The Naughty Collection

by Ruby City Books

  Then there was my ass, my wide hips and my jiggling buttocks, just the right size and composition, so that they bounced and quivered with just the right amount of funk in my trunk, the carryings-on of my rambunctious butt cheeks obvious to those around me even beneath the thick layers of my western regalia, and perhaps one of my most obvious selling points as a sexual prospect to say the least. And then there was my pussy... Oh Christ, what a pussy... Obviously, this was the most hidden of my jewels, as concealed from sight as my innermost depths, but I could almost see men's nostrils flaring at it whenever I happened to walk by them, visages of that floral pink organ formulating in their mind, tight and wet and strong and juicy... Yet, I can also guarantee that, no matter what wonderful things they might have imagined when men fantasized about this cowgirl's cunt, it surely came nowhere near the point of genuine accuracy, because if you put my pussy alongside any other woman's in town, say in the manner you might compare and judge homemade pies and jars of pickles and such at the county fair, I can just about guaran-damn-tee you I would waddle away from that perverse proceeding with a blue ribbon fastened to my thigh, mine surely being the juiciest, freshest, and most floral among their numbers.

  But... Um... Yeah... I reckon that perverse degree of explicit detail is just a notch or two beyond the realm of the point I'm trying to make with all this...

  Anyway, just suffice it to say that I was quite the lurid little specimen as far as the looks compartment were concerned, and so by all means I should have had no problem attracting a lover given just what sort of stuff I was strutting.

  The problem, then, arose from my diffidence, the disparity between my personality and my looks that made me appear so modest and mousy when in reality I was as hungry for cock and as much a craver of crazy ass sex as a woman could be. I could scarcely count with all of my digits the number of occasions on which guys had approached me with clear looks of lust in their eyes, the desire for conquest transparent and evident in their devilish gazes as they came up to me, and I found myself inadvertently but inevitably shutting them down in their tracks, not meaning to be a bitch but appearing as such anyway, turning away from shyness in response to their advances, my cheeks turning as red as a newborn's freshly spanked buttocks and my suitors, frustratingly, under the impression that I was therefore not interested, an impression that was impossibly misguided, but which, in my shyness, I found myself capable of virtually nothing to correct.

  I'd thought my chance for sexual fulfillment would never come, that I would remain unwed forever and eventually just rot into a sexless old maid. That is, until the day that fresh-faced town Sheriff Wayne Westwood ambled into my life, and his obliviousness to my every reaction led him to being the only man to have ever penetrated my seemingly insurmountable boundaries of shyness. See, while a lot of other guys would take my lack of response to their advances as a signal to give up, Sheriff Westwood proved himself quite the dumb bastard, and would likely not have intuited any lack of interest on my part when he approached me had I openly told him to go to hell and splashed my drink squarely in the center of his beautiful face.

  So, it just so happened that he presented to me the long-awaited chance to hook up with someone despite my shy, anxious nature, and as far as someone's went, I thought that he was just about the most desirable man I could possibly have asked for, or at least he was initially, anyway. I mean Christ, around these parts you don't fare too much better in the courtship department than the goddamn sheriff of the town, and I had therefore, foolishly, considered most, if not all, of my problems in life solved.

  But I found myself quickly disappointed as far as this went, as well...

  See, in many ways I probably could have lived an entire life without the presence of a man had it not been for my, if you'll excuse me saying so, insatiable carnal lust, as I imagine most women could if they really gave it any amount of honest thought. But sex had been one of the most compelling reasons for me to enter into a relationship- not the only one, of course, as I really did want someone I could love as well, someone with whom I could share an emotional connection, and security, moreover, because I wasn't going to remain this young pretty peach forever, now was I?

  But, much as Wayne failed in providing me with any sort of emotional connection, he proved himself unwilling to offer me up any manner of sexual gratification as well while the two of us were still courting. See, he was of the opinion that a good Christian should remain absolutely, one hundred percent chaste until their wedding night, should not even practice self-exploration, that God-awful abomination, and so, in what I viewed as a most perverse twist of fate, I had at last managed to wrangle myself up a lover who was, in point of fact, not really a lover at all...

