“Now that’s exactly what I was thinking of,” she said.
She must have still been half drunk, I thought, either that or horny as hell, giving me that much lead. What could I say? I couldn’t help but buy the thing. Just like she’d described it, this riding crop had a sleek leather-covered surface, a braided handle and a business end that would pack quite a wallop.
“I can’t put you over my knee to use this,” I reminded her as, as the clerk took it off the wall and handed it to her.
She ran her fingers over the surface, down the shaft and then gripped it in her hand. “Let me see this in your hand,” she said, handing it to me.
I held it tightly at her request and let the feel of it arouse me even more than I already was.
“You like it too, don’t you?” she asked.
“What are you trying to tell me?” I wondered.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But why don’t we just buy it and see what happens?” She looked at me, her blue eyes glimmering. She was the most amazing woman I’d ever met.
That night, we continued drinking, just a few more beers while we sat on the porch and talked about everything I could think of. I listened to that lilting laugh and watched her smile, and had the feeling that I might actually be falling in love. Then all of a sudden she disappeared. “I’ll be right back,” she told me as she dashed into the house. When she returned, she had the riding crop in her hand, and the look of a naughty kid on her face.
“You don’t suppose you’d like to use this on me?” she said, after several moments of sheepish blushing.
“You really do mean that,” I said, realizing that half her expression was total seduction.
She nodded.
“And where do you think would be best?” I let her pick the place.
“I suppose the stable might not be a bad idea, or better yet, the shed.”
“It stands to be more private,” I agreed. I could feel myself going a little cold, and a little distant. Somehow putting a riding crop to a woman’s behind seemed like serious business even if this one was intended to be playful. “Hand me the crop,” I ordered in a tone that reflected the mood.
I could almost see her shimmy hearing the command.
“Yes, sir,” she said jauntily as she handed me the leather handle.
“Now, report to the shed, brat,” I gave my next order. “And you’d better be quick because I won’t be happy if I have to wait.”
Morgan was off the porch in seconds, scurrying fast toward the shed behind the house. When I saw her disappear from view, I rose myself, and ambled toward the old wooden structure, thinking about what I was about to do. I must admit, I was on fire. This woman was beyond me, tough as nails, sometimes mouthy, one of the most self-assured women that I’ve ever met, and yet she was leading me into this scenario, giving me control I’m not sure she’d ever given any man.
“So, Morgan,” I said, as I entered the shed and saw her standing there with a coy expression on her face. “You think you’d like this on your ass?”
“I’d like my bottom burning,” she answered quietly.
“I’m sure you deserve it,” I replied. “Women like you need a good whipping every once in and a while. Bare your ass.”
The same electric jolt that raced through me, raced through her. I could see it, the way her body quivered nervously. She was as submissive at that moment as she’d ever been in her life. That was as clear as glass to me. I watched her bow her head, her hands move to the buttons on her jeans and then slowly undo each one. I thought she’d never get to the end. Once there, she looked up at me with her head cocked and then turned around. Putting her hands inside the waistband of the denim, she pushed the pants over her hips to her knees. She didn’t have a stitch on underneath and what appeared were the two most glorious mounds of female derriere I’d ever seen. Though the light in the shed was dim, there was still a lustrous glow about them, a dimple high on each side, and when she clenched them, they drew up tight.
“All the way off,” I told her as the pants reached her ankles. Ah! As she began to remove them over her feet, I could see her crack part enough so I could peek at the plump pubis deep in her crotch. “Now, over the sawhorse,” I instructed her. There was a bench, a stool and a pile of wood in the shed. I hadn’t realized how completely prepared this place was for a little corporal justice. But to me the choice was clear, only the sawhorse would have her bend that lovely ass tight, and that’s exactly what I wanted to see and what she needed.
Morgan moved warily. I could sense the fear, the slight trembling. Any moment I expected her to give it all up and declare this the stupidest thing she’d ever done. But that didn’t happen. Apparently her fantasy was in control and she wasn’t about to waver. She’d see it through start to finish.
