The Cowboy's Babygirl: A dark cowboy romance

by Lee Savino

  Joel talked me through the work we were going to do on the roof. Turned out he just wanted to put a new waterproof covering on the existing layer.

  “Seems pretty straightforward,” I said, and we got to work. I was glad for the opportunity to make something. As much as I loved working with the horses and cows, it was good to have a little variety sometimes.

  “Heard you’ve got yourself a girlfriend,” Joel commented as he passed a length of tarp across a corner of the roof.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I grunted, before I could stop myself.

  Joel pushed his hat further back on his head so he could see me better. “No?” The corners of his mouth tugged up with mischief. “Barb says she’s a lovely young woman. Her words.” He laughed carelessly, but I was all tensed up.

  Girlfriend wasn’t the right word for what I had with Carrie. But what was I supposed to call her?

  Joel had stopped what he was doing and was watching me expectantly.

  “Girl,” I said at last. “Carrie is my girl.”

  Joel gave me a knowing smile. “I’ve always wanted that dynamic for myself, to tell you the truth. You’re a lucky man.”

  I gave a curt nod and carried on working. What did he know of this dynamic? I wondered. Obviously I was a lot older than Carrie, but had he sensed that I was disciplining her? I wished I could discuss this openly with him. I wondered how badly things could go wrong if I was mistaken and he freaked out. Folks in these parts were goodhearted, but they could be a little conservative.

  “Have you ever had a babygirl yourself?” I asked at last.

  “Yeah.” Joel shrugged. “A couple. None that I’ve got to stick around, though. It takes a special kind of girl to appreciate the value of discipline.”

  “Sure does,” I agreed, thinking of Victoria. I’d thought she was the perfect submissive, but now I wasn’t so sure. Maybe more of her behavior had been an act than I realized. Compared with Carrie, Victoria was more experienced, but my old submissive had been calculated; jaded. I’d take Carrie’s innocent pouts over Victoria’s practiced ones any day. My babygirl was completely without guile.

  When we were done fixing the barn roof, and it had a beautiful new waterproof covering that would last the winter, Joel insisted on taking me to town for a thank-you lunch.

  We had burgers and beers, and as the alcohol loosened me up, I started to tell him a little bit about how I’d been training Carrie. None of the most intimate details—just the overall concept.

  He leaned forward, listening attentively. “Sounds like about the best thing I could imagine,” he said. “Finding a woman who matches your desires is like winning Olympic gold.” He took a long swig of his beer. “Hope I’ll be lucky like that one day. Although, out here, I’m hardly beating them off with a stick.”

  “Olympic gold,” I repeated. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

  Grinning, he raised his beer and we clinked bottles.

  “You’re a great guy, Joel. You’ll find the right one for you,” I told him.

  We wound up talking for a long time, and it was almost dusk by the time I got back to the ranch. I was excited to see Carrie, my heart beating faster as I pulled into the yard. I was going to take her straight to bed, to make up for lost time. The windows of the ranch house emitted a welcoming glow. It had never looked so homely, I thought. I wondered what she was doing right now—watching TV snuggled up in bed, or maybe doing her nails or reading up on horseback riding.

  I slowed my pace as I walked up the path to the front porch, savoring the moment when I would lay eyes on her. As I stepped onto the decking, I saw through the window that she was on the couch, looking at something on the laptop. But when I opened the door, she slammed it shut, and a guilty look flashed across her face.

  “Hi, little one,” I said.

  “Hi, Daddy!” She leaped up, ran over to me, and wrapped her arms around my waist, before laying her head on my chest.

  I hugged her tight, my heart melting.

  “How did it go?” She tipped her head up to look at me, and I planted a kiss on her sweet cherry lips. She gave a small sigh of appreciation. I loved that she enjoyed our kisses as much as I did.

  “Went well,” I said. “Didn’t take so long once we got into it.” I went over to the couch and sat down.

  She was bouncing around with a nervous energy. “I made some iced tea,” she told me. “Wanna try it?”

