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Country and Western Style
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Country and Western Style
Isabelle was on her way to the city for a recording session at
the new studio. Tanned hands on the wheel, a chiffon scarf
rippling at the window and gold rimmed shades: she was satisfied
with her appearance in the way a pretty woman vain enough to
spend time in front of the mirror is bound to be. There was the
added consciousness of incipient stardom. The agent told her
over the phone that morning, This one is really it, baby! This
new guy is great, you're going to love him. Got the voice of a
god. A real hunk. I'm going to send you to the top of the charts
with this fellow!
Hold on, Sam. She had been alarmed by the excitement in her
agent's voice. He had made impulsive and sometimes foolish
decisions in the past. Isabelle liked to move cautiously,
methodically.
We'd agreed not to decide anything until after we finished this
cut. She spoke in a cool, low voice that was both hypnotic and
sexy. Look Sam, I know we're going to make it big with all this
I'm the one who convinced you of that, remember? Now who is this
guy?
Well, I don't think you know him. He's a bit of a newcomer, but
I've seen him playing down at the club doing solo stuff and some
back up work and he's damn good. He's the real thing straight
from the farm belt. Name's Ian Kaehler.
Yeah, I'm sure he's good, Sam, said Isabelle drily. You sure
you haven't got your eye on this hunk for other reasons?
Cool it, baby. You don't meddle with me and I don't meddle with
you.
Yeah, yeah, I know. The Golden Rule. OK, Sam, you better be
right on this one. That's all I've got to say.
Isabelle had dressed with the usual care, but with a vague
sense of anticipation. Only when she put on the black scarf with
gold sparkles and the fire engine red lipstick did she become
fully aware of her excitement. In the mirror she gave herself a
smile of frank admiration.
She wore no bra under the red silk tank top and wanted to be
sure the effect was right. Sideways, frontways, the sunlight
hitting her breasts directly or indirectly: anyway she tried it,
she found she looked good. She realized the air conditioning in
the building would make her nipples conspicuous, and the thought
made her smile. What the hell are you thinking, girl? She said
suddenly out loud. That hunk will probably end up in Sam's bed,
not yours. She pulled on her jeans without consulting the mirror.
He arrived on a motorcycle from the long and dusty ride. He
thought too late that it would have been wise to bring along a
change of clothing. The denim work shirt he wore had gotten
smeared with grease when he'd had to stop to tighten a valve. He
knew his hair would be like the wheatfields at home after a
storm; he hadn't worn his helmet on the last leg. He'd stupidly
left it at the diner where he'd stopped for coffee. Got to call
that place, he thought as he dismounted.
Inside the crew was lounging by the door. He glimpsed his guitar
propped up by a microphone. The producer was already glaring at
him. Where the hell have you been? Do you know what studio time
costs?
Listen I'm sorry I had engine troub
Listen you me, kid. I'm not going to waste my time with no
shows. If you want the job, you get here on time. Is that clear?
Now let's get going. We don't have all day. He vaguely
remembered the producer had a reputation for a temper. He saw
something red out of the corner of his eye and instinctively
glanced at it. It was Isabelle Stiles. A pal had informed him
that she was a great piece of ass. >From what he could see his
friend was right, but he didn't want to stare. Besides she
looked like those cold, polished women who don't like to be
touched. He tried to collect his thoughts.
Look, uh, I just need to make a quick phone call. I left my
helmet at a diner on the road. There was silence. The girl was
staring at him in disbelief or maybe even disgust. He thought of
the grease on his shirt. The producer what was his name? looked
flushed under his tan.
Look Travis . It was the girl's voice. Why don't we just go
ahead and do the other cut. He can settle his business and I can
finish the track. She spoke calmly and with a poised
determination. Because she was now looking at Travis, Ian could
observe her more closely. He noticed almost immediately that she
wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were two delicate, but
definite points under the red silk. He guessed that if she bent
over he would be able to follow the soft round curves all the
way to the nipples. Maybe she did like to be touched after all.
Keep your mind on your work, he thought to himself. Besides,
this girl is being groomed for stardom; she's going to shoot
right out of reach. She's got all the right people, the right
connections.
Travis grumbled, but Isabelle made a motion to the man in the
mixing booth. In a few moments her voice was filling the studio
and everyone was silent, watching.
You're the first man I saw, and what I saw I liked, You didn't
take no nonsense, you had a big black bike
She looked good singing those words. He thought of his own
dusty bike. And he thought she looked at him. He felt a swelling
in his crotch.
