Free The Cowboy's Rules: 2 (Cowboys After Dark:) by Maggie Carpenter

between being utterly turned on, and somewhat disturbed.
    “You know what it means when I pull on the reins, don’t make me ask again,” he warned.
    Oh, my, God, this is sooo bizarre, but, ooooh, it’s so hot in a weird twisted way.
    A sharp smack in the center of her bottom snapped her from the thought, then the reins tugged again; abruptly grasping what he was asking for, she dropped her head.
    “Better,” he remarked. “You stay like that. If you lift your chin you’ll get the bit and a slap.”
    Her heart was battering; this was strange, it was bizarre, it was an unbelievable turn-on, but before she could think further she felt something slide over her head.
    What now? What’s he doing?
    Her question was answered as two wide shields fell against the sides of her face blocking her peripheral vision.
    Shit, blinkers, he’s put blinkers on me instead of a blindfold.
    The gushing heat flooded her sex, and as her ass wiggled in response she heard him softly chuckle.
    “My little filly likes her trainin’,” he purred.
    She could hear the smile in his voice, and sighing deeply she felt herself begin to surrender to the decadent play.
    “That’s the sigh I’ve been waitin’ for,” he said gently, stroking her back. “Drop to your hands.”
    Falling forward she arched her back in a lewd, unspoken invitation; the bit prevented speech, and suddenly overcome with an intense craving for his cock she’d had no other way to make her need known. When his fingers brushed across her slit she thrust back in an urgent plea for more.
    “Ahhh, you love this,” he mumbled, “I knew you would.”
    The gentle pressure on the corners of her mouth told her he still held the reins, and the position of her head was correct, but when he laid the leather straps across her back releasing the tension and letting them drape on either side of her, she took it as a signal that she could relax.
    “I think this lovely bottom needs some warmin’ up,” he declared. “It’s gettin’ a bit nippy in here.”
    She closed her eyes as the tongue of a crop began lightly tapping her backside, tickling her skin in a tantalizing dance.
    Of course, a crop, what else would he-
    Before she could finish the thought the tiny piece of leather bit her flesh, eliciting a muffled cry and a sharp tensing of her cheeks. The swat was followed by another, then another, and as the tongue frolicked merrily over her backside she jerked and squirmed with each fiery kiss.
    When it finally paused she gasped her relief, let her body fall limp, and uttered muffled cries of pain, but the respite was short-lived. The teasing tickled its way down her thighs, between her legs, then teased across her pussy.
    “You have rules to learn and remember,” he declared, “and since your entire focus seems to be between your legs I think that’s the place for my crop to underline each of them. Find a way to show me you heard what I said.”
    Not knowing what she could do she wriggled her ass at him, and was met with a soft caress.
    “What a lovely filly you are, and such a proud, beautiful rump,” he remarked, running his palm over her reddened skin. “Are you ready to hear your rules?”
    She wriggled again, then waited.
    “Rule number one, you keep all the feed in the sealed containers, and you have one of the boys empty the bags. No heavy lifting.”
    The crop’s tongue slapped against her pussy, causing her to throw back her head and wail a muffled yowl.
    “Did you understand?”
    Mewling through the bit she wriggled her bottom.
    “Rule number two, the barn aisle and tack room must be swept clean each time you leave here, no debris or shavings littering the floor.”
    Again the crop swished up, stinging her labia, and again she howled her muffled protest.
    “Did you understand?” he repeated.
    With a loud whimper she squirmed furiously.
    “Rule number three, all your tack must be kept clean your bridles hung properly, and your saddles covered. I know you’re