Chapter Nine

ALONE IN THE SMALLbarn, save for eleven happily munching horses, the hands having replenished their feed and water before they left about an hour before, Krista was put the finishing touches on Willow's grooming routine—seven steps in all—that Lester had shown her.

First, she used the hoof pick to get rid of dirt and small stones. Next came the rubber curry to loosen the hair and remove the dirt from her coat. Then came a dandy brush, a softer face brush, and a finishing brush to bring out the shine in her white coat. But that wasn't all. There was a special comb called a rake used on her long tail and another for her mane, but only after she finger combed it first to avoid breakage.

She spoke to the mare in a soft, soothing voice. "If I had to use all this paraphernalia in the morning, number one, I wouldn't ever get anywhere, and, number two, I'd be labeled as high maintenance."

Willow tossed her head and made a low-pitched nicker, what Krista had come to recognize as a happy sound, one she often made when she was talking to her.

"I believe it took you an hour to get ready the other morning, and what you lack in paraphernalia, you more than make up for in product. But the results are the same, gloss and shine."

She glanced over to see Sam at the stall door, his arms draped over the top rail as he watched her work. It had to be six o'clock, on the dot; the man had a thing for promptness.

Krista turned back to finish. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm not surprised. You were carrying on quite a conversation with Willow, or humming."

Great, that meant it was ten past six, and he'd learned that she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket but was too polite to mention it.

"How long have you been at it?"

She shrugged. "Since Curt and the guys left, I guess."

"So at least an hour, which means Willow is the best-groomed horse on the ranch. You're very good with her."

"She's very sweet. And so beautiful. I've never seen such a pure white horse before, except in fairy tales, and those Lipizzaner stallions, and never up close before."

"And you still haven't, darlin'."

She shot a perplexed look at him over her shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"A true white horse is born white and stays white due to their unpigmented hair and skin." He came up behind her and patted the horse's flank. "This girl arrived an ash color and has been graying these past six years. Look at her eyes and muzzle, and the skin beneath her coat. They're dark. She may appear white, but she's a gray American Quarter Horse."

The horse snorted softly, as if telling her Sam was right. Krista smiled and patted her muzzle, which now that she looked at it, appeared gray due to the underlying dark skin. "Sorry, girl. Silly old me for not knowing a horse with white hair isn't white."

"You'll learn." Sam bent and picked up the ration of oats Curt had left for her to feed Willow once she was done grooming her and dumped it into her bucket. "Time for this girl to eat, and for my girl to have her lessons."

Her fingers stilled in mid stroke. When she didn't move after another moment, he reached over her shoulder and removed the brush from her hand. His mouth was next to her ear when he asked, "Have you lost your nerve, little bit? If so, we can see to your punishment then go see about dinner."

This made her turn. "You'd still...?"

"Absolutely. You bent the rules just a bit too much today, but then you know that, don't you, darlin'." He took her hands in his and backed out of the stall, bringing her with him. Once he'd shut the door, he pulled her into his arms, his hands settling on her hips, several fingers resting on the upper curves of her bottom. "What's it going to be? Spanking and playtime, or spanking and dinner?"

Either way, her butt was going to get it. She might as well take the opportunity before her.

He nudged her chin up, his eyes warm with concern. "You've been here almost two weeks, Krista. Have I given you any reason not to trust me?"

"No, which is why I choose option A, spanking and playtime, but can we have dinnertime after? I didn't finish my shrimp sandwich, and I'm hungry."

"That's because you jumped to conclusions and got yourself into a snit again. Just like the day you got here, which means I'll be repeating a lesson." Sam clucked his tongue. "Sadly for you, darlin', that means double."

"Double! But, Daddy—!"

"What did I say about punishments in the beginning?"

How could she have forgotten? "The where, when, and how are at your discretion."

"Mm-hm. So its spanking, playtime, then dinner. Lucky for us, Lucinda was here. I'm sure she left us something warming in the oven. You'll need it. An afternoon of riding followed by an evening of playing, with a butt busting slipped in between, sure can work up an appetite."

