Читать книгу Passion - P.F. Kozak - Страница 7

After the debacle of my first lesson, I nearly decided to abandon this horse insanity and cancel my lessons. I humbly realized I might have romanticized the whole riding business. The reality seemed to fall far short of what I imagined. But I could not stop thinking about Ivan, about how he moved hefting that hay into the stall or how he looked sitting on Nutmeg or how patient he had been with my pratfall.

Then, a few days before my next appointment, something happened that guaranteed I would not change my mind. I dreamed about Ivan, an erotic dream—a real humdinger, too. I decided to return for the second lesson only because I wanted to see him again. I really didn’t think I had it in me to learn to ride, but because I knew no other way to see him, I thought I would try.

In the dream, I came into the stable like I did the first day. Ivan had his shirt off as he lifted bales of hay. I watched him take the hay into an empty stall, marveling at the exquisite masculine beauty of his body. The sweat made his skin shine, the muscles in his arms and back bulging with the weight of the bales.

I had the impulse to touch myself while I watched him, but he turned around before I could stroke myself. When he saw me, he simply said, “It’s time to start your lesson.” He didn’t leave the empty stall, but motioned for me to join him there.

Walking into the stall, I tripped. I fell into the mud, except this time I fell on my arse instead of my knees. He picked up the hose and sprayed me, the water pulsing between my legs. As the water sprayed harder and harder, my knees became weak. He caught me, pressing his chest up against my breasts as he held me. Suddenly I felt very confused. I couldn’t remember why I had come there or why I felt so aroused. I asked him, “I don’t know you. Are you my Highwayman?”

“You don’t need your Highwayman anymore. You have me.”

“Who are you?” I felt afraid. The fear only seemed to feed my arousal. My need to touch him threatened to consume me.

“I am your teacher. I will show you what you came here to learn.” He took a blanket and spread it over some hay in the empty stall. He said, “Come, lay beside me.” I went to him and lay down on the blanket beside him.

He opened his jeans. Taking hold of my hand, he said, “You want to touch me, I know you do. You want to touch me like this.” He slid my hand up and down his erection. “Oh, yes, touch me just like that. It’s fucking good.”

I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck as he nuzzled me. He lifted my shirt and fondled my breasts as he pushed himself into my hand. Then he wedged his hard leg between my thighs. The slight rocking motion of his body as he moved in my hand sent ripples of pleasure into me.

I laid my head on his chest so I could hear his heartbeat. He smelled like hay and sweat. “Please, I need to come.” I moaned the words into his chest as I pressed harder against his leg. He held me as I rubbed against him. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the sensation.

I still had my hand on him, stroking him as he had shown me. “I’m close, rub harder.” I wanked him harder. He started to spasm, spilling himself into my hand. His cum burned my palm. Before I could tell him that, he dipped his fingers into his scalding semen and rubbed it on my nipples. My breasts ignited with heat, which set my body on fire.

He held me as I pressed myself against his leg with increasing force. “Ivan…” I felt my body tense as waves of sensation moved through me. My skin tingled like a thousand fireflies had nested on me. I bolted awake with the feeling of him all through me, breathless from my own climax.

I couldn’t get back to sleep after that. The heat would not go away. After rubbing off again thinking about him, I picked up my journal to write about him.

I told Steve about Pash’s mishap, since I thought perhaps after her first lesson, she might not come back. I actually expected that to be the case. He had a good laugh and shrugged it off with an easy-come, easy-go attitude. I asked my old friend if he knew if she was married. He grinned and said, “Why? You interested or something?”

“I might be.”

“I thought the redhead might be fuckable, but I’m surprised you’re on the pull. I thought you like ’em younger.”

I flipped him the bird. “Sod off, mate. Just tell me what you know.”

“Gwen rang this morning to tell me her friend Pash wanted lessons and asked me to help out with it. I told her to pop out today and I’d show her around.” That explained the unexpected student. Steve always jumps at the chance to sign on someone new.

“While she filled out the registration form, we had a little chat. I found out straight away that she wasn’t married, just in case things don’t work out with Gwenny.”

I ignored that crack, wanting to get more information out of him. “Do you know what she does for a living?”

“I’m not sure exactly. I think she writes or something.”

“Writes what?”

“Books, you twit! What do you think?”

Not wanting to let him have the last word, I gave him something to think about. “Thanks, old man. And I must say, Gwen would probably be quite interested to know you are considering hitting on her friend.” I patted him on the back and went back to the stable.