  I'd tried, so many times, to seduce him out of his sexual indifference, remaining subtle in my efforts, however, in fear of coming on too strong and being accused of a harlot or something like that, which I really believe he would have if he hadn't been completely dense and failed to take any notice whatsoever of my unsuccessful efforts at luring him into my honey trap.

  And so, after several long months of frustration, it had eventually taken marrying the man to get to the point where I wanted to be with him, to at last feel the sweet, sweet cleaving apart of my wet, throbbing pussy by a stiff, hard cock, riding my man off into the sunset, as it were, and screaming like a motherfucker at the top of my lungs.

  Or... Well... Sort of, anyway...

  Things, even after we were married, didn't at all go the way I had expected them to, much to my disappointment. See, although he'd never specified this particularly shitty little part of the bargain beforehand, in addition to only engaging in sexual activity after marriage, Wayne was adamant about the fact that sexual intercourse should only take place within the confines of procreative purposes, and that such lascivious activity should only be engaged in in the missionary position when that did chance to occur.

  And so, on our wedding night, I was disappointed when, despite my intense desire to go absolutely nuclear bouncing up and down on top of that long hard cock of his, he instead simply settled for climbing up on top of me, pulling his pants down just barely beyond the lower end of his butt cheeks, and pushing his ding-a-ling into my ting-a-ling, the sensation of which, in itself, was a pleasant, if painful one, with the rough stretching out of my virgin pussy, the warmth and the tightness as he crawled with his fat erect penis into my body, the heat of him enveloping me like a blanket, even if the two of us did have most of our clothes on, my own skirts bunched up around my waist and my panties simply brought down to around my knees, with no foreplay or otherwise touching of bodies whatsoever. And when he began to pump himself into me, God it was like magic, the feeling of him grinding in and out and in and out and in and out of me...

  But the thing of it was, the proceedings could scarcely be considered a full on wedding night because, quite simply my long-awaited introduction into the blissful realms of sexual intercourse were brought to their conclusion in a good ten minutes tops, long before the point when I would have come close to achieving orgasm myself, and I felt him grunting on top of me, moaning and panting as he splooged his warm baby gravy into my body, pulse after pulse after pulse of the stuff, a feeling which was pleasurable in and of itself, in fact, but still, perhaps, a bit overwhelming considering the long, passionate night of knockout sex I had so mistakenly had in mind for the two of us.

  And so it was that he pulled out of me, and I then began my quest for the next several weeks to attempt to seduce him as often as possible, as though the repetition of this short and unsatisfying act might eventually lead to a sort of accumulation of pleasure on my part, and a bunch of little, interrupted fucks might somehow amount to one good big one in the grand scheme of things. If I was really lucky, I could convince him to fuck me two times in one night, although this was something of a blue moon occurrence, and could only be achieved if I convinced him that his sperm had not successfully wriggled themselves all the way up inside me as they neede
d to if a baby were to eventually result, and he therefore must reload and shoot again if he had a hope in hell of managing to hit his target. In fact, I rather liked it when he made it through his refractory period and put his cock back inside me, the sensation of him grinding once more through the liquid accumulation of his own sticky cum like an extra level of lubrication, producing sensations that were sweet beyond description compared to the normal, quick, abrupt fucks, and they also lasted just a little while longer, given the fact that it became more arduous for him to arrive at climax after his initial load for the evening had been passed into me.

  Little did he know, all that time, that I had been taking a specially prescribed formula of snake oil birth control, and that, in doing so, I was granting myself access to repetitive sexual trysts while avoiding the potential reality of filling up with a baby on his behalf. Now, say what you will about this slight dishonesty, but I felt just a little bit bamboozled by the terms of this very unphysical marriage myself, if you do not recall, and I therefore felt compelled to go about getting as much damn cock from my husband as I could get to help compensate for his many inadequacies, all without popping out a slew of youngins from my uterus just yet, which, I knew, would further complicate my already-sabotaged and unfulfilling sex life.

