Cowgirl Erotica Collection Read online

  Cowgirl Erotica Collection

  Lily Smith

  Copyright 2012 Lily Smith

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 by Lily Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, contact [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Texas Cowgirl Trainers

  Chapter 1: The Barmaid Applicant

  Chapter 2: First Lesson

  Chapter 3: Mud Wrestlers

  Chapter 4: And They Called It A Mine

  Chapter 5: Turnabout

  Backdoor Cowgirls: Rimming the Range

  Chapter 1: The Ever Innocent Mayan Smile

  Chapter 2: Needle in a Haystack

  Chapter 3: Bank Teller with a Fetish

  Chapter 4: The Naughty Sunday School Girl

  Chapter 5: Curiosity and the Little Indian Girl

  Aliens & Cowgirls

  Chapter 1: Mounted Between Mountains

  Chapter 2: The Blue Fire in the Crystal Ball

  Chapter 3: Threesome with A Visitor

  Chapter 4: The Rather Spectacular View

  Chapter 5: The Magnificent Seven

  Texas Hustlers

  Chapter 1: Red Bed Revolver

  Chapter 2: A Bitch of a Teacher

  Chapter 3: The Bank Test

  Chapter 4: Lesbian and Lawless

  Chapter 5: The Bitchess of Bridestown

  Texas Cowgirl Trainers

  Chapter 1: The Barmaid Applicant

  Jett leaned up against her horse and murmured a curse at the heat that conspired to fuse her braided, strawberry-blonde hair into her shirt. Her horse didn't seem to mind at all, but then he didn't have to impress anyone. He walked where he wanted, slept where he wanted, and relieved himself where he wanted, unlike Jett, who rather was burdened by the obsessive habit of trying to look her best every minute of the hour while the weather tried to buck off her best attempts otherwise.

  "I'm just fucked every way from Sunday. No one is gonna hire some inbred out-of-towner from Texas who is as young as me. No one. They would crucify me anyway" she muttered to herself. It was Jett's way of protecting herself from the constant barrage of rejections from each and every employer she visited. She had been to them all: barber shop, sheriff, bakery, church, even the damnable undertaker's office. To think she had literally begged to service the comfort of dead people. She would consistently tell herself "just get it over with" as she walked along the dusty, dingy town of Gladewater that seemed to brag about every fatal snakebite you could imagine. And that didn't include the gila monsters, tarantulas and scorpions. Jett had stepped on a scorpion once with a dozen baby scorpions on its back. Every now and then she could swear that she felt some hideous alien-like thing crawling across her toes as she dragged her boots from shop to shop, looking for any job that would feed her empty belly, which incidentally seemed to be munch on her shirt as she walked.

  She blew another crooked ring of smoke from her last cigarette as she looked across the street at the saloon. At nearly five o'clock, it was already becoming the rowdy cesspool of vermin it was known for. The schedule of iniquity it housed and hawked mimicked the tides, where all manner of deadness and decay washed in from the depths. She could set her watch by it, if she had one. Hell seemed to spit up and then swallow back down its bile content like a pack of vultures.

  "That is the last place in town to look for work." she thought to herself as she squeezed the excess sweat that drenched her tits, which were she feared publicly visible from the wetness of her white shirt. She didn't care if she had to bathe with pigs or wash out beer bottles with her fingers, as long as she could be employed by someone, somewhere, she would do anything. Well, almost anything. She'd be damned if she was going to eat oysters or shrimp. Anything else was fair game.

  She squinted like a peeping tom at the saloon across the street, wishing she had a telescope to gauge the depth of depravity contained therein. It was like trying to spy on the innards of Hell itself. It wasn't as if she wanted to actually work there. It was just the accursed body she dragged across the earth every day that needed food, water, shelter and...sex. Unfortunately she couldn't live on sex alone and needed the other three to engage in much of anything involving the exchange of bodily fluids.

  "Get a hold of yourself and stay rational" she said, straightening her shirt.

  She bravely traversed the seemingly endless path towards the saloon of Hell which bared a "HELP WANTED" sign in the mud caked window. She stuffed her braided ponytail down the back of her drenched shirt as she walked and tried to suck in her meager breasts, looking as man-like as she could. A lone cactus plant stood aloof by the door, looking suspiciously like a porter to circus of freaks. As soon as she stepped through, a shiny silver dollar gleamed from the floor. A good sign? She reached down to pick it up. This proved a futile endeavor.

  Whack!

  A rock-hard slap on her ass was dished out to her not two feet from the swinging doors behind her. A circular laughter erupted from a nearby table full of misfits and misanthropes as she realized the coin was somehow glued to the floor. Her youth & beauty often betrayed her to a not-so-subtle naivety.

  "There is more whar that came from schnookems!" a string-bean shaped cowboy said as he pushed open the exit to the saloon. Her ass still tingled from the mild spank she got for her desperation.

  She frantically scanned the entire saloon which seemed to come alive with every tentacled plant and scurrying creature imaginable. Even the floor conspired against her. She looked up and saw a fluffy black cat gaze from the beams above while a parrot perched on its stand at arm's length away. She thought of pirates and pestilences the further in she went.

