A young man and his family are headed West on the Oregon Trail, and he finds romance with a young lady also headed out with her family, in this charming, historical romance story set in the Old West. Wagon trains, star filled nights and run ins with Indians are the backdrop to their romance.
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Trace chains rattled musically as the wagons plodded forward. The squeak of badly greased wheels, the plod of hooves, and the occasional creak of a wagon, were the only sounds that the tired pioneers made as they traversed the Oregon Trail. White canvas billowed in the gentle breeze, slapping from one side to another as the wagons sank in a whole, and the wooden skeleton of the structure slashed from one side to another. Dust drifted up from a 143 hooves and 120 wagon wheels. Men sat lazily in the saddle, escorting and guarding the wagons on their slow journey west. Tired men and women sat the benches of the wagon, listlessly holding the reins as they daydreamed of things passed, or things to come. Most dreamed of the riches they would find in Oregon. They were one day out of Ft. Bridger, but already the mundane existence of trail life had settled down over the train.
The one exception was Billy Eshleman, who galloped from the back of the wagon train on his chestnut gelding. Holding his hat on with one hand, he pulled up behind the Delgado wagon and dropped off behind it. Keeping pace with the slow wagon, he tied off his horse to the left side of the tailgate. He gave Marvin and Bessie Willis, in the wagon behind, a brilliant smile and a tip of the hat, before he slid into the back of the Delgado wagon and pulled the flap closed.
“You think we should tell Oliver what’s going on in the back of his wagon?” Marvin asked his wife as he stared at the back of the wagon.
“Naw, leave them be. They’ll work things out by themselves.”
“I noticed that Oliver had the old Greener with him today. The double barreled 10 gauge.”
“Yup, it’s got quite a reach on it,” Bessie said. “He says he can hit a moving target at 40 yards.”
“I believe it,” Marvin said, giving the reins a shake to hold their position 30 feet behind the other wagon.
Billy sat smiling at the object of his affections. They made a perfect picture of all that was good in the world. Billy Eshleman was young and handsome. He wore flashy store bought clothes that favored blue. His black hair always seemed to be neat and perfect. He had a smile that would melt the heart of the coldest woman.
Hattie was young and blonde, airy in looks and personality. She was the best looking woman on the wagon train, and damned well knew it. She had a cute face with slightly chubby cheeks and a sprinkling of freckles around her nose. Her heart beat wildly as she looked at Billy, smiling at her from the back of the wagon.
“I told you not to do this any more,” she said in a threatening tone.
“And I won’t, not after today, if you don’t want me to. If you want me to stay away, I will. After all, that old man of yours might fill me full of lead.”
“He might,” she nodded, giving him a coy look. She wondered if he could hear her heart beat. She could feel it beating out of her chest even as she surveyed his slender, muscular body. She reached down and slid the hem of her dress up one golden leg. Billy’s breath was harsh and audible. He gazed spellbound as she pulled the dress even higher. Her nethery soft thigh was clearly visible. Billy felt his cock growing rock hard. He shifted positions to make it less painful.
“You are such a tease,” he accused her, moving closer. He heard her sharp intake of breath, as he nearly touched her in the close confines of the wagon. Billy looked at the shadow of Oliver Delgado on the white canvas at the front of the wagon. Oliver would have to stand on the seat and look inside at the top of the curtain, to see him. As long as they were quiet, there was no reason for him to do that. Still, there was quite a risk. Oliver sat on the right side of the seat, so Billy had tied his horse to the left rear of his wagon. The only likely thing that could go wrong was a tattletale. God help him if Oliver actually caught him molesting his daughter. Not that anything ever came of his visits. Hattie was just a tease.
“Am I?” she asked with an arched eyebrow. She began fluttering the hem of her skirt, giving him enticing glances of both legs, and the white of her pantaloons. “It’s so hot in here,” she said teasingly.
Billy moaned in repressed lust. How could the cute little cock teaser do this to him?
“I found something,” he said baiting her.
“Like what?” she asked, dropping the hem of her skirt, allowing one entire leg and some of the other to show beneath the material.
“Something you’d like,” he said, reaching into his belt pouch and pulling out his closed fist. “What do I get for it?”
“What is it?” she asked, now so curious she was bursting at the seams. Billy smiled knowingly, shifting his fist back and forth in front of her face. She made a grab for his fist, and he pulled it back.
“What do it get for it?” he repeated firmly.
“What do you want?” she asked coyly.