He lowered his head, and his lips covered hers in a slow, wet, wonderful kiss, the tip of his tongue slipping inside to lightly touch her own. She wanted more, but he lifted his head.

"Let's take care of that sassiness now."

When he released her to close Willow's stall, Krista started toward the front of the barn, hoping a little distance from the big, sexy man would clear her head. She heard his footsteps behind her but let out a little yelp of surprise when he caught her hand and spun her back to face him.

"Where are you going, darlin'?"

"The house?" she replied in confusion.

"Not necessary. We can see to it here."

Looking past him down the aisle where at least eight heads poked through the top half of the stall doors, she asked, "In the barn? In front of the horses?"

"Do you think they'll be offended?" His dark eyes were sparkling once again with amusement. "Come on. I've got us set up in back."

Sam kept her hand as he led her to the large stall at the end. It was square, unlike the rectangular standing stalls the horses were in, and almost twice as big. She knew immediately upon entering it hadn't been used in a while. The floor was scrubbed clean and the only other things inside it were a pile of folded blankets on a stool and a saddle on a wooden stand.

When the door shut behind her and latched with a metallic clink, she whirled. Her Daddy seemed all business. She watched him heft the saddle and place it on the floor.

"Come over here," he said as he patted the rounded top of the stand, "and get into position."

The wood looked smooth and polished, but not at all comfortable to lie across, and it was tall, the top much higher than her waist. "You want me to bend over that?"

"Yes, but wait. I need to do one more thing."

He grabbed one of the blankets from the pile revealing several black leather belts with silver buckles underneath. Sam wasn't kidding when he said he'd set up for this, and she had to wonder what other surprises he had hidden about.

"There," he announced, drawing her attention back to the stand, where her considerate daddy had doubled the blanket and spread it over the top. "That will be more comfortable on your bare skin and belly."

Although he'd fixed problem number one, his concern seemed contradictory with the fact he was about to cause her considerable discomfort. When she stepped up to the contraption, the top was chest high—problem number two. She'd need something to stand on to climb up, and even then, her feet wouldn't touch the floor.

"I don't think this is going to work."

He had an answer for that, too, and lifted her onto it, face down.

"It's adjustable, but set to my height, not yours."

With her belly centered over the highpoint of the stand, sure enough her arms and legs dangled about a foot above the ground. Afraid she'd slide off the other side and land on her head, she reached for something to hold onto. But even as she clutched the sides in a panic, it was unnecessary, with her Daddy's hand splayed on her back keeping her in place.

"Easy, darlin'. I won't let you fall." Without removing his steadying hand, he came around in front, picking up two of the leather belts from the pile as he did. When he wrapped the first one around her wrist and she got a better look, she saw they were actually what they called stirrup leathers, used to connect the rider's foot hold with the saddle. They had a buckle and holes punched in the leather to make them adjustable, like a belt. Since he held two, and there were still two remaining in the pile, it was apparent he intended to strap her to the stand, like he had the bench that first night.

"This stand is made of sturdy oak, and the dowels aren't just glued in, they're nailed. It's not going anywhere, but the restraints will help you stay where I put you, while I'm busy taking care of other things."

Read: spanking your ass.

She'd been regretting her behavior all afternoon, but now, with her butt on the line, was even more contrite. "I'm sorry for kicking you and for the sass, Daddy."

"I know you are, Krista. Once you calmed down, you realized your bad manners, but I want you to curb that tongue and remember to be respectful in the heat of the moment. I've found a nicely warmed bottom helps with recall." With her wrists secure, he started to move behind her then paused. He caught her ponytail in his fist and used it to steadily pull her head back. Next, he planted another warm, wet, lingering kiss on her mouth before he resumed what he'd started to do—restraining her ankles.

"There, now," he said, a few minutes later, then circled her, checking his work. "Comfortable?"

"Um, I guess, though I'm beginning to understand how a saddle feels."

