Wicked Ride
Authors: Sawyer Bennett
Tags: #Contemporary, #erotic, #Wyoming, #steamy, #romance, #cowboy
By Sawyer Bennett
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2016 by Sawyer Bennett
Published by Big Dog Books
ISBN: 978-1-940883-46-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including
information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is
by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Logan
I think this woman may be the
death of me.
A dire prediction, but probably
true.
Probably true because she’s
not mine to have and I’d probably take her, even at the risk to
my own safety.
I’m
fixated on her… obsessed really. That black-as-midnight hair
and huge, blue eyes the color of the Wyoming sky. Her skin pale…
almost translucent. She looks otherworldly, in fact, and it’s
no secret that every man in The Silo is obsessed with her as much as
I am.
I have to have her, and maybe
tonight will be the night. My dick is already hard and aching with
the thought, and if I’m
given the pleasure of her company, my cock won’t even get to
touch her pussy, which I’m betting is sweeter than honey. I try
to look nonchalant as her “owner” walks around The Silo,
chatting up the various patrons and deciding who gets to play with
her tonight. He’s passed me by on three other occasions. I
expect tonight won’t be any different because he knows I don’t
have the type of bank he’ll be asking for when he ultimately
auctions her off. So many men slobbering to get a taste of her, but
only one sweet, virginal girl to go around.
That’s
right.
She’s
a virgin.
Twenty years old and looks like a
porcelain china doll that would break if not carefully handled. But I
also know she’s
stronger than she looks as I’ve watched her take a mouth
fucking like a champ.
She’s
a contradiction.
She’s
most likely my downfall.
Like I said, she’ll
probably be the death of me, but it’s a risk I’m willing
to take.
Logan
I’m
in the viewing room again. Three rows of seats, stadium style. I’m
in the front row, so I have a completely unobstructed view of what’s
going on fifteen feet down below us. I’ve been here before and
it’s all familiar to me, but not in a way that provides
comfort.
But it’s familiar in a
way that I know I have to see this nightmare through to the end, even
if I’m not
sure exactly where it’s going.
While the lights in the
viewing room are bright and astringent to my eyes, the room below is
dark and shadowy with only the center being visible because of the
round surgical lamps surrounding the operating table. And I know it’s
an operating table below because I can hear the soft whoosh of a
respirator and the faint beeping of the EKG monitor, but mostly
because several doctors and nurses clad in scrubs and face masks
congregate around it. There are so many of them that they stand with
their shoulders pressed against one another, forming a tight ring
around the table as they do their work. The circle of medical
professionals is so tightly formed that I can’t even see who is
on the table.
I lean forward in my chair,
getting closer to the clear glass. My eyes narrow and I lean left and
right in my seat, trying to get a better look. Trying to see past the
surgeons and nurses.
Trying to get just a tiny peek
of who is lying on that table.
Maybe if one of them would
just move a tiny bit, I could see.
It’s
so frustrating, and I’m wondering if I’m the only one in
this room having a hard time trying to see what’s going on down
below. The seats are filled to capacity, this I know, but I’m
not sure who all is here with me.
I turn my head to the right,
see a row of people, but their
faces are all blurred and indistinguishable.
To the left, it’s
the same, but no one is leaning forward the way I am. By their body
language alone, none of them appears to be distressed that they can’t
see who’s on the table.
I slide my gaze back down to
the surgical room below, my nerves tingling with an awareness that I
just can’t
quite put my finger on. The doctors and nurses work, murmuring words
I can’t understand.
Then it happens…
the doctor at the very end of the table at the patient’s feet
shifts slightly, and then straightens until his spine is
perpendicular to the floor. His head slowly turns, lifts, and his
eyes come right to me. I can’t see any of his face below said
eyes as it’s covered by his mask, but I don’t need to see
what’s under that thin, protective covering to know that his
lips are flattened in a disappointed grimace.
His eyebrows slant inward and
his eyes narrow; I feel the icy disgust permeate every molecule of my
being.
Then he moves again…
this time turning his body to the right, which creates a slight
opening at the end of the table. His gaze is so hostile now that it’s
not a chore for me to tear mine away, and I cut it to the operating
table.
It’s
a small body on the table, covered in a white sheet, the feet not
even reaching to the end. One by one, each of the doctors and nurses
step away from the table, creating more space for me to observe
what’s really going on.
My gaze drifts up the small
body that I inherently know is female, covered all the way up to the
chest. I first notice the long, dark hair spilled out from under her
head, but I can’t
see her face as it’s covered with a large mask attached to the
respirator.
I’m
so frustrated, not being able to quite recognize who it is.
Then a nurse reaches a hand
outward to the patient, puts it on the mask, and slowly pulls it
away.
My heart rate speeds up with
anticipation…
dread… near hysteria. I want to look away, but I can’t.
I won’t
let myself.
Then I see who it is just as
the respirator goes quiet and a long, steady beep emits from the EKG
machine.
And I scream, and scream, and
scream.
