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Cowboy Boots (M/f), with a prologue by SoundSiren

suikoden

4th Level Red Feather
Joined
May 20, 2001
Messages
1,771
Points
38
I’m back. First of all, some thanks:

To Marquis de Sade for the writers’ workshop notes and changing my approach to the game. To the SoundSiren for her prologue which was invaluable in establishing the voice for our heroine. To TKBostonM, wherever he may be. Your short story from back in the day inspired me in a big way.

As always, constructive feedback is warmly welcomed.


Cowboy Boots

Prologue

By SoundSiren


“Last night I got served a little bit too much of that poison baby
Last night I did things I'm not proud of
And I got a little crazy
Last night I met a guy on the dance floor
And I let him call me baaa…”


*WHAAM*

The snooze button is such a good friend.

Ten extra minutes, just enough time to be somewhere else. Somewhere NOT waking up to go work for a boss that only hired me for my ass. It’s been six months, two weeks, three days and umpteen odd minutes now of hawking boots to men that think it’ll make them look a little more country and a little less fat.

Don’t get me wrong. The right man in a fitted pair of Wranglers, black cowboy boots, topped off with a Stetson for that mysterious look…umm YES please. Sucker for it really, but beer guts and trucker tats? Yeaaah, NO thanks. Door is a thataway. Ba-bye.

I do have my standards…well mostly. There are exceptions to every self made rule when the boot fits right, if you catch my drift.

Today could be Tuesday, Friday, fuck even Monday for all I know and yes Miss Underwood, I blame it on the Cuervo. Guilt escapes me. Being twenty two, curved like a coke bottle, and blessed with a face that can make a man want leave his wife with just one quick flash of the eyes comes with responsibilities.

Mainly ONE: Use. Your. Assets. Use them DAYUM well.

Waste not want not…isn’t that what they say?

Today’s mood feels like black silk with scarlet lace trim. Nice red bow front and center to wrap up the package. Classic. Sexy. Hot. My little secret Victoria underneath it all.

Don’t like to be too sexed up though. Must leave that little something to the imagination. Favorite outfit to do the trick…simple, fitted, snap button blouse. Crisp white with pearl buttons. Snapped up to only there. One POP, two POPs, three POPs, four, and I’m all undone…if I let them get close enough to try.

Deep blue jeans, Levi’s naturally, practically painted up my legs and tied all together with my lucky boots. White flowers spiraling up scarlet red leather coming just above the ankles. Last but not least, my lucky red bandana tucked into the left back pocket that gives a little “hello” with every hip sway. It’s my little coup de grace.

I deliver the performance of a lifetime no audience will ever hear on my way to Hap’s, Patsy Cline would be proud...


“Every single day it's the same old thing
Wake up every morning do the same routine
Paint my nails and get my hair to curl
Lord it's hard being a girl…”


Oh yes, this country girl can sing. My Mama told me so. Voice drowns out the thoughts of what’s to come…hours ticking by with nothing more than the deer heads on the wall to keep me company.

Stroll on in. Mirror check my reflection in the front door as I flip the sign to OPEN…and it’s begun. S.S.D.D. My daily prayer goes out as I flick on the lights. Dear God, please don’t let me die from boredom before this day is done.

A girl can dream can’t she?



“COWBOY BOOTS”

By Suikoden


The miles roll by. Hour after hour of interchangeable scenery. Cornfields, then a small town, then a strip mall, Mom and Pop grocery stores, seed and feed stores, grain elevators.

Can’t even get any good radio stations. Is balancing the latest Chuck Palahniuk on the steering wheel really such a crime? The arrow straight blacktop disappears into the heat haze on the horizon.

Doing this as a cross country drive seemed like an adventure at the time. Get out of the city, see this great country of ours, America the beautiful. Chat with earthy locals over lunch in traditional diners and eateries. Something like that.

Over two thousand miles in one direction.

“The Ramada Inn welcomes delegates of Horizon Solutions Inc.”

Plastic food, tiresome small talk followed by a droning keynote speaker. Is anyone here even interested in exciting new developments in business optimisation strategies?

There’s one bright note, one point of interest: Lana.

Lana is from the Massachusetts office. Lana is 29 years old, a brunette and there’s a pitbull sensibility underneath her immaculate DKNY facade. Get her laughing, get her smiling, find out what she’s passionate about and push some buttons. Jealous looks from other male delegates during the breaks prompt a question.

“Hey, you wanna get dinner this evening?”

“Sure, that sounds like fun.”

“Anywhere but here though, someone said there’s a decent steak place in town. How do you feel about red meat?”

“Love it.”

The tongues start wagging there and then.

The steak is actually pretty good but the wine list was strangled at birth. She orders her steak bloody as hell, which seems to fit.

As the evening wears on it becomes more like a Michael Bay movie; shiny, attractive and promising much but ultimately disappointingly shallow.

Lana plays tennis, does yoga and loves the opera. Although she can’t actually name one when pressed. She has a laundry list of achievements and she’s used to attention and compliments.

You know when you drive past a franchise gym after 9pm in the evening? Lana’s the girl pounding away on the treadmill in the window wearing this season’s branded sportswear with her iPod and bouncing ponytail.

You know when you go into one of those whole foods stores with the goji berries and wheatgrass shots? Lana’s the girl doing her entire weekly groceries there and loudly interrogating the assistant to make sure the mung beans are ethically sourced.

It’s all a sales pitch, she can’t switch it off.

She seems genuinely surprised when I don’t ask her back to my room for a coffee and then the surprise gives way to indignation.

You wake up, you’re seventy years old, you look in the mirror and say to yourself, “Why the fuck didn’t I bang that chick when I had the chance?”

She should have ticked all the boxes. But sometimes there’s that thing you just can’t put your finger on.

When it’s right, it’s right. It didn’t feel right.

The next day she shoots daggers in between flirting nearby in the break out sessions. Flipping her hair, touching people on the arm and laughing too loudly at their jokes. Look at what you could’ve won.

It’s easy enough to tune out.

Kevin works in billing and is anxious for the lurid details.

“Hey, I hear you nailed that sweet brunette from sales last night.”

“Is that what you heard?”

“Uh-huh. Nice work my friend. You know Reilly got there before you at the Hawaii shindig last spring. Said she’s a wild ride. So come on, how was she?”

“Sorry to disappoint you but nothing happened.” Reilly is a consummate bullshit artist so it’s a sure bet nothing happened there either.

“I get it buddy boy, what happens out of the office, stays out of the office, right?”

He punches me on the arm, taps the side of his nose and wanders off to talk to some guys from IT and another glorious water cooler moment beckons.

And it’s time to turn around and drive back over two thousand miles in the other direction.

Once again the landscape is mind numbingly repetitive, like the background of a chase scene in a Roadrunner cartoon.

“The Ramada Inn welcomes the Looney Toons.”

The dog eared Palahniuk sits on the passenger seat next to a half empty bottle of Gatorade. The blacktop stretches infinitely.

You ever take a detour just for the hell of it? You had no real reason to do so but you wanted to see where you’d end up? Maybe you’d find something new out of acting on a whim. You know deep down you’ll probably just see the same shit you’ve been seeing everywhere else but you also know you’ll probably never be back in these parts again.

So you take the detour, buzzing with adventure and you see…

You see the same shit you’ve been seeing everywhere else.

It’s late afternoon though and maybe there’s a decent place in town to eat.

A slightly faded billboard rears up to announce: “Hap’s Western Wear – for everything Western.”

Hap’s is five miles away and has been serving the area since 1978. Go Hap.

Swap the Rockports for a pair of cowboy boots? Change the chinos for some Wranglers?

The roof of Hap’s is like a puzzle on Wheel of Fortune with large white letters that spell out:

“HAP’S W ST RN WEAR”

Somewhere along the line Hap found himself a couple of letters short.

What do they actually sell in one of these places? Hats, boots and jeans for starters but what else? Maybe a pair of bull horns for the den. Or a toaster that plays the theme from Rawhide.

There is one other vehicle in the small parking lot, a red Chevy pickup truck. In the back window is a small blue flag for the local college. The truck also has a bumper sticker bearing the legend:

“COWGIRLS DO IT WITH THEIR BOOTS ON”

On the right of the sticker is a silhouette of a long haired woman who appears to be clad in nothing more than a Stetson and a pair of boots.

Cute.

Wood panelling and a strong smell of leather are the first things you notice. They have a lot of boots on display, which take up most of one wall. Cowboy boots, work boots, fashion boots. All shades, shapes and sizes. You need to spend all day working on a ranch or all night dancing on the bar at Coyote Ugly? This place has you covered.

Then there are the shirts, the jeans, the hats, the belts, the bolo ties, the vests, the duster coats. A duster would be nice but not too practical on the daily commute though.

“Need any help?”

