16. Dalton #2
Then he began. He must have put his fingers in his mouth to moisten them. They trailed against the curve of my bottom: a trace of moisture, then coolness.
Where was the lube? Hidden in his pocket somewhere. He wasn’t waiting for lube, though. He pushed a finger into me, roughly, and I wriggled in protest.
Which was when he circled his strong arm around my hips and held me to stillness on his lap as though he was about to deliver a stern spanking, and I gasped out loud. Do it. Do it.
He didn’t spank me. Not even playfully. He shifted so his left hand rested on my lower back, his right on my thighs. “No. Noise.”
That’s all he said. I clamped my mouth shut and made vows to keep it that way, because once he got started, I wasn’t going to want him to stop.
Lazily, again with one finger, he circled my anus. Then pushed in to loosen it. Over and over, in and out, a rhythm my body tried to follow.
“Easy,” he said.
I realized that I was holding my legs stiffly, raised, and that I should lower them and relax all over. So I did.
Those one-word commands did something to me. Churned inside me, squirmy and raw. Made the back of my neck hot.
No daydream could compare to this. I grabbed a hunk of quilt from the bed in both hands and buried my forehead in its dark folds.
His hand stayed clasped on my hip, holding me tightly across his lap, as one finger became two, disembodied, insistent. Like I was in a dark dream, held against my will, being done unto. Like a sexy nightmare verging toward pleasure that was out of my control.
His fingers, though. His fingers. Strong. Calloused from hard work. Years of hard work. Years of grooming horses and hauling hay bales and holding reins. Roping cattle.
As two fingers pushed in, a little rough, a little fast, I was pulled into something so wild, I didn’t have a name for it. My breath was coming fast, and the steady rhythm of his strokes made me pay attention even though my head was whirling.
He turned those two fingers so the tips pushed upward, stretching me from the inside, an awkward angle that brought everything reaching toward a peak, as though a thousand tiny nerve endings were awake and aware. And waiting.
The edges of his knuckles were almost too sharp, just this side of painful. Then they eased. Became sharp again.
He rested his wrist against the curve of my buttock, and I heard him sigh. When he started again with the in and out, sharpness and softness, my body welcomed the hardness with the softness, gentle strokes and sudden jabs that made me gasp.
His movements sped up. My body sped up with them, my cock hardening, wanting to be touched. But he never touched it. It was my ass he wanted.
He could have it. He could have all of it, as long as those waves of pleasure spiraled upward and kept going, all heat and circles, forever.
Three fingers entered me. Jake’s fingers. All the way up, past his slightly bent knuckles. All the way to the base.
I made sounds like I was choking. Low gurgles. Grunts, even. As though my body barely knew what to do with feeling so good.
Zipping electric jags and jolts raced up my spine, and my cock jerked, and I came all over his rough, dusty blue jeans. Panting and hot, sweat on the back of my neck.
He patted my bottom. Stroked it, the way he might an obedient horse that had served him well. “Knees,” he said with a final pat.
I scrambled to comply, my legs trapped by my boxer briefs and my jeans and my boots.
He helped me. Two large hands wrapped around my hips and lifted me onto the bed. On all fours, my t-shirt bunched around my neck, jeans and underwear a hopeless tangle, I waited.
He moved behind me. He was on the bed, but where?
Then his hands, hot-skinned and steady, took hold of my bottom. He pulled my cheeks apart, and when I felt his tongue circling, circling around my tender anus, I just about shrieked. But I didn’t dare. He’d stop if I made a sound, and I didn’t want him to stop.
His tongue, his hot, nimble tongue, did everything his fingers had done. Made the skin silky wet. Made my thighs shake. My cock drip with want.
Then he thrust his tongue in like a spear. I just about yelped, but bit my lower lip. The windows were right there. The bonfire was just outside, along with everyone sitting on hay bales, watching wood burn. Keeping the dark at bay.
On Jake’s bed, some sort of darkness rose inside me. I wanted something I could not name. I growled and reached back.
A wordless request that he somehow understood.
For he wiped his chin on my ass and knelt close behind me and thrust in.
Thrust hard, a jerk of his hips, those dusty jeans chafing the backs of my thighs.
His belt buckle scraping tender skin, buttons pressing into me like small, cold branding irons.
Pubic hair scratchy and soft at the same time.
I let out a small cry, and his hand clamped over my mouth, fingers digging into my jaw.
“Shhh.” He made a low, guttural sound as he let my face go. “Be quiet. Shhh.”
He fucked me hard, then, right into the mattress, his fingers gripping my hips so he could slam into me all the harder. A wild ride, lifting me up and up into blackness I couldn’t recognize.
With a final hard slam, he came inside me with a spray of hot cum that I could just about taste.
I could tell he was preparing to pull out, to end everything abruptly, the way he seemed to be in the habit of doing. I reached back again and tugged at whatever part of him I could reach. “Stay,” I whispered. “Stay inside me as long as you can.”
His hand came forward to free my hair from where it was stuck to my damp face. “Yes.”
He lowered me to the bed and the mess of bedclothes and was on top of me for a hard, heavy second. Then he turned us both to the side so we could spoon, his front to my back. And he was inside me, still half hard, as I felt his cum sliding out of me.
His hard breathing gusted over my back while I panted, desperate to stay as silent as I could so nobody would come running to inquire why the bunkhouse had been shaking on its foundation.
The idea of that made me smile, and in the darkness, I found one of his hands and brought it to my mouth and kissed it. I tasted salt and effort and heat, and I took a deep breath that turned into a sigh.
When, eventually, his cock slipped out of me, he tugged off my boots and the rest of my clothes. Pulled off his own until we were naked in the bed together, then spooned me again. He drew a sheet up to cover us both and kissed the back of my neck.
“Sorry,” he said. “Ripped your briefs.” After a pause and another sweet, soft kiss, he asked, “You good?”
“Yeah.” I drew in a satisfying breath. “Yeah.”
We lay like that, Jake’s arms around my middle, his knees tucked into the curve of my knees. I sensed him fully awake behind me, looking at the moving shadows high on the wall. Watchful. Alert.
And I realized the shadows were actually the lights from the bonfire coming through the uncurtained windows. Flickers of movement reflecting the reality outside.
This, inside the bunkhouse, was our world. Everything else could vanish, and I wouldn’t care. Well, except for Buddy and Snowball. Jake would miss them if they weren’t around, so they should stay.