Side Saddle

Side Saddle

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part without express written permission. 1

Fanny La Tush

Side Saddle Copyright © 2005 Fanny La Tush

Cassie knew just by opening the bunkhouse door that she was begging for trouble. Right now, the anger in her throat far surpassed the quivering in her stomach. She didn't often journey down to the bunkhouse, especially when only one cowboy remained. And most especially, this cowboy! She took a lung-filling deep breath. The moment she stepped through the door, she felt his smoky gaze rivet in her direction. Now was not the time to lose her courage... or her anger. For a week now, ever since she had hired the weathered, rugged lone wolf, she had stolen quiet, appreciative glances his way. He was a tall, broad shouldered, narrowhipped kind of man who could turn any woman's head...but he was also the kind of man that was quietly comfortable with this power. Dangerous. And irresistible! It had been a long while since a man had caught her eye like this one. A battle of wills had ensued. For three days she had pointedly asked him to clean and polish her riding saddle. And for three days he had tipped his weather-beaten black hat in her direction and pointedly gone about other business. Such calculated arrogance proved intolerable to her, even in the face of one so incredibly appealing. Everyone on this ranch performed their jobs. Everyone on this ranch did what they were told. Everyone on this ranch had cleaned her saddle, and no one had ignored her direct orders in the past. But this new cowboy proved to be a different breed. Stubborn and way too self-assured. He had boldly eyed her up and down whenever she’d made an appearance. He’d lazily dragged his gaze up to her when she’d spoken directly to him. He had seemed oblivious to her authority. He wasn't a greenhorn; he knew the ropes. He knew he had been hired by a woman who had successfully run a ranch for six years since her husband had died, leaving her a widow at thirty-two. What the hell was he trying to prove? "Sam." Cassie firmly stepped into the dimly-lit room. From his position on the bunk, the denim-clad cowpoke tilted his gaze at the door. "Ma'am?" She glared across the empty room at him. The silence hung like a rain soaked sheet on a taut clothesline. 2

Side Saddle

The rest of the men had gone to town. Eager to spend hard-earned pay, a funfilled, crystal clear Montana evening spread before them. But Sam hadn't budged, and her saddle sat neglected and muddied on a sawhorse in the tack shop. "You haven't joined the other men." Sam sat up on the bunk to face her, scraping his boots across the floor. His relentless stare pierced hers. "Now that would be hard to do, seein’ that someone forgot to pay me,” he drawled, the smile not quite reaching the laugh lines etched around his eyes. "Around here, men get paid for doing their jobs." She glanced around the bunkhouse impatiently, missing the sparkling glint of his brown-eyed stare. She knew that this particular cowboy worked twice as hard on any given day than two of the other men. But an order was an order. "And I haven't done my job." "No." He pulled himself up to his full 6'2" height. "I take it you’re waitin’ for me to put a shine on that little saddle sitting in the tack shop." "I am." "You'll wait a long time." "So will you, for a paycheck." Sam sighed. Here before him was one fine woman. A bold, courageous business woman who, as far as he could see, managed her husband's ranch far better than half the men in Montana. She was spirited, independent and marvelously easy on the eyes. But she had a mouth. That, and a bossy, arrogant way of flinging her weight around, as little weight as he could see she had on her tall curvy frame. All week long, he had listened to the stories of the other men in the bunkhouse; how she was fair and generous, as well as the inspiration for many a wet dream. But she was gratingly patronizing when it came to having the men do menial chores that she herself could handle. She insisted on having that damn little saddle of hers scrubbed down every day after she had ridden hard through what seemed to be every damned mud puddle on the ranch. It was almost a symbol of power that she enjoyed flaunting over her ranch hands, a small, constant reminder that she signed their paychecks, no matter how many crotch-dampening dreams of theirs she smoldered through at night. Now, gazing through half-closed eyes at her, he knew full well that, had she not been so damned prissy about her saddle, every buck-horned one of the men would be racing for the honor of polishing it for her. She was a woman meant for pleasing. But for some stubborn reason, she liked lording her power over the men. 3

