“Sinclair. But look. That board says that Mr. Davies is on deck and will be riding next.”
Sinclair was excited beyond all reason. He shouldn’t be excited over that stupid prick who did seem to be a domineering asshole. “Look. We can sit on this fence. It’s not blocking anyone.”
Sinclair held Violet’s gigantic hot dog as she clambered on the five-foot-tall fence. She awkwardly spun around and had to use both hands to clutch the top rail as she perched precariously, her brand new boots wobbling on the lower rung, so Sinclair climbed up and kept a hold on the dog. He pointed. “You can see his pink shirt. He’s standing on a rail, see?” He tried to feed Violet a hot dog bite, but she wouldn’t take her eyes off the gate. She wound up biting sideways like one of the Lil’ Rascals, wide-eyed.
The bite of meat nearly fell from her mouth as she lifted a finger to point. “Oh! Oh! There he goes!”
Harper’s gelding burst forth like a dervish from the chute. He kept his spurs on the mount’s shoulders, the white fringes of his chaps whipping wildly this way and that. The crowd got to its feet and roared—Harper was obviously a favorite of the people, fans who seemed to be suspiciously made up of young women and maybe a few leather chaps-clad guys, maybe some outsiders who had followed the circuit. Then it hit Sinclair that maybe the leather guys were denizens of The Racquet Club. Dear God.
“He’s gonna make it! He’s gonna make it!” Violet bounced up and down, yelling with her mouth full.
Sinclair chucked the dog into a nearby trash bin because he, too, wanted to bounce up and down and yell. “Stay with ’em! Ride ’em!” Sinclair yelled, echoing the calls of other spectators.
“He made eight seconds!” shrieked Violet. In her excitement, she clung to Sinclair’s thigh, her fingers digging in painfully.
It was thrilling beyond measure to see Harper whipped around on the horse’s bare back like that. People were flinging popcorn from their buckets, spraying beers, and yee-hawing to beat the band. Harper’s hat was the first thing to go but he clung on with one hand, his entire spine being whiplashed like a furious snake. The horse bucked violently yet gracefully past banners extoling Wrangler, ESPN, and Coors. Rodeo clowns even had to bodily restrain a few fans from jumping into the ring.
“Oh my God!” shrieked Violet, clapping a hand over her mouth. “He just goes and goes!”
“Harper Davies!” clanged the announcer. “The horse’s name is First Time, but it sure doesn’t seem like the first time these two have ridden together! Come on, Harper!”
First Time was all over the place, bucking frantically in a style that would earn him high points. Harper synchronized his spurring with the horse’s bucking. It seemed like way more than eight seconds before the buzzer sounded and Harper’s ride was over. Harper leaped free of the animal and even executed a couple of show-offy, dramatic somersaults.
Violet jumped off the fence so she could hop around in excitement, so Sinclair jumped down, too. Violet caught him by the upper arms and allowed him to twirl her around. When they crashed together, Violet giggling uncontrollably, it seemed natural to kiss her. She was looking right up at him, her breasts under the bedazzled yoke of the cowgirl shirt pressed to his chest. They were carried away with the excitement of the moment.
As crowds churned around them, Sinclair kissed Violet. It was as though he held a delicate bird in his arms, and he didn’t want to crush her. She was sturdy yet breakable at the same time, and he wasn’t sure how to hold her. So he gripped her upper arms, and at first she stood stiffly like a doll.
But the excitement swirling around them, the announcement of what must have been a high score in the nineties, everything contributed to the moment. When Sinclair tickled Violet’s lips with the tip of his tongue, they parted and she surrendered to him.
Once her initial shock was over, Violet embraced him like a lover. It felt incredibly natural, as though they’d been intimate for years. Sinclair held her jaw in his hand and even broke the kiss to pepper her chin and the corners of her mouth with loving, tender kisses. She repaid him by ardently pecking at his close-shaven chin while uttering little moans that about broke his heart. When Sinclair plastered his mouth over hers again, she accepted his tongue even eagerly, and they twined their tongues together, snorting against the sides of each other’s faces.
Sinclair broke away groggily. He suddenly felt as though he’d drank a whole six-pack, yet they hadn’t purchased their first beer yet. He gazed at Violet’s blurry face in a haze. She was so radiant she almost glowed. Some idiot was interrupting them, yanking at Sinclair’s arm.
