textfiles/sex/EROTICA/S/saddlsor.txt

Saddlesore


by S G Johnson


Jesse Morgan had a small spread outside of Nowhere, an aptly 
named town surrounded by vast acres of dry grass, thin cattle, and 
dour ranchers.  The town itself wasn't much:  one street, a saloon, 
a post office, and dry goods store.  I quickly left it behind, 
following the rumor that said the strange and enigmatic Jesse Morgan 
might be willing to hire a man for a few days.  I intended to get 
enough money to get my ass out of Nowhere, then leave for anywhere, 
anywhere at all.

I was riding a bay horse with a limp, sitting in my well worn 
brown saddle, equally worn leather chaps, blue jeans, a white shirt 
gone tan from the dust, and a ten gallon hat to keep the sun out of 
my eyes.  I felt as wornout as I looked, for I'd had no steady work 
for several months, and had been drifting, trying to find me a place 
to settle down.  At least, as much as I ever settled down.

I spotted the house as I came over the rise, little dust 
clouds puffing up with each step my horse took.  I reined in, and he 
stopped obediently.  I watched the house for some time.

It was small and tan, made from adobe bricks made by the local 
Mexicans, with an orange tile roof.  Practical for the region.  The 
roof extended from the house, sheltering a deep porch that was home 
to a number of plants, which I supposed were medicinal in nature.  I 
recognized the sword-like leaves of the aloe vera, but nothing else.  
I was never one for green stuff, unless it folded.

A single rider finally appeared, coming from the south, which 
was to my right.  The horse was black with a white blaze on his 
face, and two white stockings.  The rider sat tall and straight, 
with the easy erect carriage of one who is not merely a cowpoke, but 
a rider. Most waddies of my acquaintance stuck well enough to the 
saddle, but the rode with all the grace of a sack of potatos.

The newcomer wore a flat brimmed black hat like a rich 
Mexican, an embroidered black jacket, white shirt, with a flash of 
red at the neck.  His pants were black, as was his saddle, though 
from the way it twinkled in places I knew it was inset with silver.  
A quirt was looped and fastened to his side.

His hat brim lifted as he raised his eyes to me, but I sat 
still, neither waving nor shouting.  I figured if he wanted to talk 
to me, he'd mosey on over.  He didn't.  He took the horse straight 
to water.  Well, I had no complaints with that.  A man depended upon 
his horse to make a living; and that was more important than some 
drifter. 

He kicked his boots free from the long tapaderos, and slipped 
lightly to the ground.  He was medium height, with a slim boyish 
build.  He dropped the reins on the ground, and well trained animal 
that it was, it didn't move.  Those reins stayed put as if they had 
been nailed to the dry earth.  He walked gracefully to the pump with 
only a slight rolling of the usual cowboy gait, and something nagged 
at me, something I ought to figure out, but couldn't quite.

He took a position at the pump where he could keep an eye on 
me, then started pumping the handle.  Water splashed into the 
trough, and still the horse didn't move, though his ears pricked up 
and his muzzle flared.  The young man came back, led the horse the 
last few steps to water, and let him drink.  He stood watching me as 
I watched him.

I smiled to myself, for I liked this young man who looked to 
his horse and minded his own business, even when he had good cause 
to be inquiring as to the reason why a stranger had trespassed upon 
his land.  I liked a thoughtful man, somebody who was slow to speak 
and who never had to take back words said in haste.  You could 
depend on that sort of fellow.

I dismounted, and conscious of my bowlegged gait, swaggered on 
down the hill, Ornery (that was my horse) ambling along with me.

"Howdy," I said, stopping about five yards short of the water 
trough.  "Mind if I water my horse? It's mighty dry today."

He nodded, and I saw that he was not Mexican like his clothes, 
just tanned, with collar length blond hair. He had no beard yet 
either, and I revised my estimate of his age downward.

"Help yourself," he said softly.

I walked past him, hands far away from the gun at my side.  He 
wore no gun, but his black gloved fingers caressed the braided 
leather quirt, and I guessed he was probably pretty good with it.  
I'd tasted the whip on occassion myself, and had the highest respect 
both for a man who could use and the damage it could cause.