“I want to see one breast, and feel one thigh… high up,” he rushed to finish before he died of embarrassment.”
“You promise that it’s worth it?” she demanded. He almost cried out in relief when he nodded, knowing that she would accept his offer. She looked around to make sure nobody could see inside the wagon, then slid the top of her dress open. He raised up for a better look, watching breathlessly. She finally jerked her dress open with a gasp, showing her entire right breast in a flash of golden soft skin. He hissed in appreciation. He was so close he could almost smell the skin of her breast. He could see the small individual freckles and the wrinkles of her perfect areola and nipple. Hesitantly he placed a hand on her leg. He felt it jerk in response. He slid his hand up her thigh. They both felt his hand shaking in nervousness as he gently rubbed it up and down her left upper thigh. It was so soft, so inviting. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her breast. He was about to ask for more, when she jerked her dress shut and pushed his hand away. He sighed in resignation and opened his fist. Hattie gasped in delight, wrenching the arrowhead from his open palm. Her eyes glowed as she looked from him to her new treasure.
“What tribe is it from?” she asked breathlessly.
“Ben thinks it’s Blackfoot, we’re in their territory. Or, it could be prehistoric. They haven’t changed much in centuries.”
“Wow,” she gasped, holding it to her chest. Billy tried to hide his disappointment, knowing the adventure was over for the day. He waved airily and turned, sliding through the rear of the wagon. He pulled the reins lose and jumped to his horse’s back in one easy move. He tipped his hat to the Willises and spurred his horse forward. In a moment he was riding next to Ben, the old mountain man who had befriended him.
“How’d things go?” Ben asked amiably.
“Great.”
“But not enough?” Ben said sympathetically.
“No,” Billy admitted.
“I’ll tell you what. I know of a lake up north of here, it’s about a days ride to get there and back. Let’s make a trip of it. I know the man in charge of the camp, he’s called Fierce Crow. He loves a good trade.”
“You mean trade with the Indians?”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
“I… yes!” he said in surprise.
“You got anything in your pappy’s wagon worth trading?”
“Like what?”
“Knives, cooking pots, buttons and the like.”
“I guess,” he said hesitantly. His mother had a mason jar full of buttons. He had his carvings, his one existing art form. There was little time for art in the west, but Billy’s love for carving had filled a wooden crate with miniature horse, antelope, buffalo, and the like. His pride and joy was a full sized, fully painted eagle which hung suspended from the rafters of their wagon and was always getting in the way. His mother complained of it constantly. Billy rode to the back of his wagon and tied off his horse. He jumped into the back and with his mother’s help began searching the wagon for trade goods. In less than an hour his horse was so loaded down that Ben had to help with some of the load.
“A folding oven? Are you sure your mother can part with it?”
“I asked, it’s an extra. It seems that daddy got an extra of almost everything. Now it’s all weighing down the wagon. This axe head is one of ten,” Billy said, holding the axe head up for Ben’s inspection.
“My God, boy. They’d kill for something like that. That’s worth half a dozen horses to them. You just make sure you let me do all the bartering.”
“Yes sir,” Billy nodded. They spurred their horses off to the north, leaving the wagon train behind.
They pulled up along a large stream. The stream was lined with cottonwoods and a few bushes. Billy didn’t want to put a cottonwood handle in the axe, so he searched until he found a scrub oak. It took less than an hour for a skilled whittler like Billy to shave and shape the handle and insert it into the axe head. It would shrink some in the coming weeks, but the Indians were knowledgeable about such things. They could shim the handle when it came lose, Ben assured him.
As they rode north, Billy showed Ben his carvings. He was most fascinated by the things he knew, such as the buffalo, cattle, sheep, deer, elk, and horses. Some were an inch high, and some nearly a foot tall. All were amazingly lifelike. Billy whittled constantly, from the back of his horse, or next to the campfire.
Ben was some interested in the unknown beasts, such as the elephant and the tiger, but not as much as the “real” ones. He knew the Indians would have a similar interest. The sight of the lifelike eagle bouncing against the side of Billy’s horse took Ben’s breath away. It looked like it could rise up and fly away. He knew that Billy had used a mixture of berries and earth pigment to color the wooden eagle. The white head and wingtips came from a precious supply of white paint Billy had hidden in his wagon.
“My God, son, you are rich beyond belief in the eyes of an Indian. You have more wealth than some entire villages.
“Just trinkets,” Billy shrugged.
