Lenalee's kinky blog

"Hell yeah, boy... nice and slow," Bill murmurs with a sly grin, his expression one of wild mischief. Your nose is right against his bare exposed rear.

A few days earlier, the gang had caught you. They treated you... decently.

You were one of them O'Driscoll boys.

His big hand smacked across your face, and his chubby fingers gripped your hair. He was facing you because he had taken a liking to you. He always had a thing for rival gang members—probably because of the thrill of being so close to one. He was such a deviant. And honestly, out of everyone here, you really, REALLY didn't think that big grizzly guy was fucking gay. As in homosexual.

"Whatchu waitin' for? Go on!" It was covered in hair, not a single bald spot. Thick and dense... It would have pained you to acknowledge it, but deep down, that kind of turned you on. Gosh, you were so naughty. You could barely see his hole, and the smell? It was the true scent of a man—musky and unapologetic. You took one deeper sniff, curious.

Good thing you saw him wash himself down by the river minutes earlier. Thinking about it, you were kind of grateful for the gesture. Sure, water is water, and HIS scent wasn't going to go away, but any kind of dirt wasn't going to bother you.

When you started licking, Bill's body immediately reacted. He shivered, and you felt his hole loosen up with enjoyment. You saw his big cock twitch, legs raised, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and the other still gripping your hair as you began groping his meaty buttocks and digging deeper with your tongue and nose. It tickled him.

Bill's head jerked back, letting out a low, pleasured grunt as his eyes mingled with yours.

"Now, if you go on like that, I might just share my meal with you," he whispered, god forbid anyone hear him say that. He would be so ashamed—being nice to the enemy? That was bad. Worse than fucking with them. At least he kind of had Dutch's agreement to do this. Sort of...

You nodded, playing with your tongue. You went all the way down his crack, licking slowly up to the crease of his balls. You did this a few more times, three in total. "Aight... that's enough." Bill glanced at his cock; it was erect, but it wasn't enough. The fun was just getting started. Oh boy, were you going to have plenty.

He wanted more control over you; he wanted to see you muffle and suffer just a bit. Just to make you get the message that if you had simply chosen a better gang, the Van der Linde gang, this kind of pleasure could have been daily.

Bill grabbed your neck effortlessly, pinning you down on the camping bed. It must have been a really good one because it didn't break even when you slammed back first into it. You looked at Bill, fear growing in you. But you felt slightly reassured when you glanced at his stocky figure, fat laying in all the right places, a sexy gut full of beer and all. It wasn't the unhealthy kind; it was the STRONG type. Only your sight quickly revolted when the dim lantern light was shadowed by Bill's own silhouette hovering over your chest.

He looked back at you, aiming with precision, laying right onto your face, hole to mouth. He moaned, lust rushing through his blood. Bill's hands touched his bushy chest, his own fingers tracing his nipples and eventually resting on your legs. His eyes caught you enjoying this. Your pants didn't lie. While he was naked, you were still fully clothed. Bill wanted to keep it like that, but now his need to see and feel you grew bigger and bigger.

You couldn't breathe as well as before, and feeling him grind onto your face was overwhelming. He was heavy, and he clearly didn't care. He only lifted himself ever once in a while when you stopped moving.

Bill was ass-fucking your face, and you were licking him so well he was leaking. He unbuttoned your pants in a rush, setting you free as he, in return, sucked your dick. It wasn't an act of love or anything like that. He was sucking it like he needed it. He depended on it; all that booze had made him hungry. It was sloppy, and so were you. You left saliva and kisses all over his behind; you were basically trapped down there. The scent of sweat and your desire for more melted together.

"You're well packed..." He was staring at your cock. He was overdoing it; you knew it. His tone didn't seem all that impressed, but judging by the way he was jerking you off, that didn't matter.

He sucked, you licked. His ass was gaping wider? Your cock was growing harder. And when you could swear you were about to cum, Bill put his thumb on your urethra, cutting you off. You moaned, confused. The vibration of your voice teased his needy ass.

"This still ain't enough... I want more..."

In a smooth motion, his weight lifted off your face, and you instantly took a deep breath full of oxygen. Gee, even the air carried his scent. You spat out the tuft of hair you almost swallowed, brown and thick short locks landing on the grassy ground. You squinted when you felt him put weight on your pelvis, your bony pelvis so frail and unimpressive compared to his.

He took you by both wrists, pulling you into him. Bill smiled like a maniac when he felt your hardened third leg slide into him, smooth as butter. Your hands naturally rested on his hips.

