Chapter 2 Honey the Tease
Honey's trembling hands fumbled at the buttons that ran down the length of
her dress. Her eyes searched the barn looking for any possible means of escape,
some way of getting past him and safely out the door. As his eyes followed
hers, he drew his gun, cocked the trigger, and pointed it directly at her,
"Don't even think about it, Honey. You ain't goin' nowhere. Not until I've
settled my score with you. You shoulda done yer thinkin' before you testified
against me. No Texas jury woulda taken that Mexican whore's word against mine
if you hadn't a taken it upon yerself to get involved in something that wasn't
none of yer fuckin' affair."
The foul language was like a slap across Honey's face. No man had ever
spoken like that in her presence. And despite the voluptuousness of her figure,
no man had yet seen her naked body. Notwithstanding the fact that she was the
hottest prick tease between Dallas and El Paso. She liked to tease the ranch
hands, flaunting her spectacular body, driving the lonely farmhands wild with a
lust that they could never satisfy, not as long as her daddy, Henry Wilson, ran
the county.
Honey was Henry Wilson's pet. His "Princess" as he called her, to the
disgust of the ranch hands who knew the real Honey.
Whenever daddy rode into town the cowpokes could count on Honey prowling
around the ranch like a jungle cat looking for prey. Her every step, her every
movement carried the suggestion of sexual tension. And when she knew her father
was going to be away from the ranch all day, Honey would forego any pretense at
subtlety.
She would redo her conservative blouse, tying it up just under her
succulent breasts, baring tempting inches of sun-kissed midriff. Then she'd
unbutton a few buttons at the top, displaying plenty of mouth-watering cleavage.
She'd often make it a point to ride around the ranch, with her skirt pulled
shamelessly high on her endless thighs, slowing down when she approached a group
of two or three hands to give them a good look at the body they didn't dare
touch. And her sparkling blue eyes would give them a look that asked each of
them, "What wouldn't you give to see it all? Don't you wish, don't you just
wish you dared to touch me?"
Daddy's little Princess liked to hang around the bunkhouse, too, when her
pa was gone, taking every opportunity to tease the men with her nubile young
body. She especially enjoyed getting a drink from the well in front of the
bunkhouse while the men were watching. She'd pump that handle up and down, up
and down, careless of the water she'd splash down her front. By the time she'd
finished her drink -- or her act, as Red, the bunk house chief called it -- her
blouse would be soaked and clinging to her breasts, outlining her bullet-hard
nipples. When old man Wilson wasn't around, the ranchhands could even count on
Honey's walk being different -- a simple crossing from the house to the corral
turned into a butt-twitching, boob-bouncing promenade.
When Honey had turned eighteen, the boys had thrown her a surprise birthday
party in front of the bunkhouse. Slim had baked a none-too-round cake, but it
didn't taste half bad. Henry Wilson had gone to El Paso to meet with his banker
that day, and so the party became a little merrier than it would have if the
stern old man had been around. Lester, the old Negro, played his harmonica, and
Red, the ranch foreman, joined him on the banjo. Casey, the Irishman, produced
a bottle from his mysteriously endless supply of whiskey, and over Red's
objections, Honey begged to try it.
"I don't think that's such a good idea, Honey. Yer daddy wouldn't like
it."
"Oh, Red, you're such an old party-pooper." Honey gave the weather-beaten
boss a dazzling smile, as she held up her finger and thumb, an inch or two
apart. " I just want a little sip."
Honey was wearing a yellow party dress, and her blonde hair was tied up in
a ribbon to match. It was a stifling June night, and the loose-fitting dress
was open at the neck, and Honey wore only the thinnest of chemises under it.
Red was seated on a bale of hay, as Honey stood above him and bent down over
him, giving him a good look at the tops of her mouth-watering breasts. "C''mon,
Red" she pleaded as she swayed gently in front of him, "just one drink. I'm not
a baby, you know."
The rest of the men around the campfire were enjoying the show, too. When
Honey bent over to plead with Red, the short yellow dress rode up in back,
giving the boys an eyeful of her long tanned legs.
"Aw, shit, Red, she's eighteen now. Let her have a damn drink!" Buck
Williams, like most of the other men, was anxious to see how Honey might carry
on with a couple of drinks in her.
Red finally relented, and Michael Casey offered her the bottle. Honey
lifted it to her lips and took a long pull, before she lowered the bottle,
sputtering and choking. But laughing, too. "You didn't tell me it was gonna burn
like that, Casey! But it's good, though, ain't it?"
