by Sophia Taboo
“No,” I said desperately. “Don’t stop.”
He looked at me with a puzzled expression, but one filled with hope.
“Keep going,” I moaned and dug my nails into his back leaving marks that wouldn’t be gone for days.
He began to thrust into me again but I wanted something more. I pushed him toward the wall and rolled him onto his back. He was stunned at the change of scenery, especially when I flung my right leg over him and straddled him like a horse, his torso behind me, his legs in front of me. I took his cock in my hands once more and guided him into me. I sat up, arching my back and using my hand on his chest as support. I rocked and snaked my body on top of him like I was going for the Triple Crown. His hands held my waist like vice grips as I wove my body front to back, side to side, up and down, riding his cock like a pogo stick.
“Oh God, yes…” he moaned. “Yes, yes, yes…”
I could feel his muscles tighten. I could see his eyes clenching, his mouth contorting.
“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he said in an erotic panic.
“Cum inside me,” I moaned. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew that if he got me pregnant we were both screwed in more ways than one, but I didn’t care. I wanted to feel it. I wanted to feel his seed fill every inch of me inside and out. Fuck the consequences, I needed this.
“Kim,” he tried to protest, his body already shaking, preparing to cum into me.
“Shut up,” I whispered. “Just fucking cum inside me!”
“Oh God!” he exclaimed.
His body convulsed and shook and I felt an explosion of hot, sticky wetness blast forth from his cock into me, filling me to the brim. It was ecstasy. I clenched down on him as tightly as I could, not wanting to lose any bit of this moment to gravity. He came in waves; again, and again, and again. Burst after burst shot into me and I held him inside until his entire body had relaxed into a puddle on the bed.
I rolled off of him and lay down next to him. My head on his chest like a granite pillow, my fingertips drawing circles from his neck to nape.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” he said.
“Yes we should,” I corrected him.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
“What does what mean?” I shot back.
“All of this?” he questioned.
I paused and thought about it for a moment. We both stared at the night-black ceiling, the frosty moonlight streaming in through the fogged-up windows. I reached my neck upward and kissed him on the lips. I kissed him decisively and lastingly. I pulled away slowly and put my head back on his chest.
“It means I’ll see you at Spring Break,” I said.
He took a deep breath, lifting my head upward with his chest, and he sighed. His hands wrapped around me and held me tightly. He kissed the top of my head.
“Spring Break,” he said.
Daddy Loving
Chapter 1
“How much farther to the next stop?” my stepfather asked me from the driver’s seat.
“I don’t know,” I snapped back at him, throwing my ear buds out of my ears and onto the floor of the truck’s cab.
“You know what?” he said, his fingers clenching the steering wheel turning his knuckles a pale white. “Your attitude has been horse shit since we started this trip and I’ve had enough. You’re going to shape up or so help me – ”
“What?” I interrupted him. “So help you what? You’ll leave me on the side of the road? You’ll hire me out to the next ranch we come across? Or maybe you’ll just ditch me at some mental hospital like you did to mom. How about that one, Jeff?”
I could tell I struck a nerve. Good, I thought.
Two weeks before we’d checked my mother into a hospital. She’d been pretty messed up recently, but she and I had always been close. I could tell her anything and she was always there to listen. Jeff, on the other hand, was a royal pain in the ass.
I mean, I could see why my mom married him. He was gorgeous, sure, with that tanned, stubbly face, his hazy blue eyes constantly squinted shut by years in the sun, the sandy blonde hair that was constantly a mess under his well-worn cowboy hat… but he was such a jerk sometimes!
“Do not bring your mother into this,” he said, snapping me back into the moment.
“Fine,” I said and picked up my ear buds to plug myself back into my music. He might not want to talk about leaving my mom at that place, but I wasn’t ready to move past it yet.
My mom worked in prison. It’s a hard job, being a corrections officer, and there are some risks that go along with it. One of those risks, of course, is for a person’s mental health.
Day after day dealing with the same convicted criminals, putting up with the same seemingly petty arguments and fights, coming around a corner to find something horrific in progress… it wears a person down.
My mom was good about seeing a therapist to work through most of it as often as she could, but I guess it wasn’t enough.
About a year ago she’d started having trouble sleeping. Ordinarily she was able to remind herself that she got to leave her work worries at the door on her way home every day, but something had gotten her messed up pretty badly and she couldn’t shake it.
She wouldn’t tell me what it was, but I overheard her talking about it with Jeff a couple of weeks after it had happened.
“I’ve never seen so much blood, Jeff,” I heard her say. “And there she was, staring straight at me. I froze. I couldn’t think of what to do because it was so obviously too late to save her, but she wasn’t gone yet. Her heart was still going. I know it because the blood was pumping out of her wrists in little gushes. And she was staring at me, Jeff. Like she wanted me to save her and leave her at the same time. Maybe she did, I don’t know. But I just stood there and watched her… I watched her die.” She started crying and had to compose herself to get the last thought out. “I saw the life go out of her eyes. I watched her see me and then die.”
I was on eggshells for the next few weeks after I heard that. I didn’t want to set anything off.