  And so, this was how I lived for some considerable period of time, feeling as though the two of us were continually growing more disparate, and Wayne, all the while, not seeming to suspect a thing in the world was wrong with our relationship. And then, one day very recently, Sheriff Westwood announced to me that he had to tumble out of town for a few days and would be back before I knew it- he didn't give me a direct answer as to why he was going out of town, he just said that it was Sheriff's Business, and that I mustn't worry my beautiful little head about such trivia, talking down to me as was his regular wont, and seeming quite the idiot to me as he galloped away from the scene, and ass riding a horse off into the sunset thinking he was going bravely on to save the day for some poor unfortunate soul somewhere.

  And before he left, he had encouraged me to put in appearance at the town square dance, given that I was the Sheriff's young wife and was therefore expected to be in attendance at such festive occasions, even despite the fact that I was absolutely forbidden to dance with or talk to anyone of the opposite sex while he was gone, as he said that any men who might approach another man's wife under such circumstances were clearly snakes in the grass simply waiting to lash out at a pretty young thing like me. Hell, I'm certain that if he'd found out about me even making eye contact with another man while I was there he would have had a few choice strong words for me upon his return home, and frankly this fact went a long way in pissing me off like hell even as I stood there acting like a perfectly good little girl.

  It should come as no surprise, then, that when I heard the call of “Hey there pretty little girl...” from somewhere in the corner beside me, I should find myself putty in the hands of this newly arrived male seducer, his eyes dark and penetrating and his face an absolutely devilish one, his body, meanwhile, matching its main visual conduit perfectly.

  Letting my defenses down as I had for no man up to that point in my life, not even my husband, I felt the tickle in my ear as sweet, perverse nothings were whispered into it, and I found myself blushing, but not turning away, giggling, like some charmed girl, swept off of my feet, astonished by my fascination with this man. And then, Lord help me, I made the bold, terrible move of letting him take me by the hand, subtly leading me away from the crowd of the square dance, and escorting me up the stairs to his room above the saloon, where I was about to celebrate with the sort of wedding night enthusiasm I had never had the luxury of enjoying with my own absent husband...

  Chapter 2

  I simply couldn't believe myself, could not comprehend my own audacity at going along with this man, this outlaw, after he'd seductively poured a few spoonfuls of sugar onto my tongue and then gone in for the kill so suddenly. I mean, hell, I had never given in to the flirtations of a man so readily, and this man, in particular, was not one that many supposed “good girls” such as myself might have hoped to find themselves tangled up with. This man truly was a snake in the grass, to put it very, very mildly...

  Billy the Boy, as stated, was an outlaw, a fact which could be readily discerned by the fact of his walking around in all black, but often he reared his beautiful, criminal head without fear of consequence in various towns across the west, because frankly the people were so damn afraid of him that they didn't dare try to turn him in to law enforcement officials. I had no idea how extensive his list of offenses were, precisely, but I was quite certain that murder was one of the many among them, and that, in itself, should have been enough to keep me beyond a fifty mile radius of this absolute maniac.

  But I don't know what it must have been in the air that night, other than, you know, cattle shit and such because the two of us met in a barn, but I'm reasonably certain that that wasn't it... But something, one thing or another, perhaps my immense feeling of misery and my desperate need to find some slight boon to my mood, had led to me flinging myself into this horrible, wonderful man's arms, at last lowering my many defenses for him of all people, and allowing myself to be ravished by him, touched in the most intimate of ways by this very, very bad man, an act which was currently unfolding atop the ruffled surface of his bedspread.

