Matthew (BBW Country Music Bear Shifter Romance) (Bearly Saints Book 1) (115 page)

Each hand grabbing a hip, Michael pushed into her, letting her tight walls adjust to him.  Carla looked ahead again, focusing on his reflection looming over her.  She could see his taut muscles ripple as he backed out of her then plunged in again.  His knees bent as he found the right angle and he picked up his rhythm.  In and out.  His balls crashed into the backs of her thighs as he took her.  She was his, completely and utterly.  She stretched her arms wide and pressed her fingertips into the grain of the wood.  Each thrust rubbed her nipples against the table, sending little sparks of pleasure through her.  Michael thrust harder and faster.  Carla moaned and whimpered, close to orgasm herself.

Through the reflection, Carla could see Michael completely focused on slamming his cock in and out of her tight sex.  He bit his lip and grimaced.  She knew he was on the edge.  

“Cum inside me!” she commanded.

Michael uttered a low primitive grunt as he thrust as deep as he could.  She felt his balls contract and the first of several throbs travelled from the base of his cock to the tip.  She felt hot sticky ropes of cum rush into her and she exploded in orgasm.  A wildfire spread from her core to her toes and fingertips.  She looked out across the bay and marvelled at all the stars in the sky, feeling as if she were among them.  The muscles of her sex milked his cock for all his precious seed, instinctively knowing she needed all of it.   He grunted and thrust again, sending another spurt into her.  She lay the side of her head down against the table.

Still inside of her, he bent down and kissed the back of her neck and her shoulders.  He began to back up but her feet sprang up pulled him back into her.

“More kisses, please,” she said with her eyes closed.

Smiling, he bent down and kissed her neck and shoulders repeatedly.

“When I’m done in Maryland I’ll be coming back here for another meeting,” Michael said.

“You might forget something in the conference room again!” Carla giggled.

FIN

MOUNTED IN THE STABLE TITLE PAGE

Mounted in the Stable

by

Becca Fanning

MOUNTED IN THE STABLE

Abby’s horse turned left around the last turn and she brought him to a halt.  A cloud of dust settled behind her.  Damnit.  That last trick was not championship material.  She’d have to push Wild Blue harder than he’s worked before if she wanted to make real time.  

She brought Blue around for another run.  The large oval arena was still sparse at this early hour, giving her all the room she needed to practice her trick riding.  The large spotlights that would illuminate the 2013 Trick Riding Championship tonight sat dormant.  Most of the attendees would come for the bull riding events, but trick horse riders were a special breed.

Abby was an experienced cowgirl, but she was new to professional competitions like this.  Some of these girls grew up doing this, destined for the spotlight.  She was just a rancher’s daughter, but she had natural talent.  She knew the key was to pay attention to the beast under her: every sound and motion would influence her next trick.  

“Come on, Blue! Yup yup!” 

Abby started Blue off at a trot, letting his muscles warm up.  His warmup tack was smooth leather, function over form.  As he picked up speed, she stood up in her stirrups, timing her movements to match when Blue’s hoofs were all off the ground.  His hoofs came down and Abby felt the pull of gravity against her feet: feet that still ached from ballet class.

Abby’s athletic body was a necessary tool for both her passions: riding and dancing.  They harmonized very well.  Her strong thighs were able to grip Blue through the saddle and were another way to communicate with him.  She sat back down in the saddle and squeezed Blue with her legs.  This signal told him to maintain the same speed and be ready for her weight to go off one side.  

During the day she’d be pursuing her Master’s in Dance from Nevada Academy of the Arts.  Her nights were spent riding Wild Blue around the ranch.  She did ok with vaults, but strap tricks were what she loved to do.  She could hang every which way off a horse going full gallop and barely break a sweat.  She was an adrenaline junkie.  After giving her Mom enough near heart attacks, Abby thought she should try doing her wild stunts in front of a crowd.

“Steady,” she said.

