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Mustang Girls by Paul T Morrisson

EXTRACT FOR
Mustang Girls 
(Paul T Morrisson)


MUSTANG GIRLS

THE BREEDING STALL

 

“Well now, ain’t she the pretty pony gal,” said Roy and the other hands laughed. They’d tied some bright ribbons in her hair in mock imitation of a show horse. She stood tethered to the ring in the breeding stall, her nervous body oiled and stark naked.

Bending down, Todd forced her legs apart and shackled her ankles wide to the iron rings in the walls.  As he straightened up he could smell her sex, wildly aroused despite her fear, and he grinned and spat.

“She sure is ready for him,” he laughed huskily, dipping dirty fingers into the moist hot core of her.  “That’s what I call an eager beaver.  He’s gonna be one happy stallion.”

Roy turned and beckoned to the handlers.  “Bring him on,” he said.

They brought the girl’s stud, his muscles straining against the leather harness, eyes mad with lust behind the headstall.  He was a big man and it took all of their strength to hold him.

Turning her head, the girl settled her fevered gaze on her stallion’s heavy erect member, the great purple bulb bobbing massively between his sweat-slick thighs and her bare buttocks quivered in anticipation.

“Okay, bend over and stick your ass up,” ordered a third voice harshly, the voice of an older man, hoarse with excitement.

At once she obeyed, head down over the flat wooden rail to which her wrists were chained, body braced and panting with both fear and desire. Hanging free, her breasts sloshed and waggled with every slightest movement.

“Not high enough,” barked the older man and gave her bare behind a crack with the wicked strap in his hand.  The breath hissed between her teeth as she flinched under the stinging leather.

Her tormentor stood on a raised section that allowed him to look down on her over the timbers of the stall, have an unobstructed view of the proceedings and wield the strap with plenty of purchase if he thought she was slacking off.

“I want to see that rear end up higher,” he gritted past the cigar in his teeth.

She had learned the hard way never to disobey Red Garrett. Arching her back downward, she raised her hips and braced herself obscenely on her toes.  The lust rumbled in her human stallion’s throat with a powerful equine sound.  He inhaled and blew, his nostrils distended as he drank in her scent.

At a nod from above, the handlers brought him into the stall where his mare waited, poised.  Her hindquarters thrust out, the broad shapely buttocks splayed and gleaming, slick with oil, her hot sex wet and dripping.

The human stud snorted explosively, causing her to glance around and up, eyes wide with alarm.  Then the stallion’s straining meat was placed at her opening and shoved home.  The girl squealed intensely, struggling to brace herself on the rail as her rutting male’s hard hips and rampant member pummelled her powerfully.

Above her, Red Garrett laughed, his eyes gleaming as he watched the rounded flesh of her rump quiver repeatedly with the frenzied thrusts.  He laughed again when she cried out, straining back against the libidinous assault on strongly braced thighs and feeling her juices flooding out around the thick pistoning manhood.

Aware of the mounting excitement, a quarter horse stallion in an adjoining stall whinnied gustily, launching a kick at the timbers.  One of the handlers shifted his attention as the iron shod hoof banged loud and hard against the neighbouring stall door. 

The stud was in the middle of his final strokes at the time and when the handler turned to look at the restless horse, he inadvertently tugged the harness lead in his hands to one side, pulling the human stallion, pumping frantically, slightly off balance.  Muscular hips drawn back for the ultimate thrust, the stud suddenly found his massive bucking organ jerked loose from his mare’s sex, just as a torrent of sperm gushed from the gleaming bulb all over her lower back and churning buttocks.

The stud’s roar of release was echoed by an infuriated bellow from above.  Incandescent with rage, Red Garrett turned on the inattentive handler like a pit bull.

“You dumb bastard, what in the hell do you think you’re doin’?  He’s meant to shoot his load up her cunt, not over her ass or the fuckin’ floor!  The object of this exercise is to knock her up.  Goddamn you, boy, I’m not payin’ you to sight-see.  Now get the fuck off my ranch and don’t expect no goddamn wages neither.  That little stunt of yours has just cost me double stud fees!”

As the abashed handler trailed out, dragging his heels, Red Garrett looked with disgust at the wasted sperm drying on his human mare’s heaving flanks.

“We could unshackle her and get her to shove some of it up herself,” suggested Roy, trying to be helpful.

“Just ain’t the same, son,” said Garrett ruefully.  “I like to see my fillies properly serviced.  Especially my little English filly here.”

He reached down to stroke the girl’s hair as she writhed beneath him, still bent over.  “I want to breed from her, and I want it done right.”  He glanced up at the panting stud.  “You boys best get him on back to Jake’s place.  You tell Jake I’ll be callin’ him again real soon, you hear?”

 

ENGLISH ROSE: SARA RECALLS HER ABDUCTION AND TRAINING AS A SHOW MARE

 

Left alone at last in her own stall after a rub down and water, Sara lay on the rough straw in her chains and wondered for the hundredth time how she had come to be in this position. 

Flying out from England on what she believed would be a dream trip, she had driven down from Dallas to see the Garrett Ranch, famed for its prize quarter horses.  The dream trip, however, had swiftly descended from fairyland deep in the heart of Texas to realms of darkest fantasy and degradation.

She remembered walking into the brightly-lit diner on the night she drove to the nearby town of Shaley.  A fresh-faced tourist looking for directions.  Not the kind you would normally come across in a Texas border town like this one.  A big city like Dallas or Houston maybe, not here.  But it had all seemed so normal to Sara at first, the friendly waitress behind the counter, the country music playing from a jukebox in the corner.

