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Standardbreds pulling their buggies, draft horses working in the fields and a litter of kids doing all the farm labor and housework.
But for now, Becky was getting what she needed by using Sig.
And Sig was using her.
It was an agreement that benefitted them both.
So, until Becky changed her last name, Sig was getting what the fuck he could. And Becky was getting what she asked for.
“You know what the fuck to do,” he growled.
She turned, her long blonde hair swinging, and went over to two straw bales stacked along one of the stall walls. She faced them, leaned over, and yanked her dress up and over her ass, exposing the fact she wore no underwear.
Exposing the fact the woman had never shaved that ripe-for-the-picking pussy.
Normally, he didn’t like that. But knowing he couldn’t go there, it drove him fucking nuts, making his dick throb and leak like crazy.
Yeah, he couldn’t go there, but she was willing to give him something else.
He yanked his jeans up slightly so he could follow her, then stood far enough away from her to give himself a good downswing.
He didn’t even warn her or hesitate. Because ever since he got her text, his mind had been on nothing but what was about to happen.
Today had been one of those fucking days where he’d been ready to crack. Just like the sharp crack of the leather against her bare ass.
However, that noise, that sight, almost made him come. But this was only the beginning and he needed to hang on. It’d only get better.
His arm raised again and her ass twitched in anticipation. A red narrow welt instantly decorated her pale cheek.
Goddamn beautiful.
He let his arm fall as hard as he could and another crack of leather against flesh filled the air. A little whimper escaped her as a sharp breath escaped him.
But this, so far, was nothing for her.
How she discovered what she liked and needed, he had no fucking clue. But he only knew he was not the first one to do this to her.
Her rumspringa started when she was sixteen and from what she told him, her and her friends had gotten a bit wild.
He brought the belt back down hard across both cheeks and she jerked forward with a moan. She now had multiple raised welts, but he wasn’t done.
She’d want more. And he needed to give her more.
Because every strike loosened up the tension deep in his gut.
Every strike helped his world stop spinning and curbed the urge to run.
Trip would be pissed if he bailed and left the Fury in the lurch. He did his best not to do that. At least not yet.
And this was one way he was handling it.
So, he gave Becky more of what she wanted and what he needed. Until both cheeks were a deep red, almost purple in some spots. Until she’d have a hard time sitting down.
Until he knew some of those welts would turn into bruises.
But not once had she ever told him to stop. She would’ve bitched at him if he had.
After a dozen or more strikes, when she finally reached back and put her hands on the inflamed skin of her ass, he knew she’d had enough.
He knew she was ready.
Fuck. So was he.
He dropped the belt to the ground, pulled a lubricated wrap from the front pocket of his jeans, ripped it open and rolled it down his throbbing length.
He shuffled forward and separated her burning hot, stripped and swollen cheeks, and brushed her tight, puckered hole with his thumb, making her groan into the straw.
Keeping her cheeks spread, he leaned over, spat on her anus and pushed his latex-covered cock against it.
Then closed his eyes as he slowly slid inside her.
She squeezed him tight and he had to stop to catch his breath. Because everything that had gone on before had him already teetering on the fucking edge.
It wouldn’t take much for him to topple.
But she loved him taking her up the ass, and he needed to make it good for her. Because she made it good for him.
And he didn’t want these secret meets to stop any time soon.
It was a perfect relationship.
He came over, he nutted, he went back to his apartment above the bunkhouse. No bitch to scrape off afterward. No clinging, no commitment.
No nagging cunt.
Even better, he got to burn off some of his pent-up rage using his belt. Or his hand. Or one of the buggy whips from the tack room. Whatever she was in the mood for.
When he left, they were both satisfied.
She got what she wanted, he got what he needed.
Fucking perfect.
Gritting his teeth, he dug his fingers into her full hips and began to pound her, watching the flesh of her marked ass ripple with each thrust.
After a few seconds, he reached around and played with her clit.