"I don't think so. I haven't mounted you yet." Krista groaned at his play on words while he chuckled, giving her a couple of light reassuring pats on the bottom. "We'll get to that soon enough, but first things first. You're ready for your punishment, but the question is, what should I use? A bad girl deserves the flat of her daddy's hand."

Remembering his comment about leather in all lengths and thicknesses, she chimed in, "Yes, please."

"I wasn't really asking you, darlin', just pondering out loud." Pausing in front of her, he stroked his chin as though deep in thought. "I don't think a run-of-the-mill hand spanking is the BDSM experience you were hankering for, though. Besides, how dull would we be if we had this big barn loaded with tack at our disposal and didn't use it?"

"Dull is good," she gushed. "I'm perfectly fine with dull."

His warm laugh washed over her. "Nope, you asked for a taste, and you're getting it. Be right back."

"What? Wait," she squeaked in alarm, but he'd already moved beyond her limited field of vision, bound as she was. Turning her head every which way, she tried to find him. "Please, Daddy, don't leave me like this."

He was at her side in an instant, bending over her, his hands rounding her shoulders in a soothing caress. "Krista, baby, I'm just stepping outside the stall. I wouldn't leave you restrained and vulnerable, not ever. You can watch me through the door. I'll be in plain sight the entire time."

"Where?"

Gently, he guided her head to the left and the open stall door.

So, maybe she'd looked every which way except that way.

"Okay?"

She nodded.

"While we're talking about safety, do you remember the word you can use if something is hurting or you get too afraid and need to stop?"

"The safeword?"

"Yeah, do you remember what it is?"

"Red."

"That's right. Use it if you need to, darlin'. Just keep in mind how on the first night you built everything up in your head. If you breathe and stay relaxed, it will be a lot easier on you, but if you really need to, yell red, and I'll stop."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"You might want to reserve your gratitude until after what comes next, little girl." He kissed her temple then strode out of the stall, leaving the door wide as promised. Without too much strain on her neck, she was able see him move to the storage alcove directly across from her, not once leaving her sight.

She watched him peruse an orderly wall with hooks for a variety of tack—bridles, bits, and, yes, the aforementioned leather. Holy Moses! Leave it to her to bite off more than she could chew.

His boots thudded on the hard-packed dirt of the stable floor on his way back and she strained to see what he'd selected. She recognized the short-handled paddle brush immediately. It was the of a Ping-Pong paddle, except it was square. Used to detangle a horse's coarse mane, it was sturdy and had some heft to it, and Krista imaging it would pack a lot more wallop that the leather paddle he'd used before.

He also held a coil of rope. Already cuffed to the saddle stand, she had no earthly idea what he planned to do with it.

When he re-entered the stall, he turned to place the items on a built-in shelf. That's when she saw the long black stick tucked under his arm. It was a riding crop with a wrapped handle and a two-inch rectangular flap of leather at the other end. She'd never seen one except on TV during equestrian events, and she for darn sure never had one applied to her butt.

"All set now," he announced when he approached.

She was relieved the only thing he brought with him was the brush. When the irony of that dawned on her, she almost giggled. Her nervous laughter likely wouldn't be well received, however, so she bit the inside of her cheek to contain it.

Beside her, he stroked his hand over her back, his palm and trailing fingers warm against her skin. Then he moved lower to rub and massage her bottom through her jeans.

"Recap for me why you're being punished."

"I broke one of your rules."

"That's right. How, specifically?"

"I sassed you, Daddy, a lot. I'm sorry. Sometimes, my mouth has a disconnect with my brain. It tends to happen when I'm feeling unsure or worried, but when I get really nervous, I usually laugh." She strained her neck to look at him. "Don't be offended it if I break out into giggles. That's better than sassin' and cussin', at least. Isn't it?"

"Laughter at inappropriate times can be worse."

"Then I'm doomed."

"It's good you reminded me of your little quirk before beginning," he replied with another little pat, this time adding a squeeze as a bonus.