  "Where is the owner of the saloon? I want to ask em about the sign outside the..." she started to say.

  "He is in back counting the dough. That way" the bartender said, pointing towards a set of double doors leading downward into a lower level of Hell. She started her descent amid the hot beer and circus of catcalls and pandemonium.

  Her boots stepped off the bottom of the staircase and saw a man hunched over on his desk, his back facing her. His white skimmer sat solemnly next to a half-drunken bottle of bourbon on his oak desk.

  "I told you stubborn idiots not to bother me when I'm figurin' figures god dammit" he said, spitting the words as he scribbled downward.

  "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to interr--" she started.

  He turned around and gave her a pale stare, looking her up and down.

  "Thought it was one o' my stooges interrupting me again. Are you lost?" he asked.

  "No, just want to inquire about the job uh, sir. You know, sign out front" she stated, pointing towards the entrance.

  A glistening phosphorescence from the corner of the room caught her eye. A pod of glowcap mushrooms huddled together in the thick moisture of the cellar.

  "Name's Jake. Can you cook?" he asked almost rhetorically.

  "Yes indeed. Any nutritious thing you want." she said as she swallowed, hoping glowcaps weren't on the menu.

  "We ain't much for nutrition here." he said, twirling the ends of his mustache. He looked her over calculatingly, like he was buying a mule. Jett had the body of an acrobat and had trained as such by her own father in a traveling circus years prior to the famine that now creeped along the prairies. Her legs were honed and sculpted in scandalous perfection, a product of years of tortuous training among lions and clown
s.

  "What I really need is a gal who can balance five glasses of beer and dance from table to table while risking an occasional spank or pinch on the way back to the bar. Is that you, Miss?" he said.

  "Well I will do my best" she said coyly.

  "That's not good enough, not by a long shot. You either do it, or get lost. None of this I'll do my best shit. You either do it or don't do it. Understand?" he added.

  She nodded.

  "I run a tight-ass ship in here, and discipline is my middle name. We're a might short on brotherly love too I reckon. You don't seem the church-goin type though. Am I correct in that assumption?

  She nodded. She glanced up at the painting above his desk, which she imagined was some cherub in a freefall.

  "Boy yer just naturally blabby aren't cha" he said with a chuckle. There was a certain charisma to his smile that negated uneasiness. Still, she felt silence was golden in this case.

  "When do I start?" she said assumingly, her stomach rumbling from two days without a decent meal.

  "You start yesterday. I am bettin' you won't last fer more than a week, if that. But at least you just might not starve for the next few days. And just so you know, your biggest tips don't come from your exceptional service skills. No sir. They come from the number o' spanks on yer pretty little derriere. Girls who don't get spanked get no tips. Not my rules, just nature's way I suppose. So, if ya want out, now is the time to say so. You can walk out that door and we'll never raise cuss or fuss over you leavin'. Still interested?" he asked.

  She realized for the first time in her life, she couldn't say no. Her mind and soul were telling her not to sign on the bottom line, but her parched throat, empty belly and sweaty, grimy arms said otherwise and coerced her as if to ink her signature in hot blood.

  "Yes of course I am interested. What should I wear?" she asked.

  "You wear that barmaid outfit over yonder in the closet. See it? The one that has stripes" he said, pointing away from her. "Do you see?" he remarked as he used an ace of spades to floss between the sharp teeth on the side of his mouth.

  The closet housed a handful of theatrical costumes and trinkets, like he had been ringmaster of the circus at some point in his life, managing wild animals of some sort. She spied the outfit that was now hers. The front of the outfit reminded her of prison garb. The back on the other hand like a costume fit for a king's court jester. However she reminded herself that the jester was the only one in the kingdom who could insult the king and not suffer a scratch for it, as long as it was part of the show. She wondered if she would have to sing as well as endure the rigors of daily spankings from the dusty demons outside. She felt her stomach nibble on her shirt again.

  "Try it on honey" he said.

  She walked behind the closet to a private stall and put it on.

  She walked over to the closet and took out the outfit she wore. It looked pathetically silly.

  "Now for the true test of colors" he gabbed as if an audience of circus ghosts looked on.

  "Come over here" he said wolfishly.

  She walked over to him with her theatrical outfit barely keeping her tits from springing outward.

  "Turn around with your back facing me" he ordered.

  She turned around with her hands on her hips.

  "Hmm..." he said. "Don't say a word, and don't turn around. I'm gonna give you a bit of a test, so to speak." he said.

  She gulped.

  He brought his hand back and smacked it upside her left ass cheek. He paused a second to gauge her response. She stood still. A bead of sweat dribbled down the side of her face.

  She thought to herself, "What the hell is he doing with my ass? Just tell me please...just give me the job already!"

  He brought the other hand down on her other ass cheek. Still she kept her resolve as she bit her lip.

  He glided his thick, tanned fingers lightly across her ass without removing her panties, and reached up to the band they held her panties together and gently nudged them down a centimeter, then stopped, waiting for a reaction. Nothing came.

