The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Exotic Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Dariusfallenstar on 02-03-2016, 22:24:01</h2>
		<dl id="posts">
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>02-03-2016, 22:24:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><span style="font-size: 12pt;" class="bbc_size"> The Cowgirl and the Devil </span></div><br><strong>Featuring:</strong><strong> Darius Fallenstar </strong>as<strong>Satario Winston</strong> and <strong>Gypsy Rose</strong> as <strong>Lacy. </strong><br><br><strong>Setting:</strong> This story takes place in a vaguely supernatural version of our world. The Devil is real, as are other entities; however, they are, for the most part, exceedingly subtle and invisible.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br><strong>Fetishes Include:</strong> This story will grow organically, but will probably feature elements of power exchange, toys, bondage, and corruption. It may also include physical transformation and multiple partners. <br>-<br><br>The scent of strawberries reached him even through the Porsche’s excellent filtration system, urging him to even greater speed. Dovetailing around a curve at a monstrous velocity, Satario loosed a chuckle of raw, wicked delight. Had the car been unable to handle his demands and flipped, he probably would have chuckled in precisely the same way. The thrill was worth the risk. <br><br>Rounding the corner, he saw the first hints of his new domain: emerald fields surrounded by a white fence, dozens of horses making play within their enclosure, and a sprawling white house there in the distance. A thousand acres, complete with dwelling and stock; that had been the wager, and he’d won it fair and square. Well, mostly. <br><br><div class="floatleft">(http://i945.photobucket.com/albums/ad295/Dariusfallenstar/Male%20Rp%20Characters/David_Gandy_by_Conor_Clinch_2013_-_cropped_zps1dd717fe.jpg)</div>He arrived at his new domain a few minutes later. The man practically oozed out of his tiny car, all languid, graceful relaxation despite the circumstances of his conquest. Tall and broad chested, the man was painfully handsome with his dark, slightly curly hair, and chiseled features. His gemstone blue eyes held a soulful sadness that suggested infinite introspection and belied his sensuously impish mouth. Absently shrugging into his expensive Armani suit, one tailored to fit his impressive stature like a glove, he walked toward the house he’d only seen depicted on Google Maps.<br><br>It wasn’t bad, if rustic. Ranch style, naturally. He’d need to make updates. No house was complete without a pool and a Jacuzzi, or so he’d decided over the past thirty years of conquests. <br><br>Two people came out of the house to greet him: a handsome, tanned man who looked to be in his thirties and wore his body like an experienced rancher and a younger woman with a trim figure wearing a fetching dress. The aroma he’d detected earlier wafted lightly off the man, an indicator of not-too-past indiscretions.<br><br>“You can’t do this,” the man, Brad Underwood, announced, finger drilling towards Satario like a pistol.<br>“Brad,” the woman, Claire Understood, said, voice demure and soft. She really was the picture of what one expected an effeminate woman to be, all curves and gentle demeanor. <br><br>Brad shook the warning off, stomping toward Satario, eyes aflame with indignant rage. Satario kept his pace, showing no signs of fear or concern. When the two were close enough to touch, Brad abruptly stopped, expression wavering without apparent reason.<br><br>“Your father gambled these lands away weeks ago,” Satario said, his voice like chocolate melted across steel. “I am in my rights to have the local law enforcement force you off the property entirely, instead of our arrangement.” He gestured towards a cozy, but small, building beside the main house – tucked away out of view from the roads. “You and your wife may stay there and work for pay until such time as you are able to afford accommodations elsewhere. This allowance isn’t part of the initial agreement at all. It is but one aspect of my generosity. I pray you do not make me regret it.”<br><br>“He’s right Brad,” Claire said, practically simpering.<br><br>Brad turned back to his wife, expression wilting. Satario had his phone out of his pocket and was speaking to the contractors before the man had even taken two steps. In a week, the two wouldn’t be able to recognize their ancestral home, nor would any of their neighbors. <br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>03-03-2016, 22:43:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">A Little Background</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br>Lacy Dolan always knew she was different.&nbsp; How she was different, why she was different, she didn't know.&nbsp; A late bloomer, she got a clue when she spied on her older sister and her boyfriend, who had snuck out to the barn one Sunday after church.&nbsp; Lacy hadn't really intended to catch them 'in the act'.&nbsp; At the time, she was mostly focused on being a pest, getting a little payback because her sister wouldn't let her borrow a shirt she liked.&nbsp; &nbsp;Things didn't go quite as she planned, though, because when she saw what they were doing, she was struck into silent immobility by the rush of feelings that she didn't quite understand. <br><br>When her sister looked up and saw her and started yelling, Lacy was released from the paralysis, and she ran ... straight to the paddock where her horse was ... and without waiting to try to saddle the animal, she climbed up on Murphy's back and off they went with Lacy clinging to the horse's mane and a precarious seat.<br><br>It wasn't long before disaster struck, as mount had picked up on his rider's turmoil of emotions.&nbsp; A sudden sound, and he shied and bucked, and Lacy was thrown.&nbsp; &nbsp;A bit of deadfall probably saved her from a broken bone or two, but jagged edges left her with a scar on her cheek and another on her thigh.&nbsp; The one on her face eventually healed into a thin, pale line, but the self-consciousness over the ugliness of those first days of healing was imprinted on her psyche, as was her jumbled feelings of guilt and blame.<br><br>Claire Evans was Lacy's best friend in school, though the two of them couldn't have been more different.&nbsp; &nbsp;Lacy was smart enough to figure out that a good part of her appeal to Claire was the contrast.&nbsp; Lacy's tomboyish looks, her prickly, suspicious demeanor, made Claire's 'girl next door' looks and behavior all the more striking, and the contrast almost never showed Lacy in favorable comparison.&nbsp; &nbsp;Claire was an early bloomer, filling out early and well, the quintessential barbie doll measurements while Lacy remained lithe, a tomboy.&nbsp; Claire's efforts to 'help' only solidified Lacy's feelings of inadequacy.&nbsp; &nbsp;She found some measure of triumph, guilty triumph, when one of Claire's boyfriends came on to her after a party.&nbsp; That encounter, Lacy's first, led to another and another, until most of Claire's boyfriends had at least gotten to 'second base' or hit a home run with Lacy, until Lacy, sickened by her own behavior, determined to stop.<br><br>Which she had ... even though she'd had a crush on Brad Underwood for two years before he asked Claire out.&nbsp; Lacy had been the maid of honor at their wedding, and Lacy had burned in silence, never confessing the dreams that&nbsp; haunted her at night, or how her fingers had, in her fantasy, become Brad's in the darkness.&nbsp; She'd avoided him as much as she could, until he and Claire had had a fight and he'd ridden off to cool off.&nbsp; &nbsp;When his path crossed Lacy's, the old pattern had established itself again ... but once her itch had been scratched, the desire for her best friend's husband was gone, burnt up in that one moment of stolen passion ... but the guilt remained.<br><br>Lacy didn't know, didn't even suspect, that she had succubus blood in her veins.&nbsp; Perhaps if her mother had lived, the knowledge might have been passed on, but she'd died shortly after Lacy was born.&nbsp; Lacy didn't even know that there were such things as succubi - to her, the term was just a word she'd heard a time or two in horror movies.&nbsp; All she knew is that the feelings she had both lured her and repelled her ... and rather than seeking to understand them, she buried them.<br><br>They just wouldn't stay buried.&nbsp; Her dreams made sure of that.</div></div><br><br>It was a perfect day.&nbsp; The sky was the perfect shade of blue, a hair darker than a robin's egg, and the clouds that were strewn along the horizon were the white, fluffy variety with only a shadow of grey.&nbsp; The air was warm, but clean and light, like sheets fresh out of the dryer.&nbsp; In a week, maybe less, it would be time for the first haying, a time that Lacy looked forward to without quite knowing why.<br><br>It didn't feel perfect, however.&nbsp; Lacy paused in her self-appointed task, that of hunting down the nest of a stupid hen that always seemed to get it into her head that laying her eggs in the high grass was better than in the chicken coop, with its wire fence and door that closed at night to keep out the predators who thought eggs for breakfast, or a midnight snack, was the perfect gourmet treat.&nbsp; Intelligence seemed to be a characteristic that had been bred out of the stock, though the hen possessed just enough shrewd animal cunning to have led Lacy on a less than merry game of hide and go seek.<br><br>The sound of a high performance car roaring by at reckless speed attracted her attention, and Lacy straightened, and used the opportunity to take off her hat and wipe away the thin sheen of perspiration gathering under her bangs as she frowned at the light cloud of dust left in the vehicle's wake.&nbsp; Some city slicker, lost on his way from point A to point B, a tourist looking for a bit of relief from urban sprawl?&nbsp; It didn't much matter, she told herself as she shook her head, but the faint surge of excitement mixed with dread tickled at her nerve endings like teasing fingertips belied her assurance.&nbsp; The image of herself in that car, foot pressing the gas to the floor, knuckles clenched and an eager, devil-may-care grin on her face was just below the surface, just below conscious thought.<br><br>Her head dropped on an exhalation, a shiver sending gooseflesh across her skin in a manner that was familiarly pleasant and unpleasant all at once.&nbsp; She swallowed, her hands slipping up to hug her arms, the feel of her own touch imparting just a hint of an ache ...<br><br>The cackle of the hen broke her from the half-formed reverie of longing.&nbsp; <em>"There you are, you ..." </em>she muttered, and returned to her task.&nbsp; The genie was, for now, back in its bottle.&nbsp; It could damn well stay there ... but she knew the lie, deep down, even as the silent mantra bought her a brief reprieve.<br><br><hr><em><br>"What are you doing here?" </em> Lacy's voice wasn't friendly in the slightest, and neither were her eyes as she held the hose pointed down toward the flowerbed, the one planted by her mother.&nbsp; The irises, vibrant purple and white and kinder pastels of peach and cream, were in full bloom.&nbsp; She was tempted to turn the hose on Brad, and would have if not for the twist of guilt in her stomach as he smiled at her, cocksure as ever.<br><br>"You used to be glad to see me," he returned, his handsome face going sullen, petulant as some of the flash faded out of his smile.<br><em><br>"Yeah, well ... my Pa always says I need to have my head examined.&nbsp; Guess he's right."&nbsp; </em>In her mind's eye, she could see the two of them, melded together, lips to lips, skin against skin, their clothes wrenched up, down, anyway, just enough, the constraint making the fill of his thrust all the tighter, pleasure and pain combined.&nbsp; &nbsp;The sound of their grunts, ragged breath, a silent beat that she could have danced to, a heat that had dissipated and left nothing but ice in its wake.<br><br>"Look, Lacy, I don't want to fight with you.&nbsp; Things are .. not so good.&nbsp; Claire, she's not adjusting so well."&nbsp; He dropped the charm, and the petulance, opting for a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.&nbsp; "She could really use a friend right now.&nbsp; I was wondering if you might come over for dinner, cheer her up.&nbsp; All the talk in town, you know how people are."<br><br>You know, his voice suggested, rightly, because they talk about you too.&nbsp; Don't think they don't know.<br><br>They knew some, but not all, and if Lacy had any say in the matter, they'd never know it all.&nbsp; It was that thought more than any that made her bite down on her refusal.&nbsp; She nodded, closing her eyes against the shame.<br><em><br>"Yeah, I expect having your husband lose the family farm to pay a fucking gambling debt does reflect on your status in the community."</em><br><br>When she looked up again, her lips pressed in a mutinous expression, the glint of anger in Brad's eyes was sweet, even heady, in an unfathomable way.&nbsp; It was her own reaction to it more than any fear that had her saying, <em>"No.&nbsp; I'm sorry.&nbsp; Ain't got much room to cast stones.&nbsp; I'll come."</em><br><br>It wasn't a hair shirt, and there were no scars that you could see, not from this.&nbsp; Maybe this time, she'd finally learned her lesson.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>04-03-2016, 00:12:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There was a firestorm at the old Underwood estate, one that consisted of Satario and an entire army of workers. In the couple hours’ since his arrival, dozens of trucks laden with workers had filtered into the valley. Soon, there would come the construction equipment and vehicles laden with materials for renovations. Despite having not seen the place, Satario had clearly been laying these plans for some time. By the time Brad returned from his attempt to recruit Lacy, practically every stick of furniture or belonging that the Underwood family had any hold over had been removed. <br><br>True to his word, Satario had arranged for the objects removed from the house to receive respectful treatment: tables were wrapped in film, valuables were stored in locked cabinets, and so forth. The pile of odds and ends – perhaps most of the Underwood heritage – had been left out for the Underwoods to pick through and collect for their tiny little cottage. A note left on the pile stated that anything not picked up by midnight would be moved to a storage facility with a low, low monthly fee of two-hundred dollars for the maintenance and upkeep of their belongings. <br><br>Satario knew that the Underwoods couldn’t afford any of it, knew that they hadn’t been able to prepare for what was happening and that they’d be out everything they owned or loved without help. He knew it, had calculated it all down to the penny (and added a few more), and took quiet, private pleasure in adding the screws to the mix. Standing on the soon-to-be-demolished front porch, striking quite a handsome figure, he sipped lemonade from a glass that might have belonged to one of the Underwoods’ grandparents over a hundred years ago, and watched the field, waiting for the scent of strawberries that he knew would arrive at any time.<br><br>All to the merry tune of fifty men (all foreigners, with thick accents and not a lick of English) working themselves to the bone to prepare for the long nights to come. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>07-03-2016, 22:56:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div><br>After Lacy had finished her chores for the day, she drug herself out to the cottage off the main house.&nbsp; In earlier days, it had been where the ranch foreman lived.&nbsp; Now it was 'hers', allowing her a space of her own, privacy, and it allowed her father to rent out the house to a couple of yuppies who thought living in a ranch without having to do any of the upkeep was 'shay cheek' or some such happy horseshit.&nbsp; Truth was, Lacy preferred living in the smaller digs anyway.&nbsp; There was less space for her thoughts to rattle around.<br><br>There was a kitchenette, a little living area, a bathroom, a mud room, and a bedroom.&nbsp; Though the bed in it was full-size, it didn't get much use, save for the battery-operated and hands-on kind.&nbsp; Lacy had never brought anyone one there, and that was the way she preferred to keep it. <br><br>In the shower, she thought of a dozen excuses not to go, and the more she thought about it, the more the tension built until it was a tight little ache that tightened the rest of her muscles.&nbsp; It wasn't Brad, or the thought of him.&nbsp; He occupied no part of her fantasies as her soaped fingers finally gave in to her body's demand, cupping the soft weight of her breasts, squeezing, circling and tugging at the turgid, darkly rosed nipples until her breath came in little pants.&nbsp; Her forehead rested on the cool tile of the shower, water beating a hard spray on her back, a miniature flagellation.&nbsp; With a moan, hands slipped lower, leaving a wet trail of suds in their wake as her fingers slid through straw-blonde curls and lower.&nbsp; There was no thought of tease, or seduction.&nbsp; This was pure, unadulterated tension relief ... and, perhaps penance.&nbsp; Whatever drove her needs ... she wanted it sated, exhausted, gone, until this night was gone.&nbsp; She didn't need another reason not to want to look at herself in the mirror come morning.<br><br>Unerringly, her fingers found the spot, a hungry little engorged nub, not even as big as the tip of her little finger.&nbsp; As if it held life of its own, it seemed to pulse with eagerness as her fore and middle fingers settled into a quick, circular rhythm, merciless and demanding.&nbsp; A little sound, almost despairing, tore from her throat as the heat built, muscles in her legs tightening to press and roll against her frantic fingers.&nbsp; Her mind was as much awhirl as her fingers, images of mouths, hands sliding, flesh vibrating in a staccato rhythm, her body bucking.&nbsp; She moaned, her mind reliving those moments, some that had happened and some that had not, as her hand moved all the faster, until the bright whiteness of the light behind her closed eyes drove the images away.