“Over the sawhorse,” I repeated when I saw her hesitate. That was just enough to get her moving. Leaning forward she grasped an old stump on the other side of the rail. It was just the right height to help keep her balance, while ensuring that she couldn’t easily rise from the awkward pose.
“You want it hard, Morgan, that’s exactly what you’re going to get,” I informed her. She kind of jiggled a little in response, perhaps another fear flying through her aroused system.
When I reached out with the crop, I ran the smooth business end over her bottom very lightly, seeing how she squirmed. Her pussy hit the bar at just the right spot for it to massage her. Yes, she was hot, about as much as I was. Teasing her more, she was moving with the feel of the leather, its light touch obviously raising the heat in her to an impossible degree. I could hear her moan, and I swear she was begging me with a softly spoken, “Please, please.” Almost feeling as though she might orgasm just from this tender foreplay, I moved with her for a while. And then, abruptly changing gears, I raised the crop, drew back my arm and brought the implement down on her bottom with an invigorating crack.
“Ah!” she gasped.
I’d shocked her.
Returning to my tease, I continued again, letting her suffer waiting for the next strike. That too was accomplished with a swiftness she’d never expected, and for a third time returning to the torturous toying, I had her so on edge, she was overtly begging.
“Rory, please,” she pleaded softly.
“When I’m ready,” I replied.
“Ah, please, I need this,” she swore, her hips gyrating almost lewdly to entice me.
Then, when I finally let her have it, it was swift and harsh, the riding crop flying with a merciless and steady rain of strikes hitting her everywhere about her pushed out ass. She squirmed lewdly with each strike. I knew she was in agony, but she was taking it and asking for more. “Yes, gawd yes, Rory please.”
I struck and struck again, her bottom cheeks first turning pink, then a pale rose and then a darker hue that looked as though it was screaming hot. Every dozen or so, I backed off and it would be torture again. She pleaded with me in a sorrowful tone until I cut into her one more time. Then she shimmied and pretended that it hurt, then tried to get away. The more fierce the strikes, the more she sounded off, the more I let her feel the burn. Only when I thought she couldn’t take any more, did I let up at all. Though the more I got into the punishment, the fewer the breaks and the shorter they were. She wanted it hard, just as she said.
At one point I felt us fall into a rhythm, something almost sultry and sensuous. My cock was throbbing inside my pants. The heat in me seemed as fierce at it obviously was in her. She shimmied more, and moaned like she was about to come.
Deciding not to remain a passive observer. I finally threw the crop to the floor, opened my fly, withdrew my stiff penis and thrust it into her pulsing opening, feeling the warm wet bath of pleasure draw me deep within.
“Ah, yessss,” she hissed.
I seethed back with something equally as intense, and we moved in a fast and wicked rhythm until we were both about to explode. When I reached round her hips and found her clitoris with my fingers, it took
just a gentle squeezing to have her crying nastily, jerking like a mad woman and coming on my hand with a warm bath of female cum. My climax took the submissive Morgan one last step. She hung on tightly to the stump in front of her as I gave her several forceful thrusts and came, shooting myself into her deeply. Afterwards, I lingered a while enjoying the way she bore down and milked my erection for everything that was there. When I pulled out and helped her rise, she seemed to fall into my arms. Our lips met for the first time.
“Oh, my gawd, Rory, I don’t know what came over me,” she finally said as she pulled away.
“Was it so bad?” I wondered.
“No, but this is so unlike me.”
“Is it really? Or is it just something that you never tried.”
She smiled almost embarrassed. I had no idea where our working or personal relationship was going, but it was obvious that it would never be the same.