Fanny La Tush Well, not this man. "Ma'am... Cassie…" he drawled softly. "I would like my pay check now." "Cassie? You think you can win me over by crooning my given name? You think it’s that easy to get around me?" She laughed, incredulous. Sam had been clearly attracted to her from day one. His bold assessment of her never went unnoticed. But he was way out of line here. "Cassie... I know you. I know just what you’re trying to prove with your little sassy saddle-polishing command. But with me, it won't work. You may have the other men around here chiseled down... but you should polish your own damn saddle. Or learn how to keep your mount out of playing in mud." "I don't need a lesson in horsemanship from you." A strange silence bounced from wall to wall. After a long moment, Sam shifted his weight then sighed almost imperceptibly. "I know what you need…and deserve." "You don't know squat. You come in here with your big cow eyes and think you can be Buffalo Bill to my Calamity Jane. When an order is given around here, an order is carried out. If you don't like the order, you can take a hike. And I can make sure no ranch in the area will hire you. I can make it known that you’re difficult. I can see to it that you have a very hard time finding a day's pay within two hundred miles of here in any direction." "But... if I polish your saddle, all will be well." "That's right." "That's bull." "That’s the way it is." She crossed her arms and slowly ground her boot heel into the floorboard. Sam grinned. "Lady, you've had a power fixation for one day too long. I think the seat that sits in the saddle needs polished a whole lot more than the saddle does." For once he saw her flinch, and a small flash of disbelief (or was it excitement?) flickered across her stunned expression. A pin dropping on the wooden floor boards would no doubt have made a very loud ping. Finally, with the air between them aching for action, she slid her booted foot out in front of her and leaned slightly forward. "Well, a better man than you would have to handle that task." She carefully slid her hands into the pockets of her low-slung jeans, and with the air of a prima ballerina, pivoted slowly, turning her back on him, heading slowly towards the door. Sam let her get almost completely out the door before he took several lazy strides 4

Side Saddle across the room. "Little lady... this will be a pleasure, not a task!" As one hand firmly clamped on her upper arm, he swung her around, the other hand grabbing her wrist. With a dip of shoulder and wide arc, and he almost effortlessly flung her up over his shoulder. A delayed sputter and a quick exhale of air was the only sound she made until he strode out into the moonlight and headed towards the tack house. "We’re off to watch you clean a saddle!" he insisted. Her feminine defenses kicked in--literally. Two booted legs flutter kicked hard. She shrieked her indignation. For a moment, her sudden movements gave the cowboy an off-balanced pause. Then he tightened, shifted her like a potato sack further back over his shoulder, and clamped his arm around the back of her thighs. Unfortunately for Cassie, one of her booted toes landed a stinging blow above his kneecap. For a moment, he winced, taking in a quick breath. Her satisfaction at striking the painful blow was decidedly short-lived because she felt the muscles tense across his shoulders and a determined wave ripple through the arm holding her in place. "Put me down!" she demanded. A quick flutter of dread washed over her as he suddenly stopped short. With one wide arc of his free arm, Sam reached back, took aim... and brought the full force of his wide palm swinging hard onto her unprotected posterior. "I will not (swat... yelp!) be held responsible for what happens to your smart little ass (smaacck... shriek!) if you connect with any more parts of my anatomy! (slap... slaaaaap!) " "Argghhh!" Cassie frantically wiggled to be free of his iron grip and the sting that permeated the inefficient denim covering her backside. "You sonofa..." Smmmaaack! "Oowwwww! Help!" she cried out as the last swat landed high on her thigh and seemed to dwarf the sting of the ones before. "No one hears you. They all got paid and left. But if they were here, they’d all pull up a seat to watch." He adjusted her on his shoulder and strode purposefully towards the tack house once more. She still hadn't learned. Kick Kick... kick... connected to bone. Uh oh! The sound of a breathless struggle cut through the clear night air, but as Cassie was unceremoniously dumped from his shoulder, she was more concerned with keeping her balance than listening to the crickets listening to her. She needn't have concerned herself. Before her feet had hit the ground for one 5

