Bone's Country 11 (Patreon)

Sophia shook her head wearily, hair draping across her sweaty face. “You’re making me ravish myself,” she told him weakly. “Chingado—you could at least let me pretend I don’t want it!”

Her nodding her acquiescence wasn’t enough for Bone. He came out fast, tempting her with another rapid surge, but only let her feel a slow press inside. The vein-seamed underside of his manhood ran across her clitoris where it beaconed in the upper arch of her opening and Sophia’s eyes crossed, her lips parting in a silent gasp.

Her recent climax rushed back towards her, but only a little ways. She knew she would need more, more that only Bone could provide, before the ecstasy was hers for a second time.

“Fuck me into Heaven. Please—please—don't ever stop…”

Bone’s expression appeared more of rictus than rapture: eyes narrowed, teeth clenched, air puffing through flaring nostrils. It took all he had to resist joining Sophia in her ultimate joy.

She babbled nonstop, begging in both English and Spanish to have him again and again and again, and over and over he fulfilled the pleas he’d driven her to. And with Sophia now fully admitting and in the grip of her need, he endlessly fed her all she asked for.

Mighty blasts of pure delight careened through both of them, bursting from the jarring impacts of their two bodies. Sophia cried out until she could not keep up her vocal desperation, only release a litany of “please, por favor, I need it!” Not aware herself of which language she spoke in, but perhaps knowing it didn’t matter when the meaning in her voice was so clear.

When Bone reeled out of her, all the pleasure she felt seemed to sap her strength, but it was returned in that heartbeat before he plunged back into her, when her anticipation was at a fever pitch from knowing just how good it would feel when he was all the way in.

Sophia’s delirium was total. Her surrender was absolute. All she wanted was to be used by this man, her man, because she knew that could be the only source of this delirious transport.

Fueled by ever rising waves of unbearable passion, she defied Bone’s hold on her to thrust herself backwards, taking every inch he had into her undulating passage until the feel of his wiry pubic hairs scratching her buttocks told her she’d gotten all he could give.

Bone held her down against the windowsill, keeping her in place until he could pull out, arch his back, and ram himself back inside her. Despite her pleas, he held himself there, panting as he ground his hips in a slow, wide circle. Sophia could only shriek while he took full advantage of having her filled to the limit, every inch of her feeling his size.

“Oh… oh… MY!” Sophia gasped breathlessly, trying to think despite her screaming mind, trying to remember her last fuck.

It couldn’t have been this good. But it wasn’t possible that it kept getting better. She feared sometimes that Bone was breaking her in like a wild horse—and now she feared that the more she was broken, the better this would feel.

Another phallic jolt snapped her out of her reverie, pushing her closed to sexual satedness, though she doubted if even Bone could ever satisfy the lust he’d sparked in her. Her glazed eyes focused and she saw a long shadow crossing the spaces between the familiar storefronts of her downturned view.

Her eyes traced the shadow to a female figure, easily discernible despite the distance, because all she seemed to wear was boots, poncho, and a gunbelt around her waist—judging by the protruding, holstered pistol at her side. A Stetson hid her face: there was no certainty that she was looking at Sophia’s embarrassing circumstances, this strange woman with not a stitch between the bare skin of her legs, her arms, and the glow of yellow moonlight caressing her (even some of her naked midsection showed when the wind stirred her poncho).

But the worry of discovery was enough to shut Sophia up. For a moment. Then she whimpered deep in her throat. The whimper became a moan and the moan changed to a cry of pleasure. And once more she clamped her jaw shut, refusing to let her delight make its way past her lips.

“Can’t whisper the orgasms you have,” Bone rasped, a chuckle in his dry voice. “Seems to me you’d enjoy yourself a lot more if someone shut that pretty mouth for you.”

“Yes! Por favor! Don’t let her see me—not anyone but you—”

Hand in her hair, Bone pulled her up, swept her away from the window, forced her to the wall beside it. She was spread there like a bearskin rug upon a floor, Bone behind her, holding her to the wall with an arm across her shoulder blades. His other hand covering her mouth, gagging her, making her own hot breath suffocatingly kick back against her.

