Loving Lisa’s Pretty Pink Pussy Petals

JackassTales…Tale # 61…Readers; through very good fortune I have met this exciting 19-yr-old young lady on XNXX and we have been PM flirting for awhile. I wanted to write a fictional story about this bluest of eyes beauty and, with her permission, the following is it. This is one of those I-wish-it-were-true fantasies for me!

Lisa, Bluest of Eyes, this is for you.
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Loving Lisa’s Pretty Pink Pussy Petals


(Part one) Tears

Summer is a bitch when water is scarce. Hell, it hasn’t rained on our Western rangeland for months! If this drought doesn’t let up, I’m gonna have to start selling cattle. Damnit, this is a lot of responsibility for a guy of only twenty-one years in age! These are just some of the thoughts running through my mind as I was barreling down the long gravel road towards home. My pickup truck was leaving a wake of dust plumes as a reminder of just how dry it was.

My subconscious mind’s eye saw the figure walking down the middle of the road ahead. My brain noticed a nice, wiggly-jiggly, shorts-covered ass sitting atop shapely summer-tanned legs. Brunette hair was tied back in a couple of twisted braids. “Mister,” I told myself. “That is a girl! Why, she might even be a Damsel in Distress!”

Oh shit, here’s what daydreaming will do for you! I slammed on my brakes! I was pushing my clutch and brake petals nearly through the floorboard. The rear end of my truck was fishtailing all over the place. I wasn’t exactly riding a wild bronco, but I had a three-hundred horsepower beast I was trying to bring to a stop before I killed that someone walking in the middle of the road.

What kinda imbecilic idiot walks in the middle of the freakin’ road? Coming to a stop, I jumped out of my vehicle, and went to confront the foolish female. Cock-stirring girl or not, that young lady was gonna get a piece of my mind! As mad as I was, heck, I might even turn her over my knees and spank her attractive ass!

The face which turned to me was familiar. Hell, it oughta be because it belonged to my sister, Lisa! Here I was all ready to challenge a pretty girl and then forgive her, but all I get is my sis. That’s not to say that this young woman is not pretty. In fact, I guess she is kind of a knockout! Now, who would have thought that I would have thought that my nineteen-year-old sis was a drop-dead gorgeous female? And, to top things off, why was the bulge in my jeans growing so hard and horny?

Sisters; shit, you can’t avoid living with ‘em, yet you can’t fuck ‘em! That’s not to say, some brothers don’t screw their sisters, but heck, I’m not one of those hillbilly humpers! Although at this moment, I kinda wish I was. God, that sis of mine was hot! The pale-blue peasant blouse top she wore fit her body like a glove. If I haven’t been struck by heatstroke-stupidity, then I do believe she is not even wearing a bra! I know for a fact that right there in front of my eyes are a couple of boobs straining at the thin fabric garment which matched the palest, bluest eyes a guy ever lost his soul in. Standing up proud-like and aimed directly at me were a couple of the firmest cloth-covered nipples I had ever seen.

Yet, something was amiss. Lisa ran to me as soon as my foot hit the gravel roadbed. This vision in blue flung her arms around my neck, pressed her boobied tits against my chest, and then started bawling her eyes out. There must have been a death in the family because this girl was nearly inconsolable. But no, that can’t be it because since our parent’s plane crash, my sis and I have had no family except each other.

A thought hit me suddenly. “Sis, why are you walking?” I practically shouted. “Where is Ficka, where is your horse?”

Lisa tightened one arm around my neck and accidentally ground the mound between her legs against my hardening cock. The index finger of her other hand pointed back down the road from whence I had sped. “She’s hurt,” I was told. “Oh Jack, I think it’s bad!”

