An Ideal (west)world

"Tell me Lily, how are you liking your Westworld experience thus far?"

"It's like a dream." I answer my husband James. He is standing between my parted legs with my petticoats bunched up around us like sea foam. The back of the dressing table I am perched on thumps against the wall as he steadily fucks me.

I tip back the brim of James' black Stetson so I can gaze into his stunning blue eyes. A few stray strands of sandy blond hair drape casually across his forehead. A 5 o'clock shadow accentuates his razor-sharp jawline. Dashing. The word flits through my mind and I find it fits him to a tee.

I can't decide which looks better on his muscular frame, his usual designer business suit or the rugged cowboy getup he's currently wearing. Well- half wearing. His rough homespun shirt is unbuttoned revealing a dusting of golden hair along his broad chest. His tight denim trousers are down around his boots.

Back home he is a titan of industry. Here he is an outlaw. My outlaw. He stares back at me with a roguish grin that makes me shudder. I know I am beautiful but I really truly believe it when he looks at me that way.

What a brilliant idea this second honeymoon was. Westworld is just as advertised- a theme park unlike any other. One full of robots created to fuck, fight and/or kill at the guest's pleasure. A place where one can 'live without limits'. Most husbands would take their wives to Aspen or Paris but not James. He is more original than that, a little bit dangerous, at least that's what my mother told me when we first started dating, which only made me want him even more.

I mewl as he grinds into me with long unhurried strokes, keeping me teetering on the edge of ecstasy. "Won't the gang be waiting?"

"Let them wait." He speaks with the command of a man used to having people work on his timetable.

"We do have a train to catch," I pant in frustration. I try to move my hips to increase the heavenly friction, but he holds me firmly in place.

"That's the lovely thing about trains. There is always another one coming down the tracks."

I laugh at my husband's reckless confidence and feel the lingering tension of the outside world begin to drain from me.

In the real world I have to be the perfect wife and hostess. A feat that takes considerable time and energy to accomplish. Not to mention a village of assistants- the party planners, the personal trainers, the publicists. Yet I was happy to do it. Whatever it takes to support James and help him navigate his way up the greasy corporate ladder.

Some people might think it's a humble ambition but all I've ever wanted was to be the woman behind a great man. To have the dashing successful hubby who adores me, the beautiful home, the luxury lifestyle. I have all that and more.

And yet...

Yet a happy rut is still a rut. After five years of marriage I crave something different. An opportunity to cut loose a little. Let my hair down. At least metaphorically speaking. In a more literal sense, my long dark hair is piled atop my head in an elaborate updo. James twines his fingers into it and angles my head so that he can plunder my mouth. I return his kiss, giving as good as I get. Thrusting my tongue to duel with his. His cock responds, swelling inside of me, filling me completely.

"Tell me, will it be dangerous?" I ask when he finally lets me up for air.

"It could be. Need I remind you that this trip down the dark side was your idea, my love? We could have gone on a leisurely riverboat cruise or tried our hand at a quaint homesteader fantasy. But no, you wanted something with higher stakes."

"There is no point in games of chance if the stakes aren't suitably high." I dig my nails into his broad shoulders and he reacts with a low grunt. "Besides, who ever heard of a quaint, leisurely adventure."

"Brave talk. Tell me, would you die for me Lily?" He challenges.

I pull away slightly to search his face. "I thought you said no one could get hurt in the park."

"I said they couldn't be shot. That doesn't mean a guest can't fall off a horse and break their neck or stumble onto the railroad tracks and- splat. As you said it wouldn't be any fun if there wasn't some risk involved. A hint of danger." The final word rolls off his tongue seductively. Then he takes that tongue and runs it along the column of my neck.

He draws me back and his scent envelopes me- leather, sandalwood, and sex. Familiar and yet not, comforting and yet thrilling. Just like the man himself.

"Of course, I'd die for you James," I answer without hesitation. "A hundred times. What about you, would you fly into the arms of Death for me?"

"I'd certainly give Death a sound talking to on your behalf." His tone is aloof but there is a playful glint in his eyes.

"James!" I shove at his chest in indignation.

"And if he didn't see reason I'd force him to drag me down to hell with you. For a life without you would be infinitely worse than an eternity of hellfire." I stare deep into his sea blue eyes, the playfulness is gone and I know that he means every word.