“That’s one scream you owe me,” he told her, pounding home the thrusts they both needed.

Sophia’s embarrassment over possibly having been seen this way coupled with the feel of being gagged. She physically could not call for help. It was like she was being ravaged. Like she was free to enjoy being ravaged. She could trust Bone to hold her mouth shut. She could let him force her—he would force her to enjoy things she couldn’t enjoy on her own.

Eternities passed in the gaps between thrusts… brief, elliptical eternities… Bone wasn’t holding back now, wasn’t taunting her. He was giving her everything she could ask for and more, seeking out his own finish in whatever pleasure she found.

Sophia went weak—no strength, no defiance left—not even energy to scream. She grunted with satisfaction each time Bone rutted her. Then she didn’t have any control either. Without trying to, she rose up the pinnacle and burst until there was nothing left of her but oblivion.

“Si… coño… coño…” she moaned, enraptured and enthralled, as her moment hit and took up all her will. It was excruciatingly delicious, better than the ones she’d had before—but Sophia knew it would be even better if she could scream.

“Sophia—” Bone’s voice sounded from behind her, and his voice sounded so unlike the baying animal that it had been, she barely recognized him.

She felt the first hot geyser of his arrival; Bone held himself in her to be sure she got it. Then his hips charged at hers again, pumping her body against the wall despite him already being buried in her.

Sophia felt him spurt again—her own gasping release helped along by it. Everything was his grunts in her ear as he battered her body and gave her more of his seed. More and more and more, until something like softness came over his prick and he pulled out of her, like she needed the space inside her to fit in all that he’d left her with.

And Sophia was half-sure that she did.

She didn’t know what was holding her up now. She felt no strength in her legs. They seemed as firm as churros.

Habit, she supposed. He had taken her against the wall so hard that it didn’t know how to release her.

She felt his spunk beginning to course back out of her womanhood, stimulating the flaring tissues of her sex as if to remind her all over again of what she had been used for. And how exquisitely.

“You couldn’t hold back at the end,” Sophia said, head hung, her ass aching all over again from how his loins had bounced off it with each stroke she took. “You loved my little cooch too much. I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had.”

She slipped downward as gravity finally realized Bone was done with her. The man caught her. His hands were soft as calluses could be while he lowered her to the rug.

“You can sleep there tonight,” Bone said, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Si,” Sophia said, full of an awful satisfaction… a smile ghosting on her lips… she had pleased her slavedriver… earned the savagery he visited upon her. It contented her.

A whore would do such a thing for money. She had done this because she enjoyed it. He might call her a puta, but it was a pet name now, not what she was.

She was an animal. Of course an animal would sleep on the floor.

***

Bone laid on his back, the bed soft, the covers cool, his view of Sophia unhindered. His gunbelt hung from the headboard and his boots were at the foot of the bed. He hadn’t bothered to zip up his fly or tuck away his member. It’d been too tender for him to want to manhandle it after he’d used it so roughly with Sophia and now that she laid there on the rug, all ravaged and sated, stirring with the memory like a dog with a bone—it seemed right for them both to be lying here like this. Like they might pick up where they left off at any moment.

It'd been the first time in a while that Sophia’s warmth was missing from his own. He didn’t feel cold without her. He was still hot with anger and it was mollified by seeing Sophia down there on the rug, heaped in her desolation. She’d been punished, accepted her punishment, enjoyed it on his terms. But the anger lingered, though Bone told himself he’d made his point.

It made him wonder if the anger hadn’t been simmering for a lot longer than that evening.

When he looked at Sophia, though, that anger tangled with regret. He started arguing with himself about how justified he was; the necessity of the argument bothered him more than being right comforted him.

He had to stop looking at Sophia, much as he enjoyed the sight of her, almost like a lazy cat in a sunbeam now. Tiredness gripped him and Bone waded towards sleep, knowing that the morning would clear out enough of the cobwebs for clarity to shine through. And he’d have something to do, with Frenly and the trek to No Hope.

But still he wondered: if what he’d done hadn’t vented all of his rage and hadn’t left him feeling soothed, hell, why had he done it?

Sleep came slowly to him. He spent the night troubled and when he woke, he did not feel rested.