Honeyed tones with a hint of southern twang and an underlying huskiness make the short hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

A girl materializes from around a rack of shirts and grins. She’s young, maybe 21, blonde, perky, big blue eyes, even white teeth. She fills out her white western shirt and blue jeans very nicely. Crimson cowboy boots peek out from the bottoms of her jeans.

She hooks a thumb in her belt, cocks her hip and raises an eyebrow.

When it’s right, it’s right.

And that thing that lies dormant at the base of my spine rouses from its slumber and starts punching its way up through my vertebrae.

“I’m looking for pair of giant bull horns to put up in my apartment. Do you have anything like that?”

It sounds like I’m trying too hard. She rolls her eyes but the grin returns. “Really?”

She must get cheesy lines from male customers all the time. It’s probably part of the reason she was hired.

“Actually no, maybe you can help me out with some cowboy boots?”

She indicates the display with a nod. “Now that I can do but we close in ten minutes.”

“Really? Maybe I should talk to Hap instead.”

The grin increases, “Mister, I am not even sure there ever was a Hap.”

“That’s outrageous. I think I am going to have to report you to the President of the local Chamber of Commerce.”

She laughs and it’s an open uninhibited sound that makes my chest grow tight.

“Good luck with that. He’s probably half way through a bottle of Wild Turkey as we speak.”

Spirited, unafraid to speak her mind. She’s ticking all the boxes. The fact she’s smoking hot doesn’t hurt either.

When it’s right, it’s right. Only sometimes it’s very wrong. The wheels are turning in my mind.

“Well if you have to close in ten maybe I can talk to your boss instead?”

“Uh-uh, he’s outta town. Just me on my lonesome today.” She gives an apologetic little shake of the head and sticks her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.

“That’s too bad. I doubt I’ll be passing this way again anytime soon…”

She follows my gaze to the boots and sees the ones that have grabbed my attention. They have a $420 price tag. She sized me up the moment she saw me; shoes, clothes, watch, hairstyle. She looks at the boots, she looks at me, she calculates the commission on the boots and tells me maybe she can spare a few extra minutes.

Which is exactly what I want her to do.

So far, so good.

“Well which ones do you like?” She looks straight at the most expensive boots on the rack.

“Those ones are interesting.” I point at the boots she is looking at.

“They’re hot, I really like those. You’d be a size ten right?”

“Yeah, great.”

“OK, well come on in back. We’ve got a bench down there and you can sit down and try and few pairs on and if you like ‘em we have some beautiful belts in that would go great.”

She’s almost making it too easy. My hand slides into my back pocket, my Blackberry is still there.

“That’s great, just give me a minute, I left my cellphone in the car.”

“Sure.” She gives me a winning smile and walks towards the back of the store. There’s a slow sway in her hips which is entirely for my benefit. Her sales figures must be good and the red bandana in her back pocket gets me thinking.

Still only two cars in the parking lot. Shielding my eyes against the late afternoon sun and the road is quiet in either direction. Good omens.

Flip the sign to ‘closed’. Deadbolt locks. Now it’s just the two of us.

Privacy is a preference for these affairs and the devil is in the details.

You know how Jason Bourne walks into a room and probably figures out which household objects he can use to fuck you up? I do something similar and make an inventory:

Cotton bandanas – potential but you have to get the knots right
Dreamcatcher with feathers – feathers, that’s classic, it’s old school
Soft leather belt – noted
Lasso – the rope looks like it could chafe a little but in a pinch…

The cowgirl is in the back as promised and she has a few pairs of expensive looking boots lying around for me to try on. She’s matched them up with a few belts too. If she's staying late, she wants to make sure it’s worth her while.

She’s bending over at the waist, arranging the boots and showing me how well her jeans fit.

“Oh hey, you get your cell? Reception’s a little patchy in these parts though.”

“All set thanks.” The Blackberry is switched off anyway. I wave it at her and shove it back in my pocket then look admiringly at the boots.

“Oh wow, these are awesome. You’ve picked out some great stuff.”

“So you really wanna pair of cowboy boots, huh?” She sounds a little sceptical.

She’s used to the stares and she knows how to work an outfit but I can tell she’s no princess. She drives a pickup for a start and I bet she is just as comfortable eating barbecue wings and watching NASCAR as she is clubbing until dawn. She’s a Daddy’s girl.

“Well, my Dad used to love the whole cowboy mythology but he was a city kid from back east and never made it to the Wild West himself so I figured I’d come and have a look for myself…” My voice trails off in mild embarrassment.

Her eyes soften. “Oh, well that’s really nice.”

Yeah, she’s a Daddy’s girl. Speaking of which, my Dad is probably on the back nine of some golf course in Florida right now. I think we watched the Magnificent Seven one afternoon together when I was a kid

“So, uh, which ones do you think I’d should try first?”

“These ones, for sure.” She holds up a pair of black boots with reasonably low heel and medium toe.

I take off my Rockports and pull the boots on.

She starts giving me the pitch. “Full quill ostrich skin by Lucchese. Hand crafted with a ten inch shaft.”

“Excuse me?”

Her look is indulgent but says – don’t be so naïve. “The shaft of the boot, the bit that goes up your calf.”

“Thought you were being forward there for a second.”

The eyes roll but the grin stays in place though. There’s a hefty commission at stake and she thinks she’s looking at a whale.

Not even close. I am a shark and I am fucking ravenous.

“How about something a little more traditional?”

She picks up another pair of boots. These are real deal cowboy boots, pointed toe, a wedge of heel, burnt orange flame design climbing up the shaft.

I try them on. I look ridiculous. Why is it women always look hot as hell in cowboy boots but guys? Maybe you have to be an actual cowboy to get away with it.

My voice says: “Wow these are nice.” But the only thing that comes to mind is that there are probably what a Hollywood player wears when he wants to look like a maverick.

She watches me pace up and down. “Those are rockin’. Genuine lizard skin, handmade with lemonwood handpegged construction.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about but she’s obviously a connoisseur. “The toes are kind of narrow though. That’s gotta take some getting used to.”

And that big fat commission suddenly looks a little flimsy

“Oh trust me you’ll be fine. I can walk around in these things all day long.”

She kneels down in front of me and presses around my toes. Her head is almost level with my crotch. Damn those jeans fit her well. She looks up and I catch a brief flash of cleavage and something black, red and lacy that makes me want to see more. If she catches me looking, she doesn’t let on.

“These seem like a pretty good fit on you.”

“Really? You don’t get blisters and calluses?”

“Hell no, I’ve been wearing boots for years and my feet are soft as anything.”

“I dunno…” Don’t tell me. Show me.

“Oh come on, look I’ll show you.”

Good girl.

She sits down on the bench and pulls off her left boot, followed by a white cotton sock. She wasn’t kidding, no blisters, no calluses. Just a smooth, perfectly proportioned foot with cherry red nail polish.

“There ya go. Soft as silk, see?” She wriggles her toes.

My turn to kneel down. Her heel fits nicely into the palm of my hand. Like it’s meant to be there.

“Yeah, soft as silk.” If my voice sounds a little hoarse she doesn’t react.

You ever take a parachute jump? A buddy talked me into doing one for charity a couple of years ago. They give you a day’s training and tell you what to expect. If you do a solo jump it’ll be on a static line which means you jump and the chute is pulled open for you. It all sounds good on the ground but it’s a different prospect when your legs are dangling over the abyss and you’re up next.

They drill a mantra into you:

1,000-
2,000-
3,000-
4,000-
Check canopy-

If you don’t see the canopy, you pull the reserve chute.

Sitting on the edge of the plane. The girl’s foot is in my hand. Teetering over the abyss.

Maybe my chute will open. Hot cowgirl tickle sex and the next morning we grin sheepishly at each other wondering how we killed that bottle of Tequila and where are we anyway?

Maybe it won’t. A good old boy Sheriff with a big moustache and rawboned knuckles followed by chain gangs and a lifelong fear of communal showers.

To jump or not to jump?

Jump.

She tenses as she feels the grip on her ankle tighten and flinches at the first flickering of fingertips on her sole.

And the plane is a dot behind me, which is where I left my stomach.

1,000-.

“Hey what are you…” she looks into my eyes and whatever she sees reflected back gives her pause.

The pads of my fingertips graze her soft pink sole.

2,000-

“The hell are you trying to…”

She’s cut off in mid-protest and lets out a shriek as my fingernails make themselves known. Her eyebrows arch up to her hairline. The shriek turns into a squeal turns into a laugh turns into a torrent.

3,000-

We are fighting over her ankle now. She leans forward to grab it and ends up on the floor with me. Trap her ankle under my armpit and really go to work on that sweet little foot. She’s trying to struggle but she’s paralysed by laughter.

Some girls giggle for you in a way that says, “Is this alright? Is this working for you?” Cowgirl here is genuinely off the charts. Who knew?

4,000-

My stomach is in freefall while I tease that sweet sole. Too late to untickle it now. I can hear she’s breathing hard. The surprise of the attack has really knocked the wind out of her sails.