This was obviously going to take some time to get over, so I just steered clear of mom as much as I could unless she needed something from me.
Of course, that might not have been the best idea because to steer clear of her, I pretty much spent all my time out with some of the other teenagers from the rodeo circuit in town.
We’d go out dancing then sneak a bottle of Jim Beam from someone’s parent’s liquor cabinet, go out in the field and get drunk. We got caught a couple of times, and there was the night when I got picked up by the cops and brought home in the back seat of the squad car.
Let me tell you, that was not a pleasant night at home. My mom was furious and Jeff was a nightmare. He was so mad at me for messing up like that, and even angrier because I’d gotten my mom so worked up.
Fucking asshole, I thought. I’m trying to stay out of the way in this Podunk town so I go out and do the only things there are to do and you get mad at me for that? No fucking way.
But as the weeks and months wore on, my mom was getting worse. She was losing her appetite, so she was losing a lot of weight. She wasn’t sleeping, so she was getting sick and kept passing out at weird moments. Then the hallucinations started.
The doctors said that it was from lack of sleep and malnutrition, so they pumped her full of drugs to knock her out at night, wake her up in the morning and try to get her eating again, but none of it was really helping. It was all just a band-aid when the wound needed surgery.
As the rodeo tour was approaching and things were picking up around our ranch, she was trying her best to stay alert and invested in the work Jeff and the other riders and ranchers were doing. Rodeos weren’t always her thing, but since she’d met Jeff, she’d gone into the business one hundred percent. The two of them even bought the ranch together so we could train and teach.
The timing was bad, though. Just as the drugs were starting to wane in their effectiveness, the stress level
around the house skyrocketed. Between training every day, keeping the horses and the cattle in shape and ready to travel and work, all the normal daily needs of ranch, plus orchestrating the scheduling for transporting all the animals, people, supplies and everything across the country for three months, things were in total chaos.
I suppose we shouldn’t have been surprised that it happened like it did, but we were. I guess all the stress, all the drugs, and the trauma of finding that inmate who’d killed herself, all caught up at once and sent mom over the edge.
One minute we were all eating dinner – Jeff was going on and on about Clint who’d bought a new saddle but it wasn’t broken in enough yet to use for the first solid month’s worth of the tour, I was daydreaming about Clint breaking in his saddle with me there to help (if you know what I mean) – and out of the blue she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, stood up, put her steak knife to her arm and sliced her wrist open.
We were so stunned that for a few seconds nobody moved.
She stared at her self-inflicted wound, examining the blood coming out of her arm as though she were trying to verify if it was really hers, and then she realized that it was and realized what she’d done and screamed.
We sprung into action; Jeff was on the phone to 9-1-1 and I was shoving towels against her arm trying to stop the bleeding.
Within minutes, the ambulance was there and we were carting off to the hospital to try to save her.
A week later, the state ordered her to be put into a facility for psychological evaluation and observation until they deemed her ready to rejoin the world.
The decision came down right as everyone was about to leave for the first days of the tour and Jeff would be damned if he was going to miss any of the stops on the circuit. So we checked her in and left the same day.
Two weeks, about four thousand miles, and I don’t even remember how many competitions later, here we were in the middle of bumfuck nowhere once again in a screaming match in his truck.
The circuit was going well, but managing all the riders was a huge job for Jeff and my mom. Now he was doing it all by himself and dragging me along with him, so I got it; he was having a tough time.
But that, to me, did not excuse just bailing on my mom the way he did and forcing me to come along with him on this freaking road trip. There were a few competitions that we were attending later on down the line that had big cash prizes, but for the most part we were hitting up smaller rodeos that didn’t have a ton of money in them.
So between trying to balance the finances, trying to keep all the animals rodeo-ready, and keeping all the riders in line and on time, his fuse was short. But so was mine.
About an hour later we arrived at the arena where this weekend’s competition would be held. It was a three-day even and this was one of the big ones, so we were all on our game. As soon as we got checked in and figured out where we were supposed to be, I hopped out of the truck and got to work. I brought the horses out of the trailers and got them fed and watered. I always made sure to wear something extra cute on days like today.
Horses were fine and all, but the riders are another story entirely.
The musk, the muscle, the sheer brawn of them is a spectacle to behold. Everything about these rodeo boys got me hot. I loved the flannel they wore, the hats they kept tilted just right, their perfectly worn-in boots, the Levi’s that showed off every curve of their asses just the way you’d want jeans to do.
Everything.
Unfortunately, I was the runt of the litter – as it were – so I had to work extra hard to get any attention. Since I was barely eighteen, most of them hadn’t even taken the chance to get to know me yet as a woman.
Mom had started dating Jeff when I was just six years old, so a lot of these guys had seen me grow up over the last twelve years.
Most of them weren’t really all that much older than I was, but when they had their pick between riders, Rodeo Queens, and every scantily-clad product rep that strutted by, the little eighteen-year-old caretaker didn’t stand a chance.
But I had a plan.
I figured if Jeff was going to force me into this road trip to take care for the horses while we were on the road, I was going to do everything I could for the next three months to hook one (or two… or three) of these boys. So when we were about to arrive at our next stop and we were all going to be mingling about for the day while we unloaded and prepped, I made sure that I looked as good as, if not better than, every other girl there.
