by India Heath
If Fawn Wallace had known that in the next twenty-four hours she was going to lose her virginity and get her first ever bare-bottomed spanking, she probably wouldn't have even left the house that day. Excitement was for other people, not for her. It was for the adrenalin junkies who spent their weekends steer wrestling, bareback bronc riding, bull riding and barrel racing on the circuit. It was for the sassy rodeo queens, with their endless long legs and flashing white smiles, parading around the arena to the cheer of the crowds. It was even for the buckle bunnies that hung around the chutes, waiting to catch the eye of any cowboy champion looking for some fun. It was for all of the rodeo enthusiasts except her.
Fawn liked her quiet life. Yes, it was sometimes a little lonely but it was safe too. Behind the bar of her concessional beer stand she witnessed every feature of the rodeo, absorbed the sounds and smells, drank in the thrills and tension, all without ever truly being a part of it. And that was the way she liked it.
"Howdy, Bambi."
Except for Dusty Simpson. He was the one aspect of the rodeo she secretly yearned to belong to. Fawn's heart beat raced as the familiar slow Texan drawl drifted across her nerve endings, causing a shiver of awareness.
"You wanna pull me a beer, darlin'? I reckon I earned one tonight."
The tall, thirty-year old bull rider leant a casual elbow on the bar and gave her a wink. Her tummy flipped as she grew damp. Jeez, he was hot! Blonde hair, blue eyes, rugged good looks and a body to die for, honed to perfection by years of training. And all for that eight seconds of glory. She had watched him win yet another trophy buckle earlier today, not to mention a purse of $3000. This season Dusty seemed to be unbeatable. He rode the bulls like he was glued to them, judging each jerk and spin to perfection, bearing down in his pants and gripping with his powerful thighs. It was a dance between man and beast that was truly breathtaking to watch. Every female in the audience was mesmerised by his style. They hung around him in hoards, eager for his autograph or just a glimpse of his lazy, mouth-watering smile.
Fawn tried to keep her hands steady as she drew him an ice cold draft beer and set it on the bar in front of him. "I saw you win again," she admitted shyly. "You were amazing."
He shrugged modestly. "I've been in the game a long time, Bambi. Every rider has highs and lows. This season just happens to be lucky for me."
She watched him down half the glass before groaning in satisfaction. Every Friday and Saturday night he stopped off at her stand to buy himself a beer. He only ever had the one but Fawn cherished the chance to be up close with him for just a few minutes before he left the arena, usually with some stunning blonde on his arm.
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