She noticed he didn't say he'd overlook it, however.

"You've got a quick wit, darlin'. I enjoy sparring with you, but when you let sarcasm creep in or let the reins slip on your temper, it gets you in trouble and, with me, will always earn you a red-hot bottom. Any other reason you've found yourself in this position?

"I kicked you under the table."

"Yeah, but not hard. I'm a big boy and was wearing jeans and boots. I realize you were trying to get my attention. And we were both cutting up about poor Jerry's monk hairstyle. It was a lighthearted moment, which you haven't had many of in recent weeks. I'm not such a hard ass I'd have spanked you over that. Try again."

She thought back on the day, struggling to figure out what else she'd done. Mainly, she had her mouth to blame for being in this position, but what else?

"Let me give you a hint. It rhymes with truck."

She felt heat creep into her face. "You heard that?"

"I have excellent hearing."

"Sorry, that just kind of slipped out. Oops."

His hand came down with blistering speed on her denim-clad cheek. She'd chosen her thickest pair of jeans for riding, but dang, his spanks burned straight through them, even over the pockets.

"You say oops if you spill your coffee, or if you accidentally bump into someone standing behind you in line. Are you telling me you accidentally told me to fuck off? Speech and word selection have a deliberateness to them. Unless you have a neurological problem like Tourette's I'm unaware of."

"No, Daddy, no disorders like that, or at all."

His hand descended twice more. "These jeans need to go."

He reached under her belly and undid the button and zipper on her jeans and. Then he pulled them down as far as they would go, which, with her legs spread and her ankles cuffed to the stand, was just above her knees.

This left only her beige panties with the black trim covering her behind. He ran a finger under the lacy border at her hip. "Now, you have a little more insight into my no panties rule at the mansion. I should have called the barn a no-panties zone for tonight, at least." All four fingers and his palm slid into the leg hole to curve around her cheek. "Are these part of a set?"

"Um...what?"

"It doesn't matter. I'll buy you a dozen replacements."

The next thing she heard was the renting of satin and lace as he rent the material into pieces and pulled it free. Astounded, never having had anyone rip any of her clothing off before, Krista had no words.

Sam didn't have the same problem.

"So, you went oh-for-three on following rules today." Sam rubbed both her cheeks, now bare, as he commented, "What do you think, college girl? Is that a pass or a dismal fail?"

"Fail," she choked out with her barely functional tongue. "But two out of three wouldn't be passing, either, Daddy."

"I guess we have to hope you do better with your studies then you do with following rules, don't we?"

Something else stroked over her cheeks. Cooler than the air, and not warm like his hand. It had to be the—

Crack, crack.

Yep, the paddle brush.

He settled into a steady back-and-forth rhythm with a slight pause in between each swat. Methodically, Sam covered every square inch of her bottom from the uppermost crests to the fleshy swells in the middle to the lower curves that stung the most. She tried to maintain her dignity by not carrying on as she had the first night, but about ten strokes in, when the heat started to build, she yelped. With the next one, she whimpered, and after a few more, she cried, "Ow, Daddy, I'm sorry. I promise to be good."

Sam paused and slowly ran his hand over her fiery skin. "You have been good for the most part, darlin', but after today, I think you need a few more to ensure you stay that way."

He laid his hand fully on the left side then, instead of rubbing and soothing, he slid it upward, lifting the entire cheek, which pulled her skin taut. When he resumed with the brush, he focused five sharp smacks to where her butt and thigh met, which stung more than any place else.

By this time, her dignity had flown out the window, and she was howling, "Ow, ow, ow."

If she wasn't restrained, she'd have been kicking her feet, and both hands would have been on her backside trying to protect herself from any more blows. The only movement left was her head and a little wiggle room in her hips, neither of which was of any help. Her ows didn't deter Sam, who switched to her right check, pulled it taut like the first, and laid down five more swats with the evil brush.

Afterward, he circled the smooth side over her searing cheeks.

"What are my three rules?"