“Any Indian in the west would kill you for those trinkets,” Ben scoffed. “It should be a good day of trading.”
They created quite a commotion when they entered Fierce Crow’s camp. Armed men stormed out and watched their approach. At first the uproar died down, until the Indians noticed the eagle rocking at the side of Billy’s horse. They ran forward in outrage, pointing at the eagle and shaking tomahawks in Billy’s face.
“What the hell?” Billy asked in horror.
Ben couldn’t seem to stop laughing, to Billy’s chagrin. He finally wiped his eyes and explained.
“They think it’s real,” he shouted over the uproar.
“What?”
“They think you killed an eagle, their messenger from God,” Ben laughed.
“Well tell them I didn’t,” Billy yelled.
“To hell with that, it’s good publicity. Wait until Fierce Crow shows up.”
Billy waited patiently, pushing spear points and tomahawks out of his face. He had the urge to pull his pistol and start shooting people, before Fierce Eagle finally showed up. His face was painted. His strong body was naked, except for a breechcloth. He strode angrily forward and looked at the eagle. Humor suddenly crinkled the corners of his eyes. He shouted and pushed people back. With a reverent hand, he ran his fingers over the wooden eagle.
“Give it to him,” Ben whispered.
Fierce Eagle’s eyes immediately went from Ben to Billy, then back to the eagle. Ben knew that Fierce Crow missed nothing.
“It’s my best thing,” Billy complained.
“I’ll explain later. Give — it — to him,” he emphasized the words with a hiss. Billy untied the eagle from his saddlehorn and held it out to Fierce Crow. His eyes flew wide in surprise. He again looked from Ben to Billy, then accepted it reverently. He held it aloft and the tribe broke into excited yells which nearly set their horses to bucking.
“That’s your bonifides,” Ben said from the corner of his mouth. Now you can demand anything from him and he’s honor bound to give it to you. Of course he can kill you and take it back later,” Ben said airily.
“Oh, of course,” Billy said sarcastically.
While they smoked the piece pipe, Ben explained who they were and why they were there. In no time at all, women were spreading brilliantly colored blankets on the ground to set up a trading area. Billy’s offers would go on one side, the Blackfoot counter-offers would go on the other. Indians loved a good trade even more than a good fight. The best part of a trade was that white men explained the uses of each object. If an Indian attacked a white wagon train and stole everything on the train, he was apt to throw half the stuff away because he simply had no use for it, he didn’t know what it was for. The white man told them the uses, and alternate uses in some cases. A marble could be used to play, popped into a mouth to moisten it when there is no water, it could be broken in half for a decoration, or a button. It could also be pasted onto a shield for animal eyes, or used to decorate a horse or a woman. But the typical Indian would not think of most of those things. Trade was also an education and their biggest form of entertainment.
The tribe gathered around as Billy began placing his items on the blankets. Indians normally kept their composure during a trade. He was like a gambler, trying to show no emotions during a trade. But as Billy laid out his wealth an uproar began in the crowd that simply grew with each item.
He stared out with mirrors. His father had cut a full length mirror into dozens of pieces, with the remote hope of putting the pieces together when they reached Oregon. Now he knew the weight was not worth the effort it took to haul it. He had given the entire set of mirrors to Billy. Billy followed this with a set of graduated cast iron skillets. The largest was ten inches across, followed by an 8 inch skillet and one slightly smaller. Next he laid out his buttons, fishhooks, a handful of marbles, several knives, a set of needles, and the wooden carvings. They were so enthralled by the wooden carvings that they paid little attention to the folding oven, cloth, and a black jewelry box which played music.
Last of all, Billy laid the gleaming axe with it’s brand new handle in the middle of the other items. The uproar was loud and long, as people crowded closer to see the axe.
Fierce Crow looked worried.
“He’s afraid that they don’t have enough to trade,” Ben whispered.
“Trade cheap. Blankets, a bow and arrow, and a few tomahawks.”
“You don’t trade cheap with an Indian, boy. If you do he won’t respect you. He will think you’re a fool or that you’re dishonoring him as a trader.”
“Then what can we do?”
“Trade good, then give a few things away as presents.
“I want these blankets,” Billy said, fingering one red, yellow and brown blanket that his mother would almost die for. Ben slapped his hand away and began bargaining.