&nbsp; She cried out against clenched teeth, leaning harder against the wet shower wall as the tension tightened and then shattered, little shards of glass that blew out and melted into the water droplets as her chest heaved with her breath.<br><br>For a moment, she was free.&nbsp; Or so she told herself, even knowing that it was a lie.<br><br><hr><br>When Lacy got to the Underwood's, she saw the work trucks there, and the fancy sportscar that she'd seen on the road parked outside.&nbsp; The garage door was open, and it looked like the buzz of activity was going on there as well.&nbsp; Lacy figured the workmen were gonna catch hell for all the dust on the vehicle, whether they were responsible or not.&nbsp; That seemed to be the way the world worked more often than not.<br><br>The piles of stuff outside the house, pieces Lacy recognized from when she'd been at least a semi-frequent visitor were there, sad little monuments to greed and stupidity.&nbsp; On the porch, there was a man standing, shadowed against the setting sun, the rays hitting just right to give him a firey nimbus that was, she thought, appropriate to the slash and burn damage he was doing. <br><br>She snorted a little as hard on that thought's heels came the one that the two of them had a lot in common, despite appearances otherwise.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>08-03-2016, 00:39:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Satario wore his body like an old classical song; as comfortably and with as much unconscious grace as someone completely in control of every tendon and ligament could be. His handsome face was comported with an absolutely precise mixture of calm disinterest and approachability, as if he could be trusted with any secret, no matter how personal, and to care only to the appropriate amount needed, before moving along. His eyes were calm, cool pools that hinted at an insatiable, uncontrollable intensity, yet their very color seemed to soften that potential to something vaguely friendly.<br><br>At the scent of approaching strawberries, Satario felt his chest expand and his heartrate increase several beats as anticipation thrilled through his veins. Looking out at the trim, marred beauty of the woman he’d come to collect, he couldn’t help but feel an implausible attraction. Sure, Brad’s wife was a beauty worth bedding, but Satario had been with plenty of their kind. Beauty was boring. It was the transformation, the journey from where someone like Lacy was at now, to Satario’s ultimate destination for her, that made the conquest worth having. Moreover, as much as Brad’s wife had smelled loyal, Satario knew ways to seduce a woman like that. Again, boring. <br><br>When Lacy finally made her way to the porch, Satario let an easy, subtle smile crease his lips as he hefted his glass in her direction. Speaking with a vaguely Italian-French accent, he said, “Why, hello there. Welcome. I’d offer you some tea, but the pitcher is just about out. Perhaps something a little stronger, while we talk?” His eyes twinkled with amusement, daring her to suggest that she hadn’t come thundering up to his new house for a conversation of some sort.<br><br>Before she could respond, Satario made a casual, graceful gesture with one of his elegant hands. “Philip,” he said, accent suddenly Hispanic – followed by his words, “dos conac por favor.” The man he’d spoken to – dirty, dark skinned and clearly gun shy around his employer, hesitated, frowned in consideration, then vanished into the house, only to return with two small bulb-shaped glasses that he delivered to Satario’s waiting hands before resuming his work.<br><br>Satario chuckled at the man’s bemused expression, confiding in Lacy in his original accent, “He’d probably wondering how I knew they were sneaking cognac from the liquor cabinet on their breaks.” Offering Lacy one of the glasses, he gestured to one of the half-dozen rocking chairs lining the porch. “Have a seat and a drink, speak your mind, by all means.” His tone was so warm, so charming, that he might as well have been her best friend already. Which, of course, belied the fact that when she sat, she’d be at the perfect height to see the oversized outline of his manhood in his well-tailored pants. <br><br>But, you know, Satario wasn’t a man to play fair. He wasn’t a man at all. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>09-03-2016, 02:26:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div>The smart thing to do, probably, would have been to throw up a hand in greeting, an excusable politeness, and go on down to the small cottage where the Underwoods would be living.&nbsp; It wouldn't be the neighborly thing, but Lacy wasn't looking to win any Miss Congeniality titles at the next fair.&nbsp; The figure on the porch drew her like a magnet, like a moth to a flame, and she had no real idea why.<br><br>The closer she got, the stronger the feeling became.&nbsp; He lounged there, watching her, and as she moved closer, damned if she didn't feel like he'd been expecting her.&nbsp; Maybe he had, maybe Claire or Brad had mentioned that she'd be stopping by -- if that was the case, it was probably Claire.&nbsp; The man's good looks would have drawn her in much the same way as it did Lacy.&nbsp; In that, they seemed to be perfect matches, drawn to the same kind of men.&nbsp; And though Claire always got there first, and probably would have been there last as well, somehow Lacy usually got there ... and she never had any interest in sticking around.&nbsp; Was that because she knew Claire would win out in the end?&nbsp; Maybe, but that didn't really feel right when she trotted the question out.<br><br>The man's appearance, his casual attire that probably cost more than her whole wardrobe, probably should have made Lacy feel uncomfortable, but it didn't.&nbsp; Her jeans hugged her body, emphasizing&nbsp; the length of her legs and a decently curved ass, one of her best features.&nbsp; Her button-down shirt&nbsp; was clean and ironed, the crocheted lace of the collar softening the lines and adding just a touch of femininity along with the mid-length straw-colored hair that rustled in the breeze, giving her a pixie-ish look.&nbsp; She met his stare with a lift of his chin, not returning the smile, but not bristling at it either.<br><br>She meant to tell him she didn't want anything to drink, that she just wanted to introduce herself and welcome him to the neighborhood, at least as much as you could welcome someone who took advantage of the village idiot, but she heard herself agree. <em> "That'd be good, thanks."&nbsp; &nbsp;</em>She plopped herself down on the porch railing, choosing the spot that would give her height, half leaning with one booted foot planted firmly on the wood.&nbsp; Why had she said that?&nbsp; Yet the moment that she did, she was aware of a raging thirst for it, and the damnable stirring of heat in her core.<br><em><br>"I'm Lacy Dalton, from down the road.&nbsp; You might've seen our ranch when you drove by." </em> She was aware that it was probably expected that she offer some caution about the breakneck speed of his vehicle, or the lines of the expensive machine; she did neither. <br><br>The servant, worker, hired help, whatever the hell he was came almost at a trot when he was summoned, and Lacy leaned there in the silence, resisting the urge to make casual conversation without much effort.&nbsp; Instead, she looked around, absorbing the changes, trying to reconcile what she was feeling about them with what she thought she ought to be feeling.<br><em><br>"I'm good here, thanks," </em>she replied, leaning forward a bit to let her fingers curl around it.&nbsp; Without thinking about it, the movement made it easy for her gaze to drop, and the exquisite cut of his clothes led that gaze down further as he in turn shifted.&nbsp; Her expression didn't change as she made out the shape of his package, unmistakable against the stretch, but that damnable heat rose as if a match had been put to paper, licking outward, and her heart beat faster as she quickly raised eyes and glass and took a quick, oversized swallow like an alcoholic in the first bar past rehab.<br><br>Fuck.&nbsp; The need, which she'd thought she'd sated enough to get her through this evening, was a soft growl, its claws ever so gently flexing.<br><br><em>"You must be a generous employer," </em>she stated evenly, a husk to her voice from the liquor's smooth burn, tipping it toward the man he'd named Philip.<em> "So why all this?" </em> She didn't waste any time with the question, since he'd invited her to speak her mind. <em> "You don't strike me as a stupid man, Mr. ... Winston?&nbsp; Isn't it enough to get the house and land without putting your victory on display?"<br></em><br>The words sounded right, like something a concerned friend might say, but even as she said them, she knew that they didn't represent how she felt.&nbsp; Not really.&nbsp; She was just going through the motions, and whatever he responded, the one thing she knew was that the utterly urbane, self-possessed man regarding her knew it too.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>10-03-2016, 16:18:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“Lacy,” Satario said, making it sound like a velveteen sigh, as if that generous mouth of his were savoring the shape of the word for a brief moment. “I am Satario Winston. Please call me Satario.” He watched as his new companion as she sorted herself out, asserting some control over the situation – where she sat – in exchange for that drink. Satario could sense the power in her, taste the flavor of her true nature. Now that she was so close, he knew the true innocence of it. No doubt the woman had known temptation all her life, no doubt she’d given in once or twice. But what choice had she had in it? With even a tiny dollop of devilish blood inside, a mortal would know twice the need of a regular human. Yet he did not sense that Lacy had given in to the call readily, could tell that she’d remained strong.<br><br>Mostly. <br><br>She was, in effect, innocent. For what she was, for the situation she was in, she might as well have been a lily-covered virgin dressed for her first dance at her reveal ceremony. The idea perked a moue of a smile that faded quickly. He had to stay on task. That potential wouldn’t grow and develop without help. In fact, if she waited too long to cultivate it, there was a chance that her human side would one day adapt. All creatures, even ones like Lacy, had a chance at redemption in their lifetimes. Not that Satario would ever mention such a thing; he was far too good a poker player to give up his advantage. <br><br>“I believe in the power of generosity, Ms. Dalton,” Satario replied candidly. “Loyalty springs from trust and confidence. Dedication springs from a sense of reward from whatever one does. Those who work for me are richly rewarded and cared for. It’s the only way to do business.” Sipping from his drink, he turned to gesture at the landscape, as if to indicate all the rich, untapped beauty around them. As he did, the man’s sandalwood scent – masculine, spicy, yet alluringly smooth, seemed to fill the air. To his senses, there was a mingling of spice and sweet. Once Lacy had begun truly awakening to herself, there was no doubt that she’d begin detecting such things, too.<br><br>“As to my victory,” he shrugged casually, as if it meant nothing. “I enjoy luxury. It’s not about putting anything on display. If I’m going to take this place over, I want it to be hospitable.” He looked over at her, eyes intense and bright, “Don’t you enjoy pleasure where you rest your head, Ms. Dalton? To me, that includes certain amenities and facilities. Would you disparage a man’s little vices?” He smiled broadly then, inviting his new companion to challenge his stance. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>12-03-2016, 05:04:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div>Though they'd just met, if that, Satario Wilson's soft repetition of her name made it feel like a caress, bringing to mind a first kiss, a kiss upon skin that was little more than a faint brush of breath, a tickle that burrowed itself under the skin and worked its way deeper, ever deeper with each memory.<br><br>With an effort, Lacy Dalton dampened down the shudder of longing that it roused, cursing her fickle, betraying body.&nbsp; His eyes traveled over her, but there was no overt leer in it.&nbsp; Of course, he'd probably had Claire to leer at.&nbsp; Brad or not, married or not, she liked to be looked at, appreciated.&nbsp; In her more honest moments, Lacy couldn't blame her.&nbsp; She couldn't hold a candle to Claire, especially not with ...<br><br>Lacy started to turn her head, the movement instinctive, protective, letting shadow and hair hide the thin scar on her cheek, but at the last moment, her head raised and chin jutted upward in fierce pride.&nbsp; Scar or not, lithe or not, she'd had men look at her like they were on fire and she was the only thing within miles that'd put it out.&nbsp; It never lasted long, but even so, she had some consciousness that the flame burnt out in her before it did in them, even if she didn't understand why.<br><br>His voice was warm and smooth with just a hint of bite, like good whiskey.&nbsp; Lacy could, she thought, get more drunk on it than the liquor in the glass.&nbsp; She took a drink herself, as if to guard against just such thoughts.&nbsp; <em>"I don't say I disagree, but I gotta wonder ... how much loyalty goes into stealin' when a man's back is turned, even if it's somethin' that might be given as reward, or askin'." </em> Her voice was level, and in it was a trace of the loathing she felt for herself, for the jealousy and hunger that compelled her to take what Claire had, all because she wasn't what Claire was and she could feel her pity for it.<br><br><em>"I ain't talkin' about you making things nice for yourself," </em>Lacy said evenly, glad to dismiss her own thoughts, even if she was aware of the lie in her own words, as she tried to feel what she ought to feel. <em> "Course, the place is yours.&nbsp; You got a right to do with it what you please, and a man that gambles what he can't afford to lose, what belongs not just to him but his family, probably even deserves what he gets.&nbsp; But you're layin' out the ruin for all to see, layin' his stupidity bare, and keeping him close at hand while you do it."</em><br><br>She took another sip of the cognac, rolling the glass softly in her hand, then holding it up to an errant ray of the sunset, admiring the ruddy glint and angling it so that it fell on the bare skin of her arm, the sparkle like amber or some exotic semi-precious stone ... all the more beautiful because it would not be cut, shaped, and tamed just so. <br><em><br>"I'm wonderin' if you're not ... baitin' the bull, seein' whether it'll just go back to chewin' cud and waiting for the ride to the slaughterhouse, or decide it ain't got nothin' left to lose and come at you, horns at the ready."</em><br><br>Her lips curled slightly at the thought, a tickle of amusement burning away some of the shame.&nbsp; Brad still had something to lose, and precious little to win.&nbsp; It'd take more than this to get him to do something really stupid ... but not much more.&nbsp; She'd know, after all.<br><br><em>"Which vices are you referring to, Mr. ... Sartario?&nbsp; Gambling, the enjoyment of good whiskey, winning, fast cars, enough money to snap your fingers and make just about anything transform into what you want it to be?"&nbsp; </em>There was no bitterness in her words, only curiosity, and a certain enjoyment.&nbsp; It wasn't often she got to engage in a battle of words that had a cadence and rhythm like a dance.&nbsp; Usually, around here, it was more like her exchange earlier in the day with Brad, leaving her feeling as if she'd just smacked a puppy for the bad behavior she'd taught him.<br><br>Even in this short, remarkably short, span of time, she got the feeling that she could level every base accusation at Satario Winston that her mind could envision, and rather than being angry, he'd smile and egg her on, daring her to more.&nbsp; It was a heady kind of seduction all on its own, even without anything else to shore it up.&nbsp; She could confess every sin written on skin, heart and soul, and he wouldn't so much as bat an eyelash, except as he asked her if that was all she had to offer.<br><br>The real question was why she wasn't running,&nbsp; Or maybe the real question was why she didn't even want to walk away, much less run.<br><br><em>"And if these are your little vices, I wonder what your big ones are." </em><br><br>She didn't phrase it in the form of a question.&nbsp; Lacy wasn't even sure if she wanted to know the answers.&nbsp; Some answers ate into your brain, and left a mark.&nbsp; Her free hand moved unconsciously up toward her face, caught, and then lowered as she met his eyes, willing the little quiver in her gut, and lower, to still.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>12-03-2016, 17:35:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“Asking for loyalty?” Satario’s expression shifted microscopically, yet still managed convey absolute disbelief. “Real loyalty is earned. It takes time, trust. The sort of trust that comes from a source of steady work and resources. The people who work for me trust that they will be paid for their services. In turn, they are able to provide for their families and themselves. That earns loyalty. Merely asking them for their labor would be tantamount to telling a poor joke at a funeral, at best.” <br><br>Shaking his head slowly, Satario gave the girl an expression that said he knew she hadn’t meant that precisely for him, that their conversation hadn’t gone in that direction because it had earned it. She’d been expressing something of herself and had, in return, learned a bit about him. A fair exchange.