The girl kneeled on the hard-packed dirt, watching the cowboy pace in front of her with wary eyes. She hadn't been this terrified since the first time. The rowdy noise of woman-starved cowboys was simply a fence away. If they saw her, whether over the plank fence or through a loose board, or if either of them made too much noise, she doubted Richard could keep them from having their turn. Worse, she wasn't entirely sure he would even try.
This certainly had not been the fate she'd expected when she'd responded to his tentatively scribed letters, which he'd shyly admitted to her were dictated to another. It didn't take long indeed for her to realize that all the shyness and romanticism of a tender young man was projected on the page from an innocent imagination. She knew that if she read those letters now, the voice reading them would be gruff and far surer of itself.
"Take off your dress," he said quietly. The volume aside, there was no choice of refusing him in his tone.
She unbuttoned the bodice, slipped it off to bare her tender skin to the air. She took a deep breath and her small naked breasts heaved. A moment later she had loosened the lacing at the waist of the skirt and pulled the fabric over her head. She gathered the clothing in her arms a moment, but laid them in the dust beside her. Any dirty place was as good as another, nearly. Besides, she hadn't felt clean these last few weeks and doubted she ever would again.
Those were all the clothes he'd let her wear today, no decent under-things. She didn't need them, he said. Pretty clothes were useless out here, as were prim women. It was impractical in the Texas heat to layer on corsets, shifts and under-skirts, drawers and stockings and shoes. But still, they were layers she desired between the wild, Western men and herself.
"I want you while I'm sittin' up against that fence. It better be good, or I might have to teach you a lesson."
She tried to keep her mind from running through the lists of lessons she'd already learned, and the methods with which they had been taught. Neither list would help her give him what he wanted, except for inspire the enthusiasm he desired.
Rough fingers stroked the sides of her face. She kept as slack as possible, letting him turn her chin from side to side, but his pants remained fastened for now. He leaned low and whispered again. She was sure no one on the other side of the fence could hear him speak, but there was no way to know he would stay so hushed.
"That milky white skin of yours shows the lash so nicely." It had been a few days since that. He hadn't been as harsh as he could have; she had received harsher lashings from her father for lesser transgressions. But the marks still remained, pink across her soft buttocks and thighs. Then he'd taken another strip of leather and a leather awl and cobbled an old belt of his into a sort of chastity belt, with the wide band of leather pressing against her clit and holding apart her nethers. He'd made her wear it until the chafing made her come spill onto the leather.
Kneeling, she was belt-high and she fixed her gaze on it. She wasn't afraid of either of the belts anymore, but she rarely raised her gaze above his waist. It was his eyes she was afraid of catching, hungrily looking at her, seeing her naked even when she was clothed, hiding thoughts of what he might next do to her to satisfy his lusts. They were her lusts, too, she was starting to realize. Her body grew wet for him, and sore as it was, it now accepted him easily within.
Richard knelt in front of her, his clothes brushing against her naked, vulnerable body. He was older than her age of nineteen by about ten years, but those ten years had made him hard from head to toe. When he lay against her, she could feel every hard muscle and it only made her feel all the more soft. She might become less tender and soft as this hard life wore on her, but she still had sloping curves and pale skin, firm breasts. When his calloused hand cupped any part of her body, she felt like she was pressed against the roughness of a brick wall. And when his cock ravaged inside her, he might have been fucking her with a wooden pole.
Still, as rough hands roved over her body now, she felt the tell-tale signs of her body succumbing to him. Her nipples puckered and her breasts tightened as he squeezed them. Her belly quivered a little when he stroked it and she felt that spot between her legs sending begging messages that he bring his fingers there. That was what had been most confusing to accept -- that she craved even his rough caress, his hard, impassionate fingers stroking between her legs.
His hard hands explored her body ruthlessly. She thought there wasn't a place on her that he hadn't touched, but sometimes she was wrong and he found a new place, a new sensation. When she took his member into her mouth once, she hadn't understood how erotic the stroking and pulling of his fingers in her hair could be, for instance. She had thought she'd be diminished, gagging on his salty taste, but her scalp tingled pleasantly as he rubbed through her loose hair.
"Move forward a little," he said, moving behind her. She moved one knee forward a scant inch or two, then brought the other to its side. She glanced over her left shoulder, hoping she wouldn't see anyone particularly tall walk by. The fence was high, but she could hear boots in the dirt and see the very tops of hats lope past. It was evening, but it was still plenty light, and the small town would fill up fast as the work day ended.
"A little more," he said, a little louder and with a painful pinch on her backside. She dutifully obeyed and tried not to think about the fence or the lusts of the men she was barely hidden from.