I let go and see what she does.

Check canopy-

She rolls onto her back and fixes me with a strange look, one boot on, one foot bare. She doesn’t scream, she doesn’t threaten.

The chute opens.

“What the hell was that about?”

“We’re negotiating. How much are the boots?”

She looks confused, “420 bucks.”

“Plus tax?”

“Plus tax.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm-hmm. Tell you what, I’m going to ask you what the price is in a couple of minutes and we’ll see if the answer is any different.”

Cobra quick her ankle is in my grasp again. She tries to push herself back and raises her booted foot to kick out at me. I catch it, yank her boot off and then peel off her sock.

There’s a feast for the senses: leather, cotton, warm skin. And now I’ve got two feet to play with.

“OK, OK.” She screams and making a time out gesture. She pauses and takes a breath to compose herself. She’s adorable. “I’m authorised to go to five percent. Any more than that and I’m out of pocket.”

“Is that all? Come on, you can do better that.” I really could care less about the boots

“C’mon man, just cut it out with the damn tickling!” This is her trying hard not sound a little hysterical.

“What, you’re kidding me. You’re ticklish, really?” This is me trying hard to sound surprised.

She bites her lip. “A little bit.”

“You’re going to have to do better than five percent, cowgirl.”

My hand dabs, rakes and strokes her pink soles. She’s putting up a good fight and the way her toes are wriggling is really pushing my buttons.

She yelps in surprise when I jerk up on her legs and dump her on her back. My lips slide around the big toe on her right foot. My tongue slides all over it, trying to suck the cherry red polish right off her toenail.

Pounding the floor with the bottoms of her fists and babbling incoherently. Or maybe it’s not incoherent but I’m lost in the moment.

When I come up for air we are both breathing hard. Her cheeks glisten and her hair is a tangled mane. She’s holding her ribs and sucking air through her teeth.

“Fuck it. Seven and a half percent.” She giggles.

My teeth graze the undersides of her toes and she lets out this noise which is half-wail, half-moan and develops into a high pitched shriek. She threatens, begs, pleads and promises.

Whatever. These toes feel so good in my mouth and these soles feel so good under my fingertips. The sexy laughter is the icing on the cake and she still thinks this is all about me negotiating a discount on the boots.

With a superhuman effort she flips onto her front and tries to crawl away. It’s cute but unsuccessful. Two fistfuls of denim and a sharp tug brings her smoothly between my legs.

She howls with frustration as she is straddled and bangs her fists on the ground. Her denim bubble butt is well within grabbing range but I resist for now. That red bandana in her back pocket might come in handy though.

“Seven and a half percent? Let’s not start insulting each other.”

She looks over her shoulder at me and glowers. “What are you some kind of twisted pervert?”

“We’re all some kind of pervert. Cowgirls do it with their boots on, right? Nice bumper sticker.”

“Oh jeez!” She drops her head into her hands, “well you just pulled my lil’ old boots right off so I guess you’re outta luck there.”

“Who says I want to do it with you?”

She looks at me like I’m dumb. “Uh, that bulge in your pants?”

No point denying it. “Oh that, well it’s got a mind of its own and you are sexy.”

It’s never a bad thing to tell a woman she’s sexy.

“Nine percent.” She says as she narrows her eyes at me.

She really doesn’t get it yet. This is delicious.

Somehow or other my fingertips have ended up tracing the outer seams on her jeans. Coarse denim gives way to distressed leather and then soft cotton with warm skin beneath.

Was that a telltale little twitch of the hips?

“Sorry but I don’t think nine percent is going to cut it.”

She shrieks as her waist is pinched and then she’s a bucking bronco. Her hands flap ineffectually at mine. Hungry great lobster claws up and down her sides and then slow rakes all the way down her slender back.
“-offa me!” She wheezes through the laughter and twists and turns. She’s supple, I’ll give her that.

My fingers probe at the firm muscle on the sides of her stomach. The way they tremble at my touch is exhilarating.

She lets out a long wail of helplessness. I know what she’ll be going through now. Seen it before.

Cowgirl has used up a lot of energy trying to shift my 170lbs and it’s just tired her out. Her ribs and belly will be starting to ache from the laughter and soon she’ll have all the strength of a wet noodle. Which means she will have even less of a defense against what comes next.

Perhaps it would be fair to tell her and to advise her to conserve her energy but the look in their eyes when they figure it out is priceless.

My hands are snug in her pits now. Between that and quick pinches on her waist she doesn’t even notice when the bandana is whipped out of her back pocket.

“Nine percent indeed. I don’t think you want this sale.” She cringes as I whisper in her ear. Behind my back the bandana is fashioned into a loop.

She is catching her breath when my fingers slide into her pits again, she wedges her arms against her sides. Speed is of the essence now. The looped bandana goes over her right wrist.

“What the,” she screams as I seize her left wrist and bring it to her right. The loop ensnares them both, jerk it tight and tie off the loose ends.

“Gotcha!”

Now I can really go to work on her.

She pulls at her wrists but I know my knots and that one is there to stay. She looks genuinely concerned now. “What the fuck is this? What are you doing?”

“I told you, we’re negotiating.”

“OK, very fucking funny Mr Negotiator. You can play your silly little games but I’ve got three older brothers who are coming over to pick me up after work and none of them vote Democrat so you better let me go.”

Check canopy-

She’s bluffing.

“Yeah, that’s why your car is the only one in the parking lot and you told me you were here all on your lonesome.”

She is almost hyperventilating. “Look, just let me go and I won’t press charges. We can walk away from this.”

“Press charges? For what? I haven’t stolen anything, I am not going to kidnap you and I am not going to hurt you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

Because as soon as I saw you, saw the way you stood, saw the way you moved, saw the way you dressed, heard the way you spoke, heard the way you laughed I wanted you, I had to have you, had to feel your skin, had to wring the laughter from your lungs while you squirm beneath me because it gets me off, because when it comes to shit like this I am your worst nightmare – a master strategist with really bad impulse control.

What I actually say is, “I am just some guy looking for a sweet deal on a pair of boots.”

Pull her upright by the shoulders so we’re belly to back. She smells as good as she looks. I’m happy. Her? Not so much.

“I think you can go to fifteen percent.”

“Fifteen percent? Jeez, you want the shirt off my back too?”

“Now there’s a thought!”

“Jerk.”

“You see, the art of negotiation is all about knowing which buttons to push.”

She screams as I start in on her ribs, working them like an accordion. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.”

She’s one of those girls who reacts to tickling with a series of shrieks and yelps and then shakes in silent torment. She still has the presence of mind to dig her fingernails into my thigh.

Snake an arm around her middle so her breasts are resting on my forearm. Feasting on ribs. Let’s see who breaks first.

Blonde hair whips into my face and she’s gonna leave a mark on my quads but it’ll be worth it. Knead her ribs with the same intensity. She gives up with a ragged groan of frustration and begs me to stop the tickling.

Like hell.

Somehow she twists around in my grasp and bites me on the shoulder.

Now there’s two ways to bite someone. You know what two dogs look like when they’re fighting over a piece of meat? Neck muscles standing out in stark relief, teeth bared. That’s the first way, fight to the death kind of thing. The second one is when you open your mouth wide and just apply pressure with your teeth. There’s a sharpness to it and it’s still aggressive but more playful. You’re trying to make a point, not draw blood.

Cowgirl’s bite is more like the second variety. Not that I am going to let her get away with it. Grin.

“Hey! Did you just bite me?”

“Only cuz I can’t kick your fuckin’ ass right now!”

I love it. You don’t get attitude like that from yoga classes and ethically sourced mung beans.

When it’s right, it’s right.

“That’s not how you bite someone. This is how you bite you someone.”

Back on the plane, legs dangling out into the abyss. The second time is easier.

Make a fist in that thick blonde hair at the nape of her neck and pull her head aside. Could not be more aware of the swell of her breasts against my arm. Slide my mouth down the side of her neck, into the collar of her shirt and then…

1,000-

Let her feel my lips.

2,000 –

Let her feel my teeth.

3,000-

Let her feel my breath.

4,000-

Hold her there. Her pulse jumps against my teeth and she tenses up. Skin like velvet and tastes like a peach.

Check canopy-

She’s trembling and panting. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. Always keep them guessing.

“Did you like that?” I whisper.

She ponders her response but then I go after her ribs again and she freaks. Dorothy just realised she isn’t in Kansas anymore.

I pull the front of her shirt from her jeans and my fingers get to work on her waist and belly. Her muscles twitch under my hand and I have to bite that neck again.

Right now she doesn’t know which way is up.

“Gawd, what the hell are you…”

She can’t get a full sentence out before I find some new sweet spot to tweak and her words are stolen by laughter.

We are rolling around on the rug now. She is struggling for breath as I roll her and straddle her. I am as hard as a rock.

She fidgets and tries to find a comfortable position, which isn’t easy with her wrists bound together.