<br><br>Her next statement earned a chuckle. “Quaint speech, my lady. As far as baiting the bull, I’ve been generous with what I’ve won – allowing the family to stay on the land at all. In fact, I originally intended to kick everyone off this property, renovate it, then sell it to the highest bidder for the mining rights.” He paused, eyes roaming away from his conversational companion and out to those beautiful, idyllic hills and valleys. “Seeing it may have stayed my hand, for now. But there are complications if I want to keep it. Challenges….” He let the sentiment trail off; a cat’s paw for Lacy to explore if she wanted. <br><br>Shifting in his chair, Satario seemed on the cusp of lounging in a whole new posture, only to roll to his feet in a powerful, smooth step. He looked a bit like a dancer as he came to and extended a hand to Lacy, offering her some minor assistance in doing the same – or an opportunity for first contact. “Walk with me. We can talk about opportunities, challenges, and vices as we go.”<br><br>(Assuming she goes – I’ll edit the hidden text into the main thread if it works for you)<br><br><div class="spoiler_container"><div onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button" class="spoiler_header">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">The man’s scent blossomed as he walked close to her, rich and inviting. He was tall, dangerously so, with the sort of build one might expect on a world class swimmer – well-proportioned, sculpted, powerful. This was evident even within that immaculate (if slightly dusty) suit. Leading Lacy around the back of the property, he spoke. “I enjoy pleasure and passion, Miss Dalton. Pleasure and passion and whatever makes me feel the thrill of either.” Winding around the building, they came into full view of the fenced-in landscape and horses wandering the property.<br><br>“This, you see, is my problem. I feel nothing for horses…” He let the sentiment trail off, his expression flat as he looked out at the dozen or more majestic creatures. As if they were some sort of problem that he did not know how to solve. </div></div>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>15-03-2016, 03:42:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div>Lacy's expression did not shift much, though she found herself paying attention to Satario's words, much more so than she usually did most of the men she encountered.&nbsp; Often, she didn't even know what the men that she diverted, if only temporarily, from Claire, saw in her.&nbsp; It wasn't like she flattered them,&nbsp; stroked their ego, built them up the way Claire did.&nbsp; Hell, half the time when she'd been looking at them, wondering what it'd be like to fuck them ... even as a part of her knew exactly what it WOULD be like ... her expression had been one of derision, mocking, and still they'd left what they were doing and come to her like a fish on a line.<br><br>Sometimes she didn't understand men at all.&nbsp; Other times, she felt like she understood them all too well.<br><br>Still, he hadn't been angered by her words, or taken them as insult.&nbsp; Most of the time when people did, it didn't improve her opinion of them.&nbsp; It wasn't like she bothered with subtlety when she wanted to insult somebody -- seemed like the whole damn county should've cottoned on to that by now.&nbsp; &nbsp;Of course, far as she knew, Satario didn't have no reason to know anything about her other than whatever he'd gleaned from what Brad or Claire might have said, and she could just imagine what it might have been.&nbsp; &nbsp;Her lips twisted in a little smile, and she washed out the taste of bitters with another swallow of the fine cognac, feeling it slide across her tongue, down her throat, lower, warming as it went.<br><br>On the other hand, Lacy bridled immediately as he so casually spoke about selling the land for mining rights ... the statement that he had intended to kick the Underwoods out all but ignored.&nbsp; Still, his admission that the beauty of it had moved him, at least for the moment, eased her back off, even warmed her to him, enough that when he rose ... making it look both boneless and somehow predatory ... she did not pointedly look at his offered hand while keeping hers well out of reach, but rather accepted the unnecessary touch, her eyes leaving his face as she regarded the joining with some faint amazement as the touch felt ... intimate, somehow, as if he had cupped her ass in a familiar grip instead of just her hand.<br><br>She left the glass, all but empty of liquor, on the table, and followed, very much aware of the hand he had released and the warmth that remained behind.&nbsp; His presence was one that she found impossible to ignore, even to pretend that she was making the effort.&nbsp; As he spoke of inconsequentials, she wondered, idly, how long would it be before Claire found a way to invite him into her bed.&nbsp; She would -- she'd made a great show of forgiving Brad for his indiscretions, but they both had ... at least on the surface -- the same bad taste in men.&nbsp; She could almost see Claire's eyes widen, her cheeks suffuse with color when Satario spoke of pleasure and passion, the indrawn breath that would draw his eyes to the curve of her breast, the slight sway ...<br><br>Her thoughts were brought up sharply as they came into view of the paddock with the Underwood ranch's prize horses, stallions and mares alike, proven breeding stock all with lines that showed the their bloodlines, and alert, aware postures that spoke of their drive and intelligence.<br><br><em>"You feel nothing for horses?&nbsp; That's the first thing you've said that makes absolutely no sense.&nbsp; That car you drive, it's fancy, looks nice, but everything that makes it run is laid out by someone else.&nbsp; You step on the peddles, turn the wheel, and it does exactly what it's supposed to do, or it's broken.&nbsp; It acts the same way for everyone, rich or poor, smart or stupid, man or woman.&nbsp; A horse now, has a mind of its own, and it doesn't react the same way to any two people.&nbsp; Ride a horse, and the ride ... like canoeing down the world's longest river, smooth water to rapids, warm and alive and powerful, and it's all right there between your legs ..."</em><br><br>Lacy's voice lost all pretense of disinterest, as it took on a sultry passion, her eyes distant as they caressed the animals, appreciating the brushed glow of their coats, the bunch of muscles, the sleek lines, the glorious manes.<br><em><br>"It's like foreplay, Mr. Winston ... the kind that really works you up and gets you ready for the best sex you'll ever have." </em> As she spoke, her eyes met his and held, with just a hint of that *awakening* inside her, desire that was primal and part of her being, and then it eased back down as her gaze dropped in something like chagrin or embarrassment that she'd revealed so much, before her stubborn streak brought her gaze back up, pugnacious and daring him to make something of her crude words, not suitable for polite company as Claire might have said.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>18-03-2016, 08:46:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Satario listened with the intensity of someone who really does care; his head tilted slightly to the side, his depthless eyes on Lacy’s face and nowhere else as she spoke. In the end, he smiled at her as if pleased at her stance, as if in recognition. But then he spoke.<br><br>“I disagree. Put two men in the same car and each will drive her differently. One will win the race, the other will barely cross the finish line with any fuel left. I enjoy cars precisely because of that fact – the fact that it’s about how I interact with her, rather than some temperament from a former handler or some oddity of birth, that dictates how she handles.” He paused in his speech, considering Lacy again, this time with a more overt rolling of his gaze across her taut, fit body. “I will say that there might be something in the synthesis between two conscious, aware individuals. But animals? Hardly.” He shook his head, as if to accentuate the point. “If I believed that, then perhaps I could give credence to the former owner’s idea that the horses could provide more resources than mining the land could.”<br><br>The sounds of work were beginning to dim. Most of the workers were winding down as late evening came on and the night crew – a much smaller unit – stayed on to continue the work. Satario watched as a dozen of the men peeled off their work to walk toward their trucks. They’d be staying in the nearby town, no doubt, and up early for more the next day. Solid, effective employees.&nbsp; Men worthy of praise and respect.<br><br>“It sounds to me like you love them,” Satario murmured a moment later. “Perhaps you’d like to help convince me to keep them.” He made it sound as if he’d been mere hours or days away from selling the whole herd off and, given his earlier words, perhaps he had been. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>22-03-2016, 01:13:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div><em>"Ah, but you can't escape those former interactions completely, even with a machine.&nbsp; Worse, with a machine, you're not just dealing with a few people who shaped it, but every person who touched a part of it, from the handler of the raw material to the engineer, to the poor underpaid, hungover slob working the assembly line."&nbsp; </em>Lacy's response was immediate, and almost lazy as a surge of enjoyment in the exchange momentarily overshadowed her defenses, as if fueled by the sweep of his eyes, energized.&nbsp; Immediately after she had spoken, however, her brow drew together in a mix of consternation and confusion, though the lift of her head and stubborn jut of her chin made it unlikely that she would apologize for her words or retract them.<br><em><br>"Have you ever ridden?&nbsp; I don't mean a pony at some child's birthday party, but a real horse, trained and raised right?&nbsp; Brad may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knows horses.&nbsp; And if you think they're not aware, you're very much mistaken.&nbsp; Farm horses, those that are used for nothing but work, sure, they're like common laborers.&nbsp; You might find a spark here and there of something more, but mostly it's trained out of them by repetition and drudgery.&nbsp; A well trained horse, an animal bred for intelligence and fire, is something completely different.&nbsp; In the old days, horses were trained for battle, an extension of the men who rode them.&nbsp; You can still see traces of it, on racecourses, rodeos, and the like, but once you've experienced it, ridden the right horse, the one that connects with you ... well, it's like the best sex of your life.&nbsp; You may come close to it a time or two with something ordinary, but you'll never forget it ... and that moment keeps coming back, like the feel of the sun on your skin, the smell of the air the first time you&nbsp; fell in love, or the look on a man's face the first time you realized you could have him for a snap of your fingers."</em><br><br>Lacy's speech came out in a flow of words like a horse's determined gallop, a little too fast at first, but as she found the rhythm they smoothed out, until she seemed no longer aware that she was talking to a stranger, a man who'd just bought land ... and horses ... that she loved like they were her own.&nbsp; Her face, tilted up toward him, was radiant, confident, and completely bereft of the self conscious denial that had characterized it before.&nbsp; That she had started talking about herself, revealing things that were certainly none of his business or concern, she didn't realize at all until she had to stop for breath. <br><br>Her mouth closed with a snap, and she inhaled sharply through her nose.&nbsp; There was no flush, no blush, of embarrassment, though, but rather a trace of annoyance, as if he'd tempted more from her than she had intended.<br><em><br>"Have you ever been to the races?&nbsp; Owned a horse that crossed the finish line first?&nbsp; Made a killing at the races.&nbsp; Seen the eyes of the crowd on you, with admiration and envy, desire.&nbsp; Don't knock the passion of horse lovers.&nbsp; It's something that the rich and the elite have done for years and years.&nbsp; Mining might get you a little more money, but raising good horses, winning horses ... that opens doors."</em><br><br>For a long moment, Lacy was silent, and she turned to look at the horses, admiring their lines.&nbsp; &nbsp;One of the stallions, a Morgan, turned to look at them, and sauntered over, nickering softly and whuffing as if he'd sensed her emotion ... an emotion that emanated of her skin like a pheromone, rich with longing.<br><br>She was conscious of the fact that he desired her, even though it should have seemed odd.&nbsp; She also couldn't deny that his body called to hers, though perhaps it was just because it was certainly only a matter of time before Claire moved in on him.&nbsp; Even though she was, nominally, faithful to Brad, Lacy knew her too well.&nbsp; She knew that he wasn't true to her, deep down where she lived, and Lacy'd bet that the opportunity to get something more back from this rich man who'd taken her husband for almost everything, something that she could and would hold over Brad's exposed backside like crop ... well, it might take her a little bit to work up to it, but work up to it she would.<br><br>Wouldn't it be something if Lacy got there first, this time?<br><em><br>"Come riding with me.&nbsp; Let me show you.&nbsp; If that doesn't convince you, I don't know what could."</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>22-03-2016, 08:57:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Satario listened to Lacy’s impassioned speech without interrupting or revealing much of what he thought about her words. He did not, or gesture approval to her points, even rewarding her with a moue of a sultry smile at the references to passion and sensuality, but otherwise simply waited, drinking her in. When she was done, the man rolled to his feet and gestured out toward the skyline, where purple shadows were first kissing the horizon and dark clouds were rolling from some unknown distance. <br><br>“A short ride,” he allowed. “But first,” he held up a finger and vanished within the house. One minute, two, then a few more passed as Lacy was left alone with her thoughts, her only companions the horses and the muffled sounds of construction coming from a house that she probably knew almost as well as her own.<br><br>When Satario emerged nearly ten minutes later, he was dressed in new clothes. Jeans hugged his muscular thighs and ass attractively, their dark color complimenting his swarthy skin. He wore a simple blue t-shirt, one that had clearly been tailored to fit his powerful physique, and riding boots that looked at least a little worn in. For all his city-slicker demeanor, the man wore the new outfit with the casual ease of an experienced rancher. He also had a large bottle of scotch in one hand. Given his posture and the fact that he was already walking out toward the pasture, it was doubtful that he intended to bring glasses either. <br><br>“Do we need saddles or somesuch?” he called over one shoulder, his tone filled with feigned innocence. Lacy could not know with whom she was dealing, with the things that Satario had done or was capable of. The man wasn’t precisely working to hide his power, influence, or facility either; this game might persist for some time and she might end up thinking him a mysterious jack-of-all-trades by the final chapter, but his end game wasn’t intended for a single novel volume. He wasn’t about to let her think him less than he was forever. <br><br>First, the foreplay.<br><br>Looking back over his shoulder at her, Satario waved a hand, “Well? Show me these majestic horses. Convince me they are worth keeping and we’ll share a toast after.” He gestured with the bottle then turned back to resume his walk away, giving her an advantageous view of his broad back and the sculpted firmness of his backside.<br><br>Fuck, everything about the man screamed confidence and capability. Particularly that swaggering walk. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>24-03-2016, 19:47:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div>Whether she had made any inroads in swaying his opinion or not, Lacy didn't know.&nbsp; He hadn't scoffed at them or condescended, and at least she got the feeling that he was paying full attention to her in a manner that was at once mystifying ... and satisfying, on a level that she didn't fully understand. <br><br>Dinner with the Underwoods was all but forgotten.&nbsp; There was an awareness there, certainly, which she excused by the rationalization that keeping Satario from selling off the horses gave them time to fix the mess Brad had got himself into, but she was aware of the lie even in her own mind.&nbsp; Oh, it would be sweetly satisfying&nbsp; to swoop in and deliver triumph in the face of failure, but it would be a saccharine sweetness.&nbsp; Claire would eventually work it around so that it was well-deserved payment for her friendship, and Brad, no doubt, would think it was because Lacy still had a crush on him and still wanted him, and even though this thought never really even made it to full form, Lacy could feel the anger and resentment that lay beneath it stirring, biding its time.<br><br>Her reasons for suggesting the ride were far more selfish.&nbsp; She wanted to seduce Satario Winston, first to keep the horses, or perhaps sell as many as she could afford to her at a good price ... but most of all, she wanted to seduce him.&nbsp; The sad little game with Claire seemed tawdry and unworthy of her, though she was not cognizant of having such a thought before having been in the presence of the devilishly attractive man who now owned the neighboring ranch.&nbsp; Her hand lifted toward the thin scar on her cheek, but then diverted to smooth her hair back as self-consciousness melted away with a wave of heat that flushed down her body beneath the clothes, making her very aware of the snug fit of her jeans, and the little secret of what lay beneath. <br><br>She didn't even notice Brad standing there in the shadow of the 'guest house' porch, arms folded, glowering in her direction as Satario came out, having undergone a transformation from elegant city boy to ... something much more appealing, and dangerous, bringing a glint to Lacy's eyes and a little flexing of her fingers as she wondered if Claire would suddenly appear, her bounteous curves displayed in some sweet, rip-it-off-me dress, bearing a tray of iced tea and gushing flattery. <br><br>Rather than question or argue that riding and strong drink didn't mix, Lacy simply fell into step with him as they moved toward the pasture. <em>&nbsp; "Depends on how well you ride.