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Six Have Fun At The Ranch
Part 3 – Idaho enjoys a fuckathon
The Shaws had been at Kurt and Barbara’s ranch for about four days and were thoroughly enjoying the sex “games” they played Idaho, the busty sex slave.
But on the fifth day, Barbara announced over breakfast that she was taking Karla and Kelly to a small city about an hour’s drive away on a shopping spree.
“They’ve got some really nice little boutiques there and we deserve to be pampered, what with all the hot domination work we’ve been indulging in with Idaho,” said Barbara.
Kurt looked at Brad and Timmy and winked. “Then it looks as if we three have to keep the slut occupied, eh?”
Brad and Timmy laughed. “Any ideas?” asked the teenager.
Kurt sipped on his coffee and looked sternly at the naked blonde sex slave. “Well,” he murmured, “I thought a fuckathon might be the order of the day. What d’ya reckon Idaho, sound like fun?”
The look on the pretty woman’s face indicated she thought it would be anything but “fun”, but gulped, then nodded: “Yes, master, it does indeed.”
“What’s a ‘fuckathon’?” asked Kelly.
“Oh, it’s just a little endurance test for our fine busty friend, here,” smiled Kurt. “There are some rules, but basically we will find out how many times we can fuck her while you’re away.”
Barbara Hunt interrupted. “There is a time limit and there are rules, so explain them, Kurt, and don’t be so fuckin’ mysterious,” said his wife.
Kurt dabbed his lips with a napkin then looked across at the increasingly nervous sex slave.
“Idaho, my dear,” he said, in a very kindly tone, “why don’t you explain to the Shaws what takes place in a fuckathon? After all, you’ve enjoyed about three or four since your arrival here, haven’t you?”
Idaho gulped, her big breasts quivered and she started to speak, in a quavering voice. But before she had got many words out, Barbara leaned over and slapped her a stinging blow across the cheek.
“Put some energy into it, slut,” she snapped. “Come on, stop sounding like an innocent little schoolgirl. Now – start again!”
Idaho cleared her throat and resumed her description of the “fuckathon”.
“I am placed on my back on a fuck mattress in the basement,” she told the keenly interested Shaws. “My ankles are tied at the ends of the mattress, which keeps my thighs wide apart.”
“Yummy, cunt on display and all wet for it,” said Timmy.
“Shut the fuck up, Timmy,” snapped his mom. “Don’t interrupt Idaho. This is interesting.”
“My arms are free, to allow me to caress the buttocks and back of the person who is fucking me,” she said, her voice now much firmer than before.
“But the person fucking me is not permitted to cum in my vagina,” she said. “He has to shoot in my mouth.”
“And then?” asked Kurt, a sneering smile on his mouth.
“And then I am given some liquid refreshment before the second person takes their place in my cunt,” she said, her voice a little quieter now.
“Don’t be shy, Idaho,” urged Mr Hunt. “What is the liquid refreshment, exactly?”
“Urine, master,” she said, her voice now in a whisper, a whisper that earned her another face slap from Barbara Hunt.
“Louder, cunt!” shouted the millionaire’s wife, “fuckin’ louder!”
“And that’s the way it goes on,” said Idaho, again speaking up. “I am fucked by the men in turn and after four hours, they count up the number of times.”
“What’s the record?” asked Timmy, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
“Idaho,” said Kurt, “go to the basement and fetch up the record book, so we can get the facts.”
The lovely nude woman left the kitchen, and Timmy looked at his father. “Fuck dad, I’m as hard as a lump of lead. This sounds like fun!”
Idaho soon returned and handed Mr Hunt a large, red leather ledger. On the cover in embossed gold letters were the words: “Idaho’s Games – Records.”
Mr Hunt opened it towards the middle of the book, and said: “Ah, here we are, the fuckathons. The first was myself and a couple of friends from my old alma mater. Well, we managed 11 fucks in four hours. I guess we weren’t in any hurry.