Fanny La Tush solid second, she was yanked forward and Sam's hand on her back forced her to bend over his angled knee. A strong arm around her waist held her tight to his body. In quick, relentless succession, hard whaps found their target on her well- curved ass. During the middle of the seventh or eighth whap, a flush of a different kind of feeling took root in Cassie's stomach, and her wild kicking ceased. The seat of her jeans tingled with a different fire… one that quickly spread across her crotch! She went limp over his knee and he quickly carted her back up over his shoulder. He burst through the door of the tack room. Her sudden lack of defensive fire fooled him into assuming that his victory had been easily won. Strangely, he was disappointed, and had to cough down the emotion that had been building up in his throat. He carefully put her down from his shoulder. This time, when her feet touched ground, she braced herself, and before he could finish clearing his throat, she fired a look up at him, flung back her hand, then slapped his unshaven face, twice, full-force. Through the haze of the sharp slaps, Sam caught the low unmistakable sound of laughter as she bolted past him for the door. Damn! She was enjoying this! Well, this put a whole new light on this dimly-lit shack! With a devilish grin, he grabbed her around the waist as she was almost past him. He hauled her over to the muddied, lone saddle draped over the sawhorse in the corner. As they came near, she swiftly lifted her legs, then booted the saddle off the sawhorse. "Pick it up, Cassie!" "Nooo!" she howled, still unable to hide the enjoyment in her low voice. "One more chance!" She stomped down on the top of his boot. "That's it!" He growled and hobbled, but didn't lose his grip around her waist. He'd roped calves that weren't half as frisky as this lady. But a good cowboy never let a calf get the better of him before it was branded. "Damn you, woman, you’re so determined to leave a mark on me... now I'll be the one doing the marking." He swore as his hands fumbled around her waist at her belt buckle, tugging it open and readily sliding the thick leather out of its loops. He dropped her belt at his feet and took advantage of her momentary stunned stupor to unzip her jeans, pulling them down over her curved hips. She froze as the cool air caressed the seat of her cotton panties. Her mouth formed a huge surprised O as she felt herself bent forward over the empty blanket draped over the sawhorse. The smell of dirt and leather assaulted her nose as her head came down close to the dusty floor of the tack shed. 6

Side Saddle Sam stepped up next to the prone woman and quickly brought his eager palm smacking down on the roundest, raised globe, now clenching in embarrassment under thin white cotton panties. The sound of the smack was followed quickly by a high yelp. Obviously, the covering of denim had been more protection than she knew, because this one stung like hell! "Damnit! Ow!" she kicked her feet into the dust, trying to get a foot hold, but only managing to send a poof of dust into the air around her legs. "Talk like a lady!" he demanded smacking the other cheek just as hard. "You go to Hell!" she clawed her hands in the dirt and haphazardly flung a fistful of dust in his direction. With the forceful palm of his strong hand planted in the center of her back, he held her down across the sawhorse. Cassie managed to eke out a small protest before he reigned down several quick, short slaps over the entire surface of cotton. Pleased with the responsive wriggles he commanded from her, he proceeded to lay pink the surrounding flesh at the tops of her thighs. Never had she been so utterly shocked! The sharp stings of the wallops were nothing compared to the paddling of her pride. Her squeals came rapid-fire as he placed two dozen slaps--one after the other-- on alternating cheeks, until her wounded backside turned a pretty shade of rosy-red peeking out beyond the ineffective covering of her panties. Then as he slowed his pace, his trampled toe throbbed at the same time as his shin, and his face and his knee. He was still the more injured party here! With a frown, he leaned forward and slipped his fingers under the leg bands of her panties, pulling each side up high over her pleasantly warmed bottom. The two rounded globes exposed by his actions shone deep pink in the soft light. Her intake of breath at this new embarrassment was barely audible as Sam decided this lesson was far from over. "Will you clean your saddle?" He paused, his hand resting tentatively across her sore behind. The view of her exposed swelling cheeks made him swell a bit in his own jeans. "No!" came the muffled reply and a jiggle of hips. He grinned, devilishly. The same amused tone filtered through her self- righteous indignation. "All right, boss lady! You let me know when you’re ready. I have all night, and nowhere to go... because I haven’t been paid." As he finished his sentence, he brought his hand down on tender flesh. Hard.