The bargaining went on for hours. In the end, Ben had given away several mirrors. At the end nearly every woman in the village had one. Soon they were flashing all over the village as women admired themselves, or kids used them to see behind themselves, or to signal each other. It was a great form of amusement. Only the axe lay on Billy’s side of the blankets, blankets which Billy now owned.
“What about the axe?” Billy whispered.
“It may be too much for them.”
Fierce Crow whispered to a brave, who hurried to the chief’s teepee. He came back with a roll of reeds.
“Oh my God,” Ben whispered in awe.
“It’s just a bunch of grass,” Billy whispered.
“Oh no, boy, it’s every mountain man’s dream.”
“That thing?”
“That is a free pass, boy. A free pass to cross most of the entire plains unmolested. That is worth the lives of a dozen men, to some people. I’ve only seen it given to runners before, the messengers who run from tribe to tribe spreading messages.”
“It’s just a bunch of reeds with pictures on them.”
“Imagine traveling from St. Louis to the ocean never having to fear an Indian attack. Imagine having it hanging from your lead wagon and never having to worry about attack from a plain’s Indian… ever. That’s what that is boy. Now take it before I lay my rifle barrel over your head.”
“Yes sir,” Billy said meekly, nodding to Fierce Crow. Fierce Crow ended the trading by picking up the axe, laying it on his side of the blankets, and clapping his hands for attention.
It was time to feast and celebrate. Once again the peace pipe came out. Billy smoked himself sick. He was awed by the sight of near naked Indian women. Some breast fed their babies, other’s bent, showing a massive amount of cleavage, and many showed all their womanly charms as they danced around the fire in short skirts. None of this seemed to affect Ben, but Billy was in a state of perpetual hardness.
As the afternoon waned, they began loading the treasure on Billy’s new string of Indian ponies. They rode out at the lead of three fully ladened pack horses. The Indians waved and yelled behind them, still joyous after a good trade.
“Nice people,” Billy smiled, waving in return.
“Yeah, real nice. Now it’s time to ride like hell before they decide they want their stuff back. Trading is one thing, war is something different. Once you leave their village, it’s every man for himself. Ride, boy, ride,” Ben yelled, laughing into the wind as they kicked their horses into a gallop.
Billy showed his treasures to his parents that night, next to the fire. Ben had taken a small part of the treasure as pay for his negotiations. Now he shared a few goods with his parents, who had given up their own wares for the trade. Billy was more than happy. His mother, Elisa, melted when she saw the blankets. His father, Randal Eshleman, hefted a tomahawk in his hand as if to throw it. He ran his hands over the furs, and unfolded a moccasin to see the pictures woven into the leather. Lastly he fingered the reed vest, which Ben said was a pass through Indian territory.
“You did well, son. Can I give this to the wagonmaster?”
“Sure, Pa. Just tell him to remember where it came from, when we reach the end of the trail. Ben says it’s worth real money.”
Randal smiled and nodded at his son. He noticed how tall and strong his son had become, seemingly overnight. There was a movement behind Randal and he tensed, until he smelled the familiar scent of lilac perfume. Billy looked up in surprise to see Hattie.
“Well, it’s time to hit the sack,” Randal said, stretching dramatically and pulling his wife toward the wagon. Billy rolled up his treasures in a blanket and slid them into the back of the wagon.
“Hi Billy,” Hattie said nervously. She looked absolutely beautiful in her flowered dress and matching bonnet.
“Hi, Hattie.”
“I heard you traded with the Indians. Are those your ponies?” she asked, leaving the circle of wagons to approach the white stallion.
“Yup, all mine. Do you like them?”
“Sure, they are beautiful,” she said, pausing beside the brown and white pony. She ran her hand over the nervous horse. He turned and whinnied at her anxiously, not used to being around so much moving cloth.
“Ben say’s the Indians were happy to get rid of them,” Billy said as he patted the spotted pony. “White shows up for a hundred miles out on the prairie. The Indians favor a dark color. I don’t care, I think they are beautiful,” he added looking at her. “Do you like that one?” Billy teased when he saw the way she fawned over the spotted pony.
“Sure. Would you trade him?”
“What do you have to offer?”
“I could show you a thing or two,” she said with her hands on her blouse.
“Not for that horse. It would take a heck of a lot more than that.”
She dropped her hands in disappointment. “I could…” she started to lift her skirt then stopped, seeing the annoyance in his eyes. “Well what do you want?” she demanded with her chin in the air.
“You.”
“What?” she was startled.
“You heard me, I want you. All of you.”