“You drive a hard bargain, Mister. Take the matching belt and I’ll give you ten percent off.”

Tied up and worn down but she still has that sassy cowgirl attitude. Dear diary, I think I’m in love.

“You really are seriously ticklish aren’t you? But something tells me you don’t like to let on.”

I hover a single finger over her midsection, giving her quick pokes now and then. Her eyes follow my hand like a kitten watching a ball of string.

“Doesn’t quite go with the image, does it cowgirl?”

Her nostrils flare. Yeah, she’s a little pissed. Just a little though.

“So you do this a lot?” She fumes.

“What, haggle over the price of cowboy boots?”

“Prick.”

“Considering your predicament you don’t seem all that bothered.” I am loving this.

“Yeah well, I know guys and if you were gonna do something nasty you woulda done it by now.”

Smoothing the hair out of her eyes and off her face, “Well I already told you I am not going to hurt you but I have been thinking about unbuttoning your shirt.”

“The hell you will.” She half sits up with indignation.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it looks great on you but it’s just getting in the way.” The truth is, ever since that little taste of her neck, I want to tickle what’s under her shirt. Fingers to skin.

She can feel my fingers toying with the first closed button on her shirt, the top two are already open which leaves me four to play with. They’re snap fasteners so I could rip it open with one sharp tug but today it’s all about the anticipation.

“Wait, wait, wait.” She’s pleading with nervous laughter and her voice has gone up an octave. “There must be something else. Come on, man.”

I test the tension on the snap button. It wouldn’t take much. I know this and she knows this.

“You could tell me a story.”

“A story? Fine, fine a story, I can do that. I did a creative writing course in college. What kind of story d‘you want?” She blows out of the corner of her mouth to try and dislodge a few wayward strands of hair.

“How about you tell me the story of your love-hate relationship with tickling? If you keep me suitably entertained, you might just manage to distract me.” It’s a blatant lie but I dangle the bait anyway.

“Omigod, you are not serious?”

My fingertip traces the open V formed by her shirt collar. “Sweetheart, you bet your life I’m serious.”

“Oh fuck, ok ok, look once upon a time there was this girl and she was like majorly ticklish. Haha, hehe, hoho. The end. Ok? Happy now?”

“No. You need to convince me. Try harder.”

SNAP.

She gasps as the button opens and delivers a flash of the twin swells cupped in black satin with red lace trim. Either she’s got a hot date later on or she knows full well that kneeling down in front of wannabe cowboys and giving them a peek down her shirt won’t do her sales commission any harm.

“Whatthefuckdoyouthinkyouaredoingyoucan’tdothisgetthefuckoffmenow…”

She carries on in a similar vein for a bit without pausing for breath. It’s cute at first but after a while it grows a little bit tiresome and it isn’t like I’ve got all night. A single digit placed across her lips quietens her down. She’s figured out she shouldn’t try and bite me so I guess that’s progress.

“I said I wanted a story, not some smart ass retort. Now if you’re going to be a smart ass, it’ll be no trouble to stuff another bandana between those delightful lips. Then I will tie another bandana over the top.”

Inject a bit of tempered steel into my voice and I get her full attention.

When that’s done, I will tickle you until you pass out, wait for you to come around and then start all over again. Got that?”

She gives me a wide-eyed look of disbelief. “You can’t make people pass out just through tickling them.” She is desperate for me to admit I am kidding here. She gets no such satisfaction.

“Sweetheart, I can tickle you in ways that’ll make you give me anything I want. The PIN for your ATM card. Your panties…”

“Oh fuck you, man. Seriously, f-”

SNAP.

Her breasts, they’re spectacular. They earn a respectful silence and I am entranced as they rise and fall, rise and fall.

“Ah, now look what you made me do. Careful, you’ve only got two buttons left now.”

SNAP.

“I meant one button. Sorry, couldn’t resist.” Give her the boyish grin that usually gets me out of trouble. Not sure she bought it.

There’s a lot more of her flat stomach on display now. Mystery solved. She has an innie.

“Alright alright, it was Darryl, it was all his fault.” She seems to be trying to stop the irresistible effects gravity is having on her shirt, each movement she makes causes the collar to slide a little further from her shoulders. It’s a hell of a thing to see.

“And who might Darryl be?”

“He was my first boyfriend in college.” She sighs, collecting herself and then tells me the story.

“We were at a party one night and people were doing body shots so Darryl wants to get a photo of me with my friend Liz doing a shot of tequila from my belly button. So I lie down on the table, lift up my shirt, she pours in the shot, puts a little salt round me and I have the slice of lime in my teeth. Well it tickled so bad when she started licking the salt and I couldn’t lie still. I was dribbling lime juice, knocking stuff over, it was a mess. So eventually Liz’s boyfriend has to practically pin me down and Liz is making me suffer and I’m going nuts. We musta gone through a quarter bottle of Jose Cuervo before Darryl got the shot he wanted just so he could show it off to his damn football team.

“Anyway Darryl, he just stands there with an idiot grin of his face and right there and then I shoulda known I was in trouble.”

“You have my undivided attention. Tell me more.”

“So after the party Darryl and I go back to his room and he says he didn’t know I was so ticklish and next thing I know he pounces on me and he’s tickling the hell outta me. I got tickled as a kid just like everyone else but he’s really turned on. He’s got like a fever for it or something. The more I struggle, the more I scream, the more he does it and all the time he’s getting my clothes off. He only stopped when the mathlete in the next room banged on the wall and threatened to call campus security.

That wasn’t the end of it though, any time Darryl thought he could get away with it he’d get me, pin me down and tickle me or he’d do it in places like movie theaters to try and make me embarrass myself.”

Sounds just like my college days. “Is that why you broke up with him?”

She snorts, “Nope, he got an Xbox 360 and I wasn’t going to stick around to be his tickle and booty call when he got fed up playing Call of Duty or whatever it was. He used to spend freakin’ hours on that damn thing.”

You wake up, you’re seventy years old, you look in the mirror and you say to yourself, “What the fuck was I doing wasting my time on videogames?”

“I have to tell you, Darryl sounds like one dumb sonuvabitch.”

That earns me a smile.

“Aw, he wasn’t so bad, just a bit immature is all.”

“I see. So would you say you go for the older man then?” If you’re going to bet, you may as well bet big.

She looks me up and down. “Yeah but not senior citizens.”

Oh well.

SNAP.

“Hey!”

“Now that one was purely for being a brat.” And not because I was going to do it anyway.

And she’s all undone. Grin.

The shirt slides off her belly and my hands smooth it from her shoulders and I take a good long look at the cowgirl with her centerfold body and her long blonde hair and her sexy red and black bra and her tight blue Levi’s and her distressed leather belt.

“Ohshitohshitohshit…” She’s panting and I haven’t even touched her. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Well, I was just thinking to myself, why should Darryl have all the fun?”

In the second it takes her to process this, my fingertips are on her sides with a ‘barely there’ pressure. The pads begin to skate over her arresting contours in random patterns, making her nerve endings sing.

She writhes for me and lets out a strangled little moan as I trace her ribs. She knows it’s coming. She knows she’s being softened up, primed.

You know when the waiter brings you a steak and you look at it there on the plate, thick, juicy and you haven’t even sunk your knife into it yet but you are already salivating and you just want to devour it. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. I’m ravenous. I am going to devour her.

My fingers are insatiable now, making her twitch, making her moan, making her scream. Pinching up and down her sides, jamming into her pits, knuckling the spaces between her ribs, teasing her belly button, fluttering all around her ears and neck. I keep the tempo high, giving her no pity or pause. I want to tickle the sass right out of her.

“Staaap staaap staaap…” she wails, “can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe.” Each repetition is an octave higher than the last as she is played like a piano.

And relax. Let her have a breather, just a short one, enjoy the view, listen to her breaths.

“OK, OK, OK, what do you want from me, what do you want? Just tell me what you want. Time out, time out. I can’t take much more of that. I can’t I can’t Ican’t icant.”

“Oh I think you can.”

This time she is sorely tested as I cycle through her sweet spots. Probing along the muscles of her thighs and tickling her under the butt. Digging my thumbs into the shallow depressions of her hips that sit just below her belt. Tweaking the ribs just below her bra strap. Teasing those spots just behind her ears. There’s something within me that wants to see her pass out, that wants to see her totally submit to me. Sometimes in order to build something up you have to break it all the way down first.

She’s almost in tears now. She’s got nothing left. My hands never leave her body for a second, it’s a feeding frenzy. You have to be careful in moments like this. You could really lose yourself.

Pull my hands away and exhale. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus. Bring it back.

“Hey, OK, just relax now, shhhhh.” Stroking the hair from her face, stroking her hot, wet cheeks. A little sugar to help the medicine go down. “Still alive?”

She trembles as she fixes her baby blues on me. “Fine.”

“You probably thought you were back with Darryl back then.” Make a little joke out of it.