Isabelle sang but she wasn't paying attention to the words. She
was thinking of the lean, muscular body she imagined Ian must
have. She could not explain this excitement to herself. She
didn't approve of his appearance, at least not the disheveled
look of his hair and his unironed shirt. Ordinarily she
preferred a sleek, well groomed look, and Ian was not sleek. He
had on cowboy boots, but they were worn and scuffed not the kind
she'd admired in Nashville with polished metal tips and
alligator skin. The buckle of his belt, however, was singularly
shiny, obviously new. It was in the shape of a train. She
looked closer and blushed. Was it possible that he?
You came right on in and spun 'round my head, You're one hell of
a man oh yeah, that's what I said! So come on down with me Baby,
come right on down this way! I'm in a real big hurry, I haven't
got all day, Teach me how you do it, show me what you like Come
on and hold me tight on that big black bike!
Isabelle looked up to applause in the sound booth when she
finished. Even Ian was grinning, although he wasn't clapping
outright like the others. Isabelle blushed again. There was
something interesting about this fellow in spite of his
disheveled look. His rich auburn hair caught the glint of the
studio lights, his legs stretched out under the jeans looked
long and muscular. She was sure she had noticed a bulge in his
pants; it wouldn't be the first time she had observed that kind
of reaction in men. But there was something quietly self assured
about him that aroused her in return. He hadn't seemed
embarrassed when she stared; he had just sat there grinning with
his thumbs hooked in his pockets, legs comfortably parted.
And now, in spite of the producer's rude welcome, he calmly
strode into the studio, grasped the neck of his guitar and swung
the instrument over his head until the strap came to rest
comfortably on his shoulder. In a moment he was wholly absorbed
in the guitar: he stroked the strings, he carefully adjusted the
keys. She watched fascinated as his hand darted back and forth
from keys to strings, from strings to keys. Then, hovering over
the sound hole, his fingers began moving smoothly and rapidly,
in what seemed like an elegant, effortless form of flight. His
head was slightly bent over the guitar's rounded form. When he
looked up and quietly informed her that he was ready, she
realized she had been holding her breath.
The recording session went better than he'd expected. Isabelle
accepted several of his suggestions and she even began to sing
with more subtly and depth. Not that she hadn't been good, but
the songs were somehow predictable. He tried to show her how to
add color and richness and far from resenting his interference,
she began to solicit his advice. He guessed she would probably
make it (as Travis put it) without him, but he felt
instinctively that the songs could use improvement. Travis stood
by mutely at first with folded arms and stiff legs, but as the
session progressed he relaxed enough to let his feet tap out the
time. Sam was visibly excited and clapped loudly after each
take. Ian thought he felt the older man's eyes on him and
although it didn't make him uncomfortable, he could not help
wondering if he'd been offered this job on criteria other than
musical talent.
Ian gathered his belongings as the crew swarmed into the studio
to dismantle the equipment. He was planning on returning to the
diner to pick up his helmet, but first he would sit down outside
to cool off and have a smoke. Under the studio lights he had
worked up a sweat. Isabelle was hovering about looking nervous
and uncertain. He supposed she was concerned about the
equipment. He stepped outside, stripped off his slightly damp
shirt, and sat on the bottom step with a cigarette.
Well, cowboy, are you headed home?
Ian swiveled around and squinted up into the sunlight. It was
Sam. No, well, yes, but I have to pick up my helmet. They're
keeping it for me at the diner. Facing forward again, he exhaled
a voluptuous cloud of smoke.
You play real good, said Sam matter of factly. His hands were
deep in his pockets. His face was shadowed.
Thanks. I'm flattered to be asked. Miss Stiles has got quite a
reputation around here. She's a real fine singer. Ian watched
the smoke dissipate and wondered what else to say to Sam. Then
Isabelle walked out onto the concrete steps. As Ian turned
toward the sound of footsteps he had just enough time to make
out her collapsing silhouette and fasten his cigarette firmly
between his lips when he felt the full weight of her body come
down hard into his arms. There was a sort of muffled shriek. As
he regained his balance, he found he was cupping her left breast
with his right hand. He withdrew his hand reluctantly as
Isabelle struggled to get to her feet.
Thank you, she said quickly. 'You probably saved me from a
nasty- fall. I must have caught my heel on that crumbled step.
She bent over and gingerly massaged her ankle. Ian followed the
round, soft curves all the way to the nipples. He could feel
that he was hard again.
