By Sheela B.
Sarah Chambers likes to ride bareback. She’s a nubile teenage horse trainer working at The Ponderosa and she loves to feel her crotch slide around on a horse’s back. The Ponderosa was once owned by one of the stars of a well-known western TV show of the sixties that had a farm of the same name. The grounds are kept immaculate and the place is picture postcard and luxurious. Its Disney-like appearance is a marketing strategy to attract people to stable and ride their horses on the ranch, however, it does have a serious side. The ranch run by John Rogers gets its credibility by training equestrian horses for the elite level of the sport. Several Olympic medalists train at The Ponderosa and Sarah’s job is keeping these animals in peak condition.
Sarah can get her rocks off riding this way, creaming her jeans and slathering the horse’s broad back. Bolt, the stallion she’s riding seems to like it too as she rides him along a lane that leads away from the ranch where she works. Many farms in the neighborhood converted into country homes for people from the city, which reflects the kind of people who use The Ponderosa too.
She has little respect for the city slickers because she’s a genuine horsewoman, having grown-up at Norris’s where her father is the head trainer for the racehorse ranch. However, she has much respect for the elite equestrian riders and their horses as well bred as any racehorse. Sarah loves Bolt, the chestnut Arabian, specially for his mighty cock. Sarah is fond of horse cocks. Now she leans limberly sideways, one fist clutching the horse’s mane, and gazes beneath the animal. Sure enough, his cock is starting to stiffen. The girl smiles impishly. She had been sure the stallion would get a hard-on while she squirmed around on his back. Sarah loves the idea of turning a stallion on.
The sight of the big cock starting to get hard inspires the naughty teenager. She squirms around some, her slim thighs tightening around the animal’s flanks as she works her crotch against his spine. Sarah is wearing denim shorts and a T-shirt. The fact she wears no bra beneath the T-shirt is obvious because her stiff nipples are little peaks poking up beneath the material. Her shorts are almost hot pants and tuck into her crotch.
Kylie has heard the stories of the feral pigs in the local swamp for most of her life and like the other folk in town had paid little attention to the tales. As a youngster, she had used the fringes of the swamp as a playground and now at twenty-one, she often camps in the swamp for days on end to paint and photograph the abundant wildlife. Sure, she has seen the disturbs ground makes by wild pigs searching for food yet aside from brief glimpses of them she has seen nothing extraordinary.
The pigs in question are not the wild swine, native to the area, they’re feral pigs escaped the many piggeries in the area. Many farmers use the big pink Yorkshire pigs, and these were the one’s Kylie had seen. Although they do breed with the wild pigs, so there are many mixed breeds in the swamp. The wetlands provide the perfect habitat for the pigs and the swine breed vigorously, the advantage of this for her town is it attracts hunters from all over the country to shoot them.
Something disturbs Kylie as she struggles with her pallet of colors trying to capturing the variegated light filtering through the trees fringing the wetlands. She stops painting and gazes into the fading light of the swamp. She hears it again, a low grunt and a snap of twigs. Something’s out there, she thought, an animal, a large animal moving carefully. Kylie listens intently for a good ten minutes yet hears no more sounds. She returns to focus on her painting yet the light has gone and she decides to stop for the day.
As she covers her easel and removes her painting to the small tent to protect it from night dew, Kylie remains wary of the sounds of the swamp. This area harbors more than feral and wild pigs; there are alligators, bears, snakes, and cougars to think about too. Feeling sure the wild boar has moves on, Kylie decides to wash in the small creek before preparing a meal.
About twenty yards into the thick undergrowth, two small slits of red eyes peer from the face of a wild Pig. The boar watches Kylie as she removes her blouse and jeans and washes briskly in the cold water of the creek. As is Kylie’s habit, she slips on a painting smock she uses for sleeping attire and returns to the tent to prepare her evening meal. The smock is white cotton and billows over her slim body loosely. Meanwhile, the boar remains motionless and vigilant.
By Gowan Bush
“I’m sorry, honey,” Peter said, giving his wife a guilty frown. “I just need to get more done before we leave.”
“What the fuck, Pete?” Kerry said her voice sharp with agitation. “I’ve been driving for hours get to this shithole and now I have to sit around and wait?”
“I’m sorry, just another hour—two at the most.”
Kerry raises her sunglasses to her forehead making sure her deep brown eyes have his full attention. “So at least three hours, then?”
“No, probably not, the parts have only just arrived,” Peter said, “so once I put them in, Abdul and Chang can finish the job on Monday.”
He feels guilt creeping into the back of his mind. Pete knows he’s disappointing her, yet he doesn’t want to stop now. The cheese factory is potentially an important client, and if they can get this machine running again, a permanent contract for equipment maintenance is possible. This trip is more than an emergency repair job, it’s important for the future of Peter’s business.
Kerry stares at Peter in silence, her jaw tense. “Fine,” she said eventually. “So what am I supposed to do while I wait?”
