Lesbian Cowboys (23 page)

“Nobody here I'd call a lady,” I said, looking her straight in the eye, “but I'll have a go at it anyway.” I shrugged off my denim jacket and handed it to Cal, shoving him back a bit to give me room. All I wore underneath was an old white tank top smelling of sweat and horses. She handed me three darts, took my money, leaned a little farther forward, and tucked the bills loosely into her cleavage. The clueless males watching didn't seem to have any doubt that her show was for their benefit.

I raised my arm to pitch the first dart. The gaze of half the guys switched to the movement of my heavy tits—but her gaze was all that counted. And it was all I'd hoped for.

My first throw hit a red balloon, just making it bob sideways. “A real teaser, huh?” Her tone was impersonal, but a sidelong glance at my face and then my big hand hinted at more. I threw again, with a better idea of the angle required, and this time the balloon snapped and shriveled into a limp dangle of rubber. My inner tension built. When I popped the next one, too, the pressure exploding out of it seemed to pump me up right where it mattered most.

“Way to go, girl! Second shelf prize,” she said. “What'll it be?”

I stifled the impulse to ask if she was still so sure her ass wasn't on that shelf. “Go on to the next guy and let me think on it a minute, okay?” I said, and she nodded, so I got down to business with my brothers. Not that I wasn't thinking on my prize real hard.

“You two go on ahead,” I muttered, hauling them away. “We have to get going early tomorrow morning. Tell you what, order us all some apple crisp with ice cream down the way at that church booth, and I'll meet you there in a minute.”

“Rather have some fried dough,” Cal grumbled.

“Okay, whatever, anything but those damned fried onion sunburst deals!”

Cal took the money I passed him, still looking longingly back at the balloon game. Ethan looked, too, but more shyly. “Her name's Carla,” Cal said. “From Boston.” As if her accent, its nasal edge a notch beyond our own upcountry twang, hadn't been a give-away. “Isn't she hot? I told her about the horse pull tomorrow, and she said she likes to watch the big ones.”

“I'll bet she does,” I said. “Move your butts along now.” And they went. Every time they do what I say I figure it may be the last, but this time I was paying them well to help with the team, so they were less inclined to argue.

When I turned back, a girl who'd been looking for her
boyfriend was making a scene at the other end of the booth. Under cover of the distraction, Carla leaned close to me. “Your brothers?” she asked, jerking her head toward Cal and Ethan's retreating asses.

“'Fraid so,” I said. “You got a thing for big dumb farm boys?”

She shrugged, clearly aware that the movement made her shirt gape farther open, and that I was enjoying the view. “Not when there's a big farm girl around to distract me.”

“You forgot the dumb part.”

Carla looked me over slowly and thoroughly, her gaze moving down over my substantial midriff to rest on the crotch of my faded jeans.

“I'm not noticing any dumb parts,” she drawled.

Damn!
But attention was swinging back toward us. “So how about my prize?” I asked. “You choose for me.”

She reached for a cluster of long ropes of Mardi Gras beads, slung them over my head, then swished them back and forth across my chest. My nipples responded with visible enthusiasm. “Here's a first installment,” she murmured. “You gonna be around later?”

“Not tonight. Got an early wake-up call coming and a busy morning.” Which wouldn't have held me back if I hadn't known Cal would come looking when I didn't show up at our RV to sleep. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

“Will you be at that horse pull deal the boys were talking about?”

“Wouldn't miss it.” I pulled the hank of beads off over my short pale hair and handed it back to her. “How about you hang onto these until I see you again.”

A couple of customers were waving money at her by then, but Carla stuck with me for another few seconds. “Okay, but keep this one.” Before I could see what she was up to, my wrists
were tightly bound together by a strand of purple plastic beads. “So you won't forget.”