  Unlike my husband, Billy the Boy (who was in his twenties, mind you, the “Boy” thing was just some goofy outlaw name,) had no reservations about getting absolutely buck naked for the sheer, splendid act of sexual intercourse. I peeled out of his shirt like a snake sheds its skin almost the instant the door was closed behind the two of us, revealing to me his stunning pectoral muscles, the crippling rungs of his six-pack abdominals, and the deeply chiseled V-lines of his hypnotic Adonis muscles...

  He pulled me into him them, and plied me so viciously with kisses that I thought I would fucking suffocate from them, and not the sort of sexless, platonic kisses that my husband planted on me once every week or so, either. These were goddamn, motherfucking tongue kisses the son-of-a-bitch was smothering me with, absolutely brutal little things, gouging his tongue so far back toward my windpipe that it caused me to gag on him, and for some time I found myself paralyzed by him, victim to his love as he practically knocked my head from its shoulders, my lips unresponsive as he seemed to attempt to crawl directly into my open mouth and unbirth himself back into the female anatomy.

  But then, at last, I managed to get a hold of myself, and returned the splendid efforts of his love, pushing my face back toward his with as much opposing force as I could muster, allowing my warm, wet tongue to wrestle with his own inside our mouths, saliva crackling from mouth to mouth and back again, sticking to our lips and banding out every time we pulled ourselves apart, his warm breath melting me to my fucking core, and the need for escalation, to see what other almighty splendors might yet lay in store for me, positively making my head spin. If the man could get my damn pussy as wet as the town spigot just by the force of his ungodly kisses, then I could only imagine what he would do using the rest of his and my anatomy.

  Things got awfully damn gropy awfully damn fast from then on out, and aside from the actual act of penetration itself, I could tell that he and I had already progressed leaps and bounds past the levels of intimacy ever engaged in by my husband and I in our marital bed. His fingers reached over so greedily for my fully clothed body that I was largely astonished by the fact for a moment, my instinct to find such abrupt intimacy rather untoward, but then my sense catching up with me, and the swaying of his palms across my anatomy transforming into a fact that was utterly pleasurable for me.

  He began to squeeze on my tits through the fabric of my blouse, something I can guarantee you that Wayne had never before done, the sensations wholly alien to me aside from the scant opportunities I had had to touch myself in my vanity mirror. I don't mind telling you he worked up quite the storm in my bosom before at last pulling aw
ay, filling me up with such an agonizing craving for him that I thought I just might not survive through the entire remainder of the night, my tits feeling as though they were on fire as his fingers clamped into him like vices, causing me to moan at the top of my lungs, and begin to sweat like a fucking pig on behalf of his efforts.

  The perspiration problem, then, was promptly given a solution, as he proceeded to absolutely tear me the hell out of my clothes, shredding them from my form with abandon, and causing me to fill suddenly quite anxious about all this, given that, after all, I had never actually had my naked body exposed in the presence of a male human being- Wayne, remember, only ever fucked me with my skirts pulled up around my waist and my panties around my ankles, and by comparison to that this total denuding was beginning to feel like absolutely sinful exhibitionism.

  And Lord, how I loved every minute of it...

  With some considerable effort, he managed to pull me completely out of my dress, and by this point had me all the way down to nothing but my panties, which, for the time being, he graciously left in place upon my body, his eyes, meanwhile, fixated as they were on the heaving pink pupils of my sharp, luscious nipples. He put his hands on my stomach and caused me to cringe, pulling me into him so that the mattress creaked beneath our bodies, and immediately latching onto my tits with a redoubled measure of fury, letting his lips melt onto me with absolute lust, suckling on my nipples as a newborn babe nurses on its mother for nourishment. I let out an agonized moan of pleasure, tilting my head back, closing my eyes, and soaking up the sin, letting the sweet perversity pump through my body like a drug as he nibbled on my flesh, working up the skin of my nip very lightly with his teeth, filling me up so thoroughly with desire that I honestly thought my aroused pussy fluids would begin to seep through my panties and leave a stain on the rented bed.