Rode Me Hard,
Brought Me Home Wet
By Erica Ashley
Copyright 2011 by Erica Ashley
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
I dreamed of a real man who could give me the pleasure that I deserved.
My husband was no real man. I never should have married him. But I had no choice.
The way he fucked me was nothing but unremarkable. One position, and one only, that of him in control. Him on top, from behind, from the side, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t care less about me. My pussy was nothing but dry when he entered me, shoving his way in and out without any regard to my feelings. The first time it he fucked me, the night I lost my virginity, I cried. He didn’t care. All I could do was shut my eyes and dream of my horses, and of the real man who would take me away.
My real man. There he was, long hair like a Stallion. Ripped jeans, ripped abs, and his hair. His hair, down to his shoulders, blowing in the wind. Piercing blue eyes that stabbed my heart and felt so good. His hands were empty and longed to hold me in them. His lips were red with desire and they only needed to find me.
We were in the middle of a field. He ran to me and lifted me up to heaven. I then realized that I did not need to go to the sky to find heaven because paradise was right here, on Earth, between his legs. Immediately his hard cock was deep inside of me, and I was as wet as a rainstorm, and only for him. I came so hard I cried tears of joy, wet rain from my eyes of ecstasy and most of all, love.
But then I open my eyes and my husband was on top of me, sweating like a pig. He smelled horrible. He came in me and I felt sick. I excused myself to go to the bath chamber and I threw up.
I was only 19 years old.
The State of Montana was at a turning point in the year of our Lord, 1887. Lord? What Lord? What God? I didn’t believe in God anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. My mother died giving birth to me. I have no doubt in my mind that she never loved my father and she never felt one ounce of pleasure in her life. If you ever met my Father, you would understand. My Father named me Susannah, after her. That was the only connection I had to her. That, and I looked just like her, having seen one photograph of her on her wedding day.
The price of land was rumored to be skyrocketing, so my Father wanted to grab on to as much land as he could while he could, and make a tidy profit when the value of the land went up. To do that, he had to partner up with the land baron who could get it done, a crusty old codger named Will Houston, a man who wasn’t sure that this was a good idea. But my father did have one prize that Houston wanted.
That prize was me.
The good news was that Houston owned a horse farm that would become my home, and the only thing that gave me any pleasure. It was no pleasure to lose my virginity to this man on our wedding night. It hurt so much. I bled so much and he smacked me in the face when I asked him to stop. I don’t know how you don’t call this rape, but he said that I was his wife and was free to do with as he pleased. I was his property. No different from one of his cows.
The one joy I had when I was forced into marriage to this man was that my Father bought me Windjammer as a wedding gift. Windjammer was an Arabian black stallion that my father led up to my bridal suite to carry me to the ceremony. This was his only way of showing me that he loved me. Never mind that he was condemning me to a lifetime of hell, at least he’d give me this little piece of heaven. I walked up to Windjammer and held his face in my hands. He lowered his head in a kind of bow that only horses can do. I rubbed his face and then mounted him. This horse was more of a man than my husband would ever be.
A week after the wedding, while my husband was away, I took Windjammer for our first ride together. I led him out of the stables and into the fields, where I could see our land stretch for miles into the horizon. I mounted him and for the first time in my life, I felt a real man under my legs. He would obey my every command. He would do as I said, run as fast as he could, and stop when I told him so. I would be in control. I closed my eyes and kicked him, and off we went.
I opened my eyes to see the wind flying through my soul and my yellow hair blowing in the wind’s loving embrace. Windjammer whinnied with delight. I wanted him to go faster, as if we weren’t going fast enough as it was, but before I could even tell him so, he obeyed my subconscious desire as if he could read my mind.
It was like we were flying.
My legs began to quiver. What was happening? They were shaking, and not because we were going too fast. Something was happening. I felt my buttocks clench tight as a drum. I felt my vagina become moist. And then everything went upward. My clit was screaming for more. My hips straddled Windjammer tighter than I ever thought possible. My body gyrated and I screamed. I screamed like a vixen from paradise as I felt my vaginal walls explode. I yelled to the heavens as Windjammer stopped, reared back on his hind legs and screamed with me.
I had my first orgasm that day.
The next morning, I woke up excited to ride Windjammer again and feel pleasure. I put on my jeans and boots, and ran outside and made my way to the stables. But just as I pulled up, I heard a gun shot. I ran in to see my husband holding his Colt .45, smoke rising from the barrel. On the ground next to him was Windjammer, a pool of blood underneath him getting bigger and bigger.
“What…what…what happened?”
“He kicked me. He would have killed me. I had no choice, my love.”
My love. My love. Like hell. Every time he called me that, I wanted to die. I died a little bit inside.