“I’m looking for the Garrett Ranch,” she said, dabbing the perspiration from her face with a handkerchief.  “I seem to have got lost,” she added almost apologetically.

There was a leisurely thud of boots as two local ranch hands approached to stand on either side of her.  The one facing her rested his boot on the brass rail at the base of the counter, and gave her a wide grin from under his stetson. He introduced himself as Roy.  He had the rugged cowboy looks that made Sara melt from the waist down, but although she felt her body responding to his strong masculinity, there was something about him that disturbed her.  Something about his eyes.

“Where you from, darlin’?” he asked in a friendly enough tone.

Her own smile was bright, if a little nervous.  “England,” she replied.

“England, huh?” He glanced at his friend behind her.  “And what brings you here?”

“A love of horses,” she explained.  “I was told the Garrett Ranch breeds some of the best quarter horses in Texas.”

“We breed good horses, that’s for sure,” he said.  “And not all with four legs neither.”

He leaned over the counter and winked at his friend, who laughed.  “Just a little joke between me and my good buddy, Todd, here,” he added when he sensed her discomfiture.  “I’ll tell you what, darlin’, if you want to get to the Garrett place, we can take you there.”

“You can?”

“Why, sure.  We work there, angel.  Listen, why don’t we leave you to finish your drink?”  He looked over her shoulder.  “Todd, we need some cigarettes.”  Both men turned from the counter and strode over to the cigarette machine.  “Be with you in a minute, darlin’,” Roy called back.

“Don’t pay them no mind,” the waitress said, leaning over the counter with a worried expression.  She spoke quietly.  “If I was you, honey, I’d get back into that big old car of yours and head off down the road back to Dallas.  This is no place for a girl like you.”

The idea of turning back to the city and missing out on seeing those prize quarter horses made her crestfallen, but there was something in the woman’s tone that chilled her.  She was mulling over what to do when Roy appeared by her side, opening a pack of Marlboros.

“You about ready, darlin’?” he asked.  “We’re fixin’ to head on back now.”

She hesitated.  What could she say?  She had already made it perfectly clear how keenly she wanted to see the ranch, had driven all the way across the state for the privilege.

“Yes,” she said finally, with a smile.  Maybe the waitress was just being a little over-protective.  Not daring to look back and meet with the older woman’s disapproval, she allowed herself to be led outside.  Roy’s hand on her arm sent a warm thrill down to her soaking core.

“You drive on ahead, Todd,” he said easily, tossing the keys of the pickup to his buddy.  “And we’ll follow on behind.”

Settling himself in the passenger seat of Sara’s car, he grinned across at her as she turned the key in the ignition.  “You’re gonna have the time of your life, darlin’,” he said. “And that’s a promise.”

 

When she arrived at the ranch, she was introduced to Red Garrett, the owner, who seemed the very epitome of Texas hospitality, but only long enough for her spiked drink to take hold.  After that she was stripped, shackled and unceremoniously dumped into this human horse stall.

“You do what I tell you, missy, and you’ll be all right,” Garrett said with a smile, when she came round.  “But if you don’t -” his eyes hardened like steel and he lashed her viciously across the bare flesh of her hip with a wicked leather strap.  His heavy, thick-fingered hand then stroked away her tears.  “You’re my pretty little filly now,” he whispered, “and there ain’t no goin’ back.”

From that day on they had trained her in the corral at the end of a lunge line, forcing her to run naked around the perimeter, with the hot sand burning her feet.  She had been naked ever since.

Sara was soon to discover that there were other women on the ranch under training, or already in service.  Some who were judged to have both speed and strength were harnessed to lightweight gigs used in trotting horse races and entered into pony girl events for big money.  Others were kept for breeding purposes, while those with beauty and grace of form and movement were cultivated as show mares.

Garrett had chosen her for the latter.  He renamed her English Rose, ordering her oiled and decked out in elaborate harness, with ribbons or brightly coloured plumes in her hair.  She even had a top beautician assigned to her, whose job it was to brush and dress her mane, make up her face, perfume and pamper her and enhance all her natural assets, adding rouge and gold or silver glitter to her nipples, pubic bush and the curve of her buttocks.

The latest addition to a harness that made her seem even more naked was a real mare’s tail that perfectly matched her hair colour and set high in a gold finial fixed in the studded strap over her shapely hips.  Two gold nipple cups were also affixed to her breasts when performing, from which little bells tinkled musically as she pranced and turned in the balletic dressage of the show mare.

Red Garrett was delighted with her progress and looked forward to entering her into competition in the show ring.  He would often stand at the corral, beaming proudly at the graceful sweep of her hips and the delicate way her little feet spurned the red sand, the tiny gold nipple bells jingling from her bare, sweat-sheened breasts.  He encouraged her (again with the strap) to cultivate a bright cheerleader smile at all times during her performance.

“The crowd just love to see a happy show mare,” he said.

She proved herself a natural champion, winning three competitions in a row and a whole lot of money for her owner.

Red Garrett then thought what a good idea it would be to breed some new winners from her.  After all, her career as a show mare wouldn’t last forever.  He had to think of the future.  That was the plan, until that no-good punk Brent Forrester fucked it all up.  Well, he’d been fired and Jake Landry’s prize stud was just going to have to be loaded up and driven over for a second try.  He’d get English Rose in foal yet.