  "Ok, turn around, you passed." he said.

  "What was that for?? Did I do something wrong?" she asked.

  "No, nothing at all. But you can expect spanks like that every single day working here in this pit. You will earn every penny in tips that you're given, girl. And then some. You need to be able to ignore pain and teasing, to look the other way as if a fly landed on your shoulder. That is how it is with this crowd. They will fight to defend you unto death, but carries the cost of merciless feeling up and teasing. You get daily pay too, just so you know, and a few...bonuses. But we'll get to those later", he said in a deadpan tone.

  Jett didn't care about a few smacks to her ass, as long as the tips were decent and she didn't go to bed hungry again. She had endured worse, and had gotten no pay out of it. She would endure...she had to. Her empty stomach demanded she ignore the occasional titillation her ass received.

  Chapter 2: First Lesson

  The next day she walked into the saloon thinking about nothing else but the money she would receive at the end of the day. It was almost like a dream come true. She quickly slipped into her outfit as fast as an owl did to a scurrying mouse, ignoring the silver dollar embedded in the floor. She brought water to a few patrons who just arrived, then headed towards the bartender who dried off a shot glass with a dirty towel.

  "Here, you might need this. It's the menu". She looked it over and gasped at the variety of beers, whiskeys, rums and vodkas that were available.

  "Christ! Do we even have all of these?" she asked.

  The bartender chuckled and said, "Sort of. I can pretty much mix a few things if we don't have everything, and 99% of the time they're too shit-faced to tell the difference anyway. If'n I run out of water however, you'll see my body swingin' from the nearest tree. No doubt about it friend".

  The day started out egregiously slow, with never more than two or three patrons at one time. She relaxed a bit, trying to get a better visual stakeout of the place before nightfall. Five o'clock arrived and the rejects from hell stammered into the bar like wolves to a carcass. Jett could barely keep up with herself. Only one other waitress was working and she seemed to keep up with every order given to her, no matter how spectacularly unreasonable it seemed. Jett walked back towards the front of the bar and spilled beer on the arm of a sickly looking Mexican bandito. He cursed at her and threw his handkerchief in her direction.

  "Ay que la chingada! You idiot!" he yelled. She apologized and took the handkerchief to his arm, dabbing up the beer. He dropped a quarter on the ground next to her. She bent down to pick it up for him.

  SMACK!

  The entire room roared with laughter.

  "Second time is charm senorita!" the Mexican said laughing into his beer. "You gots be more car-full and not fall for tricks!"

  She walked towards the bar and refilled a few drinks, trying not to look the bartender in the eye. At this rate she wouldn't have much of an ass to sit on if she kept the naivety up. She thought back to when Jake gave her the obligatory (and mild) spanking. It didn't hurt at all. For a few seconds she almost enjoyed it, or perhaps it was the musky cologne he wore and the fresh tobacco that seemed to peel off of his breath as he talked to her that was so alluring.

  The bartender looked over at her and then pointed repeatedly at his watch.

  "You're on break", he mouthed.

  She walked down the steps to the cellar without looking at the snickering crowd of misfits playing cards. She could feel their stares darting her in the back as she walked away, and they loved every jiggle of her ass as she walked.

  Jake hunched over his accounting festivities with a half-burnt cigarette in the ashtray. She came and sat down next to him. He continued scribbling down his profits and losses, trying to make some peace between them.

  She sniffed and then let a tear stream down her face.

  Jake let out the biggest and loudest sigh in the entire town.


  "You know..." he started to say."It might seem like the end of the world, but you'll one day thank those men out there, and you'll wish that you hadn't quit this job when you did".

  "I don't like it when they do that to me. They do it too hard." she stated unequivocally.

  "That is because you're ass is not used to it. It'll get better in time. The first night is always rough", he lectured.

  "Yeah I bet" she said, half-kidding.

  "I do need to exert just a tiny bit of discipline for that spilled drink however."

  "Discipline? It's my first day!" she said.

  "You're thinking about it the wrong way. It's more like an achievement of sorts. You'll understand later. Come here" he commanded.

  "Stand over here in front of me" he said to her.

  "Oh god not again..." she thought. She walked over to him slowly. He put both hands on her hips and turned her around slowly. Her ass facing him, he ran his muscular hands over her white panties, massaging the contour of her ass cheeks. His fingers pressed down in circular motions on both sides of her ass. He gently pulled down the top of her panties, exposing the top crack of her ass.

  He massaged her cheeks some more and then lowered her panties a few inches. Her ass was divinely beautiful, shaped like a valentine heart and without any imperfections...just pearly white skin that was as smooth as butter to the touch.

  She wondered if he was just teasing, or if he was going to finish what he started.

  "Just pull them down already. Don't tease me" she whispered. She hadn't intended on her thoughts becoming audible, but it was too late to reverse course.

  He pulled down her panties to her knees, exposing her flowered pussy and round ass.

  "You're could be perfect if you wanted to. We just need to iron out the imperfections. Strike when the iron is hot, so to speak" he muttered as he brushed the edge of his mustache up and over her ass cheeks. They felt as smooth as peaches.