***
Morgan had about a week, maybe ten days left and her work would be finished. In that time I took her to the woodshed about every other day. On off days, she claimed her bottom needed some time to recuperate from the time before. On each occasion, my lusty accountant got the full measure of the riding crop laid handily on her ass until it was burning hot. And on each occasion, after it was over, after it made both of us unbearably hot, we had sex. I took her one more time in the shed, but then we graduated to the house and my bed where we had a more comfortable and longer ride about my sheets.
She was accomplished in most all kinds of sex, and I was a happy lover. As long as she had a hot bottom she was in heaven. When I wasn’t punishing her ass with the crop, she was happily doing her work without getting in my way. Morgan even found a way to communicate her ideas to me without pissing me off. I willingly admit she did a lot to put my business back on track. In her terms, she saved the ranch. I wasn’t so sure of that, but I did appreciate the input and I told her so.
As the day of her return to Chicago approached, however, Morgan became edgy and short with both me and my staff. And that old habit of spouting off at the mouth to whomever she pleased returned with a vengeance. I mentioned it to her once, but that didn’t seem to stop her. She was particularly upset that I was buying new cattle when she didn’t think I could afford a purchase of the size I wanted. I appreciated her concern, but I wasn’t about to stop taking risks in my business. That’s what drives me, adds some of the reckless cowboy excitement to my life, even if it might be ill-advised. Morgan, on the other hand, let her opinions be known in a way that started to really tick me off. When I walked into the stable the day before she was to leave, I overheard another unwarranted opinion about my foolish business sense, delivered to a half-dozen ranch hands and my foreman. I blew up. I was standing behind her at the stable door, Morgan unaware that I was there.
“Guys, do you mind if I have a word with Ms. Rice in private,” I snapped angrily. They all looked at me a little oddly, but one by one they left the stable. On his way out, my foreman ventured a comment, “your urban cowgirl getting your goat?” he snickered. I closed the door behind him with a definite bang.
“Ooo my, I’m so sorry,” Morgan purred at me. “I suppose I overstepped my bounds again.”
“You’re damn right you did,” I blared.
“Well, you don’t have to be so sensitive,” she sassed me back.
“I can be as sensitive as I damn well please,” I sassed right back.
Just a couple of feet away from me hung the old leather strap. Taking it from the wall, just the feel of it in my palm was all I needed to inspire me.
“How about in that stall,” I said, pointing to an empty one behind her.
“Oh, you’re going to do it here? But you don’t have the riding crop.” Her facial expression had changed again, taking on that coy, flirtatious one she used when she wanted me to use the crop on her ass. The last time had been just the night before. Her ass should still be smarting. I really didn’t care, but I could sense she was concerned. “I’d love another spanking before I leave, but I was thinking tomorrow.” Ah, she thought she could change my mind.
“This ain’t playtime, Morgan, this is real punishment. Now get in the stall.”
Now she looked worried seeing how serious I was.
“But …”
“Go!” I ordered, motioning with the strap in hand.
“I’m sorry, Rory, please.”
“You love it so much, I can’t see what the problem is. And unless you want to make it worse on yourself, you’d better get in that stall and pull your pants down. If I have to drag you there myself and tear your jeans off, I will.”
My last comment raised enough fear in her to get her going. She scampered to the stall and her jeans were at her ankles by the time I got there. Not only that, she was poised over a bale of straw, ready and waiting for the strap to do its business.
Even as angry as I was with her, the sight of Morgan’s round bottom thrilled me to my core. Maybe I too was on edge because she was going to leave. I sure would miss this wondrous view. For all my admiration of her fine derriere, however, I was still pissed and I didn’t waste any time, letting her have that strap right where it would do the most good. I pelted her briskly with hard, biting strikes, and she was crying for mercy in a matter of seconds.
This being punishment, I didn’t stop to play our teasing game, something I’m sure she hoped for. No, I simply laid on the leather again and again, one blow over top the one before, taking the strikes from high on her ass to the top of her thighs. She shrieked like hell when I let her have it in one place for a good dozen straight. Then, with a little compassion, I eased off and started in again giving it to her in another spot, until that was screaming hot with pain.
