More riders

The mechanical bull's engine sputtered to a stop, leaving Kevin slumped against Emily's back, his breathing ragged against her shoulder. His wedding band dug into her hip as he gripped her waist—whether to steady himself or prolong the moment, she couldn't tell. The crowd's cheers swelled as the operator helped them dismount, Kevin's khakis still bunched around his thighs when Emily's feet hit the sawdust.

She barely had time to register the wetness trickling down her inner thighs before a new pair of hands gripped her waist—larger, rougher, smelling of motor oil and chewing tobacco.

"Mind if I take this beauty for a spin?" The voice belonged to Hank, the fairground's head mechanic, his overalls unbuttoned to reveal a sweat-slicked chest. He tossed a wad of grease-stained bills into the donation bucket before swinging onto the bull behind Emily, his calloused palms sliding up her bare ribs before she could protest.

The bull jerked to life with a hydraulic scream, sending Emily crashing back against Hank's chest. His overall straps snapped open on the first buck, revealing a thick thatch of chest hair and the swollen head of his cock straining against grease-streaked boxers. Emily's breath hitched—he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Easy, sugar," Hank chuckled against her ear as the bull's second buck sent her grinding against his lap. The coarse fabric of his boxers did nothing to hide the hot, rigid length beneath, nor the damp spot where precome had already soaked through. Emily's thighs trembled as the bull's rhythm **** her to ride him in slow, torturous circles, the seam of his boxers rubbing against her oversensitive folds with each rotation.

The operator cranked the speed dial past "ADVANCED" with a sadistic grin. The bull responded by bucking sideways—a cruel motion that tore Hank's boxers clean off at the seams. Emily gasped as bare, veined flesh slapped against her backside, thick and pulsing where it pressed into the cleft of her ass. Hank's groan vibrated through her shoulder blades as his cock twitched against her, leaking freely onto her lower back.

"Damn if you ain't the wettest ride at this fair," Hank growled, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. The bull's next violent buck sent Emily impaling herself backward onto him with enough **** to make stars burst behind her eyelids. She barely had time to register the stretch before the machine's relentless rhythm took over, pistoning Hank's thick cock into her with jackhammer precision.

Emily's nails carved half-moons into Hank's forearms as the bull's spin cycle **** their bodies even closer together. She could feel every ridge of him, the way his cockhead swelled impossibly wider with each thrust, the hot spill of his precome mixing with her own slickness. The operator's laughter drowned out Hank's choked gasp when Emily's inner muscles clenched around him in an involuntary spasm.

Hank's release hit like a grease fire—sudden, hot, and impossible to contain. Emily felt it in pulses that matched the bull's jerking motions, his cock twitching deep inside her as the crowd roared approval at what they thought were just dramatic spasms. The operator grinned and cranked the dial higher, prolonging Hank's climax with cruel precision until Emily's thighs trembled with overstimulation.

She barely had time to register the wetness dripping down her legs before Hank lifted her off with grease-blackened hands, his overalls gaping open as he stumbled away. A fresh stack of bills landed in the donation bucket with a wet slap.