&nbsp; I can ride bareback, but it'd be a shame to put bruises on that ass if you slide off."</em><br><br>There was the temptation to blush, to be aghast, at her words, but it was fleeting as Lacy's inner demon stirred from slumber, awakening eagerly to the stimulus of such a dangerous, carnally stimulating presence.&nbsp; The tight rein that Lacy Dolan kept on that hidden, denied side of herself had slipped its bit, a circumstance that mostly had happened only when anger and resentment goaded her out her shell.&nbsp; The demon, however, was smart enough not to flaunt its freedom, but rather content to let her ... ease into it.<br><br>Lacy breathed, her nostrils suddenly filled with the aroma of some musky cologne tempered by the rich smell of earth and horseflesh, all scents that acted on her senses like fresh-baked bread to an empty stomach.&nbsp; The man walked like a herd stallion, the little swagger reminding her sharply, strongly, of the behavior of a stallion with a ready mare, the invitation in his gait, the subtle curve of his body, even the scent and heat emanating from it.<br><br>Lacy's lips, which had parted instinctively, snapped together as she reminded herself to focus ... and not on Satario's ass.&nbsp; <em>"Why don't you take the black?&nbsp; Arabian bloodlines gives him that shape, and the fire.&nbsp; He's good breeding material - he's got the look and the speed ... pair him with the right mare and you've either got a horse for racing, or one that rich people will pay through the nose to own.&nbsp; That is, unless you don't ride much.&nbsp; He's not a beginner's horse, especially if we're riding bareback.&nbsp; Wouldn't want you to get hurt."</em><br><br>The Morgan that she admired came up to the fence to meet them, not even waiting to be chosen, but presenting herself.&nbsp; The black was alert, but he did not offer himself.&nbsp; Like a woman ... or, for that matter, a man ... he preferred to be sought.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>25-03-2016, 12:45:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Satario considered his next move carefully; for what was the man if not a conniving planner, analyzing and embracing a course of action through the twin lenses of experience and impulsiveness. One might think with his ancient age and countless conquests that he’d have that “Groundhog Day” power, that ability to say a few words and acquire whatever he wanted. In truth, people were always more complex than that. It was part of why he loved humanity so much, part of why he cherished his role among them, despite being denigrated so much. The endless varieties and variations of people – their nuances and the infinite outcomes of their choices – they made everything constantly fresh. It was part of why his true home, and his role among humans for that matter, were so different than the common belief. <br><br>Sure, he was a wolf among sheep. But he was not the one sent to slaughter. <br><br>Looking over the black stallion that Lacy had indicated, Satario knew a challenge when he saw one. Not in the stallion, though there certainly was that as well, but in the woman’s tone. Satario had changed his clothes, deigned to bring a bottle of strong liquor, and had swaggered like a man with a mile-long cock out to ride a horse. Now she was making a suggestion that would either take him down a peg – and lower him in her eyes by several measures, no doubt – or reveal an unexpected nuance. If he’d been playing a very long game, he might have considered letting a little humiliation come into the equation.&nbsp; Sometimes a little laughter and an apparently bruised ego were good for long romances. <br><br>But…he just wasn’t feeling it. He wanted Lacy’s blood boiling, her transformation initiated sooner, rather than later, and playing the long con might take weeks, if not months. <br><br>Thus, the man didn’t reply to Lacy’s words. Instead, he looked into the stallion’s eyes and let his posture relax into a different type of swagger. His movements changed, eyes sliding off the animal’s – no longer asserting dominance in that way, but the way he walked, the position of his hand and the whisper-quiet tone of his voice as he addressed it, rather than his human companion – combined in an alchemical mixture that was inescapably potent. The stallion allowed the man near and, in a motion as fluid as any dancer’s, Satario was on the beautiful creature’s back without showing a sign of discernable effort.<br><br>Heels planted, back straight, posture easy, Satario looked over at Lacy and gave her an inscrutable look as he removed the cap from his bottle and took a swig. The stallion simultaneously read Satario’s posture and the subtle pressure of his knees and began heading out to the pasture with his new rider. <br><br>To be honest, the horse seemed as puzzled as any other onlooker might be by Satario’s apparent facility with the creature. Still, it accepted the obviously experienced rider without signs of rebellion.<br><br>“I never said I didn’t know how to ride,” Satario called back, warm voice mocking. “I just don’t like them.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>29-03-2016, 03:44:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div>How far would the man's confident swagger ... and perhaps a head start on the drinking ... take him, if he had no experience with horses?&nbsp; If he knew anything at all about horses, but wasn't a confident rider, he wouldn't dare get on the back of the black bareback.&nbsp; Even most decent riders who had little experience riding without a saddle wouldn't attempt it.&nbsp; Lacy would, but then she'd been riding bareback since she was about ten ... the first time her father had attempted to ground her by locking the saddles up where she couldn't get to them.<br><br>For that matter, how far would Lacy let the challenge go?&nbsp; Did she really want to see him break his neck trying to ... what ... impress her?&nbsp; Why would he?<br><br>She started to open her mouth to suggest that saddles would be better when Satario moved forward instead of answering.&nbsp; Her lips parted, but no words emerged.&nbsp; There was a subtle change in the way he moved, a confidence that was less swagger and all the more effective for it.&nbsp; He moved like a man who had nothing to prove and didn't give a damn who was or wasn't watching.&nbsp; For all his earlier swagger, this one was far more effective and all the more primal for it.&nbsp; The defenses, the cynicism, the scathing whip of her tongue, could not gain traction against the sheer primal force of that kind of surety.<br><br>She watched, eyes wide, as he approached the stallion and simply flowed upon the animals back in a series of moves that might as well have been the moves of a rehearsed dance.&nbsp; Without so much as a smirk, as he sat astride the horse's back, holding his seat with nothing more than the muscles of his thighs and legs, he opened the bottle and took a drink while the black simply turned slightly and headed off at a slow walk, for all the world like Satario was a nearly weightless child, and an unseen handler was guiding the horse by an equally unseen lead.<br><br><em>"Holy <strong>hell</strong>,"</em> Lacy murmured, a tone of honest-to-god awe making the words ... however little she realized a certain kind of truth ... sound like a benediction.&nbsp; She reached up with one hand, molding her fingers lightly to her forehead, easing across her closed eyes with a tickle of lashes, reassuring her senses with a warm rush of breath as she wiped downward.&nbsp; When her hand finished its journey and she looked toward moving horse and rider, she half expected it to have been some sort of illusion, brought on by something in the drink that had been served earlier.<br><br>It wasn't.&nbsp; Satario's narrow waist, broad shoulders, and ass that any professional quarterback might have envied, moved in perfect tandem with the horse's slow gait.&nbsp; Unwillingly, Lacy's face transformed into a grin that gave her the look of a gamine, perhaps an imp, and she rushed to mount herself and follow.&nbsp; Her moves were not quite so graceful, but neither were they clumsy, though the rapport with her mount was one brought on by less ... magic ... and more knowledge, practice, and a mutual chemistry that was as instinctive as it was natural.&nbsp; A little bump of her heel, Lacy leaned down over the horse's neck and whispered a little urging that was not really necessary, and they were off ... giving chase and picking up speed as she went. <br><br>As they passed Satario and the black, she let loose with a cry that she'd heard in some old black and white western, a high-pitched, joyous <strong><em>'Ai-yi-yi-yi-yi'</em></strong> that felt good in the back of her throat and reminded her of unbridled laughter, full of joy and untinged by bitterness or mockery.&nbsp; &nbsp;She turned on the horse and looked back at him, eyes full of challenge, and perhaps even a bit of entreaty ... wondering if he could loosen up enough to feel the passion, the freedom, inherent in an act of speed that had nothing to do with machinery, and everything to do with will, drive, muscle ... and a love of going hell-bent-for-the horizon without need of roads or metal.<br><br>As her eyes fell on his, wide and blue, she felt a little surge of&nbsp; -something-.&nbsp; She didn't know quite what it was, but it was something that happened occasionally, usually when anger or passion was high, and usually had the man who was under her gaze following her like a wolf on the trail of his next meal . even if she always figured that analogy was a bit backward. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>05-04-2016, 18:14:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Ah, there it was. The thing Satario had been waiting for, expecting, anticipating. Invitation. Naturally, Lacy wouldn’t know what she was doing; her desires were instinctual, her power to call men with her siren’s song subconscious. Yet it was there and strong enough to make Satario’s immaculately masculine body tense with the thrill of it. Of course he allowed the temptation to flow through him, of course he savored it. If one did not indulge in the delights of lust, what was the whole fucking point of being who and what he was? Yet a hard cock and a mind filled with delightful (and somewhat unlikely) images was not enough to sway the man from his goal.<br><br>Being intimate with Lacy – fucking her or making love or any combination thereof – would not unlock the girl’s potential. Giving in to her powers wouldn’t make them grow. No. He knew of two primary ways to awaken her dormant blood: make her crave, make her desperate until her powers responded, or convince her to use her wiles on others – particularly the innocent or unwilling. Corruption was a force all demonic creatures responded to, as much as, if not more than desire. <br><br>Riding the horse with a savvy, sensual grace, Satario considered his options even as he watched Lacy fly by. Her passion for the animals was admirable and the man’s tempted mind could not help but consider how she might handle a different beast between her thighs, but this was just the foreplay. The beginning. <br><br>For a moment, he considered showing some hint of passion, of giving the woman what she so clearly wanted to see. That path, he suspected, would lead to romance. Intimacy. Bonding. He didn’t want that. Well, he did, but not from the outset. Lust was the key, not warmth or compassion. Thus, he allowed no emotion to warm his face besides boredom. Thus, he continued sipping his drink even as he accelerated his horse’s pace to a gallop and followed the wild girl.<br><br>When she finally slowed down, he spoke in an even tone. “Well, that was quite majestic, I’m sure. But I still don’t understand your love for the creatures.” He shrug, body limned in the failing day’s final rays, so statuesque and handsome, yet so implacably unmoved by anything Lacy had attempted so far. Where other men would have been fawning at her or reaching for her in lust, Satario seemed nonplussed. Implacable as stone.<br><br>“Tell me,” he said as the sentiment of his words finally settled in, “what would you do to preserve these animals as they are? Would you come work for me?” He asked the question casually, kneeing his rambunctious stallion nearer to her and extending a hand to offer Lacy the bottle. So close, his sandalwood-and-sweet scent was every bit as alluring as Lacy’s dormant bloodline, the promise of unadulterated, unyielding desire in that powerful physique amplified by every iota of the man’s being. Yet his tone and expression made it clear: “work for him” was not a euphemism for sex. <br><br>Satario had taken the second option: enigma and frustration over romance. He’d see how this road played out for a while and enjoy every beat of their new cadence until it worked, or he had to change tact. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>07-04-2016, 22:51:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div>Lacy's smile disappeared as there was no response, no change in the man's demeanor.&nbsp; She turned, leaning back over the horse's neck, whispering a soft croon that was not unlike a murmur in a lover's ear, a soft acknowledgement of approval and need, desire of another kind that was only a little less primal.&nbsp; Her first thought, her first instinct, was one of anger, and for a flash she considered urging her mount forward harder, faster, to see if the smug city man might feel something when his ass hit the ground and he was rolling to get out of the way of hooves.<br><br>Before she had to fight the temptation with whatever good sense she could muster, her brow furrowed in confusion as she grappled with instinct she didn't understand, and feared to some degree even as a part of her swayed toward it.&nbsp; Damn it, it didn't make sense!&nbsp; He wasn't unmoved, she could feel it.&nbsp; &nbsp;Her rational mind and the one that lay below wrestled for dominance of her consciousness, and this time the latter, hidden side wouldn't be beaten down.&nbsp; Some part of her recognized the lust in the following man, the passion, even if she didn't understand it and it wasn't obeying the usual rules, the one that guilt and disappointment had fostered into a regimen that allowed her demon to feed, but only under the most rigorous circumstances.<br><br>The demon part of her, that hidden side, didn't give a damn for hows or whys.&nbsp; It sensed a weakening in the rider that had kept it hobbled, and like any spirited, long frustrated beast, it pounced. <br><br>She had always gotten every man she'd wanted, always, one way or another.&nbsp; The trick had been to train herself not to want, or to want only the ones that weren't worth having, not really.&nbsp; That had been the delicate, fragile balance, and now ... now the fulcrum teetered and tottered, and she was lurching on the inside this way and that, even as she clung to the horse with ease.<br><br>She'd have this one, too, come hook or crook, just see if she wouldn't.<br><br>Once&nbsp; both halves had spit and shook hands on that agreement, the storm inside eased, and Lacy slowed the horse as they neared a small pond toward the upper end of the pasture, half shaded by a small grove of trees. She turned and looked at Satario, her own hair blown wild by the wind, the picture of a wild-child free spirit, scorched by the anger and disappointment within, but unbroken.&nbsp; Mr. City Slicker looked like a poster child for some western GQ, an advertisement for some expensive and exclusive man's cologne that a rich entrepreneur might wear as he 'got away' from the hustle and bustle of city life.<br><br>She wanted to seethe at him, let loose with some scathing assessment of him having ice water in his veins.&nbsp; She also wanted to drag him down off the horse and see if he looked like he was carved out of marble when she ripped his shirt off, her nails raking down the chiseled muscle of his pectorals and abs, marking him while her teeth closes on the pulse point in his neck ...<br><br>If he hadn't spoken then, the demon might well have had her down off the horse, her hand seeking purchase on his jeans, his belt, whatever might have him down off the animal's back ... even if that side of her had at least an instinctive inkling that such incaution was dangerous.<br><br>With a shudder, Lacy lassoed that instinct, and drew it in, with an expenditure of will that had her shuddering, a light sheen of perspiration forming under her hair on her forehead, cheeks and neck.&nbsp; The words sunk in, though she wasn't sure she heard right.&nbsp; Confusion, at least, ripped the ground out from that other part of her, and it retreated ... for now.<br><em><br>"Work for you?&nbsp; You mean, with the horses?"&nbsp; </em>She was instantly suspicious, on guard, but even so, that half of her had lost claim that it would be hard pressed to get back.&nbsp; That part of her said she should laugh in his face, tell him in no uncertain terms that she already had a job and she wasn't working for any effete city bastard that could appreciate an expensive sports car but sat on the back of a fine horse like it was nothing but a merry-go-round piece.<br><br>Her eyes blazed with the hint of passion that lurked below the surface, showing the tiny crack in her shield. <em> "Depends on what you'd offer me."</em><br><br><em>And ... </em>came the soft whisper of that demon inside... <em>saving Brad's ass, or Claire's (especially Claire's) ... wasn't a job option she was interested in.</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>19-04-2016, 00:12:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Satario sensed, more than saw, the responses in his companion’s psyche. Where eyes were on the horizon, taking in the sweeping beauty of the mostly untamed landscape, his other senses were keen on the girl riding nearby. He smelled her frustration and arousal, heard the sharp intake of her breaths. Felt the coiling and tightening of the slumbering demon within her veins. It was a justifying response to his presence, and one that thrilled him to the core. These moments were what made the chase worthwhile.<br><br>As their distance decreased and they spoke, he kept signs of his pleasure from his face. Only those damnable mysterious eyes reflected anything resembling emotion on his otherwise placid features. When she finished with her interrogation, he responded, “Yes. Work with the horses. Maintain them. Manage them. Oversee their use, leasing them, selling their seed. Whatever it is horse managers do.” He shrugged slightly, a muscular motion that was as aesthetically appealing as it was dismissive.