But Where's the Fun in That?

You're on the wind-swept fields of Ohio, the clouds rolling in. As the wind begins to whip harder around the fields, you take the horses from pasture back into the barn, and close it up for the night. As you start to head back towards the house, you see a figure in a Buffalo plaid dress walking up your dusty train.

They cry out that they were caught in the storm and their car broke down. They've walked as far as they could for help. You shout out "don't know if you can hear the wind, but a storm is brewing over here!" over the barks of the dogs that have reached the farm house. Hearing your warning, the pretty stranger picks up their pace, asking you where you both can take shelter from the brewing storm.

Caught between the house and the barn, the closest space is the old run-down barn you haven't touched since you moved onto the farm last year. You're not quite sure what it holds, but you gesture towards it, and the figure in red and black follows your lead. Taking their hand, you rush there just as the skies open.

You're both soaked to the skin. They thank you, and point out how wet your shirt is, sidle up to you, and say "listen here cowboy, you're soaking wet. We better get this shirt off of you immediately!" Without hesitation, before you've had a chance to respond, their hands dip to start unbuttoning each button, speeding up as they move down your chest. As they reach your belt, they look at you for a tiny nod of consent, and with one hand, undo your buckle, and whips the belt out of the loops, dropping it over an empty stall door to the side.

Pulling over a milking stool from the corner, they take a seat in front of you, gesticulating to you to grab a crate and stand on it while leaning against a support pole, putting them right at the height of the growing in your tight jeans. Slowly, they run their hands over it, moaning a bit, eyes looking up to meet yours.

"Seems like your tack room is well stocked, if you know what I mean. Let me help you out with that..." they say before keeping their roaming hands headed down your thick, muscular thigh and solid calves. Slowly, they pull off one boot at a time, socks included, lining them up against the stall door below the hanging belt. Then reaching forward slightly, pulling your hips towards them, they begin undoing the button and zipper with their teeth.

You notice hints of their crimson lipstick on the fly, but honestly, you're not thinking with that head anymore, and you buck towards their face a little. They smooth the jeans over your tight ass, and muscular thighs, waiting as you kick the last of your clothes aside in the dust. Of course you don't wear underwear; you want to feel the denim on your body.

They look up at you, a spirited sassy glance in their eyes as they remain fully dressed and you are in naught but a cowboy hat, skin slightly damp from the deluge. Seeing a little fight in this filly, you reach down and grab them by the back of their head, pulling them on to your already hard cock. To no surprise, given the hungry appearance in their eyes, they take it all, tongue licking underneath. Your cock is at full attention in their admittedly skilled mouth, but you aren't willing to give in that easily. You hold their head in place, bucking in and out of their now imperfect crimson lips, red evidence of their desire all along your entire shaft. Then you slow and bring yourself away, catching your breath. You were so close you almost couldn't stop, but you have other plans.

Grabbing your previously discarded belt in one hand, you grab both of theirs in your other hand, wrapping it around their wrists tightly to secure them. You drag them over to the center of the barn, next to a pile of hay that someone had stacked before the farm was sold. Must be why the barn was still in ok condition, despite being out of use. The wind howling and the rain pattering make it so that you can barely hear their gasps and whimpers as you pull them by their wrists across the floor. You help them up top of a row of bales, indicating they should hang their arms over the old giant meat hook hanging over the main beam on a rope. They look up, giving a quick shudder, likely imagining what it might have been used for.

Then, using your bare foot, you kick their legs apart, almost as wide as they can handle, pull their damp dress up tucking it above /behind their head, bunched up in their arms. Following this, you check to see they are secure, if not a bit uncomfortable, and pull out the middle hay bales... now, should they try to close their legs, they'll be hanging from the hook and their wrists. If they lose their balance, the same.

You unclip their front closing bra, their nipples clearly hard and erect in the cool air. Black lace panties are all that covers their wet, pale skin, shockingly bright in the barely lit barn. Reaching your forward, you breathe on their cunt through the lace, finally eliciting a moan you can hear over the thunder and rain. You get tantalizingly close, offer another breath in return for another moan, and then quickly pull away.

Leaving them there, barely balancing, gasping at the departure of the warmth of your mouth, you explore the rest of the barn, and find an older, slightly stocked tack room, including a crop and a lunging whip. Grabbing those, your lucky keychain with a pair of sterling silver spurs, and your handkerchief from your jeans' pocket, you head back towards this dangling femme, skin a canvas ahead of you, the musky smell of their aroused cunt mixing in with the smell of rain in the wind, making your cock jump a little in desire.