“You liar! You killed him!”
Will ran up to me and smacked me in the face. I fell to the ground, my mouth bloody. He picked me up, bent me over a fence and forced his hard disgusting cock into my ass and raped me. I have never wanted to die so badly in my life. He left me there to rot like an animal and went back into the house. I lay there for a while, then crawled over to Windjammer and cried over his dead body for an eternity.
It’s like Will knew. He knew. It was then that I realized that my husband was a sadist and a sociopath. He was a monster that would stop at nothing to make certain that I was as miserable as possible. My life would be hell and there was nothing I could do about it. I would be his prisoner, his to do with what he pleased. I was not his wife.
I was his slave.
I wanted to die.
I tried to sleep. I tried to dream. My dreams were the only solace I had from the hell that had become my life.
“You’ll never leave me. You are mine.”
I thought I would have pleasure on the range with my horse. But I had no Windjammer. I had nothing. I was a piece of property to him. And it wasn’t before long that he took on a mistress.
I met her at dinner one night. He brought her in and sat her down next to me and didn’t even try to hide the pretense.
But I had to admit, she was beautiful.
Her olive skin informed me of her Navaho father, while her voluptuous ass and ripe breasts reminded me of her Mexican mother. I imagined her parents making her. The passionate lovemaking, the fucking, the way his cock lovingly invaded her pussy and made this beautiful woman, a lovely angel that was about to be completely ruined by this pig of a man who slurped his soup, burped at the table and gave actual pigs a bad name.
Her name was Lucinda.
Later that night, banished to one of the guest rooms, I could hear him fucking her. The bastard didn’t even try to hide it, no pretense. No nothing. I found it not peculiar in the slightest, however, that all I heard was his voice. The ugly disgusting sound of his moans of retarded banal evil pleasure. The squeak of the bedsprings. The sounds of the floor boards. He was a fat bastard, alright. Fucking disgusting.
I heard him come hard. I could hear the spit come out of his mouth, because when he finished in me, the same thing happened. I almost threw up, I felt so sorry for her. I shed a tear and fell asleep.
I woke up a few hours later. It was still dark out, but thank God, he was gone. Will went out early for a hunting trip, and I would have at least the day to myself, not totally alone, because of the servants, but away from him. It was a prison and it was hell but without the warden around, it sort of felt like heaven. Of course, I had no idea what heaven would feel like for quite some time.
I put on my robe and tip-toed towards the bath chamber. I heard the soft sounds of splashing water, and I stopped. Candlelight crept out of the bath chamber, it called to me. I stopped short of entering and peered in.
Lucinda stood in the bathtub. The heat from the water rose up to the ceiling, catching on it and turning into condensation, which dripped back down below, occasionally and lovingly grabbing on to her olive skin. She washed herself slowly and surely, enjoying the moment. I enjoyed it with her. My eyes locked on her luscious curves, her naked buttocks.
I understood in that moment the meaning of the word, sensual. Men could not be sensual, because they were simply not sensual creatures. My dream man, who I had not met yet, was manly, to be sure, he was sexy, no doubt about it, but he was not sensual. He would be a man of confidence and lovingly brute force, but no, once again, he was not sensual.
This woman, however, was sensuality defined.
Her body was lovely, and bigger than the sum of its lovely parts. Her ass was tight, but enormous. She was not overweight, but curvy in the best way possible. She turned around, and I thought I should run. But I was frozen, transfixed on her, I could not look away. She did not see me, not yet. She kept her eyes down but now I could see her from the front.
I could not believe she let my pig bastard of a husband touch her. Her breasts, her large breasts, pulsated in the candlelight and her nipples were hard, black and sexy. Her navel pointed down to her pussy, which was completely bare. I had never seen that before, I mean, I didn’t know women could do that. This woman, however, could do anything she wanted.
Finally, she looked up, and her eyes met mine and a fire enflamed my heart.
I ran away, back to my room, slammed the door and jumped into bed. I couldn’t stop breathing, panting, longing.
I reached down and realized that I was naked. I touched my pussy, my clit.
It was wonderful.
Then I got scared. What if it went away?
“Why don’t you let me do that for you?”
She crawled into bed with me and I felt her large breasts against my back.
Lucinda kissed the back of my neck and put her arms around me. Her leg, tight as a python, wrapped itself around my leg. Her right hand drifted over my breasts, rubbing them gently, ever so slightly fingering my nipples until they stood at attention. Then she pushed her hand down passed my navel and right to my clitoris. My clit had never been touched before, not by me, not by anyone, not like that. This second orgasm of mine would come from a loving woman who understood me and felt what I needed. I needed to feel listened to, I needed to be held.