Staking his claim on my mouth again, he slides his shaft deeper, piercing me to the core. His tongue delves into my mouth with the most sensual rhythm, both soft and firm, mimicking the rhythm of his thrusts. He releases my lips and I am still busy taking in a gasping breath when he dips his head down to suckle my breast. I let out a yelp followed quickly by a moan as he bites my nipple and then laves his tongue over it to dull the sting.

"But let's not talk about such serious things now. Let's talk about the fun we're about to have."

I rock against my husband's hard length and purr, "I thought we were already having fun."

He growls, "oh darling, you haven't seen anything yet."

James' seems to have abandoned his 'all the time in the world' approach. He fucks me as hard and fast as a man who is 10 minutes late for his appointment with the hangman. My head thumps against the wall with each powerful thrust he takes, and my heavy breasts bounce over the edge of my corset. I have to wrap my long legs tight around his waist to prevent from being nailed into the wall.

In a lustful daze, I turn my head and catch my reflection in the mirror across the room. I hardly recognize the woman I see there. Pale cheeks flushed from heat and pleasure. Cupids bow mouth swollen from kisses. Eyes, normally the same shade of sapphire as my dress, darkened by desire. I could easily pass for a common strumpet and to my surprise the look suits me well.

James shows me no mercy. The muscles in his arms flex as he raises me up and slams me down onto his pole. Sweat pours off us as I dig the heels of my oxford shoes into his rock-hard ass to spur him on in our frenzied dash towards climax. I am still staring at the harlot in the mirror when I reach that sought for destination. The peak of pleasure hits me like a locomotive and I cry out with the intensity of it. James quickly follows me, roaring loudly into my ear as he floods my insides with his warm cum.

Together we ride out the last shuddery pulses of joy before he sets me down on wobbly legs. James rakes me over with a dangerously possessive gaze. With his scent on my skin and his cum dripping down my thighs I've been effectively branded as his property. The idea is crude and taboo yet deeply erotic.

Well I declare! With an introduction like that I can't wait to see what attractions Westworld has in store for me next.

*

My hair is mostly righted and my dress is nearly shaken free of wrinkles by the time James and I descend the stairs of the Mariposa saloon a few minutes later. Before I even reach the bottom of the staircase I find myself eyeballs deep in Old West atmosphere. The pungent aroma of sweat, horse shit and stale tobacco. The dark damask wallpaper interspersed with the occasional mounted animal head or lewd painting. The player piano singing out an olde timey version of

Blurred Lines

is a particularly nice touch.

This is my first time here and the level of detail is truly astonishing. When I'd found out the hefty price tag a week at Westworld ran I expected it to be a good deal more authentic than Knott's Berry Farm but the sawdust strewn pine wood floor and the whiskey soaked bar top are far beyond my wildest expectations. As a man at a nearby table spits tobacco onto the floor mere inches from my feet, I think maybe it is a little too authentic for my taste.

James points out the madame of the establishment conversing with the mustachioed barkeep. She is stunning with tawny skin and perfectly proportioned features. Her slender body is wrapped in black and magenta silk that stops scandalously north of the knee. The plume of feathers in her raven hair bob slightly as she glides past me with evident authority.

She seems so lifelike I can't help but wonder what really separates the hosts from us anyhow? Surely we have the same needs and desires. Order, intimacy, a sense of purpose. As well as the same human failings, ignorance, envy and greed to name just a few.

Speaking of greed, an argument develops between two grim-faced gamblers over the result of a poker hand. Before the dispute can lead to violence, James clutches my arm protectively and we jostle past the surly gamblers and the thirsty travelers to make our way to the far corner of the saloon where most of the McCoy Gang is already assembled. There is Curley and Squirrelly and Cookie and any other spaghetti western cliché one could possibly wish for.

They're little more than movie extras. One dimensional characters needed to flesh out the scene and add occasional comic relief. Right on cue, the portly bald fellow elbows the wiry fellow beside him who returns the gesture in kind, knocking the fat one off the bench and straight onto his behind. I try yet fail to stifle an eye roll.