I shoot straight up in the bed,
my abs clenched tight from the move, but then my stomach turns to
liquid as I come awake. My mouth is wide open, but no sound is coming
out. I’m soaked with
sweat, trickles running down my temples and down the middle of my
bare chest.
My lungs are rapidly expanding
and deflating, yet it doesn’t
feel like any oxygen is getting in. I swing my legs to the side of
the small mattress, the box spring underneath squeaking, and I place
my feet on the floor, slightly spreading my legs. Leaning forward, I
dip my head down in between my knees as wave after wave of nausea
rolls through me. I suck in deep breaths of air, mentally telling
myself it’s just a nightmare.
But I’m
awake and cognizant enough to know it’s not.
Images flash through my head of
the little girl on the operating room table. The vague smell of
antiseptic remains in my nostrils so vividly, my eyes water in
response.
I swallow hard against the vomit
threatening to rise up my throat and fling myself back on the bed.
Shutting my eyes tight, I conjure up the most pornographic images I
can think of to try to redirect my thoughts. I’ve
tried deep breathing, meditation, prescription drugs, illegal drugs,
and alcohol. I’ve tried it all before, but nothing wipes my
mind clear of the nightmare quite like refocusing my attention to
something that is almost antithetical to the pain that particular
dream produces.
So I choose to focus my mind on
the extreme pleasures of perversion to wipe out the raw desolation of
my sorrow.
It always works.
At least, it has for the past
year I’ve been a
member at The Silo. As long as it continues to be my mental Novocain,
I’ll continue to submerge myself into a cloud of sexual haze to
keep the insanity at bay.
I think about last night and the
amazing sex I had with Rand and Cat.
So fucking hot.
Tiny, frail body under a
sheet.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I
remember what it was like to kiss Rand…
feel his roughened hands on my cock while Cat fingered herself. I
call up the memory of Cat commanding me to fuck Rand and the shiver
it sent up my spine, knowing that watching two guys get it on was
making her hot.
Long, steady beep from the EKG
machine. She’s
flatlined.
I squeeze my eyes shut harder,
forcing myself to recall the image of when I pressed my lube-slicked
dick to Rand’s
pucker and the way it felt when the head popped through that tight
ring. As I slide my hand down my stomach, in between my legs, I
almost beg my cock to get hard from the memory, but it doesn’t.
It refuses and that worries me,
because I know from having this nightmare many times, I can usually
chase away the dredges of horror by jacking myself off to any number
of memories I have stored up from my sexual escapades over the past
year. I’m usually
able to crudely spit in my palm, wrap it around my shaft, and allow
the first touch to completely free my mind. By the third stroke, I’m
habitually lost to pleasure and I forget all about that little girl
lying on the table. Sex is a drug and I’m possibly a sex
addict, but it does wonders at keeping my misery at bay.
But even as hot as last night was
with Rand and Cat…
regardless of the fact I came hard while lodged balls deep in the
tightest of asses, my dick stays limp.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I
come up to my elbows and look down my body in the early morning
light. The memory of last night should do the trick, but I feel
nothing but overwhelming guilt and sadness holding my body hostage.
For the first time in a long time, I have the urge to get utterly and
fantastically shit faced. Drown myself in a bottle of vodka, perhaps
preceded by a few Xanax. My palms actually itch, not with the urge to
jack myself off, but with the need to shove some pills down my throat
or crack open a bottle of liquor.
Not. Good.
I flop back on the small
mattress, the sheets all bunched up under me, which is testament to
the shitty sleep I had,
and breathe out a frustrated sigh. Everything from my mind to my dick
seems broken.
Closing my eyes, I wonder what
gruesome image will flash before me since I’m
utterly wallowing right now, but I’m surprised when a bright
and vivid vision pulses before me.
Long hair falling to mid-back…
dark as raven’s wings. Large, blue eyes blinking with
innocence. A luscious, curvy body with an ass made to be held on to
tight while I fucked her.
I groan as I think about the
virginally sweet Auralie who has
been gracing The Silo the last three days, and my cock starts to
react.
And it reacts swiftly.
My balls tingle as I wrap my hand
around my increasing length, and I immediately start stroking as I
think about the woman who has greatly intrigued me these last few
days. In fact, while I was fucking Rand last night, who was fucking
Cat at the same time, I was actually imagining I was riding Auralie.
It was her face I imagined when I came.
She’s
an enigma, and I’m not the only one whose dick stands at
attention when she’s around. Her “owner” is a
douche-looking asshole who likes to parade her around, letting the
men sniff but not touch until he says so. Sometimes, he has her walk
around The Silo naked, her large breasts swaying with pert, stiff
nipples that make me think she’s turned on by the experience.
But that only makes her more intriguing, because the rumor is that
she’s a virgin.
That’s
not to say she doesn’t have sexual experience, but Magnus—her
owner—has insinuated to several of the patrons that her pussy
is untouched. Therefore, that makes it even more tantalizingly sweet
to all the horny men looking to add a virginal notch in their belts.