“Dude! You’re wanted by the catch pens.”
“I’m telling you, doctor,” she declared in that plaintive tone she hoped was old-timey. “I’ve been just about going out of my mind with these horrible fantasies.”
“Tell me about them,” Harper said smoothly as he inched the tight one-piece spandex down over her hips.
“She’s just been awful,” Sinclair breathed, fiddling with one of her nipples so it peaked. “Just full of womb fury.”
Violet almost giggled at that. “Womb fury” actually was one of the descriptions the Victorian doctors used to describe their patients. She could picture an enraged, reddened womb gnashing its teeth, steam coming out of its head. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with erotic fantasies,” she protested. “What do you think, doctor?”
Harper said, “They’re acceptable if they’re done in the right environment. The doctor’s office, for example. Right, Mr. Nieman? This is an acceptable environment for sexual fantasies.”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Sinclair. He bent forward and took Harper’s lead in sliding the black garment down Violet’s legs. “Tell the nice doctor about your fantasies, Violet.” When Sinclair tossed the bathing suit to a chair, he quickly snapped her ankle cuffs to ropes around each footboard post.
Violet wiggled her bare hips. She still wasn’t comfortable being completely naked in front of her men, and now she couldn’t even fold her hands over her belly. But she had to get over it sometime in order to play freely with them, so she had to swallow her pride and keep telling herself, They accept me the way I am. “Well, my fantasies actually involve a doctor…doctor.” She almost giggled again, but Harper’s serious aristocratic face encouraged her to continue. “I daydream about sitting on a doctor’s lap and squirming around, making his penis erect while he discusses anatomy with me.”
“Anatomy?” Harper prompted, sliding his hand up her thigh. Her inner cunt fluttered as his talented fingertips neared, but he just barely brushed them against her pussy lips.
“Yes,” she gasped, “we discuss my figure, my form, how attractive he thinks I am. He runs his hand over my tit—my breast, and pinches my nipple. It makes me wet in my…nether regions.”
As Sinclair was doing just that, taking turns pinching each of her nipples, Harper’s fingers plunged between her cunt lips. With her ankles tethered, she didn’t have much wriggle room and could only thrust her hips up toward the ceiling. She realized the restriction on her movement was making her more vocal. Her frustration with being bound was going to come out one way or another.
As she said “nether regions,” Harper began a stroking against the side of her clit, a rhythmic petting movement that imitated the plunging of a penis. “You like authority figures,” he said quietly. “You like the idea of being helpless, being played with by someone in power, like me.”
“Oh, yes.” Already Violet was thrashing her head about. She tried to keep her eyes squeezed shut, but they popped open because she wanted to watch Harper. So very beautiful. I’d like his face between my legs again. “Like you, doctor. I know you’re going to take care of my hysteria, and my husband will be very glad about that.”
Harper tilted his head thoughtfully. “He’s helping. He has every wish to have his obedient, proper wife back again.”
“You’ve got an erection,” Violet gasped. She felt herself turn red when she realized what she’d blurted, but she had no wish to take it back. “Your penis is hard, doctor. You must enjoy your work. If you untie me I could fondle your erection.”
Harper laughed. “Not a chance. I’ve got you right where you need to be, to be taught submission. What else do you dream about, Violet? Do you dream about sucking the doctor’s cock? Do you dream about being filled in every orifice?”
Violet’s brain nearly exploded as it struggled to wrap around the dirty talk. Sometimes she thought she would just spontaneously combust at the hands of these two sensual men. “Yes! That’s exactly it, doctor! I feel so empty and I want to be filled. I know I’m a naughty, lewd woman thinking this way, but I can’t help it. I dream about big cocks, sucking on them, being filled by them. You’ve got a big fat cock and I want you to plunge it down my throat now!”
Sinclair said, “You see, doctor? You see what I have to deal with?”
Harper’s response was strangely calm. “I know you’re craving forbidden fruits, my dear.” He stroked her higher and higher, ever closer to the edge from which there was no turning back. “All hysterical women desire the dark, taboo side of sex. It’s part of the disease and only I know the cure.”
“Oh, yes, doctor!” Was that me crying out? “Give me the cure. God, please give me the cure!”
“I’ve got the cure, all right,” Harper said suavely. He gave Sinclair a nod then.