&nbsp; “I imagine you’ll need to oversee land and infrastructure maintenance too. Whatever titles you want, we can negotiate. I just want someone who is passionate, who I can trust, handling the animals. Otherwise, they might as well turn into hotdogs for all I care.”<br><br>He let his eyes stay on hers, let her see the chill certainty in him. The absolute cool cruelty with which the man was willing to operate: if the horses were any level of bother, it was too much. And clearly he wasn’t about to let Brad or Claire continue to operate autonomously; they’d lost the home and had grown belligerent over it. The odds of him “hiring” them on for any level of negotiation was all bit nil, though he might consider allowing Lacy the opportunity to subcontract them for capital, should she so desire. <br><br>Waiting for her reply, the handsome man’s gaze slid away from Lacy’s – not to her body, though he was eager to study her more intimately, but back to the house he’d won and the workers he’d commissioned to fix it up. He was eager for time in a new spa, a hot tub to soak in, and some pleasant diversion to finish the night. Whether or not it was Lacy didn’t mean anything to him – yet. That would come, in time. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>21-04-2016, 02:27:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll4/ElusiveGypsyRose/1%20-%20Characters/cowgirl%20BampW.jpg)</div>A part of Lacy was already waiting for the other shoe to drop, even as she looked Satario over with eyes that were equal parts hard and hungry.&nbsp; While his&nbsp; words could have been taken as dismissive of her intelligence as many that she'd received before had been, but it would have taken stubborn effort in the doing.&nbsp; She was capable of that, but the -want- was simply too strong, want for such a jumble of things that it was hard to know where one ended and the next began.<br><br>She focused on the most obvious, responsibility, challenge, working with the animals that&nbsp; she loved.&nbsp; <em>"Barn manager," </em>she corrected almost absently as she watched the movement of his shoulder, how the musculature rippled beneath the cloth.&nbsp; In his own way, he was easily as magnificent an animal as the horses, and she couldn't help but admire him for the confidence of his domain that he exuded.&nbsp; It was similar to a herd stallion, the alpha ... save the herd stallion's main goal was the survival of the herd.&nbsp; His control, his dominance, was necessary.<br><br>Satario's feel was more insidious, darker.&nbsp; Though she could not put words to the feeling, some part of her knew.&nbsp; He was not the herd stallion, but rather a clever predator, mimicking the stallion, positioning the herd not for the benefit of the herd, but for his own.<br><br>Yet to consciously admit what a part of her knew, she would have to admit that it did not diminish his pull, or her desire.&nbsp; He had certainly managed her aptly, offering up what she could not refuse.<br><em><br>"All right.&nbsp; I get full control over the barn, what animals are bred, what animals are trained or sold, and you turn a profit, and heads."</em>&nbsp; She named a sum that was just shy of twice what the barn manager for some of the biggest stables in the area could command, tying in a vehicle for her use, and was left with the feeling that she should have asked for more when he accepted without so much as batting an eyelash.<br><br>As was the custom, she held out her hand, palm vertical, to seal the deal, her grip strong, strong from the labor that she used to exhaust herself into oblivion when the hungers raged, and strong, too, from that which lay within.&nbsp; The romance of the animals, the majesty of the land itself, was lost on him.&nbsp; Perhaps it was as they said - he had seen gay Par-ee and the farm held no magic for him, or perhaps he was just wired the way he was, but Lacy could tell that his attention had shifted.<br><br>She told herself she didn't care, but she did.&nbsp; It was that same growling hunger roused by dismissal that had led her to show herself equal to Claire, or better.&nbsp; It raged in her, just below the surface, as they rode back to the corral and turned the horses over to a sullen Brad, whose sullenness turned to cold fury when Satario -- without even a sop to injured dignity -- told him that Lacy would be the new Barn Manager, effective immediately -- before he left them standing amidst the remains of the bustle in search of his own amusement.<br><br>"What the hell do you think you're doin', Lacy?" Brad demanded, reaching out to wrap his hand around her bicep in a grip that would, by all accounts, communicate his fury.&nbsp; "You were supposed to be helping ..."<br><br>His words were cut off as Lacy pulled out of his grip, caring not a whit that her shirt ripped where he had held, and reached out with both her hands, and shoved him with all the strength she could command.&nbsp; To a bystander, it might have looked like she'd caught him by surprise and off balance as he staggered back a step and then fell, ending up on his ass, the fury in his eyes mixed with shame, hurt ... and lust.<br><em><br>"Lay your fuckin' hand on me again, and Claire's gonna have to buy batteries to get her kicks, Bradley.&nbsp; You got me?!" </em> In the distance, she could see Claire's shocked face, hands rising to her mouth as she stared from the small wooden porch of the guest house.&nbsp; The guilt was there, but it was the buzz of a mosquito against the roar of the anger, and the need.<br><br>But the need wasn't for Brad, or even to show up Claire.&nbsp; The need was for ....<br><br>Abruptly, Lacy turned and stalked off, her boots kicking up dust with the purpose of her walk, the roll of her hips pure female, pure predator, as she forgot all about Brad.&nbsp; She left a dust trail like a stampede in her wake as she sped off, her mind already hearing the blare of country &amp; western music, the taste of cheap beer, and the feel of hands all over her on the dance floor,&nbsp; groping, squeezing, sliding.<br><br>The part of her that fought the hunger didn't stand a chance.&nbsp; Not tonight.&nbsp; She could do her penance in the morning ... or, more likely, the afternoon.<br><br>The street lights were on as Lacy pulled up to the Silver Strike, the local tavern where everyone in the area went when they wanted to kick up their heels and raise a little hell.&nbsp; Lacy'd gone home, done a quick change into a short denim skirt, a tight shirt, and the skimpiest little underthings she owned, dug out from the bottom drawer that she tried not to think about too much most days.&nbsp; Her work boots had been traded in for high heeled boots that did nice things to her legs and ass, and it was a good thing that her shirt, and bra both, had shrunk in the wash since the last time she wore them.&nbsp; It made the most of her assets, and for once, Lacy wasn't worried about the scar on her face.<br><br>When she looked at her reflection in the rear view mirror, she couldn't see nothing but the blazing hunger in her eyes.&nbsp; Somethin' told her that that was all that the men were gonna see too.<br><br>She wasn't fightin' anything, not tonight.&nbsp; Tonight, she was going to do whatever she damn well pleased.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>29-04-2016, 01:31:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Satario watched the warring feelings roil through Lacy’s mien as she took in his offer. Took it in, fought, then called out her ridiculous number. Had Satario been only what he seemed, a rapacious businessman with a few alternative skills, he might have baulked a little. Then again, Lacy knew her craft and had something of a reputation; perhaps – as a business man – he could bring in more horses, invest in the woman and her ideas, and truly make a profit on her. He’d probably do that, too, though that was far from his primary motivation. <br><br>His handshake was firm, the skin lightly calloused, his touch electric. It was as though feeling the man’s flesh was a form of intimacy tantamount to foreplay, as if the substance of his skin was made of some potent amalgamation of satin and harsh, unyielding wisdom. Wisdom of how to touch a woman like Lacy, to coax her with every digit until her body yielded its every secret. <br><br>And then it was over, he was walking away, apparently pleased with the deal and completely aloof to Brad’s protests. “She’s your boss now, good sir. Take it up with her, not me. Lacy, I’ll have the paperwork prepared by tomorrow. Bring a blank check. I’ll need a way for my financial department to deposit the cash.” All business, even as the succulently arrogant asshole vanished from view, into his rapidly evolving home.<br><br>Inside, Satario started off with several phone calls – to his lawyer, his accountant, and a series of contractors and others who worked with him. As he did this, he worked his way out of his clothes. The workers inside the house saw their employer as he stripped, revealing his nudity without batting a lash. Interestingly enough, more than half of the dozen overnighters responded with expressions of unrepentant desire, and the rest held back by the skin of their teeth. Even men felt Satario’s pull and none dared comment or curse him, even as he vanished into his temporary bedroom and changed.<br><br>He emerged a few minutes later wearing a simple white tank top, one that showed acres of gorgeously olive-hued muscle, flawless save for the tiniest hints of what might have been tattoos or scars swirling across those sculpted reaches. The jeans and boots remained the same, though he’d taken out a cowboy hat and wore it casually, managing the look and feel of a real rustler, while simultaneously feeling out of place – somehow above it all.<br><br>Speaking in fluent Spanish, he addressed three of the prettier workers (ones not assigned to his bedroom). A few minutes later, just before Lacy left, they arrived at the Silver Strike.<br><br>The Silver Strike was an interesting mix of old, new, of raw and refined tastes. Big enough to manage a small dance floor, a raised platform for live music, a bar and restaurant, as well as a prize-winning mechanical bull, the place had recently added a stripper pole on a secondary platform near the aforementioned bull. The idea had been to bring in business, given that the whole area was suffering from economic depression. That, accompanied with “half off ladies nights every night!” and the place had seen a slow revival.<br><br>Unfortunately, that revival had been made possible by the darker, edgier members of the community. A full brigade of motorcycles lined the outside of the building – thirty or more bikers, including about half as many tattooed and care free women – were already inside, along with another twenty or so of the locals – this a better mix of women and women. A pretty redhead danced at the newly installed bar, her clothes still clinging to her luscious (and apparently natural) curves as some odd mixture of country and rock blared over the speakers. <br><br>By the time Lacy arrived, Satario and his three friends had taken a table smack-dab in the middle of the bar. Surrounded by sour-looking bikers (the men) and hungry-eyed women (their girlfriends), Satario appeared completely at ease as he laughed and passed drinks out to his employees. <br><br>To be fair, the wicked man had no clue Lacy would be arriving that night. He’d gone out because he’d felt the bikers arrival and decided to stir up trouble. Perhaps with her in residence, things would become even more interesting.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>05-05-2016, 02:13:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://s19.postimg.org/tn0n9uw0j/f9f43eb6c299e8332d37d1cfaa0d50df.jpg)</div>Most nights, all the bikes in the parking lot would have given Lacy pause.&nbsp; Most of the locals stayed away, other than the ones who were looking to stir up trouble, on the occasions that the bikers came through.&nbsp; &nbsp;Most of the groups they got were garden variety bikers, enthusiasts who might talk the talk and walk the walk, dress the part complete with jewelry and tattoos, but during the week they were more blue collar workers with the occasional lawyer thrown in just to keep the scent of blood in the water.&nbsp; The brilliantly colored hair was wigs or the kind of dye that washed out, the tight leathers and denims brought out no more than the bikes.<br><br>Tonight it was different.&nbsp; The bikers in the Silver Strike were the real deal, and bikers were what they were, any jobs they held incidental.&nbsp; Several of them turned on their stools, in their chairs, to look at Lacy as she strutted in, hunger and the heels on her boots giving her ass a predatory sway beneath the short skirt, short enough for the shadow it created to draw the eye and fire the imagination as a brush against a chair revealed a pale, shapely curve of ass, the hint of blue lace more an afterthought than a covering.<br><br>Her head did a slow circuit around the room, taking in the bikers, discarding the ones who were solo and instead assessing the ones that were claimed already on instinct.&nbsp; The need was strong, and Lacy wasn't wasting any thought on what she was doing there.&nbsp; She didn't need to think, not now, not tonight.&nbsp; If she thought, she might wonder why it was that every man's eyes in the place turned to her, at least for a moment, before they returned to their girl, their drinks, the pool game, or the football game on TV.<br><br>Then she saw Satario occupying the large middle table, laughing, completely at home in a muscle shirt and fitted jeans.&nbsp; She would have bet that there was a big gold belt buckle holding up those pants, and she would have also bet that he was sporting a hard-on that was just begging for an ass to grind on it in time to the music.&nbsp; Her eyes met his for a moment while she instinctively struggled against the unacknowledged instinct, and then she turned away and made toward the pretty dancer, who had continued to dance even as she watched, her hips moving in a lazy revolution that had probably been responsible for half the hard-ons n the room, possibly even Satario's ... at least before Lacy walked in.<br><br><em>"Gimme a whiskey,"</em> she instructed the bartender, and he poured the drink without even asking for payment, though the biker sitting closest nodded and made a little 'over here' gesture with a finger, staking a claim ... or so he hoped.&nbsp; Instead of sitting down, though, Lacy moved up to the dancer, reached out, and wrapped her hand around the woman's waist, pulling her in close even as her hips started moving in a suggestive counter rotation.&nbsp; <br><br>There was a moment of indecision, but only a moment, and after a glance around at the rapt audience and a flash of a sultry smile, she moved in closer, her hands sliding up Lacy's arms and then down, brushing at the short skirt as the two put on a show ... though there were elements of enjoyment above and beyond the effect on the watchers.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>17-05-2016, 23:12:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Satario’s eyes hooded as Lacy walked in, the scent of her power intensifying his senses far more than that of the body that concealed it. Though the form wasn’t unimportant; the vessel reflected its substance and, in time, perhaps that would change too. No, as he had been from the beginning, Satario was aroused by the potential in the woman. The satisfactions she might bring once she was fully awakened to her true nature. Seeing her saunter from the bar to the other woman, he couldn’t help but feel the thrill of animal temptation. To give up the game, to take, to claim.<br><br>It, as much as the show, aroused him. Knowing that he might be capable of feeling this way, of wanting to give in, after so long. Sure, his body and fundamental nature underlined the process, but this was a degree of magnitude above and beyond. And the source? Half from Lacy. And half from the very obviously straight girl dancing with her. She’d been his ultimate target that night; some local police officer or preacher’s get gone out for a wild night to temp the bikers. No doubt she’d assumed that she would be safe in public, had anticipated a fun time tempting the bears.<br><br>And here she’d walked into the den of bears to find it home to two ancient, primordial predators. <br><br>A moue of a smile slid across the man’s chiseled features as he locked eyes with the dancers, first the unknown innocent and then with Lacy. Tipping his drink in acknowledgement of a successful maneuver in a game, he took a sip of his beer, his peripheral senses catching the motions of the lead biker coming to his feet.<br><br>The man was handsome in his own way, dark skinned – perhaps with a hint of Native blood in him – with long, black hair. In a way, he echoed Satario’s casual confidence, only with all that leather and those tattoos stretching across swollen muscles, he echoed it with a savage violence. Where Satario was refined restraint, this was all raw.<br><br>Heels clicking on the wood, audible even over the rowdy conversation and music, the man strode near the dancing couple, stopping only a few feet away. His attention shifted from woman to woman as he waited, putting on a show of which he might choose as his diversion for the evening. Content to watch for a moment, though unlike Satario – who seemed unlikely to stir from his seat – this newcomer clearly intended to act on his desires. And soon. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>22-05-2016, 23:28:50</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://s19.postimg.org/tn0n9uw0j/f9f43eb6c299e8332d37d1cfaa0d50df.jpg)</div>The music wasn't just playing over the speakers, it was drumming in Lacy's blood, part of the rush as her body undulated to the beat.&nbsp; She had always been sure-footed, but the rocking, gyrating motions of her hips were graceful, sensual, as they ground against her partner.&nbsp; She'd never danced like that with anyone, woman or man, but she'd seen it.&nbsp; Tonight, just letting herself go, it seemed not only easy, but natural.