drought had been truly broken.
22
“That’s strange?” Daisy glanced down at her phone on the bench in the kitchenette of the bunkhouse. She had a towel wrapped around her body and one wrapped around her hair, a few loose strands hanging down.
“What’s up?” Shaw sat on the end of the bunk, pulling on socks and getting dressed. Despite the wood burning stove and all the doors and windows being closed, there was a chill in the air. He got up, opened the door of the burner and stoked it with a few more logs.
Daisy picked up her phone and read the screen. “It’s Callie. She says she can’t make it, she has car problems, she says sorry and will catch up soon.”
Shaw walked over and looked at the screen. “Then we’ll have to try and rustle up some food.”
“No, that’s fine, I’ve got some steaks in the fridge up at the house.” Daisy held the phone, still staring at the screen, her mind elsewhere. “I was looking forward to seeing her. It has been a while. We text each other almost daily, but it’s not the same.” She turned to Shaw. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”
Shaw was dead tired. It had been a long and interesting day, but it was far from over.
“First you’d better get dressed. I’ll walk you up. I just want to check around the outside of the homestead and buildings.”
She smiled. “Why? Everything is fine. I don’t expect Billy to be snooping around in the dark. He wouldn’t be game after today.”
Shaw shrugged. “That’s okay. Just habit. We’d better go.”
* * *
The sky was inky black with a smear of stars that stretched as far as the eye could see. Daisy insisted she cook the steaks, not Shaw. So she stoked the griller on the front veranda with wood, lit it then busied herself in the kitchen making a salad and setting the table outside while Shaw did the rounds of the property.
For too long she had remained hidden like a hermit on the property and now she didn’t care. She had always been confident and protective of her family ranch, but Ben had brought something else out in her in the last few days. She enjoyed his company, but she also enjoyed the sex. Why shouldn’t she? She didn’t feel ashamed with herself. He was still a stranger, but she liked him. A lot. She was still in control, but she wanted sex, not commitment. She wanted plain old fashioned stress
-relieving sex and she felt liberated now that she was having it. She was a young woman who had foregone so much over the years to run the ranch and help her father. She had no resentment, but now it was her time, her turn.
It was time maybe to be selfish, think about her own needs and desires for once, she thought as she placed cutlery and plates on the table on the veranda, watching Shaw.
She wanted him to stay for longer, but she knew he would eventually leave. But until then she was buoyant and going to take full advantage of him.
No crime in that.
Shaw came out of the barn and could see Daisy on the veranda. The air was cold and laced with the smoky scent of hickory and grilling meat. The homestead was lit up like a Christmas tree. Daisy wanted all the house lights on, to make a statement, not to hide anymore.
Shaw could have eaten a horse, but he thought he should check on them first.
He had found a small but powerful LED flashlight in the barn that he slipped into his pocket. He headed across the yard towards the stables. The yard lights cast pools of yellow light, but the darkness still pressed in around him as walked. He preferred the dark, felt he could move better without being seen.
The horses shuffled when he went inside and walked down the center of the isle. It was a small stable, only eight boxes on each side and a small tack-room at the front. A few horses poked their heads out of the stalls, turning an inquisitive eye towards him as he walked by. There were six horses in all, but room for sixteen. Shaw imagined the stables full when the ranch was fully stocked with cattle and there was more staff to help mustering. Now, like the cattle, their numbers had also diminished, a sign of a place in decline. It was a shame. Daisy would have to give in to the fact that even with less cattle, she still couldn’t cope. The ranch took a lot to keep it going and maybe selling to the Morgans was her only option.
Jazz poked her head out at Shaw and he patted her, awkwardly like he would pat a dog, unsure of where on the animal's massive head was best. “You did good today, girl,” he said, and she nuzzled his hand. He could see clearly the female features and facial lines. He used to think all horses looked the same, unable to believe you could tell male from female. But now, up close there was a clear distinction.
Shaw pulled out a carrot from his jacket pocket. He had ducked into the kitchen and swiped a few from the fridge when Daisy was outside lighting the grill. Jazz chomped through the carrot with her big teeth like a mulching machine chewing up a branch.
“Now, you are familiar with the saying don’t bite the hand that feeds you?” Shaw said with a questioning look at Jazz. He thought he saw her give a short nod as she gobbled up the carrot.
“Well, just remember this carrot and who gave it to you, okay?”
Horses were clever and intelligent creatures, and sometimes people didn’t realize how much they were almost like humans. “Just keep her safe,” he said, as he patted her head again.
Shaw moved on to the next stall and saw a familiar face and shape loom towards him. It was the horse he had ridden today. The chalkboard sign that hung from the stable door said Freddy. “You did good today too, my friend.” The horse sniffed Shaw’s fingers then gave them a quick appreciative nibble. Shaw gave Freddy a carrot as well and he made quick work of it. A few other horses, hearing the chewing sound poked their heads out from their stalls, wondering where their treat was.
Shaw looked at them and held up his hands “Sorry guys, I could only steal so many. Next time I’ll bring a few for you as well.”
Shaw exited the stables and looked to the east to where he imagined the Morgan compound was, nestled behind dark rows of open hills in the distance. It was a cloudless night, the big disc of the moon shone down bathing the landscape in ghostly shades. It would provide some natural light and that would help him later.