"No swearing, no cursing, and always be respectful to my daddy."

"That's it. And who's the only one you have to please?"

"You, Daddy."

"Very good." He patted her bottom with his hand, not the brush—thank goodness. "Though you howled loud enough to be heard on the mainland, you didn't swear, curse, or disparage my ancestors. You took your punishment well, little bit."

Trussed up like a damn Christmas goose, what choice did she have?

She didn't dare say that and break all three rules in one fell swoop. No way! Her butt might be going up in flames, but she still had an instinct for self-preservation. Instead, she asked expectantly, "You mean it's over?"

"Since you seem properly remorseful, yes, it's done."

Krista slumped in relief, realizing now he'd actually been lenient on day one. At the time, she hadn't believed him, but the leather paddle had been merely a kindling spark compared to the five-alarm blaze the brush had ignited. It helped when he rubbed and massaged as he was doing now.

"There is still your other lesson to see to."

How could she forget with one of his big hands moving over her burning behind, caressing lightly at first then squeezing big handfuls? His soothing actions dispersed the fire sending the pervasive warmth into the adjacent tissues. Her inner thighs and belly began to tingle, and her sex, especially the sensitive nub in front, pulsed in anticipation of what he planned next.

"I think I want you face up for this next part."

Sam moved around the stand, freeing her from the bench but leaving the stirrup leathers buckled in place. He lifted her and set her on her feet, holding her against his body as she swayed on legs as loose as linguini, and while he supported her and let her spinning head settle, he whispered in her ear what else he would do to her.

"With you on your back, I'll be able to see your response when I bind you in ropes, arouse you with leather, and then sink into you over and over until you scream my name. I want to watch your eyes darken, your nipples harden, and your pussy become drenched as your passion takes hold. And finally, I want to watch as your cheeks flush, your pretty pink lips part for breath, and your body quivers when I make you come apart."

Sam caught her up in his arms and laid her lengthwise on the saddle stand so her head rested on top and her bottom was at the other edge. There wasn't enough room for her legs, and she clutched at his shoulders.

"I've got you, darlin'," he reassured her, a supportive arm beneath her knees. "And I won't let go until you're bound up tight, all safe and secure. Okay?"

"O-okay, Daddy."

He frowned down at her. "Now that wasn't a resounding vote of confidence." He leaned over her and kissed her lips, just a little peck, and added, "But we'll get there."

For the next several minutes, Sam moved her where he wanted, securing her with lots of rope. By the time he was through, her wrists cuffs were tied to her ankles, and the long length of hemp rope wound around and around her waist assured she wouldn't fall off the saddle stand.

"Comfortable?" he asked as he circled her, checking knots and bindings and running his finger under just about everything to ensure it wasn't too tight.

"Um..." she drawled, hesitant because her knees were pointed skyward, thighs wide apart, leaving her pussy open and vulnerable for whatever he wanted to do to her. That was more embarrassing than uncomfortable—and kind of scary—but the real problem was her head, which now hung over the end. "My neck probably won't tolerate this for long, and I might get dizzy being, well, kind of upside down."

"Let me know if that happens, but I mainly meant the ropes and the straps."

"Oh, well, then yeah, those parts are all good."

Stopping beside her, he threaded his fingers in her hair and supported her head in his palm. His brown eyes were above hers when he said in a voice deeper and gruffer than usual, "You look amazing like this, darlin'."

Then he took her mouth, devouring its softness with his lips and tongue and a few little nibbles from his teeth. When he raised his head, it was much too soon for her, but he obviously had a purpose, and he wanted to get to it.

"Relax and enjoy, baby. This is going to be fun."

For whom, she wondered, when he eased her head back until her hair dangled toward the floor. But it became clear it was her when he kissed the arch of her throat all the way to her chest and his hands came into play, plumping up her breasts and lightly pinching her nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

Warm wetness surrounded one tip suddenly, and she groaned as he sucked the hard tip into his mouth. The other breast got the same treatment while his hand ran down her belly, over her mound, and cupped her pussy.