  I frowned. “I’ve never tried iced tea in my life.”

  “I wanted to give you a taste of my home.”

  I grinned. “Yes, of course. I’d love to try your iced tea, baby.”

  She skipped over to the fridge excitedly, and I was glad I’d said the right thing. Such little things made her happy.

  She handed me a glass of the light brown, transparent liquid. “I didn’t make it too sweet. I know not everyone likes it.”

  I tasted it. “Nice,” I said.

  She shrugged self-consciously. “Might take some getting used to.”

  “The best things often do,” I commented. She caught my eye with a mischievous glance as she picked up on the secondary meaning.

  I lifted my arm and she automatically snuggled against my body. We fit together as if we’d sat like that a hundred times before. I couldn’t still couldn’t believe we’d only known each other for a few days. I was starting to feel like we’d always been together.

  “What did you do today?” I asked her.

  “Oh, I went to talk to Megan for a bit. Don’t worry, I didn’t try to ride her or anything crazy like that. Then I went for a walk around the fields, said hi to a few of the horses. Then I watched Netflix. Then I took a bath. Then I watched Netflix some more.”

  There was a catch in her voice when she got to the last item on the list, and her eyes shifted back and forth. Something stirred in my gut. Old memories of Victoria, looking shifty as she brushed off my questions. Was Carrie lying to me?

  “Guess we’d better go milk the cow,” I said, putting my empty glass on the coffee table. “You go first, and I’ll catch you up.”

  “Sure thing.” She got to her feet and did exactly what I’d told her.

  As soon as she was gone, I grabbed the laptop and went to her search history.

  If she’d been using incognito mode, I’d have been stumped. I didn’t have the technology know-how to get past that. But she hadn’t. Her search history was right there. Naughty girl.

  When I saw what Carrie had been looking at, my gut dropped like an elevator in freefall. The porn site loaded immediately, with its obscene images and ads blinking at me.

  I scanned the page, and as I did, a pop up chat appeared in its own little window.

  “Hey, girl, where’d you go?” The message was the last of several, from a huge dude named Cyrus X. BigCock. His avatar was a picture of a waxed torso with a sleek set of abs.

  She’d been chatting with him while I was gone. Something inside me died. Victoria all over again.

  I scrolled up, feeling sick. Carrie had initiated the chat. “I need to know how to give a blow job,” she’d typed.

  “You like giving head, sexy girl?”

  “Yes. My daddy likes it too. Can you give me tips?”

  “Send me nudes, and I will.” The last thing he sent was a dick pic.

  Anger and dismay boiled in my veins like lava. I tore open the front door, and stormed out to the cow stall.

  When I arrived there, Carrie was already milking the cow, sitting down on the stool, just like I’d taught her; making little splashing noises as she managed to squeeze the milk into the pail. I set my jaw. Not now. I’d wait until she was done, and I was calm enough to think how best to handle this. What had prompted this epic betrayal?

  Fighting to stay calm, I went over and checked her technique, and gave a hint on how to use her hand most efficiently on the cow’s thick teats. Then I went and checked on the horses, making sure they had enough hay for the night.

  When Carrie came ba
ck into the house, she showed me the full bottles of milk triumphantly. “I fed the cow and washed everything up and secured the door,” she announced. “You won’t even need to check on me. I made sure everything was perfect.”

  I took the milk and inspected it. The jug was as full, as usual. “Good girl,” I told her. “Now, take off your clothes.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I said, take off your clothes. It’s time for your next training session.”

  Her face fell. “Training? Now?”

  Still playing innocent.

  I worked my jaw back and forth. “Did you really think you’d get away with hiding something from me? I thought we were past all that.”

  She shook her head, forehead puckered in confusion.

  I’d been hoping she’d confess right away. But obviously I hadn’t gotten that stubbornness out of her yet.

  “Carrie?” I said in a warning voice, fixing her with a hard stare.

  Defiance blazed in her eyes. Was she really going to disobey me?