“I thought Darryl used to tickle me but Mister, he ain’t got shit on you.” She giggles nervously.

Which is exactly what I wanted to hear. Hey Darryl, how’s Call of Duty working out for you?

“OK, sweetheart, just relax now. I’m going to show you the other side of it. I’m going to show you how nice it can be.”

“Puh-lease, just don’t tickle me anymore OK?”

There’s a small display of western house wares next to us. I make a pile of cushions and lift her onto it. The look she gives me is open, that tells me she is a bit more receptive now. I could do whatever I wanted to her right now and that makes me harder than I’ve been in ages.

Half lying next to her and rubbing her stomach. She is calmer and looking a little less frazzled.

Swivel around to straddle her and then move backwards. Wrap my arms around her waist and press my face against her stomach. The flat muscles of her abdomen tense in anticipation as I inhale her scent. She’ll be with me forever now. All I will have to do is close my eyes and remember.

Been wanting to do this since I laid eyes on her. My lips meet her stomach and drizzle winding kisses from hip to hip.

There’s a sharp intake of breath above me and I can feel she is trying to sit up. She is exhausted though and she falls back onto the cushions. Teasing her belly button with my tongue now. Lock my arms tighter around her and slide a hand into the back pocket of her jeans. She flinches when I pinch her butt. She giggles, her breathing changes and I know I am getting to her in an entirely different way now.
My mouth traces a path from her navel to the hollow of her throat and whispers, “See, it’s not all bad is it?”

I watch her closely for a reaction but the change of pace has thrown her for a loop. She shakes her head as if she doesn’t want to say the words because saying them will make it true and some part of her is probably still in denial about all this.

She lets out a small groan as I shift my attention back to her stomach again and she pushes her hips up to receive me. Smiling as I do this now and I really shouldn’t as it’s mean.

Tracing the rim of her navel with the tip of my tongue, flickering across the smooth plain of her belly. Moistening my lips while she smiles a secret smile. Seal my lips against her and then…

I raspberry the living daylights out of her.

Got my own little rodeo deal going on now as she snaps her body like a bullwhip. I get a good strong grip on her hips and just blow because the noises she makes when my mouth vibrates against her are music to the ears.

“You fucker.” She laughs when I finally let up. Her eyes are shining she’s not that mad.

“We don’t have any Tequila but I had to do a body shot anyway.” I rest my chin on her belt buckle and the ripples in her belly are transmitted into my jaw. The rise and fall of her breasts in those lacy cups is hypnotic. The thirst intensifies, I need more. The inventory of useful items I noted on the way in looms large in my mind.

“Don’t go away, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

Quick as a flash I am back with what I need. She hasn’t tried to flee, hasn’t tried to get her hands free. She’s curious about what I have planned next. She looks at my left hand and sees two long red feathers. She looks at my right hand and sees a knife.

She scrabbles to a sitting position and tries to get her feet underneath her so she can get up but she slides on the cushions and skids onto her ass.

“What the hell is that for? You promised you weren’t going to hurt me, you promised.” She protests.

“And I told the truth.” It’s easy enough to push her onto her back and straddle her thighs. “I am not going to hurt you, I am not going to leave a single mark on your skin. Can’t say the same for that pretty bra though.”

I let the cool flat of the blade touch her skin and then slide the edge under the fabric joining the cups of her bra. She cranes up to see what I am doing.

Pull the blade back, lifting the material, tilt the blade and the material tears. A gentle sawing motion and the blade is halfway through. A flick of the wrist and the cups spring to the side.

The knife is discarded, forgotten. The way she shivers tells me my gaze has an almost physical intensity. Lifting the tattered cups away from her body, sliding the ripped garment down her arms to join her crumpled shirt and you know what? I was right.

Her breasts, they are spectacular.

She looks up at me, all wide eyed and breathless. She glows in a way that makes it hard to breathe and I bet she doesn’t even know. She’ll figure it out one day though and heaven help any man she wants to twist around her little finger. She will be lethal.

But tonight she’s twisting underneath my fingers.

She’s muttering something over and over in between her ragged breaths. Her golden skin ripples in irresistible ways and I am straddling her, grinding my knees against her hips. My fingers itch and I’m straining inside my pants as I bite the inside of my cheek. I am really hungry for her, for this.

Like I said: I am fucking ravenous.

Hey eyes watch the feathers, one in each hand. They descend and she shifts her weight. “Shit no, waitaminute…“ She giggles nervously.

A ghost of a smile; that’s all she gets from me. Bon appetit.

The tips of the feathers graze her nipples. She lets out a strangled moan and turns her head to the side which makes the muscles in her neck stand out.

I feel the resistance of puckering flesh as the red tendrils flicker and stroke. She screws her eyes shut and doesn’t say anything but then she doesn’t have to. Each supple movement of her hips speaks volumes.

Two feathers in my left hand form a steep ‘V’. She tries to say something but I place my right hand over her mouth and saw the feathers across her erect nipple. It’s agony and ecstasy for her. She wants more but she daren’t ask. I can feel her hot breath against my fingers. My hand slides down to caress her other breast. She squeals as I pinch her nipple.

“Admit it, you liked that didn’t you?” My feathers are writing secret promises on her body. She’ll remember this experience with longing and excitement for years to come.

“You fucker,” she giggles. By this stage she’s making it sound almost like a term of endearment. There’s a moan of frustration and then she fixes me with her big pretty eyes and says: “is that all you got?”

And that’s when I know I’ve got exactly what I want – her submission.

Her nipples are throbbing and the heat is coming off her in waves that makes dogs howl at the moon but she still has pride, she still has her southern sass and she is not about to beg. So she tries to bait me instead, to see if she can goad me into giving her what she wants, what she needs.

I’m seventeen years old sitting in the back row of a movie theatre with Becky Alstaetter. My arm has made that slow journey around the back of her seat and my hand is creeping round to try and cop a feel. She knows exactly what I am doing.

Without taking her eyes from the screen, she unzips my fly, reaches into my shorts and I spring out at full attention. I worry I am going to erupt as soon as she touches me but I don’t embarrass myself quite that badly. She uses her fingernails, grazing slowly up and down. That’s all; just her fingernails. She doesn’t squeeze, she doesn’t pump, just slow gentle strokes that make me want to cry with frustration. And endless build up with no pay off. She’s half smiling in the semi-darkness.

That’s when I realize I am way out of my league. That’s when I realize she has done this before. When the movie finishes Becky calmly gets up and I am frantically stuffing myself back into my jeans before the house lights come up. Becky has to be somewhere so she gives me a kiss goodnight that I will never forget and leaves me to limp home. Becky Alstaetter knew how to tease and whether she meant to or not she taught me a lot.

I never got to tease Becky the way she teased me but ever since then I have always relished the feeling of bringing a woman to the brink and then denying her.

My cowgirl, and by this point she is definitely mine, squirms beneath me as the tendrils of the feathers run back and forth across her nipples. This is sweet torture that makes her arch like a cat. She wants more, it’s written all over her face. When I’m ready she’ll get it.

Right now though she’s a puppet, the feathers are the strings and she is dancing to my tune.

I trace the contours of her body with the feathers in a slow agonising tease. It must be like a thousand ants crawling across her skin, making her itch in a way she can’t scratch.

Finally she gives in, blurting, “I can’t stand it anymore.”

The feathers continue to swoop and glide to follow her writhing body. “Can’t stand what?”

“You know what I mean.” She whimpers.

I settle down over her and tickle her breasts with the pads of my fingers. I whisper into the hollow of her throat. “Sorry, you’re going to have to spell it out for me.”

“You can’t leave me like this.” She wails, practically throwing a tantrum.

I nibble at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and take my sweet time doing it. It’s pretty obvious what she wants. They say ninety-five per cent of communication is non-verbal and she is transmitting loud and clear.

The feathers have served their purpose and I don’t need them anymore. I pull her upright and manhandle around until I am sitting behind her and she is between my legs.

Tilt her chin back until the back of her head rests against my shoulder. Her bound wrists are pretty close to my crotch and I am aware I could be in a world of pain if she changes her mind but confidence is high and the risk is worth it.

My hands slide up her flanks, tickling her gently and she rubs herself against me.

“Haven’t you had enough of tickling me for one day?” She whispers.

I reply by going at her ribs and she squeals and growls at me. I cup her breasts and stroke her nipples with my thumbs while letting my lips frisk her neck and ears.

She grinds her butt against me as I frame her belt buckle with my hands and yank it open.

“Easy tiger,” she giggles.

“Shut up.” But I am grinning too.

Her button fly parts in a series of staccato pops. I can’t resist a peak. Low cut, black satin, red lace trim. Sexy.

She groans as my fingers glide over the moist front panel of her underwear. I can tell she is hot and shaved underneath.

I tickle her ear with one hand as I whisper into the other. “And I thought you didn’t like tickling? Doesn’t feel that way to me.”

