A firm grip on the breasts

A split second before the motor activates you feel his hands slide up under your top, clamping like two rough, wet vice grips upon the small jiggly mounds. Unfortunately it's just as the motor starts that you snatch your hands up toward his.

"Nooooo.....!" you cry out as the bull moves into motion. With your feet not in the stirrups and your hands not on the pommel you nearly fly off the bull, held on solely by George.

As it happens he seems to be an expertly bullrider in spite of his pudginess.

"Grab the pommel," he orders you, and rather than fly off you frantically comply.

"L-let go!" you plead frantically, being thrown left, right, up and down, each toss seemingly yanking his hands, and therefore your breasts, in that direction.

Then the bull dips forward, sending your slick pussy sliding across the saddle. You have a moment of relief when his hands slip from your body, only to slam up against the pommel crotch first. The base of your thumb's act like a hard bumper, your clit banging into the hard protrubance of the last knuckle.

After a long moment in which you start to tilt over the front of the bull the saddle jerks back. For a moment you're frozen in mid-air with some forward momentum, then a hand grabs your hair and yanks you back, saving you from a fall.

"Ow!" yelp, smacking hard into the saddle. A groan comes from behind you, but your only spare thought for George is a quick, "Th-thanks."

The saddle tries to dump your forward again, and once more your pussy scrubs the saddle on its way to the pommel, banging your sex against it hard but sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

George's grip stays in you hair, keeping you from flying off even as your legs fly apart.

Dimly you hear cheers, but you barely hear them thanks to the frantic bucking and your scalp burning from being used as a hand-hold. Gradually you realize that you're not just sliding along the saddle, but something round and long that's lying under your rapidly moving body.

Just as you realize what it is the bull throws you up, forward, back, then spins, at long last throwing you from the bull. George makes a valiant effort to grab you, the hand in your hair losing its grip but making a last valiant lunge. As you fall away from him and his dick - which pops up from where he'd been holding it down along the saddle - his finger snags the bow-knot at your neck, yanking the strings of the first of two knots undone.

With a hard thump you hit the mat, rolling until you stop midway through a backward somersault. The men clap as you lie in a daze, head and shoulders on the mat and legs and crotch above you. They stare at the goodies revealed by your wide-spread legs until one of them rushes forward with a glass of liquid.

A splash of it across your face, and then your pussy ("gotta let the kitty get a lick, she's thirsty!" he cackles) revives you, and when you straighten out you gratefully swig down the beer.

"Well that wasn't horrible..." one of them says.

"Yes it was, it was only three minutes if that!" another argues.

"To hell with that, I'll keep her on and give her a nice hard ride."

"No that's alright," you pant. "I don't think I'm very good at riding bulls."

"Aw, don't be a quitter," the man insists, grinning at you. You blink back at him a little fuzzily, oblivious to how your top nearly hangs off your front or the skirt rides high at your waist. "Quitting's for pussies. Ow, what was that for?" he glares at the man who just punched him, rubbing his shoulder.