I think I may have sprained my ankle.I wonder if you could help
me get inside to the lounge? Isabelle knew her ankle was not
sprained. She had twisted it slightly, but the pressure had
given way when she'd fallen. She felt excited and almost light
headed: she had decided to act on an impulse. There was in fact
a slight pain in her ankle, but it didn't matter. She was
admiring Ian's bared torso: a full well developed chest, with a
soft covering of auburn down that tapered to his belly and
disappeared underneath his belt. She sucked in her breath
sharply and couldn't help noticing the buckle and his erection.
Uh, yes, of course. I'd like to help. Here let me hold your arm
and that's right. That's just fine. We'll get you right
upstairs. Ian cleared his thoughts and put out his cigarette.
Avoiding her eyes he grasped her gently around the waist with
one arm, and with the other he supported her elbow. They managed
the steps with some difficulty and made their way slowly into a
carpeted room adjacent to the studio.
By the way, this is the lounge, said Isabelle. Anybody who's
working here can use this room. With her heel she swung the door
shut. Sam had been lingering in the corridor in case his help
was needed and she wanted him to receive a definite message.
Then she raised the hand that had grasped Ian's waist and began
gently stroking his smooth, tanned back. Her other hand explored
his chest. Ian, I want you now. She said in a low, silky voice.
Do you want me?
Ian was motionless, but he could feel his cock throbbing. He
felt sure that Isabelle had noticed it. The idea pleased him and
gave him confidence. He knew exactly what to do. Without
answering, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her long and
hard. His hands could glide smoothly up and down the silk of her
blouse and it was almost like feeling her skin the way the
material revealed the texture of the nipples, the shape of her
breasts. Underneath the silk he could feel their softness and
could squeeze them gently while at the same time caressing the
nipples. Isabelle was already at Ian's buckle, fingering it as
though it was itself a cock; abruptly she pulled away and lifted
the silk shell over her head revealing the slightly tanned, full
breasts still swaying from her sudden movement. Ian thought, My
God! What gorgeous knockers! in the language he was accustomed
to use in his own thoughts. To her he was about to say something
he thought she would consider more tasteful, but she
interrupted him.
I want to do something I've always dreamed of doing, she half
moaned. As she said this she was pressing her bare breasts to
his chest, smelling his skin, kissing his nipples, running her
fingers through the soft, auburn curls. In a series of slow,
moist kisses, she traced the contours of his breast, his lean
sides, and finally his belly. She came to a stop at the buckle.
She unzipped the fly, taking care to avoid nicking his bulge. By
this time she was kneeling in front of him. She parted the rims
of the fly and began kissing and sucking at his cock through the
layer of cotton underneath. She did this until the material was
soaked; then she peeled it down to reveal the flushed velvet
skin of his shaft which she now bathed with her tongue. Gently
she freed his prick from the surrounding material until it stood
out stiffly, unencumbered.
Come on, now, she murmured. I want you to be my stud. I want to
feel this cock deep in my throat!
Ian rocked his hips forward until his shaft disappeared between
her moist, red lips. He could feel the warmth and wetness engulf
him a deliciously ambiguous sensation since at times he could
imagine that it was her vagina that enveloped him, instead of
her mouth. Then he would confuse the two and tell himself that
her mouth was a vagina, and he would think of her pussy, of what
it would be like when he penetrated her there as well. Fucking
her mouth and thinking of fucking her cunt almost made him shoot
off, but he resisted. He watched her face as she sucked and it
seemed to him that she kept it uplifted on purpose so that he
could read her expression. Her lips were ordinarily full, but
now were stretched by the width of his dick. Everytime he
withdrew slightly in order to rock forward again she would pull
harder on his cock with the suction of her tongue.
OK, Baby, he whispered hoarsely, You want to be my bitch? I'm
going to ram this down your throat; I'm going to come into your
mouth! She could tell by the engorged shape of his prick that he
was about to come. She gripped his ass cheeks with her hands and
then, loosening the tight rim of her mouth from around the base
of his cock and relaxing her throat even further, she strained
forward until she was able to feel his balls at her lips.
In a voice that he feared afterwards must have come out as a
scream or a shout, he cried, That's right, bitch! Take my balls
into that wet twat of a mouth! She gloried in his obscenity and
was proud that she could swallow his entire sex. She had always
wanted to flaunt this ability before a total stranger. But it
had to be the right one, and he was definitely the right one.
She relaxed her throat completely to allow Ian to fuck her mouth
hard as he came. He did not hold back, but treated her mouth as
if it was a cunt. That's right, bitch! Take it, take all of it!
