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.
Chapter Three
With uneasiness and considerable embarrassment, I returned for the third session, only because I told Ivan I would. I already decided that I would thank him for his time and effort and then jack in the lessons. The longer I prolonged this fantasy, the harder it would be to end it.
When I came into the stable, I saw Nutmeg standing outside her stall, but I didn’t see Ivan. “Hello, is anyone about?” I certainly had no intention of being left alone with Nutmeg.
“Hello, there. I’m back here.” I heard Ivan’s voice coming from the tack room. “I won’t be long.”
He came out a few minutes later carrying a saddle much bigger than the one we used last week. I had to ask, “Why is that saddle so big?”
“Because, my dear, we are going to have a special lesson.”
My heart fluttered. “Special how?” I couldn’t take much more of this. I wanted to run back to my car and leave.
“You’ll see.” With some effort, he hoisted the saddle onto Nutmeg’s back. His arms looked as though they would pop the seams of his black T-shirt. I tried not to stare, but, my word, that shirt stretched across his back like a panther’s coat. His muscles visibly rippled with the exertion.
I felt a trickle of perspiration run between my breasts. Another trickle itched between my legs that had nothing to do with perspiration. “It is a bit warm today, isn’t it?”
“It surely is. I could use a pint of cold ale after being in the tack room.” He buckled the saddle and adjusted the length of the stirrups. “Come. Let me help you get on.”
“Ivan, I am so sorry. I don’t think I can do this. Perhaps I should—”
“Of course you can do it,” he said before I could finish my quitting speech. “It is perfectly simple once you get onto it.” He took my hand and led me over to Nutmeg.
“If you say so.” Perhaps I could wait until after the lesson to quit. I put my foot into the stirrup. This time Ivan held me around my waist and helped me on.
“Slowly now, lower yourself slowly.” He put his hand under my bum. “Feel my hand? Lower yourself on my hand.” I felt his hand, all right. I wanted to rub against it! Ivan didn’t slide his hand out from under my bum until I sat fully on the saddle.
“Now I’m going to show you how to properly ride. Slide forward a little.” He pushed my bum from behind, sliding me forward in the saddle. Then, hell’s bells! He got on behind me!
I had no choice but to lean against him. “So sorry about the damp shirt. We haven’t used this saddle for some time. I had to unearth it.” He leaned in close to my ear. “As you can tell, I did get very warm in there.”
“I don’t mind it, really.” I could already feel his shirt soaking through mine. The very idea that he held me that close made me even more unsteady. I clutched the reins with both hands. He put his arms around me and took the reins.
“Relax, Passion. Hold on to me, I won’t let you fall.” He somehow got that horse to move and we rode out of the stable.
A sheet of paper couldn’t have slid between us, we sat so close together. With his hands over mine, he showed me how to hold the reins. He leaned down very close to my ear again and said, “Pash, feel how I’m controlling the horse with the reins. It is just like steering a car. You just use the reins to do it.” His breath on my neck gave me shivers.
As we rode along I studied his hairy forearms and followed them down to his hands. The Highwayman’s hands in my story last night looked like his, big and rugged. Everything about Ivan reminded me of my Highwayman. Putting the brakes on my imagination, I tried to concentrate on the lesson.
My attempt to focus shattered when Ivan held me tightly around the waist and said, “Put your hand on my thigh. I want you to feel how I use my muscles to send directional signals to Nutmeg.” I don’t know if Nutmeg felt the signals, but my libido certainly did. The feel of his arm under my breasts and his leg muscles tightening under my hand made my knickers as wet as his shirt.
We spent most of my lesson together on that horse, with Ivan showing me all sorts of things about how to ride. Clearly he knew what he was doing. I really did try to pay attention. This is what I had told myself I wanted, to learn about horses.
But being so close to him for so long, how the devil could I focus on a horse? We rode across the farm and back again. My word, leaning on his chest for more than an hour and touching him as I did excited me terribly! Blooming brilliant, it was! What’s more, I could feel him rubbing against my back. His privates felt like they looked—big and deliciously hard!
By the third lesson I had to do something to get to know Pash better, PDQ. If I didn’t turn it around this lesson, I doubted she would be back.
Digging around the tack room before her lesson, I found an old saddle meant for two people. By double riding with her, I could put my arms around her while holding the reins.
It worked out even better than I anticipated. Two of us on that saddle made for a bloody tight fit, which pressed her up against my chest and put the top of her head at just about my chin.
Trying not to let the intoxicating smell of her hair distract me, I started the lesson. I told her to relax and allow the rhythm of the horse to dictate body posture. This makes the movement fluid and graceful. With my arms around her, it also caused the sides of her breasts to rub against my arms.
I showed