Ornery was not so well mannered as the blaze-faced black.  He 
pushed forward, shouldering past the slim youth, almost knocking him 
off his feet.  In a surprise show of strength, he pushed back, 
forcing Ornery to sidestep - and landing on my foot.  I swore, 
yanked my bruised toe out from under his hoof, and glared at the 
horse.

"You embarass me, animal."

Ornery stuck his nose in the water with a fine disregard for 
my feelings.  The black rolled his eyes and flicked his ears, but he 
kept drinking.

The young man kept a straight face, though his eyes twinkled.  
I was glad he spared my feelings by not laughing out loud.

"Yer Pa around?"  I asked casually, hoping the old man was as 
pleasant a person as his son.

He stiffened. "I'm Jesse Morgan.  I own this spread."

The voice was soft, but carried authority.

"You're Jesse Morgan?"  I asked in surprise.

I looked him up and down real quick like. His nose had never 
been broken, and there were no scars on his face.  His nose and jaw 
were prominent, and I thought to myself, 'Breed.'  Not quite 
halfbreed because of the blond hair and light skin, but enough 
Indian to offend polite society.

"I thought you were older."

He smiled tightly, and there were some lines in his face.  
"I'm old enough."

"I reckon so."  I'd accidentally insulted the man, so I 
decided I'd better move onto another subject.  "I'm John Choice.  I 
usedta be called Choysington, but most folks shorten it to Choice,  
and that's fine by me."  I offered my hand.

He gave it a firm shake, and I noticed the signet ring he wore 
over his glove.  'JM', it said.  "Pleased to me you, Mr. Choice."

"Ah, I ain't no mister.  I work for a living.  Which is why I 
came out.  I heard you needed a hand for a couple of weeks."

He cocked his head sideways while he looked me over real good.

"I need to mend my fences.  It's boring, it's dirty, and it's 
hard work.  Are you willing to work?"

"I dunno.  Are you willing to pay?"

He smiled slightly.  "Ten dollars a week, and all the beans 
you can eat."

"Sounds fair to me."

"You're hired.  Put your horse in the barn over there, then 
come up for supper."

He pulled up the black's head, and walked off to the barn with 
an easy stride that looked slow and comfy, but ate up the ground.  
Watching the way he glided along the ground gave me a nice tight 
feeling about six inches below my belt.  He was younger than me by a 
few years, but he was no chicken.  If I made a disrespectful move, 
he'd belt me for sure.

I grinned.  Two weeks.  Plenty of time.


We rode the fence, finding the places where sand had just 
about buried the line, and planted new posts, braced by rocks.  It 
was hard work, and hardly worth it.

"How many cattle you got on this spread?"  I asked, holding 
the post straight while he piled rocks.

He sighed.  "Too many and not enough."

I looked across the barren lands.  "Yup.  I can see that.  So 
why here instead of some place more hospitable?"

"It's quiet.  I inherited the land from my grandmother.  She 
tried farming it and failed, and moved back to Texas.  Well, I'm not 
too fond of Texas, so I came here."

He straightened and looked across the land.  "And I do love 
it, even if it's not fit for man nor cattle.  Just prairie dogs and 
birds.  But folks mind their own business, and give a body peace."

I wondered what kind of trouble he had gotten into back in 
Texas.  Wondered iffin maybe it was my kind of trouble.  "Takes all 
kinds of folks to make a world.  I figure what people do is their 
own damn business,"  I drawled.

He smiled appreciatively.  "I'm glad to hear you say that."

My ears pricked up.  I didn't want to tip him off if he didn't 
share my vices, but at the same time, I had to say something to find 
out if he did.

"I've been in a might of trouble myself."

His blue eyes twinkled.  "I'm not surprised."

My eyes met his, and there was a knowing look there that made 
my heart skip a beat.  But just what did he think he knew about me?  
Then his mouth covered mine and I quit worrying, because he was a 
hell of a kisser.

