The Wine Bar Owner's Anal Ride at the Stable

The Wine Bar Owner's Anal Ride at the Stable

The last rays of the summer sun had slipped behind the rolling hills when Elena parked her car beside the old wooden stable. Crickets sang in the tall grass as she stepped out, a chilled bottle of her best Cabernet clutched in one hand and two crystal glasses in the other. At twenty-eight, Elena carried her curvaceous figure with the confident sway of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted—most of the time. Tonight, that confidence had a sharper, hungrier edge.

Marcus was waiting just inside the wide stable doors, wiping his hands on a rag. At thirty-two, the stable owner looked every inch the horseman: broad shoulders, thick arms corded from years of lifting saddles and bales, and a quiet, steady presence that always made her stomach flutter. His faded denim shirt stretched across his chest, and the faint scent of leather, hay, and warm horseflesh drifted out to greet her.

“Elena,” he said, voice low and warm. “You’re late. Thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

“Not a chance.” She lifted the bottle. “This one’s been breathing for an hour. Figured we could share it where no one would interrupt us.”

His gaze traveled over her tight black riding pants and the crisp white blouse that clung to her full breasts. The flirtation between them had simmered for years—harmless teasing that had grown heavier with every visit. Tonight, something in the air felt different. Thicker.

They settled on a wide bench just inside the stable, the soft glow of a single lantern casting long shadows across the stalls. Marcus poured two generous glasses. The rich, dark wine smelled of black cherries and earth. They drank in comfortable silence for a few minutes, listening to the soft snuffle of horses and the creak of wood.

Then Elena set her glass down and looked at him directly.

“The smell in here always does something to me,” she confessed, voice husky. “Leather. Hay. You. It makes me ache, Marcus. Makes me wet just standing here thinking about being bent over and taken hard from behind.”

His hand stilled on the bottle. The muscle in his jaw flexed. “Elena…”

“I’m serious.” She leaned closer, letting him see the heat in her dark eyes. “I’ve thought about it every time I’ve come out here. My tightest hole. Stretched. Filled. Fucked until I can’t think straight.”

The words hung between them like smoke. Marcus’s breathing had grown deeper, heavier. The front of his jeans was already straining.

Elena stood slowly, deliberately, and walked a few steps to a large, tightly packed hay bale covered with a clean horse blanket. She planted her palms on it, arched her back, and pushed her round ass toward him. The tight riding pants hugged every curve, the seam disappearing between her cheeks.

“Like this,” she said, voice trembling with need. “I want you to peel these pants down, lick my asshole until I’m dripping, then shove that thick cock of yours all the way inside me. I want you to pound my ass hard, Marcus. I want to feel every inch stretching me open.”

“Jesus Christ,” he growled.

He rose, towering behind her. Big hands settled on her hips, thumbs stroking the waistband of her pants. With deliberate care he worked the tight fabric down over the swell of her ass, letting it bunch at her thighs. Her bare cheeks glowed in the lantern light. She wasn’t wearing panties.

Marcus dropped to his knees. The scent of her arousal was already thick—sweet, musky, feminine. He spread her cheeks with both hands and dragged the flat of his tongue slowly from her soaked pussy all the way up to the tight pink ring of her asshole.

Elena moaned, loud and shameless. The wet heat of his tongue sent sparks racing up her spine. He licked her again, slower, circling the sensitive pucker with the tip of his tongue before pressing inside just enough to make her gasp.

“Fuck, that feels good,” she panted, pushing back against his face. “Deeper. Get me nice and wet.”

Marcus obliged, devouring her ass with long, hungry strokes while two thick fingers slid into her dripping cunt. He curled them, stroking her inner walls, coating them in her slick arousal. When he pulled them free and pressed one slick fingertip against her asshole, she cried out in pleasure.

“Yes… finger my ass. Open me up for your cock.”

He worked one finger inside her slowly, then two, scissoring gently while his tongue continued its relentless licking. Elena’s thighs trembled. Her nipples were hard points against her blouse. The lewd, wet sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the stable, mingling with the soft snorts of the horses in their stalls.

“I need it,” she begged, voice breaking. “Please, Marcus. Stop teasing. Fuck my ass. I want you to ruin it.”

He stood, towering over her again. The sound of his belt and zipper seemed impossibly loud. Elena looked back over her shoulder and watched him pull out his cock—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip. He dragged the heavy shaft through her soaked folds, gathering her cream, then pressed the fat head against her glistening asshole.