<br><br>She wasn't just dancing, she was seducing -- and not just her dance partner, but everybody in place.&nbsp; As her fingers slid up the bare arms of her partner, she was fulfilling the fantasies of half the watchers, and more, as her head tipped to bring her lips in contact with a swanlike neck, brushing along tanned skin to her ear, taking the lobe -- diamond stud and all -- into the grasp of her teeth.&nbsp; Her ass rocked back and forth as her knee slid up between the soft, supple thighs, riding skirt up and thrusting softly against the silk-covered sex.&nbsp; <br><br>Her partner, a woman that Lacy vaguely thought she might have seen around a time or two, had come to bar with little more than a bit of titillating risk on her mind.&nbsp; She'd been horny on that alone, and now she was intoxicated by it, soaking it up like fumes of hard liquor rising from Lacy's heated flesh.&nbsp; She wasn't thinking either as her hands slid to Lacy's ass, cupping, squeezing, daring to slide beneath the hem as she pressed against Lacy's thigh.&nbsp; It didn't occur to her that she was putting on a show, but she didn't care as Lacy's hand crept up between them and slid under her shirt. <br><br>To her knowledge ... though that was seeming to be more and more an elastic sort of statement ... Lacy had never touched another woman, had never wanted to, the way she was touching ... Lynn.&nbsp; That was her name, Lynn Hanson, the daughter of a Baptist preacher a couple of towns ver.&nbsp; She knew how she liked to be touched, to touch herself, however, and that was knowledge enough.&nbsp; Lynn was just means to an end tonight, even though a little part of her enjoyed evoking the reactions that she was feeling under the tips of her fingers, her lips, her thigh.<br><br>She could feel the eyes of the rough-looking biker on the two of them, and Lacy turned the two of them so her hips were rocking in a come-hither little rhythm while Lynn obligingly rode her skirt up and down ... and in the doing, her eyes locked straight on Don Goode, a local good-ol-boy with arms that his button-down plaid work shirt struggled to contain.&nbsp; He'd been glaring at the bikers, resentment boiling, up until Lacy and Lynn started their show, and Lacy gave him a little smile that said "It's your attention I'm trying to attract, baby" coupled with a suggestive look, just before she felt the biker's hand on her arm.<br><br>"You got some pretty good moves on you, girl, and an ass that nice is just too good to waste on nothin' but show.&nbsp; &nbsp;Come on over here and give me a lap dance.&nbsp; I've got more than a tongue to give you.&nbsp; Bring your friend if you want to -- I've got more than enough."<br><br>Lynn, her senses already overwhelmed by the bombardment of stimuli she didn't know what to do with, shrank back a little.&nbsp; Lacy just met the biker's hungry gaze with a sardonic, dismissive little smile.&nbsp; <em>"No thanks." </em> That came through loud and clear, but she lowered her voice and dipped her head in a habitual gesture, sending her hair swinging down to obscure the movement of her lips for the rest.&nbsp; <em>"I'm not in the mood to be shared."</em><br><br>"That's just fine with me, honey.&nbsp; Only need one ride at a time, anyway."&nbsp; He pulled at her, confident in his own strength, but Lacy twisted away ... right in to the other biker who'd paid for her untouched drink.&nbsp; He reached out to steady her, copping a feel of her ass in the process, and Lacy picked up the drink he'd bought and dashed it into his face.&nbsp; Rage flared as the biker reached up and ran a hand across his face, but it was rage laced with excitement, fueling his desire to make her pay the old fashioned way.<br><br>"Now what did you wanna go and waste good whiskey like that?" he asked, his hand taking a good hold on her skirt.<br><br>The mood in the bar had taken on a different tone, as if a switch had been slipped, things turning from rowdy and randy to something darker, desire blending seamlessly into jealousy.&nbsp; The biker leader didn't even miss a beat as his fist bunched up and swung, seeing only his hand on the ass of the woman he'd decided was his for the night.<br><br>Lacy's eyes glittered with enjoyment, excitement as she ducked out of the way, a small bit of altruism leading her to grab Lynn and haul her back.&nbsp; They both collided with the brick wall that was Don Goode, who gently guided them behind him before he waded in.<br><br>Bikers and locals alike rose on cue, eager to support their side, and Lacy just smiled as she retreated with Lynn, ending up at Satario's table.&nbsp; He and his companions were watching, laughing, they taking their cues from him, and -something- inside Lacy twisted and settled, and again without thought she seemed to know exactly what to do.<br><em><br>"Thanks for the dance, sweetheart.&nbsp; You better get on back home and make up with Mr. Right before somebody like him ... or me ... chews you up and spits you out." </em> Her hand lifted, thumb brushing across the other woman's now-numbed lips, and then she leaned forward and kissed her again until she felt her knees tremble from it before she abruptly released her and whirled to the biggest Latino-looking man sitting at the table and slid her hands down his arms, slipping to his chest and down lower as she bent over him, not stopping until her fingers had verified that he was packing as she nuzzled against his ear.<br><br><em>"I need to be fucked, and you're just the man to do it.&nbsp; Let's go." </em>&nbsp; Though she didn't know why, Lacy knew that he would come, just like a fish being reeled in toward the bank, hook line and sinker.&nbsp; As he rose, Lacy's eyes met the dark, amused, and aroused, gaze of Satario ... and her lips quirked into a slight, mocking, challenging sort of grin.&nbsp; With the fight going strong behind them, she and her 'chosen victim' headed for the exit, her ass swaying in its own little victory dance.<br><br>She didn't look back to see how Lynn, Satario, or the macho men in the bar might react.&nbsp; Her one thought in the moment was getting her would be Lothario between her thighs ... one way or another.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>31-05-2016, 18:58:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The pot didn’t simmer for long before it began to boil, all thanks to the efforts of one neophyte succubus. Satario wouldn’t have expected anything less. The show was well worth it; both the dance and the mammalian preening of the men who looked to have a slice (or two) of Lacy pie. Ironically, Satario felt no presumptive power over Lacy in this situation, no urge to assert his dominance in comparison to the other men. Fucking a human being, from his perspective, was akin to having sex with little better than a toy. Sure, it could give you what you needed – feed your demonic essence and feel good doing it, but that was it. When demonic powers (or angelic, for that matter) collided…well, that was of an entirely different magnitude. Why be jealous of a toy?<br><br>As the evening began to reach its climax, Satario caught Lacy’s glance toward one of his men. Juan or Gorge or something like that. One of the biggest workers that Satario had on the job site. A man that he happened to have plenty of leverage over. As the strapping, herculean man began to stand – obeying Lacy without conscious thought – Satario let one of his hands brush across the man’s back. Satario’s influence crawled into the man’s skinsuit, meeting no resistance along the way. Apparently, Juan hadn’t been a particularly pure-spirited man. <br><br>In an instant, Juan and Satario’s expressions became precise mirrors: Satario, looking at Lynn, Juan following Lacy’s insistent tugs. The man really was practically a giant; odds were, he wasn’t actually Mexican but Native American – or some interesting mix thereof. Towering over six and a half feet, he moved ahead of Lacy, elbows sticking out, broad chest like the prow of a ship as he shoved a clear way out one of the side doors of the bar. The effect was quite impressive; several of the bikers attempted to intervene and seemed to just bounce away from the mastodon man’s slightest shove. <br><br>Outside, in the cool night air, Juan turned – a motion more fluid than he’d been coming into the bar earlier, his expression flowing from confident and controlled to a bit bemused, as if to ask Lacy “what now?” This poor fellow had been convinced to take her out of the building and away from his friends, but perhaps he lacked the conviction to follow through with their next steps without instruction. <br><br>Then the bemused expression tightened and he was shoving Lacy against the nearby wall, pressing down, his warmth surrounding her, big hands on her hips, thumbs pressing inward against her pelvis, mouth on hers. Smooth skin against smooth skin, his vaguely minty flavor not quite drowned out by the alcohol he’d been imbibing. Desire, wave after wave of it, radiated from the man as some force crushed his reluctance, pushing him into a bestial groan of insatiable desire. That half-club of a manhood surging between his thighs pressed hard against Lacy’s stomach as he arched down in to the kiss, too eager to care where they were or who might see them.<br><br>-<br><br>Inside, Satario had made his way from the table and to the poor, confused-looking Lynn. His hand on her lower back, he casually gestured toward the entrance and began gliding beside her past the growing conflagration that had practically transformed the bar into a brawling arena in an instant. Oddly, as he walked with her, none of the bikers so much as glanced in their direction. Instead, their violent screams and grunts of rage just got louder – aimed at one another, as if determined to beat their rivals into pulp. <br><br>“King of the hill or somesuch, eh?” Satario murmured to himself, all wry. The two stepped out the front door together and Lynn pressed close to him, grinding her ass against his hip as if to show her approval for his actions. The act momentarily caused him to lose his grip on Juan, but only for a moment. A span of time sufficient for the big man to feel a stab of confusion. Satario took care of that, then returned his attention to the preacher’s daughter.<br><br>“Darlin’, why don’t you let me drive you home? I think the party is pretty well handled here tonight.” Satario’s voice had taken on a Southern edge, gone sweet as sorghum, his clear wealth and absolute command of the situation as alluring as a net of pearls. <br><br>Lynn, already driven to new heights of temptation by a particular would-be succubus, hesitated but briefly, biting her bottom lip as she considered her options, then agreed with an eagerness that belied the hesitation at all. <br><br>A moment later, they were in Satario’s expensive car, leaving the bar and the brawl behind. Which was probably a good thing: without Satario’s influence, the fight immediately lost much of its momentum. Much, but not all. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>04-06-2016, 00:57:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://s19.postimg.org/tn0n9uw0j/f9f43eb6c299e8332d37d1cfaa0d50df.jpg)</div>Lacy was well pleased with the chaos she'd left behind.&nbsp; The only disappointment was that the cocky, rich city boy hadn't followed, or even suggested that he come along just to make sure she had all the man she could handle.&nbsp; Even that disappointment was mild, and she was not in any mood to think about why that was, or what it meant.&nbsp; She wasn't thinking about anything else beyond the moment, so why should that be any different?&nbsp; Thought, as far as the other side of her was concerned, had just always been the thing holding her back.<br><br>Fuck thought.&nbsp; Who needed to think when you had instincts that were screaming at the top of their lungs what should be done to put any man at your feet that you wanted, how to play them like some crude instrument that was an instrument of the beat and about as subtle as Juan's oversize cock. <br><br>The shouts, the crash of furniture broken against wall, bar, heads, whatever, followed them outside, where just the hint of a cool breeze brought with it the likelihood of a glorious storm.&nbsp; It was a good season for it, before the wheat or the grass that would be mown for hay to feed horses and cattle alike got up to a good head.&nbsp; Lacy longed for it, the rumble and the fury, music for the dance.&nbsp; For a moment, her chosen dance partner looked uncertain, as if he was considering the wisdom of what he was doing.&nbsp; Lacy's eyes cut up to his, noting the muscle that rippled as he turned his head, flexed, the soft generosity of the mouth, dark, ruddy skin and eyes that were, in the shadows, velvety black as sin, and she gave him a tiny little ghost of a smile, that any red-blooded man would translate into 'what are you waiting for?' in a heartbeat.<br><br>She felt -something- as the uncertainty disappeared, but she had no more patience for thought now than she had a minute ago.&nbsp; Concern evaporated as her back met the wall with enough force to prompt a thud, though likely none other than the two of them would hear it, and he was on her, mouth, hands, hips, grinding his hard length against her stomach.&nbsp; She could feel the press of his teeth against her lips, which wasted no time in parting to invite his tongue, meeting it with her own as her hands, impatient, grabbed for his and guided them beneath the skirt to her scantily covered ass.<br><br>His uncertainty evaporated, and Lacy had none, urging him with little moans, sounds, and undulations until he lifted her, freeing her legs to wrap around him as the kiss surged and ebbed, her arms around his neck and hands buried in his hair, clenching, while her hips flexed and pressed to rub her silk-covered sex against the swell of his cock.<br><br>Again, Juan seemed to hesitate, breaking the kiss, his fingers dug into the curves of her ass enough to have pulled the silk into the crease between her cheeks, the friction stoking fires already at full blaze.&nbsp; Lacy glanced from his desire and confusion filled face and smiled again, one hand snaking down from his shoulder over the broad, muscular chest as she pushed back against the wall to create enough space so that she could reach the swell tenting the front of his pants.<br><br><em>"Mmmm ...mmmm,"</em> she murmured appreciatively, looking into his eyes that were much closer to her own level for the moment as she took stock of both size and eagerness, stroking.&nbsp; <em>"My truck's parked there." </em> She indicated 'there' with a jerk of her head.&nbsp; <em>"I know a place - but I warn you.&nbsp; Gas, grass or ass, don't nobody ride for free ... and I don't need no gas or grass." </em> Her voice was low, husky; her pupils were dilated and dark with the force of her desire, and the heat of her body was giving off its own sort of perfume, dark and dusky with undertones of cinnamon&nbsp; and smoke as her hand slid up and down ...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>06-06-2016, 08:42:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Juan felt more than he had ever felt before. His breath came in great sobs of want as his outstretched fingers crested the span of the woman’s ass cheeks, her hips, her waist. His eyes smoldered, practically black in the night and his lips were flush with their kisses as she drew away to speak. The man’s scent was a rich, earthy aroma that was not entirely clean; yet that, too, added something to the immediacy of their moment together.<br><br>“Gas, grass, or ass,” she said and Juan felt his tenuous understanding of English interrupting the flow of events, his mind surfacing for air long enough to grasp at what his partner was suggesting, to struggle in an effort not to make a fool of himself. He hesitated, then felt an answer flow into him, the calm returning as something outside of himself exerted control once more.<br><br>“Si, senorita,” Juan said, husky voice suggesting that the giant would be anything but gentle once they were away from the bar. His manhood, practically a weapon, surged hot and warm against her questing fingers, straining the fabric of his pants with an intent so clear and pure that it practically throbbed into her palm with all the vibrant power of a heater.<br><br>His hands slid down to hers, drawing her away, pulling her toward the indicated truck, pausing halfway there to turn, grip her hips and pull her against his broad chest again, kissing her hungrily. The timing was impeccable: several of the gang members spilled out, brawling, cursing and rolling around in the parking lot. Breaking the kiss – all hunger and promises of a long night ahead – Juan grinned over at them, the big and earnest young man somehow managing to look wolfish for a moment, before drawing Lacy on to her truck.<br><br>Juan practically filled up the entire passenger side of Lacy’s truck, but as soon as both were inside, he didn’t hesitate. His hot, warm mouth found her neck, tongue tracing delicate trails across her lifeline, one hand cupping down between her thighs, fingernails matching the patterns of his tongue across her flesh, around her core, then back against her panties – tempting her mound with surprising alacrity as she drove. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>07-06-2016, 23:40:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://s19.postimg.org/tn0n9uw0j/f9f43eb6c299e8332d37d1cfaa0d50df.jpg)</div>Lacy ... this Lacy, fully in the grips of her desires ... didn't worry about the language barrier.&nbsp; Words weren't the kind of communication she really had in mind, and pretty much anything that needed conveying could be further explained by show rather than tell.&nbsp; "Si," she agreed, giving him another squeeze through the denim.&nbsp; Part of her didn't give a damn about the niceties.&nbsp; It'd feel good to have him take her right there against the bar wall, and she didn't think he'd need much urging to do it ... but one fast fuck wasn't going to be enough, not tonight, even if he was actually hung like too many claimed to be.<br><br>As if to justify her faith, Juan ... though she didn't know his name yet, and might not even bother to ask ... took the initiative to get them moving.&nbsp; His kiss at the half-way mark, indicative of his hunger, placated the inner demon at least enough that she didn't subject him to the kind of scorn that was usual when she was 'not herself'.