“Billy,” she said in mock outrage. He turned to leave. “Billy!” she said, stopping him. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” she said coyly.
“You will?” he gasped in surprise.
“Yes but how… where?” she asked, looking around. Needless to say, there were no spare wagons available for their use. He leaned down and grabbed his favorite Indian blanket. It was red with a black x in the middle and black eagles flying around the border. To him it was priceless. He took a burning brand from the fire and led the way to a pile of rocks nearby. He had noticed it as he rode up to the wagon train. It looked like a stone house without the roof. In no time he had a fire built in the middle of it and the blanket spread out nearby. Hattie was suddenly shy, but Billy remembered what Ben had told him. “Be firm, come right to the point and don’t settle for anything less than what you want.” Well this was his night. He had wanted Hattie for months now, and he would have her tonight.
Billy sat in the middle of his blanket and ran his hand over it in wonder. It had been spread out in the middle of an Indian village just hours before. Now it was spread for a different purpose. Hattie joined him on the blanket. He held her close for a moment. They looked into the fire together, enjoying it’s cheery colors. She turned and looked at him. Billy turned and found his face just inches from her’s. He took her head in his hands and pulled her lips close. He captured her lips in his own. Her arms went around him and she kissed him back, urgently and passionately as he had always dreamed that she would kiss him. She lost her composure completely, searching his body with her hands, searching his mouth with her tongue. Her eyes were open, looking into his startling hazel eyes as they kissed.
The more they kissed, the hotter they both got. In a matter of minutes Billy found his hands unbuttoning her dress of their own violation. She helped him where he needed it, but was most concerned about maintaining the kiss. She was hot now, real hot. Billy was horny as hell. He was holding and kissing the most beautiful woman in the world and for the night, at least, she was all his.
Billy nuzzled her neck as his hands worked on her bodice. He smelled the sweet smell of lilac perfume on her neck. He kissed it passionately until she withered in his arms. He moved even lower and kissed the cleavage between her two ample breasts. Even here he found the smell of her lilac perfume again and his eyes flew open in sudden realization. She had prepared for this. She had come to him prepared to make love. No woman would perfume her breasts for any other reason. He had heard his mother say so long ago, while talking to another woman. He stopped and looked at Hattie in surprise. Then he smiled and opened her blouse to reveal her naked, beautiful breasts. With a moan he leaned down and sucked on first one nipple, then the other.
Hattie cried out, holding his mouth pressed against her breast in completely abandon. Suddenly she was naked. His hands had worked as his mouth nursed and now she was sitting in the middle of her clothes, strewn all around the blanket. Only her black stockings were still on her body. How he did it, she was not completely sure. Billy pressed her back, opening her legs as he did so. Her moist pussy lay open for his examination.
“Oh no you don’t,” she suddenly cried. She pushed him back and pulled her dress over her lap. He was stunned and confused.
“I’m not sitting her butt assed naked while you paw me. If I’m getting naked you are too,” she demanded. Billy chuckled and began tearing off clothing. When he finished he tossed her dress aside and slid forward, with his naked flesh touching her’s.
“You are so beautiful, Hattie.”
“I know.”
“I don’t mean on the outside… well I do, but I mean on the inside too. Some people think you are vain and self- centered, but I know it’s just an act. On the inside you are as beautiful as on the outside, Hattie. I mean it,” he said earnestly.
“Thanks, Billy,” she looked up into his face in wonder. He was right, of course, there was not a vain bone in her body… well not many anyway. The only reason she acted so was because people expected it of her. But it was an act. How had Billy seen through her little deception? Maybe there was more to him than she had seen.
His hands ran over her naked body in wonder.
“I always wondered what you’d look like naked,” he smiled.
“Me too,” she admitted, looking down at his nearly hairless young body. “Kiss me all over,” she suddenly commanded.
Billy immediately kissed her lips, even though he knew that was not what she meant. He spent only a short time there before he moved down to her neck and ear. She thrilled at his attention there. She squirmed and gasped. He started to work his way even lower, but she grasped his head and brought his mouth back to her ear. He nuzzled the beautiful little piece of flesh. As ears went, her’s were absolutely perfect. He licked it and kissed it, then pulled at her ear lobe with his teeth. He massaged her neck for a moment, then leaned down and kissed it gently. She raised her chin so he kissed her beneath it. To his amazement, he felt her quivering beneath his touch. She rubbed one leg against the other and gasped even louder until she squirmed in the middle of a full blown orgasm. Billy didn’t know that a woman could have an orgasm from her ears, but Hattie did. He watched her face in amazement until the orgasm ended. She looked up at him shyly.