Her hands cross her chest and her face flushes red, and it makes Peter’s stomach churn.
“I think Abdul and Chang are going for a swim,” he said, loud enough his two employees can hear him across the factory floor. “Maybe you can hang with them?”
As if on cue, Abdul and Chang emerge. “Hey, Kerry,” they greet her, kissing her on the cheek.
Like Peter, his employers are in shorts. The weather has been hot all week, and none of them has bothered to put a shirt on. The cheese factory’s closed until tomorrow morning so they have the place to themselves.
By Max Swan
Eric and Nicole Hansen are getting ready to meet some friends at a local BBQ restaurant in the Deep South. The Harvey’s are neighbors back in LA, and running into them in Alabama was something of a surprise. For the Hansen’s are on vacation, and despite Eric’s attempts to fob their neighbors off, it seems the Harvey’s couldn’t be deterred. As usual, seeing Nicole running around naked gets Eric hard. She’s only small at five feet, so is Eric, who’s five feet four, yet they go to the gym regularly and she’s in great shape. Her lithe body always turns Eric on when she moves around, especially naked. Her pert tits bouncing or her tiny ass wiggling does it for him every time.
This time, like most times, he cannot resist, so he gets behind her as she’s looking in her wardrobe and wraps his arms around her. Then moving her blonde hair out of the way, he nuzzles into her neck, tasting her soft, fresh skin and making her laugh as he teases her ear with his tongue. Not letting her go, Eric spins his wife around and pushes her onto the bed. He groans excitedly as he takes one of her hard large nipples into his mouth and rolls the tender rubbery teat around with his tongue. Eric’s rewarded with a low moan as he trails his kisses lower.
The coarse hair of her trimmed pubes rubs against his chin as he pushes open her slit and slides his tongue over her clit and thrust against her tight cunt hole.
Nicole starts to giggle. “Hey, we’re supposed to meet Laura and John in an hour,” she said, lifting her head of the bed and staring at Eric with raised eyebrows.
She vainly pushes at his head, yet he soon gets past her passive resistance and put the thought out of her head as he attacks her clit with his tongue. Her knees come up as she squirms, while the warm, sweet taste of her pussy juices fills his mouth. As always when Nicole cums, she gets mildly tender around her clit and he always pushes the limits and gently licks at her love button while she tries to push his head away from between her legs.
“Stop it, God, I can’t take anymore,” she moans pushing on his head.
By Max Swan
Carl said nothing throughout the short journey to their apartment as he’s in a state of nervous excitement and confusion. Part of him wants to see Deon leave them alone, yet another side finds excitement in seeing the big black man holding his wife’s hand. Julie, on the other hand, seems cool about the situation. When they get to the apartment, Julie opens a bottle of white wine and they nervously stand in the kitchen quietly drinking.
Julie speaks first. “So, how do we do this?” she asks glancing between the men.
Deon put his glass down. “I need his belt,” he said looking at Carl’s waist, “and a chair. Let’s go into the living room.”
“Want to bring one, darling?” Julie said as she led the way to the living room.
Carl has already realized physical restraint is going to be involved and it comes as little surprise when Deon asks him to sit on the chair placed in the center of the room.
“Take off your belt,” Deon orders.
He takes off his belt and hands it Deon, then he sits on the chair.
“Put your hands through the bars at the back of the chair.”
Again, Carl meekly surrenders himself, and moments later, Deon binds his hands to the back of the chair.
“Take down his pants, Julie, please.”
Neither of them said anything as she pulls his trousers and his boxers down around his ankles. Carl feels vulnerable and nervous as he sits with them staring at his flaccid uncircumcised nub.
“Deon, do cuckolds always have small dicks?” Julie asks.
My name is Kevin, and I’ve been playing Santa at a local Mall for a few years now. There’s about four of us that do it, and I have to admit I really enjoy it. Not only does it pay well, but I like kids, and seeing their little faces light up when they think they’re meeting the real Santa. I also get a kick out of promising the kid I’ll give them everything they ask for, while watching the parents squirm thinking about how much that’s going to cost them. That really makes me smile big for the camera. I’m a natural for the job as I’m a fat man, weighing in at one-hundred and thirty-two kilograms.
Before this story goes on, I want to make it clear that I’m not a pedophile looking for little kids to feel up. That sick crap doesn’t interest me whatsoever, so if you’re reading this expecting that, shame on you. This story is not that kind of thing.
So back to my story.
We don’t only play Santa at the Mall, but are in demand for local Christmas events as well. You’ve seen it, I’m sure. Santa shows up at the end and gives the kids a small present, or throw candy at them from the back of a fire-truck. Yeah, that’s me. The Mall I work at also employs real little people to play the elves. The little people are great people and we sometimes go out for a beer after work and have a few laughs. Some of them are female and some male. The Mall job pays one hundred and twenty an hour, I kid you not. Its bloody good money playing Santa at the Mall. The Community events, we usually do for nothing.
That’s the set up, so you understand how all this began.