The Little Leather Thong
I work in a traveling rodeo. I'm tall, I'm built, I'm handsome, rugged, and strong. In fact, part of my lasso act is when I find a poor damsel tied up and set her free by breaking the ropes with my bare hands. They're trick ropes: I'm strong but no one can do that. Rope is rope and each cord could stand up to a hunner pounds.
So one night I was in a strange town in a strange bar when I met an intriguing woman. I don't get lucky every time I visit a bar, but a few times a year I do. Nevertheless, she was special. Prettier than five years of one nighters and hotter than whoopee in woolens. She had the looks to make a man think about settling in.
At first she was with a group of ladies. What attracted me to her was how expressive a woman she was. It seemed like she could communicate books of information with a toss of her hair, or an eyeflash, or a half-curled smile.
When the group disbanded, as the girls were leaving she stayed behind to pay the bill. She came up to the bar, cash in hand, to pay the little guy behind the counter. He called himself John but he looked more like a Johnny to me.
I noticed the hair tie on her wrist, which always makes me think of blowjobs, but I only commented on the leather thong bolo she wore around her neck.
In response, she winked and said, "I'm Sharon. Would you like to see my other leather thong?" I couldn't miss the innuendo. She must have been pretty tipsy, but I still got us four more shots, two for her, to make absolutely sure that if we ever got to her place she would be relaxed and feeling no pain.
She laughed a lot, throwing back her shots. I laughed too, enjoying her friendly devil-may-care nature.
She talked a lot too. She talked about her job, her hobbies, me, her ex boyfriend, etc. Maybe she even talked a bit too much about the ex, as if she still held deep feelings for him. I questioned just how "ex" he really was, though it didn't bother me. Probably because she continued to pepper enough sexual references into the conversation to keep hope alive that the blowjob she kept hinting at would become real.
After plenty of time and drinks she dropped the phone that she was always playing with, into her purse, looked over her shoulder and with a sly grin announced, "Let's go check out my thong."
I jumped off that barstool faster than a scalded cat. Putting my arm around her slim waist I guided her out toward my truck, but she said the drive to her house was a maze, so we took her cheap foreign-shit hybrid car. That car was smaller than the little end of nothin' but I squeezed myself in there knowing I drew the best bull.
When we got back to her place, which was indeed in the sticks, it seemed big for such a little filly but definitely sufficient for a blowjob.
I sensed she started to sober up so I decided I couldn't afford any missteps or she might lose her verve. I gave her my most romantic kiss, playing with the leather bolo around her neck before starting to unbutton her blouse. I was prepared to use all my considerable powers of persuasion.
She stopped me right then, pointing to a huge wicker lounge chair, the kind that belonged more on the front porch than in the living room. She coyly asked me to strip and relax so she could put on a show.
I was butt naked lying on that recliner before my duds hit the floor and with no need to ply her any more.
Swaying in a sexy dance, she started to remove things. First, as expected, she took that elastic off her wrist. Then dangling it on one finger, she dropped her earrings on a table dramatically. When she finally put her hair up in a pony my heart leaped. Removing the leather cord from her elegant neck she approached me like a lioness out for the kill.
She stared into my soul seductively while unbuttoning her blouse. The leather necktie dangled from the same finger previously occupied by the elastic tie.
With slow sultry movements she knelt on the floor before that wicker lounge. She never broke eye contact. I could have gotten lost in those mesmerizing green eyes.
She ran her hands up my legs from my ankles to my knees, making cooing sounds while she did it. Her blouse parted revealing a full plump cleavage. Man, I hoped that BJ would include some jug fucking. There's not much better than seeing your pole emerge from between two big breasts and into luscious wet lips.
As her hands traveled the distance from my knees, up my thighs and toward my balls, she had to climb partly onto the lounge chair to reach. I felt her open blouse brush against my feet while the corded bolo, still dangling from her finger, brushed my inner leg.
I started to caress her face but she reprimanded me sternly, "No hands!" It wasn't the first time a pick-up had instructed me not to use my hands. Some women really don't like that. I have a method to change their minds once the cock-loving starts.
She stroked my balls with long sexy fingers. They moved all over my precious jewels finding their way into private crevices before circling under to grasp them firmly. Delightful! She rubbed and stroked my testicles telling me how much she loved how low they hung down.
I rewarded her enthusiasm, "Sharon, you're the most amazing woman!" Her eyes darted to meet mine briefly and I sensed she didn't quite believe me. What previous beau had damaged her?
Her face was so close to my package I could feel her warm breath. She was watching herself manipulate my balls so intensely, that when she looked up periodically, her brows were furrowed in deep concentration.
Gazing into my eyes again she leaned closer, throwing her arms out and down to the sides of the chair. I wondered if she intended to deliver a hands free blowjob. With her face on my thigh she reached under the chair saying, "I bet you love these balls even more than I do."
Next, she sat up quickly jerking both arms with a sudden tug. I felt a sharp yank to my balls, like when you kneel in spurs, which caused me to bolt upright on that chair.
Surveying my shocked scrotum, I didn't see it at first, but it didn't take long to realize that she had tied my loose hanging balls tightly to the wicker chair. I leaned down to see that leather thong tightly looped around my sack with the cords fed down between the holes in the wicker weaving and knotted underneath.
With a hint of panic I asked, "What kind of game is this?"
"No game." She replied. Then, somewhat exasperated she added, "Ugh! The things I do for you."
I started to calm the girl down, "Umm, I can do without it...It's not really doing a lot for me." But then I noticed a naked man emerge from the shadows. It was the bartender.
