Mare boy of the Cimarron

Why I chose to pack up my life and go west I will never know. Oh, yes I did they were going to hang me after word got out that Peter Smith was a cocksucker. With a sigh I look over my home nothing but dirt and unyielding stone. The nearest town was Thistle two days ride on a stud horse that hadn't had any in a month. Sighing to myself I decided to go and cheer myself up. Pulling the tin from under my bed I opened it up the sight of my most prized position sending a shiver down my spine.

The toy was ten inches long and thick bright red with a bulbous knot at the end a small jar of oil it’s only companion. I ground as my fingers encircled the toy flashback of my last lover. The strong must of the bed bites at my nose but that quickly left my mind as ruff worn hands griped my slender hips with wild need this cowboy need it bad. Thistle was full of ruff and lonely men in need of a tight warm hole for the night and I was a favorite. But old lovers could not keep me warm this night.

Pulling my shirt over my head my softly tanned skin prickling with sweat from the day’s work my little pink nipples hard as stone, dropping my pants past my boyish hips five small inches springing to life. Popping the lid of the jar I dipped two fingers deep in the oil. They quickly reached behind me digging past the thick globes of my ass seeking the passage to my pleasure. Laying my cheek to the floor my backside high in the air I started hunting for my pleasure.