The first touch of his mouth was soft, like sinking into a 
featherbed.  Then it was wet, as he licked our lips and my mouth 
popped open without any thought of mine.  His tongue gently explored 
my mouth, and fire burned through my body, my nipples standing up 
hard against the rough shirt, my breath coming in quick little 
pants.  It had been awfully long time since I had kissed anybody, 
and I was desperate to make the most of it, while at the same time 
scared I'd blow it if I moved.  So I held still, and let him do what 
he wanted, willing to go along with whatever he had in mind.

He lifted his mouth, and smiled at me, crowsfeet appearing at 
the corner's of his eyes.  "Did you like that?'

"Yessir, I sure did."

"You wanna do it again?'

I didn't trust myself to speak, so I nodded.

His eyes twinkled and he straightened up.  "Later."

He walked away, sinking to his ankles in the sand, leg muscles 
flexing as he slogged through the soft stuff.  I caught my breath, 
and wished my pants were about two sizes bigger, because they had 
suddenly become awful tight.

"It's gettin' late,"  Jesse said.  "We might as well camp 
here.  No point in going back to the house when we'd just have to 
come back in the morning."

"You're the boss," I agreed.

He turned and looked at me with a funny kind of look.  "You 
like being bossed around?"

My voice caught in my throat, and I nodded.  I thought I 
should say something to take the strangeness away, but his eyes were 
glowing at me, and he nodded.

"Thought so," he said in a matter of fact voice.  "Will you do 
what I tell you?"

"Yes, if it's fair,"  I answered reasonably enough.

"What if it's not fair?"

I felt my knees grow weak, and a strange yearning swept 
through me.  "Yessir,"  I whispered in response.  "That too."

And then I was scared witless, because I'd played some games 
like this before, but never with anybody as smart or as sharp as 
Jesse Morgan.  His eyes dropped to my crotch, noting the bulge in my 
pants, and he smiled again. 

"I like a willing worker."

I thought I'd die of embarassment, but he said, "Get my 
saddle.  Put it on that rock over there."

He waited impassively, waiting to see what I'd do.  I wondered 
what I'd do too, then found myself walking over to the black.  I 
spoke softly to the animal, tossed the stirrups over the seat, and 
uncinched the belly bands.  It was a gorgeous saddle, black leather, 
tooled all over with roses, leaves, and thorns.  Here and there 
silver was inlaid, and shone dully under the dust.  The stirrups 
were hooded with long tapaderos in the Mexican tradition.  I paused 
for a moment, then heaved it into my arms.  It was heavier than my 
saddle, and after a day of mending fences, my arms were a might 
tired.

I lugged it over to the indicated rock, a rock that was about 
three feet by one foot across the top, and about three feet tall.  I 
noted some chisel marks where its shape had been improved by human 
hands.  When the saddle flopped down over the top, and he said, 

"Fasten the belly bands around the rock."

It didn't exactly fit that way, but the bands were long enough 
to reach around the ends and up again, buckling on the last hole of 
the girths.  I noticed a certain amount of wear on that hole, as if 
it got used from time to time, and I got the inkling that I wasn't 
the first man Jesse Morgan had brought out here.  That made me feel 
a little better, because he knew what he was doing, and it also made 
me a little more scared, for the same reason.

Jesse's silver spurs jingled as he walked up behind me and 
draped his arm over my shoulder.  He held the looped quirt in his 
hand, and the loops of leather brushed against the front of my 
shirt, sending a shock of pleasure in a straight line from my nipple 
to my groin.  I let out a gasp.

He rubbed the leather against my chest then, and I gritted my 
teeth to keep back a moan of pleasure.

"You like leather kisses?"  he asked softly.

"Yessir,"  I replied breathlessly, all my mind on the feel of 
the leather rubbing my nipple through my shirt.  Then he pinched my 
nipple between two loops of the quirt and the pleasure was so 
intense I thought I as going to fall.  He put his other hand on my 
arm to steady me.

"Take off your hat, cowboy."  I tore of my hat and threw it in 
the dust, not caring where it landed or what happened to it, even if 
it was almost new.

"Bend over."