  “Okay then,” she said in a sulky tone and lifted the hem of her T-shirt. To my delight, she wasn’t wearing a bra today. But I kept my face impassive as she pulled the T-shirt over her head, revealing her soft caramel nipples, then took down her jeans, and finally, reluctantly, her panties. My breath caught in my throat the sight of her neatly shaved pussy, so pink and perfect, bared to my gaze. Her sweet sex would look so good, gripping my cock. Meanwhile, her nipples were already hardening to little peaks that I would enjoy taking in my mouth later.

  She looked at me, hands held loosely by her sides, knowing better than to hide her body from me. Good. At least that was one thing she’d learned by now. There was hope in her eyes—hope that I would take her to bed and make love to her tenderly. That would come later, too.

  But not until I’d taught her one hell of a lesson.

  “Okay, we’re going to the barn,” I told her. “You first.”

  The hope dropped away from her face. “I-it’s cold out there,” she stuttered.

  “I don’t care. This is part of your punishment.” I watched her face as I said the word punishment, to see if she was figuring out that I knew. But her face betrayed nothing.

  Slowly, reluctantly, she went to the front door, opened it, and stepped outside.

  It was cool, an evening breeze blowing, and she shivered.

  “Hands by your sides,” I barked.

  She began to walk fast. I followed close behind, enjoying the sight of her naked in the outdoors, her pert little rear jiggling a little as she scuttled along. I was very much looking forward to punishing it.

  When we got inside the barn, she was shivering. I shut the door, and turned on the light. “Come here,” I told her.

  I stood her in front of me and gave her a rough rubdown, like I often did with the horses, bringing the blood back to the surface of her skin. Gradually, the shivering stopped and her gooseflesh was transformed into soft, silky skin again.

  I led her to the side wall of the barn, where a series of hooks were attached, six or so feet off the ground. “Stand right there,” I told her. “Face to the wall.”

  Her forehead puckered again, but she obeyed, standing so close that her nipples grazed the wooden boards.

  Good.

  I went over to the pile of leather equipment I’d left laid out on the hay bale, and selected some straps. I looped one strap around her right wrist and one around her left, and secured the other ends to hooks, stretching her arms wide apart.

  Then I attached straps around each ankle, and pulled her legs wide, too. She gasped at the sensation of being spread like that.

  I connected the straps to a pair of floor hooks, then stood back and admired my handiwork.

  Carrie was tightly bound, totally vulnerable to me, and she had no idea what was coming next. I retrieved the riding crop from the hay bale and, as I walked back to her, slapping the leather keeper across my palm, she turned her head, trying to look at me over her left shoulder.

  She wouldn’t forget this lesson in a hurry.

  Chapter 14

  Carrie

  Slap. Slap. Slap, went the whip in Steele’s hand. I cringed at the memory of its sting on my flesh. Pointlessly, I tugged at the leather straps binding my wrists and ankles, but they held me firm. Clearly I wasn’t going anywhere, until Steele let me.

  I felt as vulnerable as hell like this, all stretched out and helpless. My boobs were pressed against the cold wall, while my back was arched and my ass was spread, fully displaying me to Steele.

  Slap, slap, slap, went the whip again.

  “I thought we were making progress in your training, Carrie. But obviously not,” he growled.

  Crap. He sounded mad. Madder than ever before.

  I opened my mouth and closed it again, unsure if a response was required.

  “You disappointed me, Carrie,” he continued.

  “Why?” I said in a quiet voice, but the truth was beginning to dawn on me. I’d been good all of last night and all of today, except for that one little thing.

  He took another step toward me, and began to stroke the leather tip of the crop over my body—from my wrists to my shoulders; down the center of my back; then from my ankles to my inner thighs. It was soft at first, tickling, innocuous, but I knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

  Suddenly, he grabbed the hair at the nape of my neck and yanked my head toward him.

  “I think you know why,” he growled.

  Shit. He looked not just mad, but disappointed in me, which was worse than anything. His eyes blazed with a cold fire, and I swallowed hard.