“Brandi, do you have that under control?” Jeff asked loudly enough for everyone to hear when he saw me struggling to get a saddle up onto a rack that was a bit too tall for me.
“I’m fine, Jeff,” I snapped at him. “I know what I’m doing.”
There were a few chuckles and giggles that passed around and I turned as red as the dirt I stood on. As hard as I was working to impress these guys, in a word he could turn me back into the bratty little rodeo runt.
The day wore on and by the end of it I was drenched in sweat. My skimpy white tank top was soaked and my tight, ripped little denim shorts were like a vice grip on my thighs. I desperately wanted to get out of these clothes and get into a bath.
We checked into the hotel and figured out whose rooms were where.
We had to bunk down together as much as we could to save cash, so Jeff and I had been sharing a room. You want to talk about awkward? Try sharing a hotel room with your insanely sexy ranch owner stepdad for three months.
Every time he’d get out of the shower and leave his t-shirt in the main room, he’d come out wrapped in a towel to retrieve his bundle of clothes and in those brief glimpses I would see every muscle accented by the glistening water that he hadn’t dried off of himself yet. His broad chest and his arms chiseled by years of wrangling cattle and riding stallions were like something you’d see in a museum of Greek art.
So aside from desperately trying to attract one of the younger men on the circuit I was trapped in a twisted fantasy world silently fingering myself in the bathroom as I imagined Jeff coming out of the shower one day and realizing that he’d not only forgotten his clothes, but a towel, too.
Once we were checked in and unpacked, we went to dinner. We ate practically in silence until some of the other riders came along and joined us. It was one of those family-style sit-down restaurant experiences, so we just piled chairs in until everyone fit. I’d never heard of this chain but the food seemed decent at least.
“So, wait, wait. Go back. You met her where?” Clint asked Randy, another one of the riders.
“I shit you not, I’m standing in line for a burger and she comes up and gets in line behind me,” Randy replied.
“No way,” Clint exclaimed.
“Yeah, but wait,” Randy continued. “So she gets in line behind me, glances at the menu, then glances at me and taps me on the shoulder!”
“No,” Clint shouted in genuine awe.
“Yeah!” Randy said. “She goes, ‘You must be one of the boys from the Higgins Ranch, right?’ I go, ‘I surely am! Randy.’ And she shakes my hand saying, ‘It’s mighty nice to meet you. I’d heard you boys were cute. I’m glad my sources haven’t been lying to me.’”
“Get right out!” Clint hollered.
“My hand to Jesus,” Randy said putting his hand in the air.
“Who’re you talking about?” I asked trying to insert myself into the conversation by force.
“The Rodeo Queen, Ms. Julia Fry,” Randy said patronizingly. “And she is one hell of a lady,” he howled sidelong to Clint who joined in his raucous laughter.
“She doesn’t seem like all that much to me,” I said haughtily.
“Well sure,” Clint said. “That’s because you’re jealous of her.”
“I am not!” I shouted impudently. “I just don’t think she’s all that great.”
“Have you seen her in the barrel races?” Randy asked mockingly. “I’ve never seen a woman with so much control over her mount.”
> “Yeah, I’d like to see how she handles this mount,” Clint said indicated his crotch.
“Watch it, boys,” Jeff chimed in commandingly. “This is a family place.”
“Sorry Mr. Higgins,” Clint said drooping.
“Yeah, sorry Mr. H,” Randy said, joining his wilted friend.
“I still don’t think she’s all that great,” I said flicking my hair.
“Okay, Brandi,” Jeff said, “That’s enough from you.”
“What? I can’t express my opinion, now?” I jabbed.
“Come on, Brandi, not right now,” Jeff said trying to placate me. I hated it when he did this.
“No,” I said. “What? I can’t even say what I think now? I’m just supposed to be silent all the time. ‘Do your work, Brandi. Do all the shit we tell you to do, take care of all our horses all the time without any thanks, and keep your mouth shut.’ Is that it?”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Jeff said still trying to calm me down.
“I don’t think I am,” I said. “What about you, Clint? You want to know what I think, right?”
All eyes turned to Clint who turned the color of a table cloth in a crummy Italian restaurant and said, “I… uh… yes?”
“See,” I pointed out. “Clint likes hearing what I think. And so does Randy, right?”
“Uh… sure…” Randy hazarded.
“So it’s just you, step daddy,” I said as derisively as possible. “You’re the only one who doesn’t want to hear what I have to say.”
“I didn’t say I don’t want to hear your opinions,” he said. “I said that we’ve had enough talk about whether or not Ms. Fry is or is not an impressive rider for one evening.”
“Who’s wondering if Ms. Fry is an impressive rider?” a soft southern voice twinkled from behind me. I turned and there was this tall, perfectly proportioned, blonde wavy-haired, white-booted angelic woman walking toward our table from the restrooms. All the men jumped up out of their seats.
“Ms. Fry,” Jeff said politely. They never acted like that when I came to the table! “What a pleasant surprise.”