“Then, about six weeks ago, two of my golfing friends took part in the second fuckathon she’s enjoyed, and we reached 10.”
Closing the ledger, he smiled at the Shaws. “But with a little help from young Timmy here, I hope we can improve on that. The point is, you see, that the fucks can’t be so fast that they don’t give the other two participants the chance to recuperate. Steady does it, eh, Idaho?”
Idaho, who was standing beside her master nodded. “Correct, master,” she said.
Barbara Hunt stood up and told the other two females: “Right, we’re off to get dressed for our shopping trip. Now Kurt, I want this fuckin’ game videotaped – just the highlights.
“I wanna see cock-into-cunt entry in each case, I wanna see each cum in her mouth and her drinking the piss between fucks. OK?”
Kurt laughed. “Your wish is my command, my dearest – now, enjoy your shopping.”
And with that he stood, cupped one of Idaho’s heavy breasts, tweaked her nipple to erection and said: “Clear the dishes, then downstairs and get yourself organized. When we get down there, I want you on your back, ankles strapped and cunt hot and eager for action.”
Idaho nodded, murmured a soft “Yes, master” and bent to her work.
About 10 minutes later, the three naked men all displaying strong erections in anticipation of the fun to come, marched down into the torture room.
There, they found a large, mattress with black rubber sheeting had been positioned in the center of the room by Idaho, who was lying on it, face up, her ankles strapped into sturdy leather restraints.
The strong lighting gleamed on her sex lips, which were pink and puffy. Her heavy breasts were firm, the nipples pointing at the ceiling. There was hardly any sag, no doubt due to the surgical work that had been done on them.
At the side of the fuck mattress and off to one side stood a small table. On it was a half-pint glass and a large bottle of “refreshing” urine, for Idaho’s between-fuck drinks.
“Hi, sweetheart,” called Kurt, cheerily. “All ready for the fun?”
Idaho nodded. “Yes, master.”
“Right,” said her sex boss, “now before we came down we had a discussion about the batting line up. We’ve decided to let the young stud start, then it will be his father and then me.
“That OK by you, sexy?”
Idaho replied “Yes, master, thank-you” – as if she had any say in the “batting line up”!
“Right then,” said Kurt, clapping his hands and walking to an equipment cabinet, he produced a timer clock, which he placed by the bottle full of piss and a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen to write down the times.
The master of the ranch then picked up a video camera and focused on the naked slave.
“Righto, Timmy,” said Kurt, “she’s all yours!”
And as the youngster climbed onto the mattress and placed his eight-inch circumsized cock against Idaho’s outer cunt lips, his father started the clock, while Kurt began to film the scene.
Timmy’s taut young buttocks clenched as he fucked the pinned down sex slave, while Idaho – who had been well and truly taught by her master during previous fuckathons – stroked the lad’s butt with her strong hands.
The lad, still really randy for the 38-year-old, couldn’t control himself too well and after only two minutes of fuckery, he pulled his glistening shaft from the slave’s cunt and placed its throbbing head to her mouth.
Idaho swallowed down his hot jizz as Timmy’s father noted down “Fuck number 1, duration 2 minutes”. The lad then poured a glass full of cold urine and told the slave: “Drink it all down, there’s a good slut!”
Idaho, being a good slut, obeyed.
Then Brad Shaw, his nine inches of rampant manhood swaying before him, then climbed onto the mattress to enjoy his first go in the fuckathon.
He lasted longer than his son, but not by much. After he had rammed the slave with his meaty member, Kurt was noting down on the sheet: Fuck number 2, duration 8 minutes.”
Timmy then held the video camera to record Kurt Hunt’s first fuck with his sex slave. The grey-haired master of the ranch, took his time, but Idaho’s sex muscles worked their way on him and after 10 minutes he was pumping his spunk into her throat, before making her drink down her third glass of piss.
The fuck sheet now read: “Fuck number 3, duration 11 minutes.”