"There you are." A familiar voice calls out. I don't even have to look to know who it belongs to. Sure enough when I do glance over Luke is waving us to an otherwise empty table. He grins, flashing teeth as straight and shiny as the silver buttons on his slick silk vest.

Luke is James' friend and colleague at their VC firm. I can't say that I like him very much. He's arrogant, selfish and sleazy, although he is refreshingly upfront about it. A wolf in wolf's clothing. Or maybe a weasel. I can appreciate the lack of pretense at least. Most people want you to believe they are a good person. Luke doesn't even bother pretending to be someone he's so obviously not. I suppose when your daddy has more money than Midas you can afford that luxury.

Maybe I even envy him a little. I do not have the liberty of not caring what others think of me. Not after being trained up from birth to be a good little girl. Be ladylike. Be polite. Don't step out of the box. Don't say what you're really thinking. But not here. Here in this brave new world I can do whatever I want, say whatever I want. Be whoever I want.

We've barely been seated before Luke places a shot of whiskey before James and me and then crudely points at a well-endowed whore in a lowcut emerald gown over at the bar. "I screwed her on my last visit, I swear she screamed just like the girl I fucked in the shitter at junior prom. I mean it was uncanny. If that doesn't make Alan Turing proud, I don't know what would."

"I don't think you know much about Turing." I rebut as I take a swig of what is affectionately called coffin varnish. It burns all the way down but it makes me feel alive.

Luke's eyes narrow as he looks me over suspiciously. "Are you sure you can handle this game, Lily. Robbing a train is not exactly the same as arranging a dinner party."

Of course I have doubts, I'm not an idiot, but I'll be damned if I let Luke know that. "They're not as different as you may think. Both are only one slip up away from disaster. For instance, with my feeble female brain, I might mix up the sugar with the rat poison and wipe out a whole board of directors like that." I end by snapping my fingers sharply.

James chuckles proudly at that. "She got you there Luke. You love her salmon canapes, so you better play nice."

Luke's smug grin turns into a scowl. "I'll never understand you James. Why would anyone take their wife to a place like this? It's like bringing your own steer to a steakhouse."

"A charming metaphor. It's a wonder you're still single." James downs his shot and wipes the whiskey from his lips with the back of his hand. "You, my gluttonous friend, consume merely to satisfy an appetite. A true connoisseur won't put just anything in their mouth. They allow only the most delectable morsels to pass their lips." As James speaks he hooks my chair with one leg and steadily drags me near. Though he directs his words at Luke his gaze never leaves mine. "For once you've tasted of ambrosia no ordinary dish will do."

We are nearly face to face now and he lunges forward to press his mouth against mine. His tongue delves inside, tasting me deeply as if to illustrate his point in the most explicit way.

When I peek over Luke is looking rather green in the gills at the sight of our sappy display. "Let the connoisseurs starve waiting around for that perfect rare delicacy to turn up. I'm hungry now."

As if conjured by magic (or simply good programming) a pretty redhead materializes at Luke's side. She leans forward, a practiced come-hither smile painted across her dark red lips. "Well hello, cowboy. That's a powerful looking six-shooter you got there." She reaches down to his gun belt to run a coy finger along the barrel of said six-shooter.

Luke, who was never one to turn down a direct sales pitch, smirks and says, "Take care, little lady, it's been known to go off without warning."

"Now that's something I'd like to see." The harlot raises one scarlet eyebrow. "Lucky for us both we offer private target practice right up them stairs."

Luke shoots James a playful wink, "I think I hear the dinner bell now."

Without further ado he drapes an arm around the redhead's shoulders and proceeds to lead her towards the private rooms on the second floor. They've just reached the bottom step when the saloon doors suddenly swing open.

"Not so fast partner," a booming voice rings out stopping the couple in their tracks. "before you go dipping your wick, we've got some business to see to. But don't fret, once we've finished you'll have enough pesos to mount every filly in this here stable."

Silhouetted against the midday sun, Sawyer McCoy cut quite a fine figure. Long lean lines, straight spine, wide stance. He radiates the kind of command one would expect from a legendary outlaw. It's so palpable that when he saunters towards the bar, spurs jangling, everyone around him parts way to let him pass.