“I like having my ears nuzzled,” she smiled.
“That… that was amazing,” Billy gasped.
“Yeah,” she agreed, pulling his face down to her breast.
At the circle of wagons the fire popped and a brand flew unnoticed into the sand where it smoldered harmlessly. A haze of steam came from the spout of the coffee pot. A slight breeze switched the thin column of smoke toward the back of the Eshleman wagon where Randal sniffed it appreciatively. Randal and Elisa sat side by side with their arms around each other, using the tailgate of the wagon as a backrest, and looking out into the desert where they knew their son was. They had tried not to listen, but canvas made thin walls. They were proud of their son, and his new girl. They made a good pair.
“Remind you of anybody?” Randal asked Elisa Eshleman as they watched the play of firelight on the nearby rocks of Billy’s hideaway.
“Hey, I didn’t chase you,” she said in a huff.
“Like hell you didn’t. I remember you coming to my bedroom window on many… Oh, oh, I’d better see to this,” he said, climbing out the back of the wagon with his rifle in his hand.
“What is it?” Elisa asked.
“Shhhhh,” he hissed, hurrying off into the darkness.
Oliver Delgado approached the flickering firelight with a determined step, his shotgun held ready in his hands. The set of his jaw showed his anger even in the half darkness of the moonlit night. Randal hated to interfere, but he couldn’t allow his son to be shot right in the middle of the most important night of his life.
“Howdy, Oliver,” Randal said quietly. Oliver stared to swing around, but his eyes fell to the rifle covering his stomach. He let his shotgun hang at his side, his eyes ablaze.
“My daughter’s in there,” he growled.
“So she is. I expect my son will come around calling in the morning. He is a gentleman,” Randal said. He took a pipe from his pocket, tamped it gently to ensure it was still full of tobacco, then struck a match while holding the rifle under his arm. If Oliver wanted to make it a fight, he would have done so then. Oliver tucked his shotgun under his arm and retrieved his own pipe.
“Young people got no business sneaking off in the middle of the night,” he growled.
“They’ve been doing it for a thousand years, Oliver. It’s how they get acquainted.”
“I suppose,” Oliver agreed. “I guess that would make us kin,” Oliver mused.
“Seems like. I guess I’ll head back to my wagon now,” Randal said, turning away. He heard Oliver retracing his steps to his own wagon. With a smile he climbed up into the back of his wagon and pulled his wife close to him.
“Any problems?” Elisa asked in concern.
“Had a talk with Billy’s in-laws,” Randal said as he ran his hand over his wife’s full breasts. “Everything’s fine,” he smiled. “Old Oliver is afraid of loneliness. I think he figured that without Hattie, he’d be alone. I think he’s realized that his family will grow instead, and it’s settled his mind,” Randal said speculatively as he opened his wife’s blouse. He loved a good set of breasts, and his wife had one of the best anywhere.
Billy concentrated on Hattie’s breasts. They were fascinating. They were so firm and mysterious. The small pink nipples were similar to his own, but on Hattie they were feminine and magical. He nursed on first one, then the other, amazed at how they became stiff and pointed. He twirled one in his fingers while he sucked the other lovingly. Hattie lay with her chest thrown out. Her hands dug into the Indian blanket beneath her. Her face was twisted in the throes of passion.
He moaned as his hands claimed her firm globes of flesh and kneaded them gently. His mouth nursed silently, starting a burning fire in her young breasts that burned clear down to her youthful pussy. Hattie was lost in a world of passion. Nothing was real but the touch of his lips, and the caress of his hands. She did not feel the heat from the fire, or smell the smoke. She did not feel the sand beneath the blanket, which acted as a cushion beneath her perfectly shaped ass. Her tiny hands clung to the blanket desperately.
Billy’s kisses moved to Hattie’s armpit, then down to her ribs and back to her navel. He spent a long time in that mysterious cavity, licking and kissing while she withered beneath him. Billy was not very experienced with women, but he knew that he was doing something right when he kissed or licked and Hattie went wild. This made him a good lover. This made him the kind of lover that every woman wished that she had, if the woman was knowledgeable or truthful enough to know what she wanted. Hattie was that lucky woman, without even knowing it.