Her response is half giggle and half purr. Her voice strains as she deals with the feather-light tickling on her upper body and my fingertips rubbing the damp material against her crotch.

“Lift your hips.”

She willingly obeys and I slide her jeans and panties down a little and cup her rounded ass before settling her back down onto me and sliding my hand under that elastic waistband.

I settle back and tickle her lazily while gently rubbing her moist lips. She gasps when I slide my middle finger deep inside her. She clamps her thighs about my hand and I can feel the tell-tale tremors which tell me this isn’t going to take long.

It doesn’t.

I let her bite down on my thumb as the pulsing in her core builds and her breath quickens. She is close to drawing blood when she throws her head back and with a whispered ‘Ah’ that rises steadily in pitch she climaxes violently against my hand, her hips bucking, her fingernails gouging into my thighs.

“Good?”

She can’t get the words out but she nods enthusiastically and turns her head into me so I can feel her breath on my neck.

We lay there, half reclining on the cushions. I am gently rubbing her again and giving her little tickles here and there because I like the way she squirms and I want to get the most out of this. I know it can’t last forever.

I slide around and push her gently onto her back. Take one nipple into my mouth and suck. She’s still sensitive so I am gentle with her. She is already groaning though. I work my way over to the other nipple and then down, down, down to suck on her belly button and then I am nibbling at her thighs. I spread them gently and gently lick at her, tasting her.

She murmurs above me but I’m not listening. My fingers tease her hips and waist and my tongue laps rhythmically against her stiffened clit as I drive her towards another climax. Slide two fingers inside her and as I pump she damn near crushes my skull with her sleek thighs. I think she likes this.

“Omigodthatsincredible…” She breathes. Her back arches, pushing her hips into my face.

Every taste bud on my tongue writes its name on her. She is seething and has totally submitted to my touch. At this moment in time, I own her.

The tickles are limit to light strokes with curled fingers that heighten rather than distract from what I am doing with my mouth.

The tightness in her throat as she groans betrays the level of her arousal. Suck on her clit and tease her lips with my tongue.

She’s giggling, telling me she can’t take any more and telling me not to even think about stopping in the same breath.

My hands grip her slender waist as I bury face between her slick thighs. She lets out a delicious hiss of anguish which tells me the waves are building inside her and are about to break on her shores.

Her hips mash against my face when the second orgasm hits. She hits the high notes and lets out a string of creative cursing that would impress sailors.

Eventually I come up for air and loom over my semi naked little cowgirl. I can still taste her.

“I don’t even know your name,” she giggles nervously.

“And I don’t know yours but what does any of that have to do with any of this?”

“Not much I guess.”

“Anyway, I am not finished with you yet, cowgirl. Get over here.”

I pull her into my lap and settle down. Spend a little while on soft tickles and caresses to get her already sensitive skin tingling again. This time I hold her close and whisper to her the whole time, telling her she is my special little tickle slave and that I love making her squirm, making her squeal, making her moan.

There’s a brief glorious moment of lucidity when it hits me that this is really happening. This is not just some flight of fantasy. I have a sexy blonde cowgirl in my arms and she is naked apart from the jeans and panties pooling around her thighs.

My lips nibble all across her neck and shoulders. Yeah, she likes being teased. I slide my fingers between her thighs again.

“Slowly!” She says tensing up. “I am really sensitive right now.”

I pull back slightly, “You want me to stop?”

“That’s not what I said.” She grins.

I unknot the bandana from around her wrists. “Hold on tight then.”

She wraps her arms around my neck and shifts her hips.

I am gentle as she trembles against me. This is a time to give rather than take. She giggles as I tease her ribs. She moans as I squeeze her breasts and all the while my fingers work between her thighs where she welcomes my touch.

The girl likes to bite but this time I am willing to forgive. This time it’s different. She tells me things. She tells me how it feels, she tells me what she likes.

She isn’t the sassy cowgirl anymore, the salesperson of the month hunting the big commission. Any façade is stripped away.

She is practically crying into my shoulder when I lovingly bring her to a third shuddering climax. Her slender arms show surprising strength as she hangs onto my neck for dear life. I can taste the salt on her skin and smell the scent of the morning’s shampoo on her hair. The way she moves and the noises she makes; I want to keep her forever.

My cowgirl is exhausted. Between the nervous excitement, the tension, the adrenaline and the three orgasms I bet she hasn’t had too many days at work like this.

There is nothing self-conscious in the way about her as she steps out her damp panties and then pulls her jeans back on and retrieves her boots, then strips off the remnants of her bra before buttoning her shirt. That was a really nice bra and I feel a little guilty about ruining it. Only a little though.

“Wow,” she giggles a little nervously, “that was unexpected.”

I surprise myself by pulling her into my arms and kissing her passionately. Lips locked, tongues wrestling, hands exploring. To me it is as erotic as anything else that’s happened between us.

“I have a confession to make. This was never really about the boots.”

“Oh, no shit?” She says dryly. “Who says I was ever gonna give you a discount anyway?” Her hand drops to playfully squeeze the hardness in my pants.

“Oh yeah, what have I got myself in for now?”

“A thousand and we’ll call it square. Hell, I’ll throw in a nice red handkerchief to remember me by.”

And the grin on my face gets bigger. She’s good. When it’s right, it’s damn fucking right.


Epilogue

Hap’s western store is a good hour in the distance and there’s a couple hours driving ahead before I find somewhere to pull in for the night. The day’s excitement has taken it out of me a little and I am nursing a feeling of triumph. Part of me is wondering what on earth is going through the cowgirl’s mind in the aftermath of our little tryst.

It’s getting a little darker now.

Headlights appear in my rearview. They are gaining quickly so I slow down and change lanes to let them go past.

The headlights are joined by alternating red and blue flashes. Police cruiser.

Oh fuck.

Maybe he’ll go past. He doesn’t. He sits on my tail.

Oh fuck me. She didn’t, did she? Well why the hell wouldn’t she? I can’t see any of the courts down here going easy on an out of state visitor who plundered the virtues of one of their sweet maidens. Think, motherfucker, think!

Shitshitshitshitshitshit….

Pull over because what other choice is there? Pull an OJ? I pull over.

You wake up, you’re seventy years old, you look in the mirror and you say to yourself, “I’ve got a good feeling about this parole board.”

The aircon is working fine in my car but rivulets of sweat are pouring down my back. A sheriff’s deputy gets out of the cruiser and makes his way slowly to my vehicle.

He’s a big guy. Mustache. Rawboned. Knuckles.

And my legs are dangling over the abyss again.

I roll down my window as his boots crunch along the blacktop.

1,000-

“Good evening officer. Is there a problem?” Keep both hands in full view, make no sudden moves.

2,000-

“Can I see some ID?”
“Certainly.” I dig my wallet out of my pants, I pull out my driver’s license and hand it to him. My hand isn’t trembling too much.

He looks at my license. He looks at me. He does this a couple of times. Somewhere in his past he just missed out on a football scholarship and ended up paying his way through college, bouncing at local clubs. This is how kept the rich kids sweating while he looked at their IDs.

“Don’t see many of these licenses round here.” He says with a grunt. “You’re a long way from home.”

3,000-

“Yeah, I had to drive across country for a work thing. Thought I’d make a road trip out of it.”

Another grunt.

4,000-

He hands the license back to me and taps his notebook against the passenger side brake light. “Your brake light isn’t working properly. You need to get that checked out.”

Check canopy-

“You’re kidding? I just had this damn thing serviced two weeks ago. I’ve got the printout from the auto-shop in my glove compartment, I can show you.” The indignation is real.

He holds up a hand. “That won’t be necessary, sir. Just get it seen to the next time you stop.”

“Absolutely officer, and I’ll go back and see these jokers when I get home.”

“You do that, sir. Have a good night.” He taps a finger to the brim of his hat and walks back to his cruiser.

Elation. That’s the only word for it. Some days you eat the bear and some days the bear eats you. Today I need a toothpick.

Back on the road and I can’t stop laughing and bouncing my fist off the ceiling of the car. “Yes motherfucker, yes.”

The way that cop looked at me I thought I’d had it. Then again, I doubt he pulls over many cars with out of state plates driven by guys wearing over a thousand bucks of cowboy gear.

I fish the receipt off the floorboard and shake my head in disbelief. She wrote her phone number and email address on the back, and look how cute…she dots her “i’s” with a heart.

You wake up, you’re seventy years old, you look in the mirror and you say to yourself, “Man, what a great fuckin’ road trip that was.”
 
WoW! Amazing!!.

Thanks! The trick here was to try and blend two styles - a more spartan prose which is my faltering attempt to ape the more muscular style of Palahniuk or Hemingway and my usual, more 'self indulgent' narrative stream. Incidentally many people say it reminds them of Stephen King which is interesting as I don't really read his stuff.