Overall, I suppose I punished her for fifteen minutes straight with hardly a break at all, leaving her sobbing in tears and wiggling like mad the entire time. When I finally stopped to catch my breath, not sure if I was going to begin again, Morgan stopped her crying and waited for some clue from me.
“You know, Morgan, you’re just upset because you’re leaving tomorrow,” I said.
She didn’t say a word, but remained motionless and submissive in her position over the bale of straw. Every few seconds she jerked, as though a fly had landed on her ass and she wanted to shake it off. Since that wasn’t so, I imagine coming down from the bracing punishment, her ass twitched just from an occasional breath of air that would tickle her hot cheeks as they cooled.
Seeing how beautifully red, and raw and lovely she was, I had two opposing desires: the first, to lay the strap on her ass again—I certainly believed she deserved it; the second to take her in my arms and make love. I opted for the first desire, my own fury not quite dispelled. And too, there was a good deal of agonizing on my own part. I knew this might be the last time I had the joy of seeing a woman’s ass so beautifully bared, reddened and submissive to my whims.
When I reared back again, she was looking over her shoulder at me the moment the strap struck. I could see almost see the same desire and grief on her face that I was experiencing myself. She shuddered when the strap hit, but she didn’t cry this time. I suppose that these strikes might have been less vigorous, though they were certainly delivered with as much passion as the ones before. The red blush had faded some, but it all came back in seconds, looking more hot and burning than it had before. I laid into her at least two dozen times, long, broad strokes, the strap connecting with those sore cheeks as she wriggled and squirmed. After a time, her soft moans turned back into shrieks and she was crying. Then, I finally backed away for good.
Appraising her limp body, my desire was as rich as ever, but I came to an important conclusion, sad as it was. “Since you’re leaving, I don’t think it would be a good idea to have sex anymore. It’s only going to make us more edgy and unhappy. I rather not have any more wars with you, Morgan. I think we should end things here.” I let the words sink in for a few seconds then turned and started toward the stable door. Only as I reac
hed it, did I hear her begin to rustle against the straw as she rose.
“Rory,” she called to me.
I turned around, watching as she buttoned her pants.
“Does this mean you don’t want me around anymore?”
“That’s not the point, is it?” I said. “You have another job waiting for you and I have a ranch to run.” I wanted to say more, or listened to her say something, but she just gazed at me silently, a little baffled.
For the rest of the day and into the next, she was thoroughly businesslike. And though not unfriendly, she resumed the curt air of professionalism that marked my first days with her. That was just as well, what was there to gain by getting entangled? She had her life and I had mine, and it was clear that the two really didn’t have much in common. I let one of the ranch hands take her to the airport that next afternoon, figuring that saying goodbye was just one awkward moment neither of us needed.
While I felt Morgan’s absence immediately, I spent my time riding into the far reaches of my ranch, supposedly to inspect the cattle grazing there. It took a good week to survey my holdings, a task I rarely did with such complete relish and all at once. With Morgan around, I was reluctant for many reasons to leave for any length of time. Now, with her gone, it was better easing back into my old life if I didn’t have to look at all the places I remembered her being, thinking any moment she’d be turning the corner, or I’d find her sitting at my desk, or I’d hear the sound of her laughter.
When I returned to the house one afternoon, about five thirty, I caught a whiff of her perfume in the air, something that happened, perhaps too often, but nonetheless, it was a pleasant experience. I smiled thinking of that blonde hair and delicious voice. Inside my office, I hung up my hat as I always did that time of day, and was about to leave when I spotted something on the desk. Morgan’s riding crop. I know it hadn’t been there in the morning. In fact, I knew she’d taken it with her. After all, it was hers and I assumed she’d be out finding another lover to interest in her spanking passions. But here? Now? It made no sense. At least not until I heard a sound behind me, boots clicking on the hardwood floor. I turned around.
Birches, Cowgirls & Angels Page 23