Outrunning One Storm For Another

"Clara!" Matt's voice roared over the rising gale of wind. "Get off that horse and get in here!"

The dark-haired girl turned in the direction of Matt's voice, and saw the hulking, massy black cloud of storm-front eclipsing the innocent blue of the sky, devouring it mercilessly. Shit... it was gonna boil up a squall after all, and here she'd been out riding, paying no mind to the weather at all. Clara dug her heels into her mare's sides, and the mare shot forward nearly unseating her. She was just as eager to get into a safe warm barn as Clara's stable-help had been for Clara to get back.

Just as she dismounted, the sky opened up and drenched her in a deluge of cold rain, picking the dust up off the ground with the force of the raindrops impacting the earth before they finally sullenly submitted to the rapidly-amassed muck and mire.

"Here, let me take her," Matt offered, throwing a blanket over Clara's chilly wet clothes and taking the horse.

"I can do that," she protested, but already her jaw was tight and trembling with the cold. Matt just shook his head and proceeded to untack and put away the horse.

"Women. I swear... Always got some silly damn notion and ain't got NO sense to come in outta the rain," he muttered exasperatedly.

"Men- always more ability than tact. That's why you're a stable-*hand* and not a stable-*owner*," Clara snarled through clenched teeth, her chin jutted stubbornly out as she leered with ferocity at him through a matted, damp tangle of black hair that had fallen into her face.

"Oh? And you're doin' such a great job- I see your fences fallin' in, your horses' hooves splittin'... no, you don't need no man's touch around here, you're just gonna decorate it with flowers and half-ass everything because you ain't got the back a man's got, right?" he shot back.

Clara sprang away from the wall, sliding out of the blanket and throwing it through the tack door onto Matt's cot. "You egotistical son of a bitch! You KNOW I pull my own weight around here and I held the damn place down just FINE before you showed up like a damn carpet-bagger on MY doorstep needing a meal and a BATH!" she fumed. "How DARE you insinuate..."

But Matt was done with the small-talk. As he'd watched her ride in, the thin material of her poorly-patched man's shirt clinging so sheerly to her breasts that he could see both dark areolae, her breeches clinging to her thighs so that he could see the definition of muscle all the way up to her cleft, had caused a warm pulling in his loins that he hadn't been able to avoid as he'd breathed in the scent of her wet body and horse-sweaty clothes when he'd blanketed her.

With one swift movement, he up-ended her over his shoulder like a sack of feed, and strode resolutely through the door, tossing her onto his cot, and then he went and barred the barn-door against the howling storm outside.

"WHAT do you think you're d-OW!" she protested, trying to twist away as he unlaced her boots and slid them off the slim stems of wet linen, hard muscle, delicate bone.

He reached for her dark hair and gently, yet firmly pulled her up to him, planting a kiss on her surprised, opened mouth. A stifled gasp turned into a low, throaty moan as she at first rebelled, then softened, her lips burning against his, her fingers lacing together behind his neck as she stood up on tiptoe to be held in his strong, labor-hardened arms. When finally they broke the kiss, she whispered, "How long have you wanted to do that?"

Matt nuzzled her neck, nibbling and tasting the cool ivory flesh that was slowly pinkening and warming beneath his imperious nips and tongue-flicks. "Since you shot at me the first damn day from your porch. I knew then," he drew back to look into her eyes, "I just knew you were fire," he grinned, before taking another kiss from her, his tongue rolling against her lips, which parted to receive it, and Clara's tongue slid along his and darted devilishly into his mouth to elicit a groan from him, her fingers roving his back and then ripping open and sliding away his shirt.

He seized her wrists in one hand, lifted her gently, and lay her back on the blankets as he kicked off his shoes, ditched his shirt, and then lay beside her, still pinning her wrists above her head. "You're sure pretty when you fight me," he whispered.

"And I will, every god-damned step of the way," she hissed back, wriggling against his one-handed grip, but failing to free herself. Submitting was something she'd done all her life, and she hated herself for doing it now, too.

Her squirmy discomfiture caused Matt to laugh, breaking the kiss. He eased up on one elbow and released her hands, looking down at her. "Oh, come on- you love it," he teased, a finger tracing the top button of her shirt, causing the buds beneath to stand out against the damp fabric. Clara shuddered. "Maybe a little," she glared at him, "Just take what you want and be done with it. There's no reason to make *me* like it," she tossed at him, her hair having tumbled loose from it's leather binding. Matt's jaw was set, and the faint stubble along it made him seem somehow more commanding, seasoned... in-charge. His own chest was damp with a film of sweat, and as he moved, she could feel a hard bulge against her hip.