Abby lifted her right leg out of its stirrup and crouched on Blue’s left side.  She watched his broad flank tense and release with every step, sending vibrations all through her body.  Her shoulder length black hair, tied up in a pony tail, bobbed up and down.  The weightlessness she felt during this trick was mesmerizing: she wanted to close her eyes and imagine she was riding the wind.  A slight whinny from Blue brought her back to the present.  She switched to his other side and crouched there a moment before letting her free foot touch the ground.  These drag moves were favorites of judges when done right, but they were hell on her calves.  After a few seconds, she had to get back in the saddle.

The prize for this competition tonight was twenty five thousand dollars.  The ranch could definitely use the money since Dad passed away.  Not a lot of people came to their dude ranch these days.  They lived month to month, barely scraping by.  Abby offered many times to drop out of her dance program, but her Mom was adamantly against it.  The program was paid for through grants, and besides there was nothing on the ranch to do.  If things were a little tighter some months than others, that was fine with Mom.

“Are you here to compete or do you want some lessons?” someone called out.

Abby looked to her left and found the lone heckler.  Tonya Dewitt.  Reigning stunt horse champion, and Abby’s fiercest competition.  Standing behind the fencing, Tonya wore a vicious smile.  Her eyes said she didn’t consider Abby to be real competition.  Rumor had it Tonya had an entire room in her home for her trophies.  The past four years had been nothing but victories for her, adding to an already enormous ego.  

Tonya had hired Abby to do some menial stable care tasks last year.  She fired Abby, accusing her of mistreating the horses.  Tonya had a history of making these allegations against people she didn’t want to pay fully.  Ego and reputation wounded, Abby had to accept the lower payment to keep the bill collectors away that month.  

“Well you know what they say about teachers,” Abby replied, riding Wild Blue over to where Tonya stood.

“What’s that?” 

“Those who can’t, teach,” Abby fired back.  

“That’s funny.  It’s good to have a sense of humor if you have nothing else.”

“You’re not going to practice?”

“Practice makes perfect, but once you’re already there, more practice is just showing off.  I wouldn’t want you to feel intimidated,” Tonya said, smoothing her cowgirl hat over her blonde hair.

“You are so full of yourself!”

“Comes with the neighborhood when you’re the best.  Sometimes I feel sorry for losers like you: you have to imagine what this feels like.”

“See you next Tuesday,” Abby said, leaving Tonya confused.  Pulling twice on Blue’s left reign, he understood her command perfectly.  As he trotted in place, a huge cloud of dust kicked up in Tonya’s face and she turned away coughing.

“Blue, that was not nice,” Abby said, walking him out of the arena.  

The Nevada Conway center, host to this year’s rodeo championship, was just beginning to fill up.  These practice rounds were to get the horses and riders warmed up for later.  She had a few hours before the event, and she knew Blue needed some rest before she rode him again.

Passing by the judge’s table, she saw one just had gotten there early.  And boy, was he a looker!  Short cropped black hair peeking out from under a cool brown Gus Stetson cowboy hat.  Her own bright pinchfront felt hat fell forward as Blue stopped suddenly.  She was pitched forward a bit and recovered to see she had almost collided with another horse.  

“Sorry!” she exclaimed to the perturbed rider.

She looked back at the judges table and the man was standing, letting her check out

the rest of him.  His boots were well worn but clean.  She was pleased to note he didn’t wear spurs: she hated people who wore cowboy gear like a costume.  He wasn’t riding, he didn’t need spurs.  His blue jeans went up to a tasteful turquoise belt buckle.  His white checkerboard shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, stretching over his wide muscular frame.  Bright blue eyes looked right at her and she felt her jaw drop open.  She became very conscious of the hard saddle pushed up against her sex.  Composing herself, she led Blue out towards the stables, but not before stealing one more look towards the judge’s table.

The man had sat back down and was stretching back in his chair, looking at the early bird crowds in the bleachers.  On the table sat a placard with the judge’s name: Tom Dewitt.

Shit, shit, shit!  Abby didn’t know how to process a relative of Tonya’s judging the event they were both competing in.  Tonya was known for being as cutthroat as they come, and stacking the judges’ table was right up her alley.  Abby needed to make sure there wasn’t just some kind of coincidence.  