I scooped my sis up in my muscular arms then turned and deposited her ass on the front bench seat of my dooley truck. Climbing in behind her, I started the powerful vehicle, floored the accelerator, and did a 180 in the slippery gravel. I knew without being told that Lisa had been visiting our neighbor girl up on Two Peaks Hill. That treacherous mountain road had claimed the lives of many a buggy horse and riding animal. Even though she lived ten miles away, my sis loved visiting Rachel Ramon.

Up ahead the sideroad came into sight. I had been looking for it with eagle eyes because this wooded turnoff was hard to find. I pulled to a stop at the junction and let my engine idle. My truck had custom stacked mufflers and the throaty roar of its Cummins diesel engine was drowning out all other sound.

Reaching out, I turned the ignition off. A subdued silence presented itself. Now in the muted stillness I could hear other sounds. A summer storm was coming. Wind began blowing with such a fierce howl it was nearly rattling my windshield and windows. Trees were swishing and swaying under a relentless onslaught of blustery breezes.

I made a choice to restart my truck and head up the Two Peaks Road. My hand reached for the key and my feet reached toward the clutch and gas petal. I had the intention of revving my engine back to life. Yet, at that very moment, all thought and actions were frozen in place. A loud, piercing scream shattered the silence.

I did not have an overly stunned reaction. I’d heard screams before. I also knew that this was not a human scream. While growing up in the West my ears had become attuned to nature’s sounds. There were many natural voices that could be heard as screams. The clarion call of a bull elk could be heard for miles. A cougar or a bobcat’s call could scare the devil out of man or beast. An owl on the prowl could have the same effect.

As a man of the West, I knew that scream. It was not an elk. It was not a cougar, a bobcat, nor an owl. It was the deathnell scream of a horse.

This sound came from the road to the right, the one that led up the mountain. My truck’s engine roared to life. The main gravel road was left behind yet my Ram Tough vehicle’s six wheels continued to pull and propel the truck forward up the steep dirt road.

Just ahead, there she was; Bess, Lisa’s four-year-old filly. From her kneeling position it was clear that either one or both front legs were broken. The natural instinct to stand was causing the horse to struggle wildly. A dog, my sis’ adopted 8-year-old German Shepherd war dog, Cody, was doing his best to protect his equine companion.

Lisa had buried her head in her hands and she was weeping uncontrollably. Even though I put my arms around her and let her put her head against my shoulder, she appeared to receive no comfort. Much needed rain peppered down on the truck cab’s roof. This unfamiliar noise caused my sis to lift her head. Misty, tear-filled blue eyes mesmerized me. Pouty, sexy lips tempted me. Unable to resist, I kissed this girl’s irresistible feminine mouth. Much to my surprise, I was kissed back with a passion I never knew my sis possessed.

I’m not one for keeping count, but after approximately one or two minutes of increasingly impassioned warm-wet kisses, Lisa and I suddenly stopped then pulled apart. I suppose there was no excuse or explanation as to why this had happened. In order to avoid awkward touching, we both stepped out of my truck. Cody was there to greet his female master and friend. Together, they walked toward Bess.

At first, I didn’t follow. Instead, I opened the rear door of my truck and reached for the rear window rifle rack. I levered a 30-30 Winchester cartridge into my Marlin Ranch Rifle. By the time I reached my sis and her injured animal, my clothing was wet from the rain. Lisa’s girlie-girl outfit was plastered to her body. God, I was correct about there being no bra encumbering this girl’s breasts! Magnificent, nippled mounds became displayed so prominently my eyes needed no imagination to see their beauty.

“I want to get her saddle off first, Jack,” Lisa announced. “Grab Bess’ bridle.”

Being a woman of the West, my sis knew there was no delaying the inevitable. I held the young filly’s bridle while Lisa pulled the saddle off as quickly as possible. This girl stood back then looked me directly in the eyes. At that moment, I placed the muzzle of my rifle against the injured animal’s equine forehead and fired.

Four different things happened. Bess fell dead; Lisa jumped; Cody, disliking gunfire, ran around and around; and I, well I remained stoic knowing I had no other choice.