His kisses now approached her neat patch of light brown pubic hair. He stopped and lifted his head, looking down at the patch of fur in wonder. He had never seen a woman naked before, other than his own mother caught at inconvenient times. And never was his look as detailed as the one he now had of Hattie. He petted her small pelt of hair in amazement. Suddenly he kissed her again, just above the pelt of hair. He slowly licked and kissed his way through the hair until he faced the dark unknown between her heavenly thighs. He was encircling her legs with an arm, unconsciously holding them together. As he stopped and stared at her mysterious womanhood, Hattie looked down in alarm, and some embarrassment, waiting to see what he thought of her region which now man had seen before.
Billy dropped his face into the dark canyon between her legs and sniffed heavily. Her aroma was intoxicating. He could think of nothing better. He inhaled again, looking into her eyes with a dazed, euphoric expression.
She reached down and pushed his arm off her legs. As he released her she opened her legs for him. He cried out in wonder. He had grown up on the farm, and everywhere he looked there had been an animal with a pussy. But nothing had prepared him for this. Her pussy was pink and delicate. He touched the individual petals of her pussy lips. She gasped and churned on the blanket. He looked up, then smiled at her wide-eyed wonder and anticipation. He crawled in between her legs and faced the object of his desires.
His mouth dropped to her pussy and he nuzzled it gently. His tongue snaked out and entered her small palace of flesh. He tasted a woman for the first time and it thrilled him clear down to his toes. It was moist and flavorful, as he had always dreamed it would be. But he had not been prepared for the softness and the heat of her womanhood. He kissed it several times, feeling the warmth and softness against his lips. He held her pussy open with his thumbs and looked inside. It was a wonderland. He touched here and there, watching her reaction. It was soon apparent that her most sensitive areas were the very top of her pussy envelope, and the bud of flesh in the center of her pussy. He found a tiny mushroom-like button inside the bud of flesh, like a seed in a pod, and soon found that it was the button that gave her the most pleasure. He licked her pussy lazily, moving from place to place. She moved constantly beneath his mouth, at times rolling from side to side, or humping her sex against his mouth. He liked every minutes of it. She was completely under his control.
“Please,” she gasped down at him. He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to stop exploring and get down to pleasing her. He was ready as well. His throbbing cock needed relief.
“You are a virgin,” he said gently, being careful not to make it a question. “It may hurt.”
“I’m ready,” she said, lifting her chin determinedly.
He licked her pussy several more times, then slid up until his lips could touch hers. She tasted her own flavor on his lips. She kissed more passionately, her eyes wide open and wild. As she pulled him into a passionate kiss his cock sought out her quivering pussy, almost of it’s own violation. He easily found the hole where his penis belonged. It went partway in, then stopped. Deciding that it was best to do this quickly, he pulled out a little then slammed his cock into her pussy. She hissed in pain. He had felt his cock go partway in, but he still had some of the membrane to penetrate. Another quick thrust and he was inside her. She gave one quick yelp of pain, then lay shuddering beneath him. He held still until he felt her move in anticipation. That was his signal to continue. She squealed quietly as his cock slid easily in and out of her damaged cunt. She threw her legs wide, welcoming him into her womanhood.
She felt the throbbing pain of his violation, blend with the beginning fires of another orgasm. She crossed her legs behind his ass and forced him to slam his cock into her. She needed him badly, like a craving. Only his cock would calm the fire between her legs. Only his cock would feel right, making her a woman for all time. Blood and lubricant helped to ease his slide in and out of her tortured pussy. She moaned in wild abandon as he pumped away faster and faster until the fires in his loins bust into a raging orgasm.
She ground her pussy against his spewing cock until she brought on her second orgasm. It was much stronger than the first. It seemed endless. She humped her sex against him, even though his cock was too sensitive for movement. Then incredibly, she felt the third orgasm strike her loins. She panted and grunted beneath him, thrusting herself against his wilting cock. She slid his wilted cock back and forth at the entrance to her pussy, where it slid against her clit. Breathlessly, she fell almost lifeless beneath him. He lifted himself and rolled over next to her.
“Well, you’ve earned your pony,” he said with a twisted smile.
“To hell with that, I want more,” she demanded, propping her head up on one arm.
“More,” he said in alarm. “What?”
“You, mister. I want you.”
He smiled and pulled her close, resting his face in her golden hair.
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This story was part of a collection I bought. I did not write it, nor do I claim to. I have the right to post it and have made the recording of it.