Page 23 of Abandoned on His Mountain

“Horse fucks for one reason. To mate. To breed. The stallion owns his mare, he pushes that long thick dick deep inside, mounting them like a fucking king.”

My belly cramps as he pushes inside me until my body says no more. He must have tugged his pants down because his flesh is slapping against mine in wet, desperate thrusts that drive my face downward, scraping my cheek on the rough rug.

He pins me down with his body, bucking and thrusting his inches into my sore opening.

“Horse cocks are as thick as my arm. The head is flat and plugs the mare after release, knotting and locking them together so his seed stays right where it belongs until she’s bred with him.”

I grunt as he slips back, then forward, back, forward, as my insides ripple and I grit my teeth against the painful force of his brutal lust.

“You feel it? That big horse dick and the way the head is growing and growing as he pumps. Desperate for that mare to be swollen with his seed. You want all of it, don’t you? Don’t you?” He grunts as I writhe and struggle beneath him. He pumps his hips faster and faster as his weight presses my chest to the ground.

He holds me there, his hand around my throat, the other between my shoulders as his ragged breathing fills the air. He rides me hard, harder until my thighs are jelly and my orgasm bursts from me like a bull from a gate.

“That’s a good mare.” He growls as he constricts my airway, owning my entire body from back to front, his hips slapping on my flesh, wet sounds coming faster; and I want him to be mad for me like this forever. “Here comes your stallion’s prize. Take it all. You’re getting bred, baby. Raw and ripe for me.”

I drive myself back onto his steel, wanting more, more of what he’s giving me even as the devil watches, my sin on display as he swears to the ceiling on a roar. He’s spurting inside me, his body turning to stone as his chest presses to my back, that long thickness pulsing andgiving, giving, givinguntil I know I’m forgiven.

How this man can be so sweet then so rough and crude, so sinful and filthy I don’t know, but I love all of it. I feel purified by his use. I feel calm and centered and more like myself than I have ever in my life.

“You make me crazy, Little Red,” Davis pants, but I’m off in my own world on a cloud. “I’ve never felt like this. Soinsanefor someone. I hope you understand, baby. I love you. It’s making me crazy.”

He slips from me and curls me into his arms as I drink in what he’s said. Yesterday, I was fighting for my life, sure that I wouldn’t live through the winter.

Now, I’m as safe as I’ve ever felt with a mountain man that forgave all the sins which weren’t even mine.

“I love you, too,” I whisper as he curls me into his lap, his tongue pressing into my mouth and I know I want to be in his arms forever.

chaptereight

Marin

“Areyou sure we got everything you need?” Davis loads the last three bags into the back seat of his truck, pausing for a moment, his arms braced the sides of the open door.

He looks so sexy. I clench my thighs together as I nod.

“Yes, four kinds of shampoo and matching conditioner, four toothbrushes, different brands, so I can see which one I like better, cinnamon toothpaste, face wash, perfume, moisturizer, enough make up for a runway show…what else?”

He nods, closes the door, then slips in the front seat pushing the ignition button.

“Well, I learned girls have a strong preference for their lady products but I gotta say, you’re not going to need those things for long. But, you will need clothes. Let’s make one more quick stop, there’s a shop up ahead. You pick out whatever you want.”

I shiver, remembering his warm spend deep inside me and even now, it’s seeping from my opening, reminding me that I’ve not only lost my virginity to this burly mountain man, I’ve been full throttle lost in this breeding fantasy we have going.

But, at this rate, the way he’s filling me up, it won’t be fantasy for long.

A knot curls in my belly. Is it shame? Maybe.

I’ve been programmed since birth to think that sex outside of marriage makes you the worst sort of woman. I remember my Grandfather leading me into an empty room after church one Sunday when I was twelve. I thought I was dying. My panties were full of blood and I was sure it was my sin that was killing me.

He must have found them, because he put me in that room with Old Mrs. Kowsky who was at least eighty years old but she smelled like she was a hundred and ten. She spent the next hour giving me the strangest version of what for lack of a better way to explain it was the birds and the bees talk.

My blood was my shame. A reminder that women are the temptation. What a way to scar a girl. More shame, cool.

What’s strange though, is when Davis called me those names during our sexy times?

I loved it. I wanted more. I want to be his dirty plaything. The one that tempts him and leads him into damnation.

But, from the way he’s looking at me right now, he’s going willingly. And so am I.

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