You step back up next to them, their eyes following your every move...until you surprise them by wrapping your handkerchief around their eyes. They begin to issue a sound of protest, but thunder-booms, cutting them off., as you jump down, and walk all the way around this strung up filly hanging in your barn, deciding what to do first as they strain to listen for your footsteps over the storm, and fail.

You start with the spurs on your keychain, first teasing up the side of one breast before heading down the other, pressing only lightly enough to leave light pink lines that darken slightly. After a few goes, you wait a moment before flicking both nipples simultaneously, the sharp, cold sensation resulting in them bucking until they remember belatedly that they must keep their feet apart if they don't want pressure on their arms and shoulders. You run the metal down their stomach and hips, a little harder, scratching almost to the point of drawing blood, their hips working the air in hopes of some touch, any touch.

Using the spurs, you cut off the lace panties, leaving the elastic waist intact, shreds of black lace covering just a smidgen of their pubic bone. After your running of the spurs down their inner thigh one at a time, they move to close their legs in automatic response before realizing, too late, their predicament of bondage. They sway for a moment, balancing only on one foot and their arms, before wildly swinging their leg wide open and finding purchase on the bale once again.

You wait for them to settle back as best they can, totally silent, the storm raging on. Before *swish* the lunging whip taps one breast and they gasp, more out of surprise than pain. *swish* the other breast. Another paused moment, and then the swishes resume and spread up. It doesn't hurt as much as it startles, the slight whip leaving only pale marks all over their alabaster skin while keeping them moving, on their toes, literally, constantly having to adjust.

You speed up, flicking, whipping, and swishing as you circle them, leaving only the tiniest welts all over their front and back. Finally, you stop, and watch them breathing heavily, trying to regain both their breath and balance.

After they quiet their moans and their chest stops heaving, you wait, picking up the crop, and *smack* planting it right on their clit. You hear, over the howling of the wind, a howl of their own, a primal sound of pain mixed with pleasure, and then the word FUCK screamed into the wind. As you watch them swaying, reddening with arousal and marks, trying desperately to rebalance after your perfectly placed strike, your cock pulses again. So hard you can't ignore it, especially against the background of the whimpers from their smeared red lips.

You spit in your hand, reaching down to touch yourself with one hand, while laying into them with more crop lashes with the other. No pattern, throwing them off. Red marks appear on their inner thighs, their breasts, their hips, their ass. You then focus your attention on their cunt again, flicking their clit with the crop over and over until you hear them begging, please please please please please over and over again, barely audible words.

You leave them there a moment, put your boots back on (safety first!), and stand on the bale in front of their spread legs. You put your hand that has been jacking yourself off in front of their mouth and say simply "spit." After a moment of confusion, and not sure where to aim without being able to see, they realize they can smell your own arousal on your hand in front of them, and they dribble spit into your hands.

Then you use that to slicken your cock before lifting their legs to wrap about your waist, biting their neck as you plunge into them, their wet cunt more than open to receive you. The second your thrust into their cunt, you feel it clamp down and shudder around your cock, their head thrown back, neck exposed, as you pump in and out of them, and they cry out, mostly in pleasure, and a little in pain, thoroughly exhausted that they cannot do anything except come over and over again, trying to keep their body upright so as not to put pressure on their arms.

You come in them, once, and then again, and again, as the storm whips into a frenzy, the sky dark with only the occasional bolt of lightning to show you the sweaty, rain soaked, exhausted femme in front of you, legs wrapped around your waist, coming and collapsing and coming over and over. The two of you continue to climax as the storm rages, until you both are spent.

Finally, holding them tight with one arm, you reach up to take the belt off the ropes and take them down, placing their still tied arms around your neck. You bring them over to the saddle blanket you'd had in your arms while outside (you were bringing it to the house for the cats to have a nice place to lie), open the blanket, and spread it out on the ground. Gently, you unbuckle the belt, slowly massaging sensation back into their arms and shoulders, kissing them gently all over, as their body shudders and shivers on the rough blanket. You place your body up against them, drawing them into your arms, and whisper "If only I knew that a good training during a storm would break a filly like you, I would have sure taken you to head a long time ago."

Whispering "alright fancy femme, where did you leave your car? I'll grab it later and gas it up for you before you have to head back. You know, you could have warned me what you had in mind," they look up at you, blissed out and exhausted, snuggle in bit more deeply, and hoarsely whisper, their throat strained from the screaming

"But where's the fun in that, farm boy?"