By now, the clock on the table beside the fuck mattress showed that 23 minutes had elapsed, but young Timmy’s cock was turgid and ready to rock ‘n’ roll again!
This time he managed to fuck the sweating blonde beneath him for eight minutes, before, with a panted “Fuck, this bitch is wet, she’s on fuckin’ heat!” he pulled his glistening cock from her cunt and presented it for her to fellate to completion.
Brad enjoyed his second fuck with the woman, kissing her hotly and with a lot of tongue work, for 10 minutes, while Kurt Hunt took 15 to shoot his spunk down his slave’s throat.
The clock on the table now showed that the fuckathon had been in progress for 60 minutes and the note paper showed that Idaho had enjoyed six fucks.
Things now slowed somewhat. Timmy managed to last on the sweat-stained slave for 20 minutes, before putting his cock into her mouth for the fellatio segment.
Brad Shaw lasted longer – it took him 31 minutes before his nine-inch monster was shown to the slave, who sucked him off.
And Mr Hunt’s third slave fuck took him 35 minutes to reach completion.
The fuckathon time now stood at two hours and 30 minutes, and Idaho had been fucked nine times.
Timmy, though, was refreshed and raring to go, but before he mounted Idaho for his fourth fuck, he turned to Kurt Hunt. “Uncle Kurt,” he asked, “is there anything in the rules to stop me fucking her in the ass?”
The ranch and slave owner pondered the teenager’s question. “Er, now that you mention it, no, there’s no rule against it, Timmy,” said the older man.
“Great,” said Timmy, stroking his hard-on. “So I guess there’s nothing in the rules about having her lie on her tummy while the ass fuck goes in?”
Again, Kurt Hunt commented that if that was the position Timmy wanted the slave in, then that was the position she should be in.
“OK, Idaho,” he told his slave, “you heard Timmy. Free yourself from the straps, then get on your belly after you’ve turned around and re-tie your ankles. Come on, time’s a wasting!”
Idaho’s glistening body moved as she sat up to free her ankles from the tight leather straps. Then she rolled over, replaced the straps to keep her legs nice and wide apart, and Timmy bent down and licked her anus.
“Right bitch, now for a rectal examination,” he said, eagerly, as Mr Hunt’s video camera faithfully recorded Timmy’s anal intrusion.
Soon he was pumping strongly into her asshole, and then – a mere 10 minutes after cut eight-incher had plunged into her back passage – Timmy dragged it from her, and presented the musky, stained meat to her mouth.
Idaho gulped, but obediently sucked his jizz down, as Brad Shaw noted: “Fuck number 10, duration 10 minutes.”
After the boy’s fourth fuck, Brad Shaw took his host to one side. “Fuck, Kurt,” he said, “I’m almost totally fucked. You got anything to help me out?”
Kurt grinned and took the LA millionaire to a drinks cabinet in one corner of the torture chamber. From a drawer he extracted a bottle of tablets, and handed one to his guest.
“Drink it down with a glass of water and you should be able to give her a fourth fuck,” he said. “You’re OK heart-wise, I guess?”
Brad nodded. “Strong as an ox,” he said, swallowing the tablet with a sip of water.
Within a matter of minutes, his cock was again pointing in a proud nine-inch erection, and he approached the bed.
“Did you like my boy fuckin’ your butt, bitch?” he asked Idaho.
“Yes, Master Brad, it was lovely,” said the obediently polite sex slave.
“Great,” said Brad, “because you’re gonna get an encore!”
And his nine-inches was soon ramrodding into the woman’s anus.
The pill had worked wonders on his cock, but it took him 20 minutes before he needed to place his musky meat to the slave’s mouth and shoot spunk.
“And that,” said Kurt Hunt, putting down the camera after he had recorded Idaho sucking down yet another glass of strong-tasting urine, “equals the fuckathon record!”
The fuckathon time now stood at 3 hours and 15 minutes, when Kurt Hunt, his cock aroused by a tablet, too, placed his eight-inch manhood to Idaho’s asshole.