I bent over the beautiful black saddle, letting out a cry that 
was half pleasure and half fear.  I grabbed the stirrup leather and 
braced my legs, but Jesse had more in mind.  He buckled the quirt 
against the curve of his hip again, and shook his lariat loose from 
the saddle skirt where it was tied.  My mouth went dry and a bolt of 
fear when through me, and I gave him a pleading look, but he smiled 
tightly, and kneeling before me, looped the rough rope around my 
wrists, tying each of them firmly.  Then he took the loop around the 
base of the rock, and around my legs, tying my boots together.  I 
let out a long moan, then went limp, powerless to stop what was 
coming, and knowing I'd voluntarily let this strange man put me in 
this position.

He stepped up behind me, and I felt the heat of his groin 
against mybackside, but he didn't touch me.  He slid his hands under 
my belly, and manipulated the buckle of my gunbelt.  I had 
completely forgotten it, but Jesse hadn't.  He took it away from me, 
and I felt even more vulnerable than before.  He came back and slid 
his hands under my belly again, this time unbuckling my belt, and 
unbuttoning my jeans.  He untied my drawers too, and pushed the 
whole mess down inside my chaps so that my bare ass was hanging out.  
I rubbed my cock against the warm hard rock and spread my knees, 
cooperating with him as much as I could.

"Ready?"

"Yessir,"  I managed to reply.

The quirt bit like a snake, a small red welt growing on my 
backside, smarting like a son of a bitch.  I jumped in place and 
yelled, and then it bit me on the other side and I swore.  Snap, 
snap, snap, three quick lashes made me danced violently and I 
shouted,  "You bastard!  You horny son of a bitch!  You-"

The feel of his black gloved hand on my ass shut me up.  He 
rubbed it down the crack, finding the wrinkled knot of flesh between 
my cheeks, and asked,  "What did you say?"

"Sir,"  I said.  "It hurts like the devil when you use the 
quirt on me."

"You like this better?"  And he pressed on my asshole.

Pleasure shot through me, making me sag against the saddle.  
"Yessir,"  I moaned in reply.

"To get this,"  he fondled my asshole some more,  "You have to 
take this."  He held the quirt before my eyes.

"I can't,"  I said.

"You will,"  he replied.

He backed away, and the quirt flew again, and I wailed like a 
baby, knowing there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.  Tears 
ran down my face as welt after welt was raised on my ass.  I danced 
the hot foot, weeping and moaning, feeling awfully sorry for myself 
and cursing myself for a fool when suddenly I realized that as much 
as it hurt, I could take it.  I quit jumping around like a pea in a 
frying pan, and stood stock still like Jesse's horse.

"That's better," he said.  And the quirt hit harder.

No one had ever used me as hard as Jesse Morgan, and I liked 
it.  The pain took on a new flavor,  a flavor of desire.

I began to groan as each stinging blow landed upon my ass, my 
nerves on fire with pain and pleasure, the two of them twisted so 
tightly together that I could not imagine one without the other.  
Lust surged through my body, and I cried, "Harder!"

Jesse adjusted his stance, and now the quirt cracked viciously 
across my ass, and I felt the internal throbbing that meant I was 
close to coming.  I moaned and begged,  "More!"

The quirt snapped across my battered butt, the pain pushing me 
into an intensity of need I'd never known before.

The quirt landed once more, and my body rocked with spasms and 
I cried out, "Fuck me now!"

The quirt fell into the dust at my feet, and Jesse's fingers 
pressed hard against my asshole, forcing me open while I groaned and 
grunted.  Four fingers sank to the knuckles, my muscles quivering 
and twitching at the unaccustomed fullness.  He held them there 
while I shook and moaned and came hard.

After a few minutes, I said,  "Ouch."  My vision refocussed, 
and I remembered where I was, what I was doing, and who was doing it 
to me.

"Whats hurts?"  Jesse asked.

I groaned.  My ass hurt like hell, but the thing that was 
really bothering me was his hand in my ass. "I've never been fucked 
by anything that big before,"  I said.

He slowly withdrew his hand and I breathed a sigh of relief.  
He bent and dropped two gentle kisses on my abused flesh,  then 
walked around in front of me.