Steve getting on my case about sleeping with younger women had been going on for some time. He had told me more than once to get my finger out of my arse and grow up. I couldn’t seem to stop, even though bedding the hormonal bits of fluff I taught had actually become damned tiresome.

This new lady pumped my nads. I figured I would wait and see if she came back for lesson number two. If she didn’t show, I would call her. My attraction to her surprised me. But I couldn’t deny it. My cock wouldn’t let me deny it.

Her tumble in the mud gave me an eyeful. The wedgie from her jeans clearly opened her. Hosing her down made her jeans cling to her labia even more, not to mention the peanuts she smuggled under her shirt when I brushed her tits. That whole bit of business made a deposit in my wank bank. Every time I thought of it, my cock stirred.

For a few days I tried to push the picture out of my head. What a wasted effort! The more I tried not to think about her, the stiffer I got. Finally I gave in to my blue balls. I had stashed a few porn mags under my mattress. Every now and again I had the urge to have one off the wrist. The ladies in my mags kept me company.

Since those ladies were the only ones available to shag, I retrieved my stash and had a look. Leafing through them, I found one with red hair. She seemed a fine bird to help me take care of business.

Skimming off my clothes, I retrieved a tube of lubricant I kept in my bedside table. Tossing it on the bed, I settled in with the magazine. The redhead’s tits caught my eye first. Her nipples looked like someone had just licked them, shiny and moist.

Running my finger down the page, I thought of Pash. Her tits probably looked like this. My arm pressed against her bubbies when I helped her to stand up. She had a nice set, not too big, but firm and full. Christ, how much I wanted to squeeze them and pinch those ripe nipples.

My eyes drifted farther down the page. I saw Pash there, naked and open. She had red hair covering her snatch. I knew she would. Her legs were spread wide, waiting for me. Squirting a dollop of lube on my hands, I slicked myself up. A drop of pre-cum dripped off my tip and ran down my groin. She had me going, all right. This was what I needed, to really sink myself into her.

Wanting my hand to feel like her pussy, I started to bang one out. A good ride with me would make her so wet. Oh, yeah, I wanted to do her. Pulling down those wet jeans and spreading her legs, burying my cock in her. Fuck, yes, flat on her back under me.

I grabbed the tube and smeared on more lube. The veins on my organ bulged, purple and angry. Wet pussy, I wanted her wet pussy around me. The more I thought of riding her, the harder I pumped. She had to be hot, with all that red hair.

The heat from my organ scorched my hand. I wanted her. I needed to push myself into her. I wanted to hold back, but I couldn’t. She sent this picture to me, this picture of herself waiting for me, her red bush burning for me, her legs wide open, wanting my cock inside of her.

My muscles tensed and locked, the paralysis of arousal consumed me. Her pussy gripped my granite organ as I drove myself into my own hand. Sliding in and out of her, drilling her with everything I had, my nuts boiled over. My entire body shook as I creamed.

I had to have her, but how the frigging hell could I manage it?

Ivan said I would be on a horse this time. I told myself to calm down the whole drive out to the stable. My heart pounded, mostly because I was about to see him again, but also out of fear.

I kept remembering Nutmeg and then imagining me on Nutmeg. Somehow I just couldn’t bring the two images together. When I walked into the stable, there he stood, brushing that big old horse. I nearly turned around and left.

Before I could pivot on my heels and leave, he saw me. He said, “Hello!” and gave me a welcoming smile. Then he asked me, “Are you ready for your first ride?” I involuntarily shivered.

I spent the next several days waiting for the cancellation call to come in. It didn’t. I must have been living right, because, much to my surprise, about five minutes before the second lesson was slated to begin, she walked into the stable.

We got right down to business. These classes were the easiest way to keep seeing Pash on a regular basis, but I had to get her comfortable on a horse or she would stop coming. I tried to get her to loosen up by having her help me saddle and bridle Nutmeg. That also gave me a reason to stay close to her, which once again made me hard.

“Come here and help me cinch up the saddle.” She hunkered down beside me and I showed her the buckles. “It’s just like fastening this belt.” I pointed to the buckle of the belt I had on, wanting her to see she had an effect on me. She glanced down at my jeans. Noticeably flushing, she quickly looked away.

When helping me put the bit in Nutmeg’s mouth, she pulled her hand away. “Will she bite?”

Trying not to smile at her nervousness, I explained, “No, she won’t bite. Horses don’t have any teeth in the lower corners of her mouth, where the bit is inserted.” I opened Nutmeg’s mouth to prove it.

We finished our “identify the tack” lesson. I only managed to get my arms around her once, while showing her how to adjust the stirrup. I figured it best to bide my time and not push too hard. Her anxiety about the lesson could well throw a spanner in the works.