“And this,” he said, enjoying a moment of teasing with his slave, “is for the record! Take it all in, bitch!”
With that, he pushed deep into her anus and began to ream away at her big, bouncing butt.
As he ass-fucked her, Kurt worked up a decent sweat and 20 minutes after starting, felt his orgasm near and put his foreskin-dragged-back-cock to Idaho’s mouth for fellatio.
Brad Shaw wrote: “Fuck number 12, duration 20 minutes.”
The fuckathon had now been in progress for 3 hours 33 minutes.
“I don’t know about you,” said Kurt as he collapsed on a long leather couch, “but I’m fucked.”
Brad nodded. “I’m done. Couldn’t do it again – but I think Timmy’s ready to shoot for fuck number 5!”
Timmy, indeed, was. The teenager stepped behind the upturned buttocks of the 38-year-old woman, and entered her. As he did, Kurt Hunt, who was again filming the fuck, called out to Brad, still on the couch: “This is fuck number 13.
“We’ve set a record that’s gonna be hard to beat. Well, for a three-man fuck team. A bigger team could probably beat it easy.”
Then, as the lad pumped hard at Idaho’s ass, Mr Hunt called out: “What do ya reckon, Idaho? A 10-man fuck team sound like fun!”
Idaho pretended not to hear, but Timmy grabbed a hunk of her hair and pulled her up from the mattress. “Speak to your master, bitch,” he snapped, running one hand across her heaving puppies and pinching her nipples.
“Yes, master,” the slave grunted, “it sounds like a lot of fun.”
And then Timmy groaned and dragged his cock from the woman’s gaping anus and pushed it to her mouth. “Quick bitch, I’m there, suck me!” he snarled, and the video camera recorded it all.
Afterwards, Mr Hunt read out the news: “13 fucks, in three hours and 55 minutes. Well done, everyone.”
Then he spoke to the slave woman: “Right, get yourself on your back again, ankles strapped. We’re gonna go up for a swim and some refreshing beers. The girls will be back soon, and we’ll bring ‘em down.
“They’re sure to want to know how we did!”
The three fucksters swam for a while, washing away the aches of the fuckathon, and were lounging naked on recliners when the three women walked back into the ranch, laden with shopping bags.
“How did it go, hon?” asked Barbara Hunt, when the three females – now all naked, but for “fuck me” high heels – returned poolside.
Kurt stood up and kissed his wife. “Come on down and we’ll show you.”
Back in the torture chamber, the six punishers looked down at Idaho’s naked body, ankles strapped wide.
“Hmmm, piss bottle has been emptied, I see,” said Barbara. “Well, what’s the story?”
Kurt showed her the notepaper. “Here it is, I’ll enter it into the ledger soon. What do you reckon?”
Barbara’s eyes went wide in admiration. “Fuckin’ hell, 13 fucks, 3 hours 55 minutes. A record!”
Then she looked down at Idaho. “Shoot, Idaho, I bet your cunny’s all sore, ain’t it?”
The blonde slave nodded: “Yes, mistress, very sore.”
Barbara kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the fuck mattress, kneeling up by Idaho’s head.
“Well, since your cunt’s fucked, as it were,” she announced, “we’ll let your tongue do the work this time.”
Then, looking back at her husband, she said: “Honey, refill Idaho’s piss bottle, there’s a sweetie. On the way back we girls all decided to play a little game with Idaho. See how many orgasms she can give us in – what was it, girls?”
Karla Shaw answered eagerly: “Three hours, Barbara. We thought we’d get at least a dozen.”
“Fuck the dozen,” said Barbara, “let’s see if we can’t match the men. Let’s go for 13!”
And as she lowered her snatch onto the still-sweating slave’s mouth, Barbara called out: “13 – what do they say about 13, Idaho? Unlucky for some!”
Everyone roared with laughter. Everyone, that is, except Idaho. She had her mouth full!
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