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Fanny La Tush Her body jolted. She rose up from the sawhorse with a gasp. Ohmigod! The pain in her ass was nothing compared to the gripping in her stomach. The sensation was biting and hurtful and completely demoralizing... but strangely, confusingly... exciting! How could she have let the control slip so far out of her hands? And why did she like it so much? Again and again, he slapped her sore flesh, turning the pink several shades deeper. She found herself moaning and twisting to avoid the next inevitable sharp smack, yet at the same time raising her bottom to eagerly meet the next blow, before shirking away again. The harder he hit, the more she yearned for the next connecting smack. What was wrong with her? "Say it, Cassie. Say you’ll clean your saddle." He laughed softly now. "No!" "Okay, it's your ass." He laughed louder, landing six smart whacks all in the same small spot on one cheek. "Jesus Chrissssst!” She bucked and wiggled and kicked. "Watch the feet!" he warned. Immediately, she dropped her boots to the floor. He shifted his body and began tattooing the other cheek in the same way. She grimaced, biting her lip when each smack landed, adding more heat to the already stinging flame. Her stomach was pressed hard against the sawhorse, and through squinting eyes, she saw the dust rising through the air, swirling and dancing in the dim light each time his palm connected to her aching backside. Then, in an instant, the sharp pain stopped. Only a burning aftershock remained. Cassie opened her eyes and took in several small deep breaths to regain her senses. She could taste the dust in the air, smell the leather all around her, and could feel the radiating heat from a very sore posterior. He said nothing. For a moment, she thought her ordeal was over, and she had won. She had won! It took a moment for her brain to register through the pain that the elastic waistband of her panties was being lifted from her hips, and slowly dragged down over her swollen cheeks. Oh, no! Oh nooooo! Oh, yes! Sam carefully and painstakingly peeled the dusty white panties down over her backside and slid them softly to join her jeans at mid thigh. Then, to her utter amazement and total humiliation, he tugged both panties and jeans down over her boot tops to her ankles. She immediately began to push up from the sawhorse, but Sam straddled her body 8

Side Saddle and whispered from behind her. "Where are you going to run to? You won't get very far with your pants at your feet. Besides, you'll end up as dirty as that saddle you’re so damned fond of." While his chuckling continued, she heard him add, "Just say you will clean the saddle, and I’ll stop." She clenched her fists and teeth, and with an exasperated sigh, collapsed back over the sawhorse. No! She wouldn't give in! "Never!" Sam shook his head, giving her reddened backside a quick soft rub. "And now, you’ll also have to apologize for kicking me." "Drop dead, you prick!" "I told you to watch your mouth!" A flurry of hard, unforgiving, helter-skelter, unevenly timed whacks covered her beautiful bouncing behind. They seemed interminable. She was ready to scream surrender as the stinging reached a new level of raw intensity. Sam thoroughly enjoyed the sight of her gloriously reddened cheeks dancing under his tune. The howling of her yelps each time a slap resounded through the room brought a huge smile to his face. Then suddenly, he stopped. His laugh receded for a moment and she blushed all over thinking he was standing back, surveying her exposure. Even as the thought of his eyes beholding her in such open vulnerability sent a hot tingling traveling up into her chest, total embarrassment washed over her other cheeks from ear to ear. But soon she realized he hadn't been still at all. A cold new sensation tapped against the warm bottom of her cheek, at the top of her thigh. She raised her head questioningly as the cool smooth tapping got just a bit harder. "What the hell?” "Crop," Sam informed her. "It was hanging on the wall over there. Seemed appropriate." Her intake of breath turned into a sharp gasp. Sam put one hand on the small of her back, forcing her in place. Playfully, he patted the crop on the very bottom of her cheek. Tap tap tap... trace... tap tap... Whap! The concentrated sting created by his sharp flick brought a new meaning to the word “Ouch”. She flung her hand back to protect the burning sensation in that one small spot, but Sam gently held her wrist at the small of her back. "Careful, wouldn't want me to hit those beautiful hands.(tap tap tap) That might... (tap) hurt, just a tad.” 9