"Let's get you out of these," he said, and pulled her to stand beside him. As he lay bare her sweet, soft flesh, they both gasped. Matt in the sheer jaw-dropping beauty of the lissome, satin form hid beneath the harsh, rough shirt, Clara in enjoyment of the gust of air that greeted her damp skin in an unavoidable assault. Hastily, her fingers inched around his waist and joined at the belt, which she quickly unbuckled, and then she unbuttoned his trousers so that they too slid away, about the same time hers did. When they stepped out, Matt lay her down on the cot and climbed aboard, once again holding her wrists. "Gonna try to run? You know what they say about the thrill of the chase," he whispered, grinding his hips into her so that his throbbing cock lay hard and hot along her stomach.

"Are you just one big cliche, or do you plan to break them up a little?" she quirked an eyebrow as she grunted. Matt reached over and took a soft cotton lead-rope off it's peg and bound her wrists to the top bar of the cot, and then found two more for her ankles, spreading her legs wide. "I like *breaking* things, actually," he smirked, circling a tongue lazily around one dark nipple until she shuddered, her body pulsed and contracted, and she gasped. He took the nipple into his mouth and sucked on it until it was a hard pebble, then he seized it almost roughly between his teeth like a wolf-pup, with a growl. A yip of surprise and lust escaped Clara as she strained against the ropes. He repeated the action on the other, and then sat up, looking down at her, taking each of her soft, round breasts in a hand and working the nipples slowly in circles with his thumbs.

"You're hot- just like the meanest little fillies- you're gonna break out to be the best ride...I can tell," he cackled quietly as he lowered himself down to kiss her stomach, his tongue darting like wildfire along her bare torso, circling the little hollow of her navel until her stomach fluttered, then grazing his teeth along her ribs. "mmm," he breathed, and then slid a hand along one soft thigh.

"No- not yet... I haven't.." Clara protested, trying to sit up. She'd been riding a horse all afternoon. She smelled like horse mingled with her own scent and sweat... it was dirty...

"Haven't?" Matt innocently teased his fingertips along the silken inner thigh until his hand cupped the soft, smooth, petite little vulva spread wide by her bonds for Matt to peer at and feast upon.

"Oh, god- don't," she whimpered, "Not like this," but Matt had already bent and dipped his tongue into her salty little flower, his tongue slipping in between the outer folds and flicking against the hidden pearl of heat near the top. Clara bucked and cried out in a shocked ecstasy- nobody'd ever ate her before. She'd not known that it was possible- or even desirable, but god, her hips began to slowly rise off the cot, rocking her body up and down against Matt's tongue so that he only had to hold it rigid until he slipped it inside her tangy gash and made his move.

He spread her soft lips wide and with his thumbs, pressed on either side of her clit and then drilled his tongue right into her center, fucking her with it until she shrieked, flooded his mouth with her gush of cream until it dripped down his chin, soaking a small spot on the blanket.

"God!" she gasped, tossing her head back to rid her eyes of her black unruly mane. "That was incredible... how did you *DO* that? How is that possible?!" she panted, her nether regions still spasming and twitching as Matt crawled up.

"Your husband just didn't know what the hell he was doing? Whips and spurs'll get a horse to work, but you gotta pet'em right to get 'em to dance," he licked his lips, enjoying her tasted. He kissed her. "Bet you're glad you hired a bronc-buster now, huh?" he said after she'd tasted herself in his mouth.

"Mmmm," she nodded, closing her eyes and straining against her ropes again as he pulled away. This was all so dizzyingly new.

Clara had never liked being possessed, owned, and broken previously. There was a hurtful, nauseating shame about bending over onto fours and having a man she'd previously trusted, imperiously rut at her haunches like she was just a service animal, a receptacle for not only their seed, but any frustrations or fantasies John may have had. John had been her husband until his untimely death not long ago. He'd bought her store before it could go belly-up, and she'd married him so that she could keep a roof and food... and her family's farm, into which he promptly moved as the "master" thereof, and commanded with an iron fist.

Matt's actions, his dominance, was somehow different. There was his desire, his need... and he'd get what he wanted... but he wasn't purposefully injurious about it. He was a smart-ass about it though. He knew what Clara wanted even before *she* did, and that both infuriated and intoxicated her. But now wasn't the time to muse... Matt had untied her and lifted her to a sitting position, smoothing back her hair so that he could kiss her almost tenderly. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Baby... I want you, but I don't want to hurt you, ok?" he whispered. Clara simply nodded, too in-shock about the entire unfolding of events to even think of anything else.

A moment's terror petrified her body as he unrolled her onto his bed and mounted, but she was no silly twit- she'd led him this far, she wanted this, and now, here they were. She obediently lay back, put her arms to her side, and parted her thighs to reveal the rosy, darkened petals of her petite, dripping slit.