Then the moment came to get her on the mare. I said, “Let’s see how she feels to you,” and held the stirrup iron for her foot.

Ivan really expected me to get on that damn big horse! Just like that. I looked at him like he had lost his mind, which he certainly must have. At that moment I didn’t care that he looked like Adonis and was hung like Priapus. I just wanted to leave.

He continued talking like he didn’t notice I hadn’t budged. His voice hummed in my ears as I stood there. “Grab some mane with your left hand and put your left foot in the stirrup. Hold on to the back of the saddle with your right hand. Push off with your right foot. Swing your right leg over the horse, hefting yourself into the saddle, just like this.”

With one smooth motion, he hoisted himself onto Nutmeg’s back. He continued, “Don’t plop down hard; you could startle her. Just sit down easy and take hold of the reins. Now you try it.” With that he got off her just as easily as he had got on. He held the stirrup iron for me. I still hadn’t budged.

Pash stood there, frozen to the spot. I gave her my most basic demonstration of how to mount a horse and she looked like she hadn’t understood a single word I said. I thought to myself, “Damn, Redhead, you’re going to get on this horse if I have to lift you up there myself.”

What I actually said was considerably gentler. “Let’s press on, Pash, you can do it. I’ll help you.” Thinking I needed to ease the tension somehow, I asked, “By the way, is Pash short for something? I never heard that name before.”

She blinked a couple of times, like waking up from a nap, and found her voice. “That is what most people call me. My given name is Passion.” I had to stifle a surprised whistle with that one. But she still noticed my amazement. “It is odd, isn’t it?”

Hoping I hadn’t been too obvious with my reaction, I said, “Well, it is unusual. I’ve never met anyone named Passion before.”

“That’s why I use Pash. People are more comfortable with it.”

“Well, Passion, let’s get you on this horse.”

I knew I couldn’t just stand there, with Ivan waiting for me to put my foot in that stirrup. I had already made a fool of myself in front of him once and made up my mind I wasn’t going to do it again. So, I came over to Nutmeg.

“Just take it slow, I’ll help you.”

“All right, then. Show me what to do.”

“Grab on here.” He put my left hand on Nutmeg’s mane. “Now lift your left foot and put it in the stirrup. If it’s too high, I’ll adjust it.” I put my foot in the stirrup. Before I had a chance to say, “Now, what?” he said, “Here we go,” and started lifting me off the ground.

“Hold on to the back of the saddle and straighten your left knee. Don’t worry, I have you.” And have me he did. I was practically sitting on his hands. “Now swing that right leg up and over; don’t graze her, now.”

The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the saddle. Ivan moved forward, took the reins and stroked Nutmeg’s neck, murmuring something to her I couldn’t quite hear. “We have to work on that landing, Pash. You could go riding sooner than you planned.” I realized I must have plopped down too hard. Who knew getting onto a horse was this complicated!

Her given name is Passion! Bloody hell! Do I have good karma or what? Well, Passion, you are going to learn to ride a horse, if I have anything to say about it. And that’s not all you’re going to ride, if I have my way!

I got her foot positioned correctly in the stirrup. Seeing no other way to do it, I grabbed on to that shapely arse and started steadily pushing her up into the air.

Normally I would have enjoyed that moment considerably more, except that her body weight shifted midair. I reacted instinctively. Either I had to get her on that horse straight away or risk her going backward, taking me down with her. So, onto the horse she went.

Fortunately, Nutmeg isn’t a quick reactor. While Nutmeg tried to decide if she should go or not, I grabbed the reins and whispered quietly to her, calming her. She settled right down. Another horse might have bolted. I promised her a few extra treats for supper.

Regaining my professional demeanor once again—which seemed to be a constant challenge with my new student—I continued the lesson. I showed her how to properly hold the reins and had her walk Nutmeg around the stable a couple of times. Actually, I walked around and Nutmeg followed me.

That ended class number two. I knew the scales did not tip in my favor when she said, “Ivan, perhaps this is too much for me. I don’t believe I can do this.”

“Might I ask for one more go at it? I promise the next time, things will go more smoothly.” She reluctantly agreed.

I knew I didn’t do so well with my second lesson. I felt my chance to impress Ivan as an excellent riding student slipping away. If anything, he must have thought me to be an absolute cock-up. Bugger all! I finally met someone I really responded to and I just couldn’t seem to catch on to his world.

Most of the men that cross my path turn out to be gay or married. I have more male “friends” than I can count, and none of them want to sleep with me. Now, I accidentally meet someone who curls my toes and all I can do is prove how clumsy I am.