When we join our narrator, he is finding everything tedious and mundane and can barely be bothered to put the effort into describing everything so the terser style fits that mood. However, once he lays eyes on the cowgirl (she does have a name, I just didn't use it in the final version) life regains some of its sparkle and excitement and he is now keen to sear every second of this experience into his memory through as many sensory inputs as possible.

I hope that makes sense. If I got it right, the merging of the styles should have been fairly seamless rather than the grating sound of gears shifting without the clutch!

Seriously, thanks to everyone who has taken the trouble to reply. You have no idea how long it took to get this story written. Well, a couple of you do...

;)
 
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I owe you and Siren a way better review than this, but I don't even know where to begin. This was f*cking brilliant :clap:. It's been so long since I've read stories over here, and I'm really glad it was one penned by 2 of my favorite, favorite writers. Just absolutely brilliant from pacing to phrasing...the perfect blend of lust, sadism, submission...and wonderfully vivid detail that would make a statue blush :jester::blush:.

Well done :blackrose:
 
Thanks Relish. You know if you wanted to film this for your clips store, I don't think anyone would mind. :)

MYTH!! How good to see you? How the hell have you been? I am really glad you liked the story and as for detail that would make a statue blush - I will definitely take that. :D

But...don't think of this as just a story, think of it as a gauntlet. I'm throwing it down. You picking it up? ;)
 
Out of everything you've written IMO, this particular piece showcases the true and natural talent you possess as a storyteller - and it isn't just limited to this genre either. It might stand out to Siren and I more so than others since we were privy to the back end of things on this one - the process, mechanics, the work, time, drafts, the collective hours of Skype and Yahoo and of course, the most noticeable change - the switch of your style itself.

Putting the story itself aside for just a second, you accomplished something very rare and something all artists in every field aspire to I'm sure, ESPECIALLY after being witness to the process: You managed to hide all the work. You buried every writing trick learned and the result is simply one hell of an unforgettable ride. Pure fun, pure sensuality and just the right amount of humor in all the right places.

If I went line by line of course I could pick out some of the stuff we talked about but the amazing thing is just how damn smoothly, how effortlessly you pieced it all together. To the point where, right from the beginning, I'm not even thinking about any of that, I'm just enjoying myself. To have had this story for so long and having suffered so many false starts and then decide to switch your style COMPLETELY and so suddenly and then to deliver this - it really is remarkable. A thousand people could read those workshop classes and a thousand would fail at not just picking stuff up but learning how to take it and make it their own and chisel the technique into something that's their very own. In this case, this is pure Suikoden and pure awesome.

I LOVED the cowgirl. She's one of the most memorable characters in recent anything and one I almost hope to see more of (leave the audience panting and gasping for more - mission certainly accomplished), but that would almost break the spell if it happened. She doesn't even need a name as she simply embodies the nameless and near indescribable hurricane shiver we FEEL when we encounter such a person in the real world, male or female. This particular whirlwind just happens to be a smart-ass, sassy, sexy, cute and kinky cowgirl in red boots.

And that thing that lies dormant at the base of my spine rouses from its slumber and starts punching its way up through my vertebrae.

Yeah. That. Exactly that. This is not just another character. We all know this feeling. It's something raw and primal and it stays and stays.

I also love our narrator. He's immediately likable, somebody we can all relate to and whom we trust to take us along for the ride (lol). He isn't his dull and droning job, isn't what he wears or even what he does in the story. He's the voice in all of us who asks:

You ever take a detour just for the hell of it?

And it asks it to us almost as if it were a challenge. It's one few of us answer but you gave it a near tangible place to play here.

The kink of course, is always scorching from you. Here however, you show us so many levels that are, sadly, so often overlooked. Thank GOD for not giving us the same one note that is so often seen: THEN HE TICKLED HER FEET AND HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AND THEN AND THEN AND THEN AND THEN SHE WAS CUMMING AND OMG!!!!!!!

Yeeeah. I hope many don't write from a place they know. Because there is so much more to be experienced. The roughness, the fight, the pleasure and playfulness, the raw and the sensual. The explosion of the first orgasm, the shuddering power of her second and my favorite - the true connect between the two of her third. The third one, after everything before, brings it down, it is something they do together after much push and pull, give and take. And it is so intimate, it's lovely and perfect.

Some of the lines you've come up with btw:

Every taste bud on my tongue writes its name on her.

Are extraordinary. And when in context, adds so much depth to an idea that is so simple.

You certainly pulled this off, I can't wait for more from you. In fact, if you don't mind, I'd love to also take a crack at picking up at that gauntlet. ;)

And hey, btw. The sheer SPEED at which you finished this is remarkable. You made the switch after like...what, like a YEAR or something? And then all of a sudden this was finished in...I think a flippin' week.

When it's right, it's right. And this ticked all the boxes.

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that. Always keep them guessing.

Indeed.

“Did you like that?” I whisper.

Very much so, sir.

And Siren - for you to bang that prologue out in ten minutes is also just as impressive. The content of it does indeed set the tone and form her whole. This struck the match which Suik blazed into a wildfire. I know for a fact it took just a smidgen of research but once you found that connective song, your talent did its thing in such little time. I am curious, as to whether you even know what you're capable of. :redheart:

Take note, other aspiring writers. It isn't all just dull stats (waist size, bust size, etc.), that makes something truly engaging. It's that raw feeling you feel, the reason behind WHY you sat down to write out a story in the first place that we can all of us connect to and keep us reading again and again.

One last note concerning feedback in general: Whether you enjoyed a story or not, the feedback from the audience, the readers, is something truly, truly appreciated more than you might know. It's what keeps us going should we writers decide to share something. The fact that, whether or not it's your cup of tea, SOMEONE took the time and effort it takes to write it. This sub-forum is a safe haven, a place for all of us to dump out our deepest fears and fantasies and that takes a lot of guts as we expose ourselves, quite literally, to the world. Some stories take hours, some days and others weeks and in some cases, a year or so. Seeing something as simple as WOW or AMAZING always feels good.

However, seeing damn near EVERYBODY receive the exact same fucking thing again and again and again, left on almost EVERY story and seemingly without a second thought, cheapens the sincere gratitude we feel and appreciate as we eventually begin to speculate and perhaps settle on the realization that these comments are probably just a stamp, a way to increase one's fucking post count. This is especially bad when the time the comments were posted are as plain as day for all to see, and unless someone has the ability to speed-read one story every minute, no matter the length of the piece, my personal appeal is to please, simply stop. If I pour myself into a story more than I should, more than what's healthy and fucking bleed the screen, the last thing I would want to receive, personally, is a stamp of approval that is as common as the fucking cold. I'd rather have nothing than a comment that rolls off a factory assembly line and passed around free as air. It's not something special, it doesn't mean anything whatsoever after several years of it happening and takes away from the shine of those who decide to leave true feedback, no matter how short - which is worth more than gold here as THOSE comments, when used sparsely, are cherished and stay with us, carrying over to the next time we alienate the rest of the real world, our friends, families, etc. and sit alone in a room and empty what's inside us into words.

Rant over.

Suikoden and Sound Siren, hats off to you both. You have created something of lasting, real impact.
 
Sir, you have my gratitude.

Feedback like this does more than anything to make me think it is worth continuing to write stories for this forum.

Where to start...? Well firstly the 'game changing' writers' workshop notes you gave me were the catalyst in getting me to finally write this story out (even if I did end up having to read 'Guts' in the process - lol!) I can't thank you enough for that.

I agree with everything you say on what makes a story work whether here or elsewhere. I can read stories about the same subject matter but one is like the best dish ever that is gone too soon whereas others are like eating a bucket of porridge with a teaspoon.

There is a formula that seems to work. I recognise it and I know it but I don't *understand* it yet. Yes, a character is more than a physical description or vital statistics. Why do so many people miss this? You don't need to describe a character's physicality at all if you get everything else right and nowhere is this more capably demonstrated than in All Undone by SoundSiren.

And speaking of the Siren, I think she might suspect she is pretty good at this stuff but she has no idea how fucking amazing she actually is. We both know what it's like to slave over a story for ages so I wish I had her ability to sit down and write in one or two sittings. Those are mad Jedi writing skills and I want them!

You two more than anyone else witnessed this genesis of this story and you know what it took so thanks again for all the support, encouragement and honest feedback.

The gauntlet is down and I am pysched you are picking it up. Maybe this will start something... ;)
 
Again you have out done yourself. AMAZING! I absolutely love your stories. I love :lover: the way you make it feel so real, mysterious, and fun. When ever I begin to read your stories I become glued to the screen... more please.
 
Classy by name... ;)

Thanks so much for your continued support. I know I've been away for a while but I hope this was worth it.
 
Well well well...I think it's about time that I sat down and devoted a much deserved review to this major achievement Suik. I don't just mean in ticfic...but writing period. Watching you work your way through this story like some sort of crazy labyrinth with a different cowgirl around every corner honestly NEVER got old...yeeesss you may have made me crazy at times with the ever changing names and outfits lol...but that path was absolutely necessary I believe in order to get to THIS.