"Mm," he groaned, his mouth still full of nipple. He released it with a pop. "Nice and wet and ready." He nipped at the hard peak as two fingers slid inside her soaked channel. "There's another rule for play sessions, Krista. It's important, and I'll be displeased to the point of punishment if you break it."

She raised her head, chin to her chest, nearly exploding in orgasm upon seeing up close his head bent to her breast and his mouth open wide on her nipple. The sights, the wet sounds, and the pleasure of him playing with her body, most of all his fingers swirling and dipping inside her, were going to push her quickly over the edge.

"No coming without permission."

Her eyes shifted from his mouth hovering over a glistening nipple, his lips equally wet, to his eyes darkened more with his passion gazing down at her.

"What?" she choked out.

"You don't come without Daddy's permission."

"But how...? I don't think I..." She swallowed her stammering and declared. "Impossible. I'll die."

"I doubt that will happen, but you can guarantee I'll think up all sorts of wicked punishments if you disobey." He drew the tip into his mouth and sucked hard again, until she arched—as much as possible—off the stand. "Maybe a demonstration is in order."

Reaching across her, he grabbed the only remaining item on the shelf—the crop—and stroked the shaft up her throat to her chin, applying pressure until her head fell back.

"I don't want you getting a cramp in your neck before I'm done with you."

This lifted her breasts so her hard nipples pointed toward the ceiling, which was where he started with the crop. He circled each one with the leather flap then dragged what felt like the edge over the tip. Next, he flicked it, again and again, sending a current of sexual arousal in a jolt to her pussy.

Krista was so turned on, wetness trickled into the cleft of her bottom, and she feared, with her ass slightly over the edge, she'd leave a puddle on the floor.

An instant later, when the crop slapped against the underside of her breast, that worry went clear out of her head. The sound of leather striking skin repeated again and again, the blows not painful, creating a tingle and hard enough to jiggle and arouse and to warm. He moved to the other breast, applying the leather strip in the same decadent way, and she swore if he continued, she'd break the new rule just from him playing with her breasts alone.

"So very sensitive, these pretty pink-tipped tits," he murmured then, as if he knew her thoughts, added, "I could draw out an orgasm from breast play alone, I do believe. But that's an experiment for another time." He flicked each nipple once more before dragging the leather tip between her breasts, over her navel, and down to her mound. His boots on the floor told her he was on the move, and she raised her head again. Looking down her body, between her swollen breasts and spread thighs, she saw him looking at her there.

"You're dripping," he stated huskily, while running the length of the crop up the inside of her thigh. "But I want even more."

With a flick of his wrist, he laid a smack of leather on her inner thigh. Krista gasped and then groaned when he did it a second and third time.

"Your skin pinks up nicely," he murmured, as he ran his free hand over the abraded skin, his touch gentle. He continued in this pattern on her other thigh, three quick strokes, each one moving gradually higher, then followed them with a soothing glide of his palm or fingers. And he wasn't close to being done. Returning to the right side, on her upper thigh near the apex, he gave her three more.

He mixed it up a bit after those, flicking first one nipple then the other, tapping lightly down her belly, and laying more crisp strokes near the apex of her thighs. Writhing and moaning and gasping, Krista's body was alive with tingling stingy sensations, but the only pain she felt was an ache deep inside her where she wanted Sam most.

He laid the crop across her waist then, with both hands at once, massaged all the places he had ignited with the leather.

"I can't wait any longer," she breathed.

"Yes, you can, darlin'. Do it for me because I want to be deep inside you when you come."

She whimpered, "Okay, Daddy. For you, I'll try."

"That's my good girl."

His thumbs spread her pussy, and he licked up inside her. It was only once, but too much to bear, and she sobbed with frustration.

"Tell you what," he murmured, brushing kisses along her thigh. "I'll give you a little break."

Panting, shaking, and on the verge of exploding with the next lick, kiss, or thwap of the crop, Krista didn't know if stopping, however briefly, was a good thing. Defying his wishes to get relief from this erotic torture might be worth it.