Fanny La Tush "Owwwww... oh, Goddammit!" she yelped, wiggling madly. "Arrrgh... No No... Nooo ow!" Five more sharp slaps all in the same devastated spot answered her yelps. "I didn't hear you yet…" "I said ‘Ow’, you bastard." The next whap wasn't a kind one. Her eyes widened and for a brief moment, all the amusement was gone from her gasp. "I'm sorry!" she cried out, pounding her fists against the legs of the sawhorse. "I didn't mean to call you names! Fuck that really hurts you ...shit... ouch!" Sam took a step back, and this time, in a bit of honest anger, flashed the crop back and forth across her reddened flanks. She sobbed loudly at his new assault over stinging cheeks! Salty tears brimmed in her eyes. "I'm sorry! All right! I will do it ... I will do it... I'll clean the saddle... just s..s..stop, it hurts!” She shook her head back and forth twisting at the depth of the sting. "Anything you say! And I am sorry I kicked you! Please!" A long sob escaped her lips. Sam stopped immediately and tossed the crop to the ground. His hands made a beeline for her shaking cheeks and he covered the hot flesh with his cool hands. Her broken sigh reached the rafters. "That's my boss lady," he whispered as he slowly rubbed away some of the hurt. "Oooooooh, God. Yes, I will clean the saddle. I promise!" she quietly moaned as his hands soothingly massaged the sting. Now a new sensation coursed through her. The smile timidly returned to the corners of her mouth. The dancing dust began to settle. Sam smiled knowingly and rubbed a few moments more, easing the soft rounded cheeks. Slowly, he leaned down to just barely trace his lips over the reddest part of the roundest mound, placing a sweet, moist kiss there. A shudder trickled over her flesh. He softly rubbed his unshaven cheek across her kiss-dampened skin, patted her thigh sweetly, and then gently pulled her clothing back up over her warmed ass. He helped her up from the sawhorse and immediately she turned and fell against his chest, molding herself to him and resting her head under his chin, nudging her face against his shirt, sighing. In a few seconds, the warmth from the seat of her pants was replaced by the heat of the magic of the moment. Sam chuckled. "Now, do I get paid? I have some roses to buy for my hard10

Side Saddle working boss lady." He smiled as he softly rubbed one hand in lazy circles over her denim-clad tush. "I think that can be arranged... as soon as she finishes cleaning her saddle." Cassie softly sighed as his lips slowly and carefully overwhelmed her trembling smile.

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Fanny La Tush

Ms. La Tush is an unapologetic fan of kinky, fetish fun! A previously published author in two popular fetish-oriented romance magazines, she writes with playful flourish as well as addressing serious lifestyle desires. Ms. La Tush is an International traveler who tells her feisty tales from the path of life taken on the furthest bent fork in the road.

Please visit Aphrodite Unlaced on the web for more sultry sensual adventures by Fanny La Tush and our talented authors!

www.AphroditeUnlaced.com

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