She brought Blue into his stall and began removing his show tack.  The stirrups and

saddle came off, but she left the hackamore on: Blue hated when she put that on his face, but was fine once it was on.  She didn’t want to upset him so close to competition time.  A quick brush down and some soothing words had him happily neighing.

Outside the stall, Abby leaned back against Blue’s gate and considered her options.  She took out her phone and launched Facebook.  Ignoring all the well wishes from friends and family about the big day, she ran a search.  Tonya’s page came up, but it was completely locked down.  Of course it was.  Women have to be a lot more careful these days.  She did a search for Tom.  Bingo!  No photo available, but Tom Dewitt was Tonya’s cousin.

Abby knew she had to go on the offensive.  If she just sat back, Tonya would steal this championship out from under her.  Abby knew what she had to do.  The more she thought about it, the more she liked it.  She had never done something this naughty before.  Sure, she had a few lovers, but never out of revenge or an ulterior motive.  She felt her body get warmer and undid the top button of her riding jacket.  An inappropriate amount of cleavage showed as her full C-cup breasts threatened to pop the last two buttons.  A dull pang ached up from her tight sex, reminding her that she'd practically been celibate these past four months.

She made her way back to the judges' table, and was pleased to see Tom still sitting alone.  He leaned backwards in his chair, taking in the whole arena.  Abby swaggered up to the table and sat on the end, stretching her long thin legs out in front of her.  She watched Tom's eyes take their time to work up her body.

"What a hot morning," she said.

"Hopefully it will cool off later."

"Riding always gets me worked up."

"Oh yeah?" Tom asked, grinning.

"Of course, the bigger the stallion, the better the riding."

Tom fell backwards out of his chair.  Abby struggled to stifle a belly shaking laugh.  Tom got up and dusted himself off, still a little vulnerable from his fall.  She knew it was time to strike.

"I have a problem that only a big strong man can help me with," she said, taking his hand.  Without waiting for a reply, she walked off towards the stables, a confused and dusty cowboy in tow.

She led him to an empty stall in the otherwise deserted stable.  Some straw covered the floor, giving the small enclosure a musky earthy smell.  Closing the gate behind them, she pointed at the metal bar at the far end of the stall.

"I think that bar might be loose.  Could you check it for me?" she asked.

"Umm, sure," Tom replied.  He moved to the bar and placed both hands on it.

"Mmm...now don't let go," Abby said, wrapping her hands around him from behind.  Tom made to turn around, but she firmly corrected him.  She pressed her nose against his shirt and inhaled his sporty clean scent.  Her hands squeezed his firm chest and tweaked his nipples.  Hers were rock hard and getting sore from being trapped in her jacket.

"Whoa, what is this all about?" he asked, breathing deeply.

"I need something from you.  I have a feeling you have a need as well," Abby said, her hands trailing down his flat stomach.  Her hand passed over his belt buckle and settled on the growing bulge in his jeans.  Tom groaned and tried to press his crotch against her hand.

"Oh my, you're like a stallion about to stud.  Do you want to empty your balls into this little mare?"

Abby's hands worked to undo his button fly.  She reached inside and freed his thick cock to dangle down.  It pulsed with every touch and was quickly filling up to stand at full attention.  Gripping him in her hand made Abby's sex spasm: she felt light headed for a moment and had to steady herself on Tom's back.  Regaining her composure, Abby reached back into his pants and felt his balls.

"Oh yeah, you have a need.  These are ready to explode, you poor thing."

Abby took a firm grip at the base of his manhood.  She felt his pulse quicken and in moments his cock was at full attention.  She began to stroke his shaft.  His breaths became shallow and quick.  She knew he was close.  She slowed her pace, giving him one good squeeze from the base all the way to the tip.  She felt warm dampness at the end of her fingertips.

"A little treat for me?" Abby asked, bringing her fingers to her mouth.  She swallowed his salty precum with satisfaction.

"Would you be willing to do something else for me?"

"Whatever you want!" he replied enthusiastically.

"What I want is to win the trick riding competition," she whispered in his ear.

"Huh?" Tom replied, turning around.

A voice came from the entrance of the stable, "And this is our stable.  We have forty-four stalls, each one keeping the horses safe and secure."