As he draws near I suck in a sharp breath. Tan, rugged and dangerous looking, he could have stepped off the cover of one of those naughty cowboy novels with titles like

Blazing Hot Saddles

, and

The Quick and the Dead Sexy

. His eyes are so dark and piercing that I have a hard time tearing my gaze from them. When I finally manage to cast my eyes south I can't help but notice the way he is practically painted into his black leather pants. Not a stitch out of place. (Ok, so maybe there is something to be said for attention to detail after all.)

Don't get me wrong. McCoy is undoubtably a first-rate harlequin heartthrob but he still can't hold a candle to my James. I allow myself a moment to admire my husband through the bluish haze of cigar smoke that hangs in the air. He is so flawless it's almost like I'd dreamed him up. My heart flutters as he rakes an unruly lock of blond hair out of his eyes. You'd think after all these years the excitement would subside but I still feel that flutter every time I look at him.

Sawyer's voice, low and strong, breaks through my daydream. It easily cuts through the boisterous laughter to capture the attention of everyone in earshot. Even the player piano is suddenly rendered mute.

"My daddy was a bricklayer. He was the most honest, hardworking man I ever knew, right up until the day he died, crushed under a 2-ton wall at the age of 35. I wasn't nothing but a youngin' then but I remember when my mother got the news. The boss man couldn't be bothered to delivery it in person. Instead he sent a telegram along with a ham and an eviction notice."

"Men like my father built this country brick by brick and what did he have to show for it? Nothing but a broke back and a ham for his widow. But the West- the West was built by people who don't wait around for their 'betters' to share the fruits of their own hard labor. Oh, no. They make their own destiny, forge their own path. Take what is theirs."

"Seems you gentlemen got a choice to make. Pardon me, gentlemen and lady." Sawyer shoots a wicked smile my way and I struggle not to blush. "You could be like my daddy and let Destiny make you his whipping boy. Or you can ride with me and together we will seize Destiny by the short and curlies!"

Better to bend fate over a barrel before it can do the same to you; Sawyer McCoy's philosophy in a nutshell. It's not exactly Tony Robbins approved but judging by the cheers that erupts from the men, the inspirational speech has hit its mark. I join in too, swept up by the emotion and more than willing to show fate just who will be the one doing the bending.

*

James and I are chosen for the advance team, as we look like the respectable sort. So we're sent along to act as ordinary passengers. We board the train and take the bench near the back row. Once settled I straighten up to peer over the top of the seat to scan the half full car.

Across the aisle a couple of swells with their dapper suits and overly waxed mustaches chat loudly with one another. In the front are a few prospectors, if the dirt on their faces and the bags of loot they clutch protectively to their chests are any indication. I can't be sure which are guests and which are hosts. Though I suppose that's part of the point.

The couple who sits immediately in front of me appear to be a genuine Lady and her well-to-do husband out for a jaunt in their Sunday best. Not unlike James and me in another world I think to myself.

Yet the sensation of the cool metal pistol strapped to my garter reminds me that this is not that world and this is far from a typical date night. As the train pulls away from the station my pulse races like a horse at full gallop and my palms grow sweaty under my kid gloves. I want to take them off but it wouldn't be proper.

I start when James softly says, "you look tense." As he slips his hand up my skirt my racing heart kicks up a few beats faster.

"Act casual. We mustn't let on that anything is amiss." he whispers into my ear while he strokes higher and higher up my naked thigh. Though I try to resist I feel myself immediately becoming aroused the way I always do when he touches me. The already stuffy cabin grows stiflingly hot and I flick open my silk fan and begin to wave it.

"James," I plead. My gaze shifts from side to side to make sure no one is watching. It feels wrong to be acting so wantonly in front of strangers. Even strangers we are about to rob.

"Lily. We're here to blow off some steam. So relax and enjoy yourself. That's an order." A low rumble escapes from his throat when his fingers reach the summit of my thighs and discover the wetness there. I bite my bottom lip to stop the gasp of pleasure from slipping out. Still I am too nervous to surrender completely.

"Someday we're going to really slip away, away from the board meetings and the charity balls and the gossiping social climbers..." He brings up concerns too close to home for my liking.

"Once we have the loot we'll be fugitives from justice. Where will we go?" I slip back into the role-play and he rolls with it without skipping a beat. His fingers never stop tracing the folds of my sex.