by Sedona Leigh
Sweat soaked my bra, and I felt like grit was stuck to every exposed part of me. God, I hated Texas. Whoever constructed Interstate 10 had a Mars fetish. I'd never seen such an arid endless expanse of nothing.
Ahead on the road, I spotted the lump of an armadillo playing his own version of Frogger, and I dipped to the other lane to avoid him. "Filthy little football helmets," I muttered, wiping my face on my bandana and reaching for a water bottle. I looked up to see the iron grimace of an eighteen-wheeler's grill looming in the rear-view mirror. Where the hell did he come from? I jerked the wheel to get out of his way, skidded back to my original lane and beyond. The tires stuttered as I pumped the brake. Tick, Tick, BOOM! The car spun, kicking up gravel and dust that plumed into my open window.
"FUCK!" I announced to Texas. Not just one tire gone, but two.
Any cell phone signal had been non-existent since Fort Worth, six hours ago. No choice but to hoof it for a while. Grabbing my gear and a spare bottle of water, I hit the dirt in my brand new boots. Blisters were on the menu today, no avoiding it.
Truckers were happy to honk at my tight jeans and tank top, but not enticed enough to stop. I walked for what seemed like hours before I found a dirt road with a rusted arch over the driveway, announcing a ranch. With visions of B-movies about backwoods Texas, I made my way along the unkempt driveway. Rocks and potholes had me walking like I was in a minefield.
A sprawling adobe house lay ahead, but even with the sound of a ringing phone inside, no one answered the door. The ranch looked like it did a thriving business in pigs and horses, but the ranch hands must be ghosts. Not a damn person in sight. I walked past barns and outbuildings, expecting some nasty, toothless weirdo to pop out, but near the end of the buildings I came upon a corral with the most beautiful horses I had ever seen: huge, graceful animals reminiscent of beer commercials and holiday cards. Inside the enclosure was a second fence containing three more horses -- agitated, stomping their hooves, baring their teeth, and running each other over.
There was a smell in the air, faintly pricking my senses -- something I couldn't quite name. The horses in the outer corral were also in a froth, neighing and breaking into quick bursts of speed. They'd come up to the center fence, pause, and run away like they saw a mouse.
The obvious finally dawned on me. The horses in the center corral were male, all of ‘em -- and very excited. I gasped at the size of the need hanging from their bellies, and I felt my own body react.
Unsettled, I turned away. A whistle reeled me back around.
A man was sitting on the fence on the other side of the corral. He hopped down gracefully and headed to the center gate. He climbed into the pen with the studs and inspected them: animal husbandry at its finest, apparently. After running his hands down their legs and checking each of their hooves, he seemed satisfied and left them to their frustration. A quick inspection of the females . . . and then he caught sight of me. Like the horses, his ears pricked up. His body tensed against the unknown.
His jeans clung to his thighs. The streaks of mud and muck that ran down the denim looked like they were painted by an artist. He wore a tight cotton t-shirt, amazingly untouched by the wind and dust. He was thin, with wiry muscles that seemed to have been knotted around his bones and baked in an oven to golden brown. A low-slung cowboy hat hid his features. I took a couple of steps back when he flashed a mouthful of perfectly white teeth at me.
He headed over.
As his face came into view, my throat went dry. Shaggy blonde hair framed a chiseled jaw and oversized green fuck-me eyes. I flinched, zapped with high-voltage pheromones. This guy was hot -- and he seemed perfectly aware of it. His eyes traveled up and down my body and he let out a low appreciative whistle. Drained of any spittle in my mouth, I stood like an idiot. His eyes made me forget what time zone I was in, let alone what state.
"Ever watch horses fuck?"
I lifted my hair and fanned my sweaty neck. Attempting nonchalance, I shook my head.
"You're in for a treat. It's a pretty damn incredible sight." Leaving me, he went back to the pen holding the stallions and set them free on the ladies. He vaulted the fence and was back at my side.