“Tell me again,” he rasped.

“Fuck my ass hard,” she moaned. “Stretch me. Pound me. I want to feel you for days.”

Marcus gripped her hips and pushed forward. The broad head popped past her tight ring, forcing a long, guttural moan from her throat. Inch by thick inch he sank into her, giving her time to adjust, until his heavy balls rested against her dripping pussy. The feeling of being so completely filled made her eyes roll back.

“God, you’re tight,” he groaned, voice rough with lust. “So fucking hot inside.”

He began to move—slow, deep strokes at first, letting her feel every ridge and vein. Elena braced her forearms on the hay bale, pushing back to meet him. The burn melted into pure, filthy pleasure. Soon his pace increased, hips slapping against her ass with wet, rhythmic smacks. The stable filled with the obscene sound of his thick cock reaming her asshole and her breathless, desperate moans.

“Harder,” she demanded. “Give it to me. Pound my dirty little hole.”

Marcus growled and fucked her harder, one hand sliding up to fist her long dark hair. The new angle made her cry out sharply with every thrust. Her pussy clenched and dripped onto the blanket beneath them, untouched but throbbing.

After several minutes of standing doggy that left her legs shaking, Marcus pulled out with a wet pop. Elena whimpered at the sudden emptiness.

He guided her across the aisle to the sturdy saddle stand, a padded wooden frame perfect for holding riding tack. He sat on the edge, cock jutting up like a pole, glistening with her juices. Elena kicked her riding pants the rest of the way off, climbed up, and turned so her back was to him. Reverse cowgirl. She wanted him to watch her ass swallow every inch.

She reached back, spread her cheeks, and lowered herself onto his cock. The head pressed against her well-fucked hole and slid inside with almost no resistance this time. She sank down slowly, savoring the stretch, until her ass was flush against his pelvis. The new position let him sink even deeper.

“Fuck, look at that,” Marcus breathed, hands gripping her hips. “Your greedy little asshole taking every inch.”

Elena began to ride him. At first she moved with long, rolling strokes, feeling him glide in and out of her most forbidden place. Then she grew bolder, bouncing harder, faster. The slap of her ass against his thighs echoed through the stable. Her breasts bounced heavily inside her blouse. Sweat slicked her skin. The scent of sex—musk, leather, hay, and wine—wrapped around them like smoke.

Marcus reached around and found her swollen clit, rubbing tight circles while she impaled herself again and again. The dual sensations pushed her toward the edge with terrifying speed.

“I’m going to come,” she gasped. “Oh god, I’m going to come with your cock buried in my ass—”

“Do it,” he growled, thrusting up to meet her. “Come on my dick, Elena. Let me feel that tight hole squeeze me.”

The orgasm hit her like a thunderclap. Her entire body seized, asshole clamping down around his thick shaft in powerful, rhythmic spasms. She screamed—raw, unrestrained—her voice echoing off the rafters. The pleasure rolled through her in crashing waves, juices squirting from her untouched pussy onto his balls and thighs.

Marcus followed her over moments later. With a deep, animal groan he pulled her down hard and flooded her bowels with thick, hot spurts of cum. She felt every pulse, every jet, and it prolonged her own climax until she was shaking, whimpering, utterly spent.

For long minutes afterward Elena stayed exactly where she was, impaled to the hilt, gently rocking her hips in tiny circles. The feeling of his softening cock still buried deep in her ass was decadent. She leaned back against his broad chest, turning her head so he could capture her mouth in a slow, deep, wine-flavored kiss. Their tongues slid lazily together while his hands roamed over her breasts and belly, soothing and possessive.

When they finally separated, both of them breathing hard, Elena smiled with wicked satisfaction.

“This is happening again,” she murmured, clenching around him just to hear him hiss. “Next Friday. After the bar closes. I’ll bring a new bottle—something darker, richer. And I’ll bring that thick glass plug I’ve been saving. I want you to work it into me first, get me ready while I sip my wine, then fuck my ass even harder than tonight.”

Marcus’s arms tightened around her waist, his cock twitching inside her at the promise.

“Deal,” he said, voice rough with renewed hunger. “Next Friday. Same time. Same stable. Bring the wine, bring the toy… and be ready to scream even louder.”

Elena smiled against his neck, already scheming exactly how she would tease him next time—perhaps arriving in a short skirt with nothing underneath, the plug already seated deep inside her, so the moment she walked through the stable doors he would know exactly how she had spent the drive over thinking about his cock.

She couldn’t wait.