Page 23 of Hurts So Good

Within seconds, he had my dress hiked up and my panties down. The coolness of the air hit me. Goosebumps ripened my skin. I sensed his hand as it cascaded down, barely having time to tighten my muscles before he made contact. The sting was instantaneous. The pop seemed loud in my ears. I gasped once before the next strike came. The moisture in my pussy drained to the outer lips. He always got this reaction. It was what he wanted.

He stroked his fingers over the palm print.

“I told you to behave.” Once again, his palm found a spot. I was panting hard. I couldn’t speak.

“You should have walked over to me.”

Again, his hand met my skin.

“You didn’t have to let it go that far.”

Each statement was punctuated by a smack.

“You knew better.”

I tried to face him, but he held me firm. I could see into the other room. There was a crowd of people gathering close enough to stare inside. They seemed shocked but continued to gawk. Not one of them turned away. His actions held them mesmerized. The expressions were priceless. The only thing I could do was close my eyes and bury my face against his thigh.

After several more slaps, I stopped fighting him. Best to let him get it over with. My thighs and cheeks were inflamed. The stinging sensation washed over me. I pushed my pussy against him. The climax was immediate. Throbbing replaced the ache. I panted to catch my breath.

He finished me off by rubbing his palms hard into my flesh, keeping the burn on the surface. I knew the sting would last for quite some time. He wanted me to have a reminder for the rest of the evening. Carefully he tangled his fingers in the hair on the back of my neck and pulled me upright. His mouth crashed onto mine as he sealed his ownership. “Now, can you behave, pet?”

I nodded, yes. Every ounce of my focus was on him. All others became insignificant.

“Answer me,” he prodded.

“Yes.”

My face was as bright as my ass, but I kept my eyes downcast. I loved that he owned me. This would leave no doubt in their minds.

“Good girl.” He forced me to stand and rose up beside me. Grasping my leash, he tugged me back to the party. The onlookers parted to allow us through. I could feel the penetration of their gazes from behind me. I knew that the evidence of his spanking was viewable below the hem of my dress.

I wasn’t sure which cheeks were the reddest, but it didn’t matter.

I belonged to him.

TROPHY BUCKLE

Rakelle Valencia

What did you say to me?”

Jed looked down at his glass.

The one and only drinking establishment in town was empty. It was Tuesday night, and the regulars had blown their weekly wad since sundown on Sunday. The bar was dim with the warm, yellowish glow of the wagon wheel lamp that hung too low from the ceiling. Many had whacked their head on it when buzzed enough not to be careful or not to care. The polyurethaned pine walls reflected the sallow lighting off its polished surface. And the place was small with a heavy mahogany bar trimmed in brass hoarding at least a third of the space.

Beth gazed at him fiercely, daring him to repeat the come-on he’d just offered. He didn’t want to, and yet one part of him did.

Jed sat on a worn, scratched stool continuing to drink. He couldn’t look at Beth. The summer had been long, and the work sorting and shipping cattle at the end of the hot season made it longer knowing that beef prices were low, feed prices were high, and the few well-started colts he would be able to sell to city buyers could only get him supplies enough to survive the winter. But at least he could afford supplies. Many ranchers were turning their homesteads over to developers. They just couldn’t make it.

Beth turned away to place the tall, clean glass on the rack above the long bar mirror. A clink of glass resounded in the empty room. She walked out from behind the bar to the door, flipped over the sign to read “closed,” pulled the shade, and clicked the lock.

Jed downed the whiskey, feeling it sear his throat to the pit of his gut. He set the glass on the wooden bar and watched as Beth approached. She was as handsome as back in those high school days, ten or fifteen years ago now. Beth was never considered delicate or pretty. But she had sex appeal wrapped up in a strong, sturdy way that said “bring it on” without coming across as loose.

She took hold of his belt, popping the trophy buckle as she stared him directly in the eyes. Jed sat there, hands relaxed on his thighs, listening to the rasping his thick leather belt made as it was liberated from his Wranglers.

A quick flick of her wrists looped the leather over his brown felt Stetson and smacked it against the back of his neck. With the tails in her hand, she dragged him off the stool and under a dangerously low-hanging wagon wheel. He ducked but it knocked his Stetson to the scuffed, hardwood floor.

Jed still firmly in tow, Beth continued to the back of the almost nonexistent dance floor, toward the “bull pit.” That electronic bucking bull had been wrestled in here a couple of years ago when one of the local ranches tried to do the “dude” thing to make ends meet but failed. Tourists had always wanted to play PBR. The income had added another year to that ranch. Then the big bull was hauled over to the bar in exchange for free drinks for the previous owners on Saturday nights, like a lifetime membership.

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