She jumped, letting out a little squeak when something touched her cheek.

"Easy, baby," he murmured. "It's just me."

With a supporting hand beneath her head, and the other at her jaw, he turned her head toward him. The tip of his cock brushed her lips, and she opened, instinctively, to the long glide of his cock along her tongue. He sank deep, nearly to the back of her throat, but didn't linger long. Once he withdrew, not fully, the head never leaving her mouth, he returned in a slow and deep pump once again.

"Keep going until I tell you to stop."

Licking and sucking, while concentrating on her breathing, she tried to give as much as she'd taken. Of course, being bound, and with only her mouth available to do so, made it challenging, a little exciting, and a whole lot intimidating. She was at his mercy, but, as he'd said earlier, he'd given her no reason in the time she'd been here not to trust him. She didn't think Sam, who was the sheriff, a respected man in the community, no matter that it was a kink community, would act differently now.

Closing her eyes, she relaxed and...submitted.

Light taps on her mound a moment later startled her so, and she almost pulled off. She hadn't even known he'd picked up the crop again.

"Don't stop until I say, little girl."

More taps on her sensitized skin coincided with him sinking deep. She continued sucking even while the leather pats sent vibrations to her clit and her empty center, and all the way to the quivering hole in back. Then they moved lower, slapping a little hard on her outer lips. He leaned over her body, his cock sliding way deep, and spread her pussy with his fingers. Then he applied the narrow strip of leather directly to her clit.

She groaned around his cock as her body trembled, fighting a battle she couldn't hope to win.

"Damn that felt good. Do it again."

He didn't have to ask. More taps to her clit had her screaming again and pulling at the ropes and restraints.

With a groan, he pulled out of her mouth.

"Ohmigod, Sam, if you do that again, I'll come."

"Uh, uh, uh," he warned, punctuating it with a thwap of the crop on her inner thigh. "That's not how you address me, even when you are mindless with need."

He thwapped her again, dead center over her clit.

"Who am I?" he asked as he pumped between her lips, deeper and faster, his hand at the base of his shaft preventing him from going too far and choking her.

Unable to think let alone speak with his huge cock possessing her mouth, she drew in ragged breaths through her nose.

Sam pulled out, the head at her parted lips poised for the next thrust. "Who's your daddy, baby?"

"Sam Golden is my daddy," she gasped.

"And who's cock are you sucking?"

"Your cock, Daddy."

"Hell, yeah, darlin', and it feels phenomenal."

"May I come now, please?"

He tossed the crop aside and quickly moved between her thighs. Gathering her juices to ensure he was sufficiently wet, though it was hardly necessary with her sopping as she was, he positioned himself and thrust hard, bottoming out with the first penetration.

"Your pussy is even wetter and hotter than your incredible mouth." His thumb slid over her clit. It circled and rubbed as he began pumping inside her.

"Please," she cried.

"Yeah, darlin', now you can come for Daddy."

When she let go, it was like a taut tether snapped and sent her hurtling into a white light of incredible sensation. She'd never come so hard or so completely before, not even with Sam. He seemed where she was now, filled with an uncontrollable hunger. He thrust a dozen times more, searching for appeasement, then let out a roar as his body found it in her.

For the first time, she heard the horses. A few snorted and stamped, one whinnied loudly, then she heard only the rush of Sam's breath in her ear as he collapsed over her, having the forethought, even in this moment, to slip his hands behind her neck and support her dangling head.

After resting for a few minutes in recovery mode, Krista decided she needed even more closeness in the aftermath of their passion. "Daddy, could you free my hands now? I want to hold you."

He grunted, and heaved his body upright. In minutes, she was free, sitting up on the saddle stand and watching as he broke the tie on the hay bale and spread it out on the floor. Once he covered it with a blanket, he carried her to the makeshift bed he'd made. To her it was a good as any five-star resort could ever be because she was in his arms.