THIS, is the product of an artist that doesn't want to settle for his status quo and knew it'd be easy to pull all the same punches and people would definitely have enjoyed the show...but the audience you wanted, was not of that variety. I believe anyway. You'll never know how happy it made me to assist in pushing you out of your neatly formed box...and make you never want to go near a swimming pool ever again. ;) ;) ;)

So where did this path take you hmm? Well let's just take a look...

“I don’t even know your name,” she giggles nervously.

“And I don’t know yours but what does any of that have to do with any of this?”

Quite true. Couldn't have said it better myself. Realizing names with detailed painted faces/bodies don't matter and won't prevent us from being fully captivated by the who, what, why, how, where...well my friend I consider this one of the biggest hurdles and accomplishments you have made in your writing to date. :) I KNOW how much you love to stroke the detail cock, I applaud you for finally giving it's swollen member a break and letting the reader work it nice and long in their own heads. ;) Nothing you did here was ever excessive and did exactly what I hoped for...left me wishing SO DAMN HARD for mooooooaaar! :bowing: :drool:

And she’s all undone. Grin.

:sherlock:Hee hee I see what you did der mister...and yes, yes I was. :p

To jump or not to jump?

Jump.

She tenses as she feels the grip on her ankle tighten and flinches at the first flickering of fingertips on her sole.

And the plane is a dot behind me, which is where I left my stomach.

Perhaps more than any other quote this is sums up how I felt the whole time I read this. Sure I had some idea of what passages here and there might be like prior to seeing the whole story, but if you didn't have me before this (which you most certainly did) by God you had me here. Setting up the intensity of your male character's adrenal glands that brewed with a cocktail of nervousness and an insatiable hunger to bypass any second thoughts...well that only told me this ride was going to be something I wouldn't want to miss any second of. I never read this fast. I never found myself skimming parts that I had read before you posted it. I wanted it all. Every last drop.

Please know I'm not an ego stroker...to anyone else bothering to read comments. Suik, you know this better than most lol. You seriously deserve longer feedback than I'll ever have time to give. I could comb through this and find new quotes and passages to gush over for days. I'll wrap it up before I respond to some other comments here and say this...

Don't stop pushing yourself. Don't let this door be the only one you walk through. I know you want more than your day job. I know you have it in you to take this raw talent you have and make it something beyond this place. I've said it before but I'm putting it out here for all to see and hold you accountable mister. KEEP WRITING...no one picks up all those notes, converts their style, and delivers on it so easily without RAW. NATURAL. TALENT. You have it in spades. Ok? Ok. :)

I owe you and Siren a way better review than this, but I don't even know where to begin. This was f*cking brilliant :clap:. It's been so long since I've read stories over here, and I'm really glad it was one penned by 2 of my favorite, favorite writers. Just absolutely brilliant from pacing to phrasing...the perfect blend of lust, sadism, submission...and wonderfully vivid detail that would make a statue blush :jester::blush:.

Well done :blackrose:

:redheart: Miss you and love you dearly lady. Thanks for taking the time to read it and I hope to see more musings from you soon, here or there...anywhere would be great. ;) :twohugs:

Thanks! The trick here was to try and blend two styles - a more spartan prose which is my faltering attempt to ape the more muscular style of Palahniuk or Hemingway and my usual, more 'self indulgent' narrative stream. Incidentally many people say it reminds them of Stephen King which is interesting as I don't really read his stuff.

When we join our narrator, he is finding everything tedious and mundane and can barely be bothered to put the effort into describing everything so the terser style fits that mood. However, once he lays eyes on the cowgirl (she does have a name, I just didn't use it in the final version) life regains some of its sparkle and excitement and he is now keen to sear every second of this experience into his memory through as many sensory inputs as possible.

I hope that makes sense. If I got it right, the merging of the styles should have been fairly seamless rather than the grating sound of gears shifting without the clutch!

Seriously, thanks to everyone who has taken the trouble to reply. You have no idea how long it took to get this story written. Well, a couple of you do...

;)

Oh man do I know it. ;) You definitely got it right...and again...I see what you did here! :roflmao: Amazing! Wow! Loved it!

But...don't think of this as just a story, think of it as a gauntlet. I'm throwing it down. You picking it up? ;)

Give me two weeks off, a hotel room, a laptop, and I'll swing the shit outta that fucker!!! XD Until then I'll do my best. You know I'd kill for more time to write lol. :angry:

Where to start...? Well firstly the 'game changing' writers' workshop notes you gave me were the catalyst in getting me to finally write this story out (even if I did end up having to read 'Guts' in the process - lol!) I can't thank you enough for that.

Hee hee don't forget who sent that story to you!! He may have sent you the notes, but I will not have the credit taken away from me for making you hold your ass the rest of the day. :roflmao:

There is a formula that seems to work. I recognise it and I know it but I don't *understand* it yet. Yes, a character is more than a physical description or vital statistics. Why do so many people miss this? You don't need to describe a character's physicality at all if you get everything else right and nowhere is this more capably demonstrated than in All Undone by SoundSiren.

Aww thank you! :innocent: I think you understand it more than you realize and in a way that's a good thing. If you are able to write so easily and flow in this style but not pick apart the formula to the point that it's a science...your writing will always stay as raw and fever pitched as this. :)

And speaking of the Siren, I think she might suspect she is pretty good at this stuff but she has no idea how fucking amazing she actually is. We both know what it's like to slave over a story for ages so I wish I had her ability to sit down and write in one or two sittings. Those are mad Jedi writing skills and I want them!

You two more than anyone else witnessed this genesis of this story and you know what it took so thanks again for all the support, encouragement and honest feedback.

I...um...I...do not deserve that...seriously...Marquis :redheart: kicks my ass down 10 city blocks any day of the week without blinking with his writing. Seriously it's inhuman. O.O LOL...I wish I could give those Jedi skills to you young one since sadly they are being suffocated with a good ol fashioned day job. :disgust: Seriously though, THANK YOU Suik, truly I don't...well I'll just shut up, thank you.:aww: Oh and you are MOST welcome my friend. You know we're here anytime. *fist bumps*
 
Haha! This is so true, I was clenched for the rest of the day after reading that story you sent me. On the plus side I took some coal and made diamonds so, every cloud...

;)
 
Aaaaaaaaaandd.......wait for it..............





...almost there......










:bump:

Cause Suik deserves it! ;) Check this one out people if you haven't yet, I'm guessing you'll be pleasantly surprised. Not your typical cowgirl gets tied up, cowgirl goes heee hee ha ha stooooppp, cowgirl gets all hot and horny story. Promise. :jumpupanddown:

Haha! This is so true, I was clenched for the rest of the day after reading that story you sent me. On the plus side I took some coal and made diamonds so, every cloud...

;)

I bet you were!! :angel::neenerneener:
 
Brilliantly written... a very nice change of pace from some of the more unoriginal stories on this forum. The imagery was amazing, it was like a movie in my head.. The only question I have... was that guy really 70?! How did he manage to wrestle a 22 year old firecracker like that haha
 
Thanks for the bump Siren. I miss ya! :)

DirtySecret, hehe, no the dude is not 70. He's older than the cowgirl but he is not an old guy. I don't want to give out much more about the characters. I prefer to let them speak for themselves but he is 35-40. Somewhere in there. Older than the usual guys she meets but young enough to handle a firecracker.
 
I'm mad I missed this back in April but it was incredible. I think what stood out to me were the protagonists inner musings. It really added a fantastic layer of depth to his character and the story.

Again, awesome tale.
 
Suikoden,

BRAVO!
:clap: :clap: :clap:

Great Story my friend!

SoundSiren's prologue really sets the tone for the story and is a great addition.

This passage really brought back some wonderful tickling memories for me....

We are fighting over her ankle now. She leans forward to grab it and ends up on the floor with me. Trap her ankle under my armpit and really go to work on that sweet little foot. She’s trying to struggle but she’s paralysed by laughter.

Some girls giggle for you in a way that says, “Is this alright? Is this working for you?” Cowgirl here is genuinely off the charts. Who knew?

Awesome line...

There’s a feast for the senses: leather, cotton, warm skin. And now I’ve got two feet to play with.

This story is one of your best to date. It is expertly crafted, charming, witty, and filled with some of the hottest tickling action I have ever had the pleasure to read.

Jim
MTJpub.com
 
Hey mate,

I was really lucky to have SoundSiren and Marquis de Sade act as sounding boards and support for the writing process here as I tried a new style and needed some blunt feedback as to where I was hitting and missing.

So glad you found the realism in the story, I wanted that to be in there. No way would any of us try anything like the protagonist (I hope!) but we know what's it like to play those tickle games with someone knew and to start pushing your luck.

Thanks again for taking the time to read and comment. It is very much appreciated.
 
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