"Now, Clara," Matt said, lowering his body until it fused hotly with hers. She gasped, and even jumped a little at the feel of so much of his skin, his body, pressing into her so nakedly close, and bit her bottom lip, forcing herself not to whimper or speak. "Now there is no stopping this- you know I won't be able to stop when I get a taste of that," he cautioned, and Clara closed her eyes, bracing herself for the searing pain of a hard thorn of flesh ripping into her most sensitive and intimate core...

...

And that flash of torture never came.

The tip of his shaft parted her smooth, glossy netherlips and slid up and down the slash of blushing arousal until it was slick with her cloyingly sweet excitement. Against her will, a moan escaped her throat, her chest swelling with the panting of her breath.

Matt drew back and swiftly stabbed through her hot, ripe flesh, burying his thick, jutting cock all the way up to the hilt, without further preamble. Clara half-sat up, almost successfully stifled her cry of surprised passion, and then, her hips began moving up from the cot, meeting Matt's with each stroke. With each strike of her hard, glistening pearl of engorged flesh against the hilt of Matt's manhood, another rivulet of sweat trailed down Clara's silken, electrified body. "Oh, my god," he gasped as he felt her hot crevice embrace his smooth weapon eagerly and fully, and then start sliding up and down along it's length. "Fuck," he breathed as he pumped into her, raising up for a moment so he could watch himself slide in to disappear completely, and then emerge just up to the engorged head, streaked with white pearls of her wetness.

"Oh," she moaned throatily, her nails clutching the blanket beneath her. She'd never felt *this* before. Always, she'd been taken dry, unprepared, almost as if John had enjoyed her tight, sometimes bleeding grip, as if he'd relished the suppressed whimpers of pain, the salt of her tears as she'd struggled- not with John... she'd have been beaten, and it'd have been worse- but with herself, to keep from shoving him away and bolting for the nearest suicide weapon.

"OOOHHH," she gasped as she matched her stride with his, bucking, rolling her hips, her body tightening and rippling wetly along his hard length as her deep chasm embraced, released, embraced him again.

She'd been taught to lie very still and say nothing until John had finished- that had finally become easy enough with John... but with Matt, it was impossible. His cock was slick and trailing the juices from her spasming flesh, and she didn't even realize that she had wrapped her legs and arms around him, crushing him to her as cravenly, as desperately as though she were starving for him, as though embracing him as deeply and intimately as fathomable would sate the flood of lust-crazed hunger that had overtaken her very core.

The rustling and grinding of the cot, the panting breaths, the smell of their animalistic coupling introduced Clara to a new, vibrant plane of existence. She was being completely taken, and used for Matt's pleasure... yet at the same time, she was allowed her own. She'd never known she was even capable of enjoying a man's savage ravishing of her seemingly fragile form in such a yearning, almost greedy manner, but she craved it, loved it, and was grateful for every drop of it for it had awakened her very soul.

Matt was caught up with each electrifying jolt his sac bouncing against her soaked ass sent up through his spine, causing his cock to seize fitfully even before he felt the rise building and boiling up. "God, Oh- god, I'm gonna come soon," he mumbled muffledly into her neck. "God, you feel so good," he breathed, enjoying pulling out from Clara various vocal overtures of appreciation for his work. He loved filling her up with his shaft and then drawing it out each time, then fucking her rapidly so that their skin smacked sweatily with each stroke.

The teasing stab of each of Matt's thrusts filling and emptying the scalding pit of her stomach had elicited a gasp, a moan, from her, but the building wash of climactic release that was slowly overtaking her was completely unheard of. Her cries weren't as she ground herself furiously into Matt, taking him so deeply that she could feel his blunt cock nudging against the end of her pit, his muscular body quiveringly rigid as he released with a a cry and a hot gush his silken white seed into her in such a quantity that when finally the tidal wave, the aftershocks all quieted and she lay flattened and breathless beneath the solid, comforting, possessive weight of Matt Talon, she delighted in feeling the sticky, warm, combined results of their labor dripping down her crack and smearing her thighs as her ravaged, puffy labia slowly recuperated from being stretched and swallowing the sizable length of Matt's staff.

Though the storm had raged and lashed outside, ripping at trees, flooding the earth, lashing at livestock and buildings... the gale of pent-up, stifled, pressurized passion and need unleashed within the leathern-scented, dark old barn was far more memorable to Clara in a mixture of frightening, exciting, enrapturing emotion unknown to her. It was satisfaction.

Matt hadn't even been aware that there *was* a storm going on outside. He'd only wanted to come in Clara.. out of the rain.