  He stepped back and brought the crop down on my still tender flesh. I yelped.

  “Shhh,” he crooned. “I don’t want to hear a whimper from you until I ask you another question.”

  Crack!

  The crop came down again, on my left cheek this time. It stung like crazy, but I sucked my lips in and clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay quiet.

  He whipped my sore ass six more times, then he moved on to my thighs, swatting them harder with every stroke, edging closer and closer to my spread pussy.

  When the crop touched me right there, I jerked hard. I could barely move though—there was virtually no give in the straps.

  He tapped my pussy a few more times. “Hmmm…” he murmured.

  I was wet; I sensed it; heard the tacky sound it made against the crop. He pressed the length of the crop against my crack, and I suppressed a moan.

  “Aroused by your punishment, again,” he commented.

  He took a step back and was silent. The only sound was the slapping of the crop against his palm. I trembled. The wooden slats suddenly felt abrasive against my face, and my arms started to ache from being above my head.

  What was he thinking? Planning?

  He went to the wrist straps and unfastened them roughly, as if he was annoyed. He unhooked my ankles, too.

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  I did as he said and he tied me up again, but facing him this time. I couldn’t work out if that was better or worse.

  He ran the crop over my body again, as I’d seen him do with Rex—testing his limbs, getting him accustomed to being touched.

  The end of the crop went over my right nipple, then over my left. I shuddered as they pebbled painfully. Then he stroked it up my inner thighs, right then left, then over my bare pussy. Up and down my slit it went, spreading my wetness all over. He gave it a few taps, each one harder than the last, until they truly stung. Still, I pressed my lips together and managed not to make a sound.

  “Tell me…” He pressed the crop under my chin, forcing me to raise my head. “Why do I come home from a hard day’s work, go check my emails, and discover that while I’ve been hammering roofs, you’ve been chatting with another man? A pornstar?” He spat the word out with disgust.

  Heat flooded my face. Crap. He had seen the chat. I knew that had been a mistake—but I’d hoped he would nev
er find out. I’d been praying he was mad about something else.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Carrie. Did you not enjoy having sex with me?”

  “Y-yes, of course I did. I-it was amazing,” I stuttered.

  “Did you enjoy it too much? Did you need more—from another man?”

  “It wasn’t that. It was—” I broke off as the crop whistled through the air and slapped my inner thigh, hard.

  I yelped. While I was still mid yell, Steele aimed a slap on the left side, too.

  “What was it? What possible reason would you have for chatting up men on the Internet?”

  He drew back the crop and this time, unbelievably, aimed it at my left breast.

  “Oww! Shit!” I cried out, as much in outrage as pain.

  “Language,” he snapped. His jaw was set in that stern way of his, but hurt glimmered in his eyes.

  He’s hurt. I hurt him. The pain of realizing that was way worse than the crop. I hung my head. I deserved this punishment. I deserved way worse.

  “What’s your safeword?” he asked.

  “Strawberry.”

  “That’s right, girl. Use it if you need to.”

  I clenched my jaw. He wouldn’t hear it. Not tonight.

  He aimed a lash at my right breast, then the left again. It hurt like crazy. It was ten times worse than being beat on my ass or thighs. He kept going, one after the other, after the other, until I was so stunned by the pain that I’d forgotten what the question was. And then he whipped me right across my nipple. A blast of pure agony exploded in my head, and I squirmed. I yanked at the straps, desperate to find a way to protect myself, despite the fact I was spread out and completely vulnerable to him.

  Slap! went the crop again, and a point of fire exploded in my left nipple. Then he moved down, faster and faster, crisscrossing my thighs, my stomach, then back up to my breasts again. My body was on fire with a million burning stings, like I’d face-planted into a nest of ants.

  “Stop, please stop!” I begged him over and over. I was dimly aware that I was sobbing, that my cheeks were drenched in tears. The safeword hovered at the edges of my mind, but I was far away from yielding to it. I could take this punishment. I deserved it.