I spent the next week trying not to think of Ivan. I distracted myself with my work, writing into the wee hours nearly every night. No matter how late I stayed up, that damn dream kept coming back to me just as I would try to sleep. I felt like such a fool! What had I been thinking, imagining that my world and his world could intersect? So I had the hots for him; that, and a pound sterling, would buy me a cup of tea.

The night before my third lesson, I couldn’t sleep. Not wanting to dwell on seeing Ivan again the next day, perhaps for the last time, I thought of my Highwayman. I snapped on the light beside my bed. Retrieving my journal from my bedside table, I started to write.

My Highwayman arrived at the inn and asked for a tray of food to be brought to his room. When I came in, he handed me a package tied with cord. I opened it to find a new red dress with a lace-up bodice.

“Since I have to look at you when I am here, I want you to wear this instead of that,” he said as he gestured to the worn dress I had on. He sat down in a chair. “Put it on for me.” He watched as I pulled my everyday dress over my head. I had on only a thin shift underneath. I hadn’t worn my corset or my pantaloons, it being a warm summer’s day. I quickly pulled the dress over my head and laced up the bodice to cover myself.

Twirling around, I made the skirt flair. When I stopped spinning, I staggered, dizzy from the excitement and the movement. As my vision cleared, I saw him sitting there, stroking himself. Flustered at the idea of him watching me like this, I smoothed my dress to dry my sweaty palms.

Taking his hand away from his organ, he said, “Look what you did to me, dancing around like a whoring wench. Here I bring you this present and you do this to me?” I could not tell from his tone if I had truly angered him. I stood, frozen to the floor, not knowing what to do to redeem myself. Finally he broke the silence. “You would leave me like this?” I approached him.

When I got close enough for him to reach me, he grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto his lap “Woman, you will pleasure me with your whoring ways.” He roughly pulled at my laced-up bodice.

Fearing he would tear my new dress, I undid the bodice that I had so carefully laced up just a few minutes before. He opened my dress and reached inside. Pulling open the drawstring on my shift, he took my breast into his hand. I knew his habits well. When he became this stirred, nothing I could say or do would stop him.

Not that I minded. Ever since the first time he lay on top of me at the inn, I welcomed his hunger for me. The feel of him inside me made me burn with desire. I lowered my dress and shift off my shoulders, giving him full sway to my bare breasts. He kneaded the soft flesh like bread dough. Sparks crackled in my chest when his callused hands brushed my nipples.

He tugged at my skirt, pulling it up around my waist. Slipping his hand between my legs, he berated me for not wearing my pantaloons. “You are a she-cat in heat, waiting for Lucifer to lift your skirt. God-fearing women cover themselves underneath!” His words inflamed me as much as the pressure of his hand. “Well, woman, Lucifer sent me to do his business. Stand up and raise your skirt. Let me see my prize.”

With trembling hands, I pulled up my skirt and shift so he could see me underneath. I closed my eyes as he reached between my legs. His rough hand found its mark. He opened me and rubbed until I squealed. Knowing he watched me in my exposed state drove me nearly mad with desire. My legs would no longer support me, so he lowered me to the floor.

He positioned himself over me and undid his trousers. Supporting himself on his forearms, he roughly entered me and began rutting me. My swollen body welcomed his invasion. I clung to him, feeling his sweat mingle with mine. Again and again he violated me. Suddenly everything disappeared and only the fire in my belly existed. Wave after wave of pleasure gripped me as he continued to grind himself into me.

Still he burrowed into me. Fearing he would ruin my new dress, I reached down to his buttocks and slid my finger inside the crevice between them. He began to spasm as I thought he would. I discovered early on I could trigger his climax this way. He could rarely endure the sensation and would finish in short order.

I didn’t do it often, for fear he would catch on to my trick. But if he had been drinking or I thought him too rough, I used this to get him off me. Today I did so to keep him from tearing my dress. I preferred to have him on top of me for as long as he could have managed.

As he came back to himself, I continued to stroke his buttocks. I did not want to draw attention to the single stroke which caused him to finish. When I pulled off the new dress, I folded it neatly and put it on a bench along the wall. I now knew what wearing it would do and would tuck that away to use as I needed it.

Finishing my story bit, I closed my journal. Hugging the book to my chest, I said out loud to the empty room, “What the bloody hell am I going to do?” Through the entire story, I saw Ivan as my Highwayman. His face and his body filled my mind as I wrote, without invitation and without mercy. My clitoris throbbed with need. I turned out the light and slipped my hand inside my knickers, wishing it were his hand instead.