Daisy called out to him from the veranda, waving him in.
Dinner was ready.
Shaw started walking then stopped. At first Shaw thought it was piece of twisted fence wire, or maybe part of a plastic soda bottle discarded by one of the past ranch hands. He lifted his foot, shone his flashlight on the ground, then picked it up.
He turned the object over in his hand. Eight inches, black thin twisted material, molded like a blade into a deliberate symmetrical shape. The object wasn’t plastic, but precision engineered from some type of lightweight composite material. Most people would have mistaken it for a piece off a toy, but Shaw recognized it instantly. The object in his hand was commercial quality or better, not designed for or readily available for the recreational market.
Shaw looked up, straight into the dark sky.
There was no movement, no ghosting or ripple in the darkness, no telltale signs. It would be near impossible to see it at night, but it could see him.
He saw nothing.
He slipped the object into his pocket, looked around, then started to walk towards the homestead.
Daisy was on the veranda plating food off the grill.
He would have to tell her soon, not just about the object he had found. About everything else as well.
23
The mist was getting closer. It crept towards Shaw like a living thing with no distinct features, edges or end to it. Just a wall of ghostly white.
Shaw pulled his leather jacket closer around him, the collar turned up against the frigid air. It had been warm during the day, but the temperature dropped soon after the sun had gone down. Now it was cold and brittle.
It would be midnight soon. He had waited for nearly an hour in the warmth of the bunkhouse after dinner before he ventured out, making sure Daisy had gone to bed and the ranch had settled in for the night. He then left the bunkhouse and made his way past the barn and followed the dirt road that he had seen that afternoon with Daisy. He navigated in the darkness from memory and by moonlight. The cold landscape was a palette of ghostly greys, dark shapes, blurred outlines and silhouettes. He was either totally alone, or surrounded by hundreds of faceless monsters.
Every once and a while he searched the sky to see if anything moved against the cold starry backdrop. But he could see nothing.
He had made good time, his pace quick and determined, constantly checking all the angles including the road in front and behind for the signs of car headlights. The ground was flat and offered no cover whatsoever.
Eventually he came to the forest of cottonwoods, and plunged thankfully into the mass of trees.
He knelt behind a thick tree trunk, its surface ragged with deep fissures and blotchy with moss. He was glad to be off the dirt road. He would move faster now, his shape hidden by low-hanging branches and diamond-shaped leaves.
He set off again, skirting the edge of the forest, staying a few rows in but keeping the dirt road visible to his right as a reference point. He could just make out the line of boundary fence on the other side. He could always duck behind a large tree trunk, if a car came along the dirt road.
The cottonwoods pressed in around him as he threaded his way through the forest, the mist seeping between the trunks in seductive swirls that reached out to Shaw like hands wanting to hold him back. He kept checking the fence line to his right, waiting to spot the old hinged cattle gate. A few moments later its dark outline broke the regular pattern of the wire and post fence.
Looking both ways first Shaw left the cover of the forest, scuttled across the road and slid quickly between the tubular frame of the cattle gate then immediately went to ground. He crouched low in a shallow ditch on the other side. The ground was dirt with loose stones, bare except for a few tufts of wild and unkempt grass. He knew this part of the property was rarely used for cattle. When he was up on the ridge he could see no herds, which meant he had an uninterrupted line to traverse through the hills without the chances of spooking cattle and alerting anyone.
But he was now in no-mans-land.
He had no cover to screen his approach, natural or otherwise, except the odd rock formation scattered nearer the foothills further away. He n
eeded to move fast, hoping there was no surveillance measures in place to trigger his approach.
Shaw took off at a slow jog in a straight line as best he could judge.
The moon was high and it painted the terrain in front of him in a million shades of grey and black. Shaw had changed back at the bunkhouse into the darkest clothes he carried with him. Dark jeans, black T-shirt, and his faithful leather jacket. It helped camouflage him as he sped across the open fields, but he still felt hopelessly exposed. He stopped once or twice, immediately going to ground, lying flat on his stomach amongst the grass and weeds, thinking he heard something, like the cry of an animal. But after a moment of waiting he moved on. It was nothing.
He came to a stretch of ground, bare and scalped of all vegetation, rough and littered with stones, and rutted in places like it had been once ploughed then forgotten. It was an old wheat field, no longer used. He pressed on, following the straight line of a furrow, his footing slipping at times on the dry crumbling earth.
A square shape loomed to his right. An old building, maybe a pump shed used for irrigation, he thought. He crept slowly towards it, watching for any movement. It was small with corrugated iron sides, pitched roof, pale and rusted out, crooked with age, two windows, both broken, just a carcass of an old tin shed long abandoned. The door was just a single thin sheet of iron screwed to a simple frame with a bolt, but no chain or padlock. He looked around then pulled open the door. It groaned on old dry hinges.
He turned on his flashlight, covering the lens with his palm, suppressing the light. A dull red from his hand threw shadows around him. Inside it was dirt floor, timber frame and the reek of oil and diesel fumes. A block of machinery stood in the middle of the floor, scaled with rust, seized with age, old and dead. Pipes led out from the base of the machine to a hole cut in the corrugated wall. It was an old irrigation pump, maybe hooked up to pump bore water to crops that no longer grew.