"You've made me very horny,"  he said, stripping off the left 
glove, the one that had been in my ass.  I looked expectantly at 
him.  To my disappointment, he wasn't hard.  After what he'd done to 
me, I'da thought he'd been hard as a rock.

"You haven't figured it out yet, have you?"

"Sir?"  I asked.

He unbuckled his big silver belt, and I opened my mouth 
obediently.  He slid the pants down his legs, revealing tan skin, 
and a golden haired pussy.

"Holy shit!"

I looked up at her.  She smiled down at me.  "Eat it," she 
commanded.

I never turn down pussy, even if I'm surprised by the offer, 
so I sucked her womanflesh into my mouth, tasting the musky flavor 
of her arousal, while her juices dripped down my chin.  She groaned 
and arched her back, one gloved and one ungloved hand holding my 
head while she ground herself against my face. I sucked her little 
bump into my mouth and she thrust against my face, so I slacked off, 
then sucked hard again.  She whooped like a bronco rider, and I 
sucked her harder.  She smashed my face with her hairy mound, and I 
wasn't able to keep hold of her slippery bump, but I tried.  

Her fingers twisted into fists pulling my hair, and she pushed 
her wet sex against my face.  She fucked my face hard, hips bucking 
like a man, my mouth the object she fucked, taking her pleasure from 
my bound body, while I tried to keep my tongue on her cunny bump.  
Fluids gushed from her hole, and she arched her back, suffocating me 
with her sex, and I grinned like an idiot, thinking to myself, "It 
doesn't get any better than this."

After a moment she said,  "I think you like being used this 
way."

"Yes ma'am, I sure do."

She slapped my face lightly.  "That's 'sir' to you.  Not a 
person within ten miles of Nowhere knows what you know."

"Yes, sir!"  I replied.

She walked around the rock and stroked my damaged hide.  I 
twitched with pain, but felt my cock bob in anticipation of what 
else she might do to me.

She slapped my welted ass, and I flinched, a groan escaping my 
lips.  "I think I'll keep you."

"Sir?"

"You have any place better to go?"

"No, sir."

She slapped my ass again, harder.  This time I bit back a 
groan and trembled. 

"Do you want me to own you?"

Why not?  I'd drifted for years, had my fun in saloons and 
around campfires, scrounged for work, been perpetually broke, and 
never been welcome in one place for very long.  Her spread was a 
harsh and bitter piece of land, but it was hers, and it was 
peaceful.

"Yessir.  I do."

"Good,"  she said with satisfaction.  "I'm going to brand you 
now."

"Sir?" I screeched.

"You belong to me;  I put my mark on you."  She spoke matter 
of factly, and there was no arguing with her.

"Yessir,"  I replied meekly.

She built a small fire on the sand, then removed the signet 
ring from her finger.  It was large, about an inch long by five 
eighths of an inch wide.  The initials 'JM' were large and clear.  
She used a stick to hang it in the fire, and when it was red hot, 
she fished it out again.

She showed it to me, the fiery red metal hanging on the green 
stick.  I was mighty relieved it was such a little thing, and not a 
real branding iron.  With her gloved hand she plucked it off the 
stick, then walked around behind me.  I shook miserably in the 
ropes, and she said, "Hold still, or you'll mess it up and I'll have 
to do it again."

I stood stock still, my heart clammering with fear, my bare 
ass waiting for her brand.  She slammed her hip against me, knocking 
me against the saddle, my body hanging heavily over the leather.  
With her hip pinning my ass in place, she forced her knee between my 
thighs so that my right leg was immobilized by the rope around my 
ankle and the pressure she put upon it.

I shrieked as the fiery metal kissed my ass.  I had a little 
hair on my rump and I smelled it burning.  I thought then that I 
would puke, but after about ten seconds she lifted the ring.  She 
blew softly across the wound, the coolness of her breath soothing it 
a bit.  A warm shiver worked up my spine, and I took a sudden gasp 
of air.  I was owned.  Owned, roped, and branded, by this strange 
and compelling woman.  No more wandering from place to place, no 
more chasing tail, no more freedom.  And I was blissfully happy 
about it.

"Sir,"  I asked.  "Would you fuck me some more please?"

"With pleasure," she replied.