&nbsp; Why should she be?&nbsp; This time, there was no score to settle, not with him.&nbsp; It was an odd feeling, not entirely unpleasant, but it was also one that niggled at her other side, making her question what she was doing.&nbsp; The question, however, was little more than a gnat buzzing around the swell of her need, and Juan's hungry, warm kisses on her skin, the almost delicate caress of his hand that had received all the permission it needed to venture beneath her short skirt allowed for no doubts, at least not until she was gorged.<br><br>Lacy's booted foot stomped down hard on the gas pedal once they were out on the open road, easily coaxing the truck into a speed greater than the speed limit, but not so fast as to attract unwanted attention.&nbsp; Only the need to work the clutch and keep the gas flowing kept her from wanton disregard, but in the straightaway, she clutched Juan's long, dark hair and dragged his head up, turning hers to assault his mouth with another kiss drugged with hunger, her tongue demanding a response even as the blare of a horn indicated she'd drifted too far over.<br><br>She snarled a little as she abandoned the kiss, correcting the drift with a little jerk, and then concentrated on driving, though it didn't stop her hand from reaching down and hiking the skirt up higher, offering Juan a view of the silky material that was already darkened from the moisture set flowing by her need, and the feel of his fingers, and the outline of trimmed curls, the crease where her nether lips met.<br><br>She wasn't going far, just to the edge of town, to the local McKinley County Farmer's Co-op.&nbsp; It was a little off the road, on a gravel drive that led to a wooden fence that separated the loading dock where lumber, seed, mulch, and the like was loaded and off-loaded.&nbsp; The scent of sawdust - used as mulch - was in the summer air, and a couple of security lights meant for the fence's interior offered illumination to the outside.&nbsp; A few yards away was a cornfield, the crop grown enough to provide privacy ... a perfect place if you wanted to fuck but couldn't, or didn't want to, use your own bed or waste money on a motel.&nbsp; Of course, you ran the risk of putting on a peep show for the perverts who knew about the spot and liked to hide out in the corn to watch ... but Lacy didn't care about that.&nbsp; She'd put on enough of a show at the Lucky Strike that this would just be icing on the cake.<br><br>A little bit of gravel and dust flew as she pulled in to an abrupt stop, rolling down her window and then killing the engine.<br><em><br>"I've got a blanket behind the seat.&nbsp; La frazada.&nbsp; <acronym title="Wanna fuck?">¿Quieres joder?</acronym>"</em><br><br>Almost certainly his English was better than her Spanish, but she'd picked up a word, a phrase, here and there, and it gave a little exciting thrust to mix the vulgar with the liquid sound of the language.&nbsp; Maybe she should take a few lessons ... or maybe he could teach her a few things.<br><br><em>"<acronym title="What's your name?">¿Cómo te llamas?</acronym>" </em> Not that it mattered, but just at the moment she wanted something better to scream out later rather than the name of some disapproving overseer.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>09-06-2016, 23:47:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“Juan,” the big man responded, his eyes moving across the landscape. Juan had come to work for Satario only a matter of hours before; his company having been on hold, ready to supply Satario workers and equipment as soon as Satario phoned in the go-ahead. Juan had been selected to go not only because of his skills, but his size. Some shit just needed a big motherfucker to get done. Thus, this was his first time seeing the place that his companion had driven them. The presence behind Juan’s eyes had largely gone quiescent, though its influence still pushed Juan’s concern and inhibitions away. Catholic values or not, this was going to happen and who cared what the consequences were? Certainly not Juan.<br><br>Leaning over with all the casual intimacy of a long-time lover, Juan forced Lacy’s hips down into her seat, preventing her from leaving. She might be eager to get things started, but the weight in Juan’s mind had other ideas entirely. His tongue, quite proportionate, slid past his lips and ran across Lacy’s inner thighs, his breath pooling against the molten center of her drenched panties. His nails dug into her sensitive flesh as his off-hand moved down his torso, beneath his hips. Pressed as he was, down against the seat, what he did next wasn’t visible, but the sounds and motions were all too clear.<br><br>The huge man exhaled a groan of pleasure as his arm moved slowly, sensuously against his oversized club of a cock. His breath warmed against Lacy’s thighs as he moved inward, lips and tongue brushing her panties, teeth finding the hem. His head jerked to the side once, a tearing sound interrupting his moans, and then the warm velvet moisture of his tongue was nestled between her nether lips, finding her folds and exploring them with a patience that seemed entirely out of sorts with the passion that Juan had expressed up until this moment. A sense of confidence that belied his foreign nature or inexperience pervaded everything he did, and his tongue found her nub – explored it – then dipped lower without any hint of reluctance. The man seemed starved to taste her, to make her want more and more. If the sounds of his deep, chesty moans and the arching of his hips were any indication, his ministrations were doing much the same to him.<br><br>Then he paused, looking up at her, mouth pressed close, serpentine grin creasing the edges. Maybe he wasn’t as teased as he seemed. Maybe he was in control, after all.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>13-06-2016, 03:04:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://s19.postimg.org/tn0n9uw0j/f9f43eb6c299e8332d37d1cfaa0d50df.jpg)</div>A bare nod acknowledged the name he provided.&nbsp; It seemed a fitting name for the big man, and amusingly close to 'John', a name that had come to symbolize a man fucked for reasons that had little to do emotion, procreation, or even enjoyment.&nbsp; Lacy fully intended to enjoy this, and to make sure that Juan did, too. Why it mattered, she didn't know.&nbsp; With the others, she had wanted them to remember, and had wanted the memory to haunt them.&nbsp; <br><br>Juan was different.&nbsp; Unlike the others, he was irrelevant.&nbsp; She had chosen him for no other reason that he was the most striking of the men in Satario's company, big, handsome, eager ... and somewhat unassuming, even innocent, at least compared to the rest&nbsp; of the crowd.&nbsp; Now, separated from them, his shyness seemed to have disappeared.&nbsp; That struck a chord with Lacy, even the part of her that has slipped its yoke, hungers so strong that they dominated every other concern.&nbsp; Was this the real Lacy, or was it the one that would appear in the morning with eyes that shied away from the mirror?&nbsp; Or maybe this would be different.<br><br>Of course, Lacy wasn't thinking about any of that.&nbsp; She was thinking of only one thing, and when Juan's&nbsp; hand held her to the seat when she would have gotten out, her stare was more impatient than curious, at least until he leaned down with an intent that was impossible to mistake.&nbsp; Lacy smiled, a hungry smile, and her hands moved immediately to lift the skirt higher out of the way, lifting her hips meet the press of his tongue.&nbsp; One hand wrapped around the steering wheel, an anchor, while the other threaded into Juan's dark hair, urging him on.<br><br>The warmth of his breath&nbsp; teased her, along with his low, sensual moan.&nbsp; Lacy's thighs parted, and her back arched against the seat as she felt the movement of his head, and she smiled as she felt the fabric of her panties cut into her as he tugged at them, then released as the sound of the rip cut across the sound of their labored breathing.&nbsp; &nbsp; There was no shyness, no uncertainty, as he wasted no time delving into the lips of her sex, parting folds, finding the swollen nub with the heated tongue-tip and coaxing it to attention.&nbsp; Lacy's moans joined his as her hips lifted, pushed, seeking more.&nbsp; How she could have fought against this, denied herself this pleasure, clenched her legs together time after time and demanded her body not feel, not want ... this.<br><br>He paused, and her eyes opened, lids lifting lazily over cloudy gray eyes, lips parted as her breasts rose and fell with every shallow breath.&nbsp; His eyes met hers, and she could see the curve of his smile, his chin pillowed on her thighs, the tip of his tongue still pressed against the crease.<br><br><em>"Why did you stop?" </em> Lacy's voice, husky with desire, took on the semblance of a pout as her fingers curved against the shape of his head.&nbsp; Had he been one of the others, she would have challenged him, told him to get on with it, insulted his manhood, his desire, feigned disinterest and let his own guilt and desire for the forbidden, perhaps even the desire to be punished, spur him on.&nbsp; Yet Juan had done nothing to earn her ire, save perhaps being in the wrong place, at the wrong time ... and in the wrong company.<br><br>With an effort, she pushed away the memory of Satario's smug little grin, along with a faint glimmer of discomfort at how similar Juan's was as he gazed up at her at the odd angle.<br><br>Without waiting for an answer, her hands let go of their anchors, the wheel, his hair, and moved to her shirt.&nbsp; Without hesitation, she grasped the ends and drew it&nbsp; up over her head without a trace of embarrassment, revealing a good bit of taut, tanned skin.&nbsp; Her navel was an innie, a dark shadow on a stomach toned by her very physical work on the ranch.&nbsp; On her left side was a small tattoo, a crimson heart decorated with horns and a curving forked tail pointing ... when she was not twisted at least ... to that spot where Juan's tongue had just been exploring.&nbsp; Her breasts were not enough to fill Juan's large hands, but the strained against the lace of her bra, the tips hard with her arousal and rosy.&nbsp; The shirt was tossed casually to the dashboard, freeing her own hands to cup her breasts, squeezing them and pushing them together while her thumbs lazily circled the nipples while her eyes fastened on her would-be lover in mute challenge.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>16-06-2016, 01:23:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Once again, Juan’s mask seemed on the verge of slipping. As if Lacy’s appeal – her allure or her aura, or maybe just her actions – were enough to puncture the veil of shadowy desire covering his mind – he seemed about to revert to the man he’d been at the bar. Quiet. Shy. Confident, but not when it came to things like this. Presumably Catholic and conservative enough to never use a condom. But then the veil thickened, became a fist around his mind, thinning out his thoughts further and further, taking his freedoms from him against his will. Trapped within his flesh, Juan fought waves of all-consuming desire and a sense of sadistic amusement. More than that though, he fought to retain his sense of self.<br><br>In the shifting, stripped shadows of the barn, Juan’s eyes seemed to shift momentarily – going from dark brown to a more familiar steely shade of black. His lips seemed on the precipice of a rather precise curve. But then those semblances seemed to fade back into the eager Juan, the ferocious lover who did not hesitate to lap at his partner’s core with absolute abandon. His sharp-angled, lean face came in and up, his torso pressing Lacy’s hands against her chest as he came in to kiss her, smearing her flavor across her lips. <br><br>The motion of his dive drove his pelvis against her thighs, his astonishingly over-sized cock more of a hardened log than a dick as it thwapped against her flesh, the sound of it louder even than his growling kisses. Almost comically so. As it was, the big man paused to gift his partner with a lazily lascivious grin, as if he knew *precisely* what she was thinking as his girth settled into place.&nbsp; Then he was kissing her again, one hand sliding up along her jaw, fingers settling in her hair to pull her into a deeper, more passionate kiss – as if the romantic insinuations of the motion could somehow force her to take him as more than a life support system for that monstrous cockflesh. <br><br>Then he was settling back, as far away from her as possible, his hand wrapped around himself – fingers *just* able to close around that girth, stroking up and down in slow, sinuous motions. Returning the show, the plump tip of his uncut cock coming in and out of view in a truly tantalizing rhythm. All challenge in his shadowed eyes, now. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>20-06-2016, 23:49:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://s19.postimg.org/tn0n9uw0j/f9f43eb6c299e8332d37d1cfaa0d50df.jpg)</div>If the two halves of Lacy's psyche had been more reconciled, instead of engaged in a full-fledged battle, she might have been more aware of the similar struggle on Juan's face.&nbsp; Her battle, however, had always been one of extremes, with the victor holding almost complete sway.&nbsp; Tonight, it was her hunger, the demon taint, that had control, and that part of Lacy didn't know enough to give a damn whether Juan was a good Catholic boy who would confess and do penance come Sunday morning or whether he knew how to use that loaded weapon that nature had armed him with.&nbsp; It didn't matter, since if he didn't, she'd simply take what she wanted and leave him scratching his head when he COULD think again.<br><br>And while he was wrestling with his conscience, or his desires, or maybe just saying a prayer that he'd last long enough to do honor to the oversized package barely hidden in his jeans, Lacy got him out of the truck and into the enclosure where old fashioned bales of hay were still sold, fold those places that didn't need it to feed herds of hungry cattle, but perhaps a goat or two and still needed the more 'hand-heftable' size.&nbsp; A blanket was more than enough to make a bed where a couple of those bales had broken ... or been broken, more likely, by someone else who needed a place for fucking besides a bed.<br><br>Those sticky bales left made a decent substitute for the softer seating of the cab of the truck, and without the gear shift in the way, there was plenty of room for playing.&nbsp; Lacy, this Lacy, was in the mood for play, and when the passionate Juan emerged once more, she was ready for him, her tongue delving into his mouth without hesitation, her tongue jousting with his for a moment before circling sinuously, sensually, reveling in her own taste and his mixed.&nbsp; The night was plenty warm, and their bodies were warmer, and she craved, coveted the mixing of sweat, of saliva, of slick, warm juices coating ...<br><br>Whether it was him or her, neither Lacy really knew or cared, but the heat of his cock was suddenly right there against her thigh, impossibly big, and hot ... a brand against her skin, even as she knew the comparison was ridiculous.&nbsp; Lacy groaned at the challenge, the sound made feline with her approval, but again, he seemed determined to make her wait, pulling back to smile at her as if he was looking at her, instead of just tits and a pussy that just happened to be on a symmetrical flame, and his hand was gentle along her face as he kissed her again.<br><br>It was Lacy's turn to be confused, even the half that had retreated into the safety of the shadows.&nbsp; His kiss was that of a lover, not a punisher, not someone who wanted to be punished, and instead of just pulling her off onto the blanket where they could both feed their hungers, he slid away from her her, and started stroking himself.&nbsp; Despite herself, Lacy's eyes were drawn to that motion, the dark, sun and wind darkened skin against the backdrop of a dark thatch of hair, rising and falling in a rhythm as old, as primal, as time itself.&nbsp; It was mesmerizing, but it also wakened something else in Lacy, a sense of calculation.<br><br>He wasn't just being led by his dick to where she wanted him.&nbsp; He was leading, and though she didn't know the why of it, she suddenly found herself confronted with the suspicion that the tables had turned.&nbsp; Through faintly narrowed eyes, she studied him, her head cocked, the blonde hair that looked softer, silkier than that of a ranch worker who exposed it to sun and wind rather than the avid ministrations of Betty or Angie down at the Crimp 'n' Curl falling into untidy waves now that the hat had been discarded unmourned.<br><em><br>"I'll bet you're very popular with the senoritas," </em>she purred softly, her eyes lowering without the faintest hint of embarrassment as she watched his hand play over his oversized cock, imagining his grip replaced by her walls.&nbsp; She stood, her own hands sliding down over her bare sides, over the short skirt, brushing her thighs as she pushed the skirt up, and grasped the remnants of her panties and divested herself of them, letting the skirt fall back down to hide the blonde curls, and the swollen lips that he'd already sampled.<br><br><em>"Would you like some help with that, or are you going to be selfish, Juan?&nbsp; I'll bet your madre taught you to share ... or the mamacitas?"&nbsp; </em> Her tone was light, even playful, but there was something watchful as well as hungry in those storm-gray eyes.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>27-06-2016, 23:18:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Satario’s mind was divided in quite a few directions at the moment, two of which included a particular preacher’s daughter and possessing a rather strapping young Spanish man named Juan. In the first instance, he was hungrily watching a girl’s curved rump as it writhed and wiggled back, until his delicious cock finally managed to fill his lover’s ass. It was her first time enjoying that sort of pleasure – her moans were positively ridiculous, as if his dick was made of cocaine – and he drew in a measure of power and delight at the experience. The flesh that his body felt was nice, too, but nothing quite compared to the sensations coming from the other aforementioned direction were offering.