Then she was playing to the crowd of men again, hips swaying, mouth sassing. I got my own mouth closed, stepped back into the shadows, and watched for a minute. What
was
it about her? She was good-looking but not gorgeous, and not really all that young. Which was fine with me. More than fine. What she was, was…knowing. “Hot” pretty well covered it. Hot, on the verge of bursting into flame. Something in the way she moved, as if the stroke of her clothes along her body kept her always turned on, hinted at sexual expertise country hicks at county fairs could only imagine.

I looked down at my bound wrists and imagined plenty. Breaking the fragile string would have been easy, but I wriggled loose with care, just in time to hide the beads in my pocket before Cal and Ethan came back to find me.

My imagination kept hard at work a good part of the night, too, which might have happened even if a strand of purple beads hadn't been nestled deep into the warm, wet heat between my thighs. I wasn't a dumb farm girl, not anymore, but whatever I'd got up to with girls at UMass and then in postgrad at UConn, it hadn't been much like this. I don't say that no femmes go for veterinary medicine degrees, but I sure hadn't come across anybody like Carla. The way she flaunted her body, and teased mine with her eyes; the thrust of her breasts and sway of her hips, offering and daring both at the same time… Well before dawn I had to get out of the RV and find a place to do some serious solitary teasing and thrusting of my own, and even that only slowed me down to a simmer.

In the morning the horses got me back on focus. Molly and Stark had been pulling in competitions all summer and knew what was what. They were about as psyched up as Percherons
get, and maybe more than most. The huge black horses have been bred for double-muscling for centuries, but they have spirit and heart as well.

By noon they'd come through the first few elimination rounds and hardly broken a sweat. This last load had been more of a challenge, but they'd handled it well. There were only four teams left in competition, and two of them I knew we couldn't beat without straining hard enough to risk injury. My pair were relatively young, full-grown but without all the heft a few more years would give them, and Molly would never quite achieve the muscle mass her brother could. Letting a mare pull was, in fact, pretty rare. I got a lot of flak from old-timers for it, but she had the spirit, and I'd decided to give her one more year before breeding her and complicating her life with motherhood.

I watched the loader piling another 1,500 pounds of concrete blocks on the stoneboat. So far I'd never set the team at a weight I wasn't sure they could handle. Should I drop out at this stage and settle for an honorable fourth? Would I quit now, if I didn't want so badly to impress somebody who was watching?

Hell no!
Molly nudged me hard with her big velvety nose and blew as though in agreement. I whacked her shoulder companionably, turning my head a few degrees—and there was Carla right in my line of sight. Her mouth hung open, and her eyes were wide with something that might have been fear. I grinned and nodded. Her usual cock-sure, seductive expression took over again right away, but she still eyed Molly warily.

Then Cal waved and called to her, and I had to whack
his
shoulder to get him back on task. The first team of this round was trotting toward the loaded sledge. I was sure these huge Belgians were up to the weight, but their driver's helpers didn't get a secure hook before the horses bolted forward, and missed
on the second try, too, so that by the time they did get a good hook the team was too flustered to pull together. I elbowed Cal meaningfully in the ribs.

The second team gave it a good try, but stopped a few feet short in spite of all their driver's yelling. Then we were up. I bent for one last feel of each horse's hocks to be sure there was no tenderness, straightened from between enormous equine legs—and the quick flash of horrified awe in Carla's eyes sent a jolt of power crackling through my cunt.

Wow! But…no time for that now.
No time for anything beyond keeping control of the eager horses while Cal and Ethan hustled to drop the evener onto the hook, and then the team's surge of power when I sent the order through the lines. The loaded stoneboat moved, caught, moved again, slid a few feet, slowed—“Hup! Hup! Hup!” I hurled my voice at them like an extra ton of muscle, of breath, of heart, and they took it all and gave back more, struggling onward just because they refused to stop. And then the judge signaled that they'd made the distance, and the boys released the sled.

My gorgeous pair of black, sweat-flecked treasures pranced back to the far end of the arena, proud, hyped by the applause, and, I knew from their gait, just slightly sore from the strain on their hocks.