Honey stood in the center of the men, her back to the campfire still
holding the bottle. "Lester, play something lively. I feel like dancing."
"Geesus!" Buck whispered to Casey. "I gotta see this."
Old Lester put his harmonica to his lips, and began "Camptown Ladies".
Honey's hips began swaying to the beat as she took another long swig of the
whiskey.
"Honey, go easy on that stuff," Red warned.
"Leave her alone, Red." Buck's thin-slitted eyes were locked on Honey's
breasts, as they moved under the thin yellow dress. "She ain't hurtin' nothin.
Are you Honey?"
"Yeah, shut up, Red. It's her birthday," chimed in Stoney Jackson. "Let
her have some fun."
What Stoney really meant, of course, was "Let us have some fun!" The eyes
of every ranch hand were glued to Honey's figure, as she swayd sinuously in the
firelight. She took another swig from the bottle every now and then, and with
every sip of the alcohol, her movements became more abandoned. Honey danced
gracefully around the perimeter of the campfire, pausing briefly in front of
every man, now shimmying slowly into and out of a crouch, as Lester played a
slow tune, and then spinning quickly, skirt riding high on her thighs, when the
grizzled Negro played a quicker one.
Honey gave Lester a big smile when she moved in front of him, posing
sensuously, and he nervously smiled back as she did a dip in front of him, that
gave him a clear look down the front of her dress. Lester almost choked on his
harmonica when he peered deep into her glorious, perspiring cleavage. Lester
could see Honey's rivet-hard nipples pressing against her undergarment no more
than eighteen inches from his face.
She saved Buck for last, gyrating her hips wildly, her hands running up and
down over the cotton dress, as if she were making love to herself. Buck seemed
to be hypnotized by the blonde houri writhing in front of him. Honey turned her
back on him then, and moved her rounded derriere in slow, widening circles,
mere inches from his face.
Finally Buck couldn't take it any more, and he reached for her with a
growl.
"Hey!" Honey sobered up fast as she pulled away, angrily. Lester put his
harmonica down. "Don't touch me! Don't you ever touch me, Buck Williams!"
"All right, that's enough!" Red's voice was authoritative. "Honey you'd
best get back in the house before there's trouble. Boys, put out this fire, and
let's turn in. We've got us a peck of work to do in the morning."
No question about it, there wasn't a man on the ranch who wouldn't have
given a month's pay for a few hours with Princess Honey. Who didn't lie awake
during those long Texas nights, unable to sleep, restless with unfulfilled lust.
Who didn't dream lurid fantasies of how he would use and abuse her glorious
body.
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Clem, her boyfriend, never saw that side of Honey. He was the son of a
rich rancher that lived on the other side of the county. Clem was a bit on the
shy side, and only came courting on weekends, but Henry Wilson encouraged Honey
to be nice to the mild-mannered boy, because Clem's daddy's ranch was the second
biggest property in the county. And what the hell, Honey thought, he was the
only boy her own age anywhere around. The cowpokes on the ranch were all at
least ten years older than she.
She and Clem had fooled around a little, but it was only on the night
before he left on the cattle drive that the timorous teenager had finally gotten
aggressive enough to try to see and touch the magnificent goblets of flesh that
were slowly becoming visible to Black Jack as she undid the buttons of the pale
pink bodice.
Her pa had gone into town to get some last minute supplies, and figured to
be gone for a few hours. Being shy, it had taken Clem months to get up the
nerve to progress from a little harmless necking to the stage at which he would
undo Honey's blouse and free her voluptuous breasts; but that night he finally
did, and when he did, he couldn't get enough of them. He marveled at their soft
perfection, touching them in timid wonder at first, then slowly growing bolder,
teasing and stroking the warm mounds of pink-tipped flesh. It wasn't long before
his strong hands were cupping the big globes, kneading them roughly, and
squashing them together in his hands. Honey remembered how Clem's mouth had
left her lips, then, and descended downward to kiss her glorious boobs.
Honey had played with her breasts from time to time herself, of course, but
it had taken Clem's manly hands and hungry lips to teach her how sensitive they
truly were. She had gone wild, feeding her breasts to him in turn, intoxicated
by the erotic thrills going through her. Clem had paid special attention to the
pink nipples, torturing them gently into throbbing, saliva-coated nuggets of
desire.
But just as one of Clem's hands reached under her dress and groped toward
the damp cavern of her pussy, they heard the back door open. Her pa was home!
And she and Clem had had to quickly adjust their clothing and pull apart. Pa
was a churchgoing man. And Honey Wilson, sex goddess, was still a virgin.