<br><br>Physical pleasure was one thing. Titillation of this sort was another.<br><br>He wore Juan like a suit of clothes that was a little too big. The man’s mind writhed and ached to escape his hold, but the pleasure and sensations that Satario forced through the brute lulled him to quiescence quickly enough. Through their combined senses, Satario felt Lacy take control, guiding him where she wanted, watched her watch him, her words as salacious as their inclement collision.<br><br>Still coaxing his oversized rod, Juan’s lips quirked into a subtly cruel smile. <em>“So very popular, mi mariposa. But never selfish.” </em>He let his hand slide away, beside the curve of his muscular hip, then up his side, doffing his shirt in a slowly sensuous motion that seemed designed to entice his partner even more. Curved, flexing muscle carved in shadow and light came into view – his chest broad, powerful and hairless. The rest of his wardrobe, boots included, followed seconds after, leaving his swarthy, smooth skin on truly indulgent display. Other than a few scars, the sort a hardworking man might pick up from a life of labor, the giant of a man seemed made out of creamy coffee – a confection entirely for her. Only his knowing smirk, that hungry echo of challenge, suggested that he was more than a toy for her satisfaction. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>29-06-2016, 23:54:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://s19.postimg.org/tn0n9uw0j/f9f43eb6c299e8332d37d1cfaa0d50df.jpg)</div>It had been too long, too fucking long.<br><br>Without her even realizing it, Lacy Dalton lost the war with her demon blood that night, a war she hadn't even been aware of fighting.&nbsp; Oh, she knew that she was fighting something, something inside her that drove her to cruel things, but she'd always just assumed that those who said she was born bad had been right -- including her father.<br><br>They were right, but they were wrong, too.&nbsp; She'd been wrong, though she was a good way from understanding that.&nbsp; At the moment it, she wasn't concerned enough to give it a second thought.<br><br>This was something new, intriguing.<br><br>Her head moved, small, intent movements, as did her eyes, as she took in dozens of little nuances.&nbsp; Most she disregarded, like the tiny bit of resistance that showed in subtle traces, mostly around the eyes and in the fingertips.&nbsp; His body was a work of art, meant to be captured, perhaps, by the clever blade of a wood carver, working in a medium that would do his lovely skin tone justice.&nbsp; The hay was a good backdrop, though she was more than happy to let him suffer the pricks, particularly since the one he had for her was surely equal to every straw combined.<br><br>It was that little curl to his lips that made her the tiniest bit cautious -- and it was insignificant next to the need that was roiling inside.&nbsp; She'd had a taste, bad pun or not, of what his mouth and fingers could offer, and she was in no mind to settle for less.<br><br>When his underwear and pants, the last of his clothing, hit the hay-strewn floor, Lacy was on him.&nbsp; Her relatively small frame packed a lithe strength courtesy of her bloodlines, bearing Juan down to the ground upon a hay cushion.&nbsp; Lacy's thighs were astride his, her short skirt hiking up in a wad of black denim above her sex, the trimmed curls providing a tickle to the press of his balls, the top of his shaft as she bent over him, devouring his lips, his tongue, in a ravenous kiss while her hands worked at the fastening of her bra in the front.&nbsp; It gave with a little, plastic *pop*, and she pushed the fabric to the side, letting her breasts fall free to bob with the unhurried movement of her hips, a hint of the dance that would come ... soon.<br><br>With her clothes out of the way, her little black boots still on, and her knees cushioned by a layer of hay, her eagerness was heightened, but ... another oddity ... there was no driving urge to hurry things along.&nbsp; She straightened enough to drag her lips from his and gazed down into those ebon-dark eyes ... and then bent again, letting her lips fall this time on his neck, as she breathed in deep the scent -- sweat, beer, some cheap cologne or aftershave that had a hint of sandalwood, hay, the musty scent of the floor beneath -- and then began laying a slow, meandering trail of kisses, punctuated by flicks of her tongue, and little bites with just the hint of an edge to them, her small, white teeth holding skin as she looked up at him, playful but with a touch of malice, a warning against that little hint of ruthlessness she could just barely sense, fainter than the hint of cologne. The lips of her sex dragged down to tickle at his thigh as she inched downward, a movement that she exaggerated to keep her own blaze ignited.<br><br>She didn't speak, not then, but rather chose to let her actions speak for her, and to see if he was one of those whom the silence made uncomfortable.&nbsp; Lacy enjoyed the silence, as much as the liquid roll of his vowels.&nbsp; She could hear her heartbeat, and his, and the shuffle of hay as she moved, the little pop of her lips, his soft grunts and groans, and her own.<br><br>That was more a symphony to her ears than a bunch of scratching, chirping crickets and croaking frogs who were yet to find their fun for the evening could ever be.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>07-07-2016, 06:50:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Juan seemed content to allow the change in power, the flow and ebb to the game that passed between them, to meander in his lover’s direction. Her kisses were fire, igniting his rock hard body as surely as a total conflagration, the kiss of the succubus drawing such lust as his physique had never felt before. The man wasn’t just hard. He was tumescent, monstrous; his cock granite and throbbing with the heat of a thousand, thousand suns. Now, the man-beast trapped beneath Satario’s iron-fisted control was fighting *forward* and not back, urging them both on, to take and lay claim to this majestic woman. Now, Satario had to exercise control. <br><br>The mewling gasps of his other lover – twined so richly in his primary body – eased the process more than enough for the experienced creature to handle the dual business of resisting Lacy’s latent abilities and Juan’s blundering, raw need. <br><br>“Such a cocktease,” Juan murmured, his accent softened until it almost vanished beneath a husky rasp. “Hungry for the flavor of my desire, or perhaps to push me over the edge until I take you completely?” In the half-and-half coverage of the lights, Juan’s head tilted to the side, casting one eye completely in darkness, half of his face that of a man truly in the grip of near-madness. The other…anyone’s guess.<br><br>His hands came out and down, rolling through Lacy’s hair, across her scalp and shoulders, yet despite his words he did not hurry her on, did not urge her to complete the dance. Instead, he seemed content to reach between them and allow his massive palms to lay rest across her breasts, cupping, then lightly coaxing the sensitive skin around the twin peaks – caressing with velveteen care before applying his nails to the aching tips, tugging, squeezing – adding the flavor of pain to their dance before caressing the moment away, his hands smoothing downward, along her hips to briefly caress the creases of her inner thighs. Then they were at her back, easily spanning her side-to-side, beaconing her on. Urging her to feast in a glut of desire. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>11-07-2016, 02:32:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://s19.postimg.org/tn0n9uw0j/f9f43eb6c299e8332d37d1cfaa0d50df.jpg)</div>Something in Lacy's head whispered a warning -- her other half.&nbsp; His words were not the words of a laborer who spoke about as much English as she did Spanish.&nbsp; Her lips pressed upon dark skin as her eyes rolled upward, a glint of intelligent curiosity warring with lust.&nbsp; Even his voice was changed, along with his manner.<br><br>His hands reached for hers, mussing her hair, a gentle disregard without either glee or apology.&nbsp; Even the roughness of his hands upon her breast was not the simple roughness of a man who was accustomed to living by the sweat of his brow.&nbsp; There was calculation in that touch, a delicacy of careful punishment that she recognized.<br><br>It was curious, indeed, but curiosity was spice to her desire, a blaze of tart, a squeeze of lemon, to enhance the savory.&nbsp; Curiosity would not kill her hunger.&nbsp; Lips curved in a smile as she leaned into his hands, and her mouth moved lower, opening wider to cover the light rough rasp of her tongue, and then her teeth sunk into skin and the muscle beneath, hard enough to pinch but no more.&nbsp; The knowledge gave her grey eyes sparkle in the darkness as she gazed up into his face, inviting his challenge for a moment before she had done with the tease and shifted, setting herself in the hay between his legs.&nbsp; Her fingers rested lightly on his thighs, thumbs raising to brush at the hardened upthrust length of his cock.&nbsp; It was a monument of natural beauty, a work of art and desire, painted by lust ... and it invited a moment of admiration as its due.<br><br>But only a moment.&nbsp; Lacy's eyes cut upward once more, seeking the dark eyes of the man above her, before her lips curved up, exposing her teeth in an almost menacing gesture that turned to amusement as those teeth closed over the engorged ruddy head .... but at the last moment, her lips cushioned the teeth as she took him into her mouth and on deep into her throat as her tongue began to play.<br><br>The sounds from her throat were close to that of one beginning a feast after a long famine.&nbsp; The skin was like silk, and wet from her saliva, so slick and hard, the skin tugging and stretching from the suction of her lips as Lacy all but purred in pure enjoyment as the taste of him filled her mouth, an appetizer before the feast.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>14-07-2016, 00:05:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Dual pleasures rushed through Satario – each a unique timbre; one was salacious and taboo, a corruption that was, on the surface, perfect for a being such as himself; the other, a far longer game and with truly fulfilling implications. It was as if one eye was on a girl’s lower back, curved ass cheeks pressing into his pelvis, and his other watched as Lacy took his improbably large cock into her mouth. <br><br>Of course, there was a diminishment of pleasure, experiencing things this way: both second-hand, through Juan’s senses, and in dividing his consciousness. That helped him maintain control over Juan’s over-eager and, apparently, under-utilized manhood. The man’s body wanted to climb the cliff simply from Lacy’s lightest kiss and Satario had no intention of allowing the moment to pass that quickly. Quickly enough, sure – he wanted the girl for himself, after all – but not *that* quickly. <br><br>“What’s that?” Juan growled, his hand sliding through Lacy’s hair. Not grabbing, not forcing as a cruder beast might have done, but gentle, almost tenderly. “You want me to fuck you? Starved to have you? You’re going to have to do better than that. You’re going to have to show me how much you want it. Give as much as you want to take.” His low growl of challenge was punctuated with a slow, deliberate flaring of his nostrils. Speaking was taking effort – concentration was not without cost, she did have her mouth around his cock, after all, but this man clearly wanted to see her best efforts before he filled her through-and-through with that delicious fucktoy. <br><br>“Give it to me, girl. Make me ache to fuck you.”<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gypsy</strong> on <strong>16-07-2016, 20:39:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://s19.postimg.org/tn0n9uw0j/f9f43eb6c299e8332d37d1cfaa0d50df.jpg)</div>There had always been a pleasure for Lacy's hidden side in kneeling before one of the relatively few men that she had fucked.&nbsp; To her shame, she was little better than a slut, but to the demon half, she was a fucking, repressed lily-white virgin saving herself for some white knight, a prince charming that was probably going to turn into a frog by the second or third fuck at best. <br><br>The man that the latter half had chosen tonight was different.&nbsp; Lacy had no reason to dislike him -- other than the fact that he was a man, and she had little more respect for the gender than she had for herself.&nbsp; He had done her no wrong, he had not come sniffing around her while professing love for another.&nbsp; No, she had chosen him simply because he was in the proximity of Satario, and not Satario, the arrogant, sublimely confident rich fuck who been at the right place and right time to fuck over the piece of shit who'd chosen her best friend over her. <br><br>He'd even been a little sweet, wanting her not only because she had come on to him like a bitch in heat but because she had chosen him.&nbsp; Now, however, he sounded very much like she imagined his employer ... both their employers, come to think of it ... would sound.&nbsp; Cock-sure, challenging, offering up the piece of meat that housed the brain that overruled the one in a man's head nine out of ten times like it was made of gold, like he'd been the one choosing and she had to earn his lust.<br><br>Something was wrong, here.&nbsp; That was enough to make the flames of lust thin and flicker.&nbsp; Lacy's demon half might well long to let herself be led around by what lay between her legs, the equal of any man, but it was also possessed by a cunning that did not like to be bested.<br><br>Those stormy grey eyes cut up to Juan's face, hunger still in the rolling bobs of her head, the lap of her tongue on heated, salty-flesh that distended her mouth and jaw to an extent that would have quickly tired her human half.&nbsp; Yet the hunger was not at the forefront anymore; the cunning was.&nbsp; The angle of her head changed subtly, so that when she lifted her head, the edge of her lower teeth dragged along the underside of his cock.&nbsp; Had she not been curious as well, had Lacy's disdain not been softened by the earlier indications of innocence ...<br><br>Instead, she softened the warning with a circling swirl of her tongue along the ridge and over the crown, a darting probe at the tip before she let the king-sized cock slip from her lips and raised up, her hands slipping from his thighs to her own knees.<br><br>It would be amusing, perhaps, to let Lacy emerge from her lust-soaked stupor, instead of waiting until the deed had been done, leaving her with only hazy memories of going to the roadside bar and leaving with a dark-haired, dark-eyed cowboy hung like one of her prize stallions.&nbsp; That would no doubt mean, though, that the ache between her legs would be one of frustration rather than fulfillment.<br><br><em>"Well, well,"</em> she purred, her tongue emerging to probe at her faintly bruised lips, capturing the taste of him as if she was still deciding up what meal would best suit her hunger.&nbsp; <em>"And just what is hiding down in the depths of little Juan, I wonder.&nbsp; Coming out to play?"</em><br><br>She did not immediately suspect Satario, but rather that circumstances had brought to her a kindred spirit -- like called to like, after all.&nbsp; Even when 'like' was a couple of pathetic assholes, such as Brad and Claire ... or Claire and Lacy, for that matter.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Cowgirl and the Devil (Dariusfallenstar X GypsyRose)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dariusfallenstar</strong> on <strong>22-07-2016, 08:09:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Juan growled in response to the lapse in pleasure, the ebb from the flow of delight slicking his overwhelming shaft. This was not what he’d anticipated, but it was not a bad alteration of plans. The tall man’s smile was positively shark-like as he rolled forward and reached out, gripping Lacy’s shoulders and pulling her back toward the straw. One big hand pushed her skirt up as he moved between her thighs. The difference in their stature was almost ludicrous; Juan’s hips spread Lacy’s practically flat as he moved toward his goal. <br><br>He paused poised at the precipice, his eyes dark with desire as he hovered a centimeter from her entrance. One hand holding his taut frame in place, he reached down and stroked himself once, then leaned in until the tip of his need pressed against her folds. That holding hand took charge, sliding his slickened tip up and down her folds, against her core. Teasing, teasing, rolling over her clit once, twice. Then…<br><br>“Ah, fuck it,” Juan growled, too impatient, his body far too seduced by Lacy’s innate abilities for Satario’s desire to tease to remain in command. With a single, smooth motion the giant man began forcing his thick cock into her tight confines, a moan that bore some resemblance to an earthquake rocking his chest and sending vibrations through the both of them as he worked into her perfectly-made tunnel.<br><br>On the other end of the experience, Satario’s holy partner shuddered with orgasm after orgasm as the man lost control over some of his power, the orgasmic lust he inspired in the girl taking hold and wringing her dry around his manhood. The delicious experience distracted him long enough for Juan to take instinctive control, big hands slapping down on Lacy’s hips as he began a truly brutal fucking, the huge man already on the cusp of his orgasm.<br><br>Without Satario’s influence, Juan might have been well-endowed, but he was no supernatural lover.<br>
			</dd>
		</dl>
		<div id="footer" class="smalltext">
			
			<span class="smalltext" style="display: inline; visibility: visible; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=credits" title="Simple Machines Forum" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF 2.0.19</a> |
 <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org/about/smf/license.php" title="License" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF © 2021</a>, <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org" title="Simple Machines" target="_blank" class="new_win">Simple Machines</a>
			</span>
		</div>