He had to pant the words out now. The next thing he knew he was
spurting into her, and she was swallowing and sucking at him
while with her hands she pushed up her heaving tits so he could
see the stiff nipples. When he withdrew, she did something that
aroused him incredibly. She had retained some of his come in her
mouth and now, she dipped two fingers into the hollow between
her lips and spread his come over her nipples, making them
glisten. She dipped her fingers again and this time encircled
the areolas, and finally both breast entirely. Then she stood up
and he could see her tits gleaming wet with his come. One last
time she anointed her fingers, but instead of smoothing them
again over her breasts, she lay down, spread her legs, and began
massaging her crotch an area where her jeans were already
stained dark from her juices.
Ian fell back wide eyed on the couch. Isabelle proceeded to
arch her back and moan as she slid her hand underneath her
jeans. She spoke to him in a voice that was low and musical:
I can feel my smooth, taut belly. The skin is so soft. I love to
see a man's rough dark hand caressing my belly the moment before
his fingers strain to get into my pants and I tell him, 'Oh yes,
yes, there's nowhere I won't let your hand wander. You're making
me wet; you make me crave the feeling of your hand as it spreads
over my bush and discovers my wetness. I'm breathing fast just
at the thought of how you'll part my soft, yielding lips and
find absolutely no resistance. You'll begin by caressing the
soft wet interior of my cunt just inside my lips, and you'll be
amazed at how my desire makes my wetness fill your hand. And
then gently at first, with two fingers, you'll force deeper into
my cunt and feel your cock swell as my flesh spreads and
encircles your fingers, kissing and sucking them as if they were
a prick. By now I'll be begging you to fuck my cunt with all of
your fingers and to make them reach down to the deep inner walls
of my vagina as though you were painting me there with the
smooth, wet strokes of a paint brush.'
Isabelle had opened her jeans and was slipping them slowly over
her hips with one hand, while the other remained hidden between
her legs. The lower the jeans went the more Ian could see of the
hidden hand, until finally she allowed her fingers to be
exposed. Her fore and middle fingers were deeply inserted in her
cunt, the other two were just pressing between the folds as she
worked the jeans down to her ankles. When she had freed her feet
from the pant legs, she slowly and luxuriously spread her legs.
Ian saw that her four fingers were now gliding easily in and out
of her cunt which made soft, sucking sounds in response. Then,
surprisingly she removed her hand. She now made a cradle for her
head with both hands so that her arms were bent upwards, her
upper arms spreading outward from her body as if to mimic the
form of her legs set wide apart. In this position, she rocked
her hips up and down slowly at first and then more rapidly. Ian
watched tensely as her pussy lips expanded to reveal the inner
opening that was now glistening and dribbling with wetness. Her
legs were so widely spread that her lips were free to expand
liberally until he could actually see the interior of her
vagina. He watched transfixed as it sucked and swallowed at the
air, bursting open and revealing the inner pink wetness, and
then closing around nothing as though it were being penetrated
by an invisible cock.
At that moment Sam walked in. Ian froze, startled, but oddly
excited by the intrusion and by the expression on Sam's face.
More surprising was Isabelle's response. She moaned louder as if
craving the impossible.
Sam fuck me! I want you to do with me what you like to do with
a man. Without saying a word Sam grabbed her by the hips and
flipped her effortlessly onto her hands and knees. He fumbled
for a moment with his fly, but managed to draw out his prick as
he spread her ass. With his thumbs he opened her ass hole and
guided his cock with his hips until the tip reached her hole.
Baby, I'm gonna fuck your ass hole, is that what you want?
Isabelle just panted and rubbed her hole against the prick in
reply. Sam slowly and steadily pushed in. Then she turned and
spoke to Ian: I want you to lie underneath me I want you to fuck
my cunt
As if you needed to ask Ian said almost roughly. Baby your tits
alone tell me you want it. He slid underneath her and felt for
her cunt. Raising his hips with the strength of his thighs, he
lifted his prick to her wet slit and felt it glide into the
receptive sheath. He pumped hard until he felt Isabelle gasp and
cry out with pleasure. The fullness of Sam in her ass and of Ian
in her cunt was almost unbearable.
As she came she heard Sam whispering fiercely, Baby, I never
knew you were such a hot bitch! Isabelle barely had the strength
to reply. I didn't know you.you liked women, too .
You never asked. From her position she could not see the broad
smile on Sam's face.
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