After the last team made its distance, I waved off the next round. Second place was fine for now. Molly and Stark would give me everything they had, but I didn't need to make them find their limit at the risk of injury.

When the event was over and the rosettes awarded, I drove them into the warm sunshine, keeping an eye out for Carla. Cal and Ethan had been headed off by a gaggle of cheerleader chicks, just the types that always give me flashbacks to the horrors of high school. The boys were welcome to 'em.

There she was, keeping a safe distance. “That was…something.” Words uncharacteristically failed her.

“Sure was,” I agreed. “I need to get them rubbed down now and tape their legs. Want to come along and make their closer acquaintance?”

“I have to get back…I'm late already…but I close down tonight at 10.” Molly's inquisitive black head swung toward her. Carla stepped back in a hurry.

“Then 10 is when I'll be there,” I said, riding a wave of confidence.

Carla tried for a note of command. “You'd better be.” She turned away, her fine ass eloquent with an assumption of power. But I'd seen some cracks in her eat-my-attitude self-possession, some fear and awe, maybe even excitement. And I'd enjoyed the hell out of how it made me feel. Those beads tight around my wrists—well, they'd sure sparked a tingle of anticipation and curiosity, and there was no denying that I'd go along with a lot just for the promise of some hot, wet, sweaty sex. Still, power was such a rush…It was going to be an interesting night, to say the least.

I was there, in fact, at 8, and again at 9, just passing by, in range of her voice but not in her line of sight. Cal caught up with me in the next row at 9:30 and groused that Carla had turned him down. “She's prowling around like a cat in heat, but says she's got other plans, and that's that. Didn't exactly tell me to fuck off, but close enough.”

“You can still borrow my pickup,” I said generously. “I'll probably just keep an eye on the horses tonight in the barn. What about those girls who've been trailing you around all day? I saw a couple of 'em hanging with Ethan over by the Tilt-a-Whirl.” He shrugged, but grabbed my keys fast enough and took off toward the rides with a fair show of enthusiasm. Good
thing he was too full of what filled his own pants to notice how his big sister was prowling around.

At 10 sharp Carla was shooing the last few customers away. I stepped up, unlatched the front canvas flap, and started to lower it. “Closing time, sport,” I said to the last reluctant straggler. He started to object, tilted back his head to look up at me, paused reflexively at my chest, finally saw my expression, and decided he had business elsewhere. I dropped the flap to close us in and stepped over the low barrier—and into a role I was making up as I went along.

Her back was turned while she unclipped balloon fragments from the backboard. She'd shot me a little smile when I arrived, but there was something tentative about it, wary. Or maybe even nervous. I kind of liked the idea of making her nervous.

“So what does it take,” I asked, pressing right up against her ass and putting my hands on her hips, “for a big old farm girl to distract you?”

She turned right around into my arms and did a slow grind against me. “It's been a while since I got that lucky,” she said against my chin. “What do you generally have in mind when you pick up slutty carnival hucksters?”

“Once I pick ‘em up,” I said, digging my hands into her round asscheeks and raising her so that her breasts rested above mine, “my mind doesn't have all that much to do with it.” Which was pretty much true. “But I've been known to offer to buy a girl dinner. To keep her strength up.”

She grabbed onto my shoulders and pushed herself higher. My nose was right in her cleavage, and her musky scent telegraphed messages all the way down to my dampening cunt. “If you're hungry,” she teased, “I have better ideas. If you think you can keep your strength up.”

Well, I had better ideas, too. Like digging my teeth into the
lace of her bra where it peeked through her unbuttoned shirt, and tugging. One nipple was about to pop free from constraint. “Hungry” didn't begin to describe it.

“But not here,” she said, digging her knees hard into my midriff and straining away. I whoofed, groaned a complaint, and let her slide gradually down. One bent knee ground deliberately into my crotch as it went past, forcing out a different tone of groan.

“Think of the show we're putting on for anybody watching our shadows through the canvas,” she said, once her feet were on the ground.