The freed studs rolled their eyes crazily. Rearing up, they tried to knock each other away as they made chase after the mares. My host watched for a while, casually pointing out names and ages and breeds to me. I was transfixed. He pointed to a black stallion with a dappled rump. "Watch him. He's been chosen."
As he said it, a dun-colored mare pointed her nose high in the air and let out a new sound. Her cries hit me like some exotic soundtrack to a porn movie. The stallion was behind her in a heartbeat. Her tail swished provocatively, urging him on with soft sounds. He reared and was on her, teeth clamped on her mane. Gleaming thighs strained to answer the call.
My toes curled in my boots.
I was holding my breath, eyes fixed on their joining. My hand unconsciously fingered a nipple through the cotton of my shirt; I didn't realize it until my host put his hand on top of mine.
I gasped and broke my gaze from the horses. He wasn't looking at the horses. He was staring at my face, his wide smile daring me to respond, as clear as if he spoke the words.
My other hand came up on its own and pressed his fingers. He pushed my hands aside and roughly pinched my nipple between his thumb and middle finger. His touch through the fabric felt like ice against my inner fever.
He was on me before I had a chance to think, pressing me against the fence. Our belt buckles scraped against each other.
His mouth was at my throat, teeth and tongue. My hands gripped the muscled expanse of his back, trying to scratch through to his skin. He swung me around, ripping at the buttons of my fly, but I slapped his hands away and undid the jeans myself. He pulled them down around my ankles.
My hands were fumbling for his erection.
With a hand on the back of my neck, bending me forward, his cock was against my rump. Kicking my boots to spread my legs, he slapped at my hips, digging his fingers in to spread my ass cheeks, to find my damp hole.
A single hard stroke and he bottomed out.
One hand twined my hair, pulling me on him, making our knees bend -- it was a miracle gravity held us up. His other hand snaked around, reaching blindly for my clit, finding it, mercilessly rasping it with his thumb. His touch was like sandpaper. Each time he pulled away, the hot air of the afternoon licked our skin and dried the sweat pouring off both of us. Six times he pounded me, six times I cried out. On the seventh stroke, I was done for. His mouth came down on the back of my neck, teeth digging into my flesh. I heard the mad air whistling out of his nose, a grunt stuck in his throat. My knees went rubbery, sensation overwhelming any normal function. I came so hard -- so loud -- that the horses stopped to look at us.
I could feel the tension in him as he tried to hold back. Blood trickled down my back from his teeth-lock. I let go of the fence and clawed at his thigh, digging my nails into him so hard that flesh stuck underneath them. His madness drove me to the edge again; nasty commands to urge him on raged in my head, but I had no voice.
I felt him lose his last ounce of control. Just to fuck up his day, I raked my nails all the way back to his smooth ass, jumping my hips on his cock. No mercy! He came at the exact moment I did. He let go of my hair and pulled me back against him. Palms pressed on either side of my face, he used me as fulcrum to force every last inch of his flesh inside. My head lolled back on his shoulder, and I milked the last of his seed in a series of grand shudders that wouldn't end.
Our knees gave out, and his body broke my fall. I don't think either of us cared.
We lay spread on the dirt, a pile of expended limbs. The sun beat down on my face, sweat beaded on my upper lip. The thunder of his heart raced against mine, my weight crushing his ability to catch his breath. We lay there like we were waiting for the vultures to come pick our bones.
He rolled us onto our sides, knees and jeans wadded together in some clumsy mimicry of spooning. I looked down at my boots and smiled at the new wrinkles across the toes. A rock was poking me hard in the thigh, bringing back some semblance of reality. I lifted my head and looked back at him. Somewhere along the line, I'd scratched his face. His pristine t-shirt was soaked and battered. His eyes fluttered. He groaned. He tried to pull himself up on his elbow and failed miserably. We both giggled.
My eyes strayed to the horses and I laughed at the black stallion, the same sheen of exertion on his coat, his head hung low, foam dribbling from his lips.
After several attempts to clear the dust from my throat, I found my voice.
"Car," I said. "My car broke down a few miles from here."
"I was wondering --" he was watching me real close to see what I was going to say "-- could I use your phone?"