Horse Breaker (Mf)
Frankie, a new hand at the horse ranch, is under the tutelage of an esteemed horse breaker, Jackson. He is rugged, older and hard but at the same time, incredibly gentle and caring. One night when they finish the last horse breaking, it is too dark to head back down the Montana mountain they're on. Jackson and Frankie share a long, slow-burning night of passion that none involved will forget! More
Frankie, a new hand at the horse ranch, is under the tutelage of an esteemed horse breaker, Jackson. He is rugged, older and hard but at the same time, incredibly gentle and caring. One night when they finish the last horse breaking, it is too dark to head back down the Montana mountain they're on. Jackson and Frankie share a long, slow-burning night of passion that none involved will forget!
Warning: This romantic, sexy 4700 word erotic story features heavy foreplay, horse breaking, deep kissing and hard, explicit, dripping wet sex. Saddle up!
He didn’t talk much. Actually, he barely talked at all. I’d spoken with the man so little that I wasn’t really sure whether “Jackson” was his first name or his last name. He answered to it though so that was good enough. Anyway, we were on the last horse of the contract and then it was time to head back to town. The way this all works is that someone will give the ranch a few horses that are causing problems, and we – or well, Jackson – breaks them, starts to train them, and when they’re ready, he gives them back to the owner. He’s some kind of a legend in the field, because people will bring horses from all over the country to him for this treatment.
It was about half-past five if I had to guess. He was just finishing up the last horse, and I was sitting on a fence post watching him work his magic. He really was something else; he’d let the horse run around for a few minutes, then as soon as it relaxed he’d walk up to it, put his hand to the thing’s nose and before you know it, he’d be saddling them. This last one was giving him a lot of trouble though. He had tried his normal tricks already but none of them seemed to do very much. This big, red-brown stallion with a black stripe down his face was a real bad customer. Jackson tried to rein him, tried just saddling him, tried backing up to him, and tried feeding him. Nothing worked at all. Or so I thought, anyway. It was all a put-on, turns out.
“Frankie,” he called out in a stoic, calm voice, “Come here a second.”
I wasn’t entirely sure I’d ever heard him say my name. It was a little exciting, for some reason. His voice matched his face and his body. He was sun-browned, taller than me and nothing but lean muscle. He had a kind face, gentle smile lines at the corners of his eyes, but he couldn’t have been more than forty. Light colored eyes that reflected the sky and short hair that were nearly always hidden under a cowboy hat topped him off. He had that quiet, calm, self-assured manner that I just always associated with “cowboy” in my mind. Right now, his shirt sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, and as he strained against the lasso he’d just tossed over this stallion, the muscles of his forearms tightened and bulged with the effort. I’d never spent much time looking at him before, but he was the whole package, I realized, and here I was, halfway up a mountain with him.
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