You were doggy-styling him now; that was how he liked it best. He impatiently slammed himself onto you, taking it in properly.

"You gonna fuck me or what, boy?!" Bill was kind enough to do it once. But his wild, animalistic stare back at you was all you needed to start thrusting into him, hitting his G-spot like there was no tomorrow. Because truthfully, there probably wasn't going to be one if you didn't satisfy him enough.

"mhn, goddamn..."

"Urgh!..."

He was so vocal. You were trembling like a leaf, keeping a steady rhythm no matter what. Your hands pinched his generous ass cheeks, feeling his hair as you laid kisses on his neck. His insides were warm, surprisingly narrow. It didn't seem to fit a big guy like that to have such a tight hole. But hey, it was easier to make things come out of this bad boy than to make them go in.

Bill wasn't even there anymore; he was a mess. He whined in an unfamiliar tone that was quite high-pitched and out of character. His face squashed into his pillow, hands jerking himself off fast and mechanically. It seemed like he was cumming, but most of it was piss. That drunken fool... He then took most of his remaining energy to give you a little boost, his body mirroring your moves just to get you high and dry. His arm came around your neck as he kissed you clumsily.

His cock twitched when the ever-familiar sticky goo seemed to have drained for good. He felt lightheaded. But you? You were still going.

That whole thing—seeing him like that, the kiss, him being so drunk, his piss, and that stupidly sexy musky smell he still carried around—you rubbed your fingers on the mess that stained the bed, collected some, and dug it into his mouth.

Bill's eyes widened, flushing red. He never would have guessed he tasted this good—a perfect blend of sweetness with a hint of salt. You explored his mouth and throat with fervor, each movement met with his eager consent. He surrendered completely, relinquishing the dominance he once held over you, savoring every second of this shared intensity.

But he probably simply gave up control, overwhelmed by the exhaustion that weighed heavily on both his body and intoxicated mind. You kept fucking him relentlessly, fast and hard. He screamed, whimpered, and groaned. Your hand shaky, you spanked him firmly, as if he were a disobedient mule. His fat ass wiggled from the shock. Bill tried to bite back a moan; he wasn't dumb—he knew what was coming.

You.

He closed his eyes, holding his breath, a large satisfied smile tailored on his face.

Finally, you hit his G-spot one last time with all your might, and you finally exploded inside him. It was the biggest orgasm you ever experienced. You really did a number on him, filling him up like a puffy pastry. Poor guy was probably going to feel this for the whole week...

And so, there you were, back at square one—tethered to that STUPID tree, a silent observer as the Van der linde bustled around you doing their day to day activites. The women giggling as they walked past you.

You knew they knew.

Suddenly, you felt a Big hand on your shoulder. A chill ran down your spine. You couldn't turn back to see who it was but you were certain this was now and today that everything would end for you. You told them everything you knew After all, they didn't needed to keep you around. A wave of dread washed over you, and you braced yourself.

"Time to collect," You recognized that voice!

Bill untied you with rough urgency, and once your wrists were free, relief grew. He stepped in front of you, locking eyes with that same hungry gaze from the night before. You couldn't help but wonder if he still full of your cum, the tought made you swallow nervously.

"Now, don’t look at me like that, cowboy," he teased, half-serious, a goofy grin breaking the tension. After a brief, awkward silence, he turned to retrieve the bowl of deer stew he'd saved for you.

John kneels at your feet, chin resting on your knees, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he avoids your gaze. His lips part as he stammers, "This really necessary?" His voice is shaky, betraying just how flustered he is. He’s half-hard, clearly worked up, but too embarrassed to admit it, even though his body tells a different story.

You run your fingers through his tangled hair, smiling softly as he squirms beneath your touch. His blush deepens, his body trembling, caught between the need to submit and the shame of being in such a vulnerable state. “Tsk, wolfman…~” you murmur teasingly, brushing your fingers over the rough scars on his cheek. His breath falters, and when you lean in for a kiss, his lips move against yours weakly, distracted. He’s too far gone in his arousal, his mind clouded with conflict.

You coax him to his feet, hands sliding down to cup his bare lubed ass. He’s no longer the scrawny John Marston from years ago; family life has filled him out, giving him a solidness you admire. His body, while not as broad as Arthur’s, carries a certain weight that suits him, makes him look healthier.

"Damn you..." Before he can protest, your fingers slip between his cheeks, teasing his untouched entrance. His familiar musk of sweat and earth clings to him—raw, masculine, and undeniably John. When the tip of your finger presses in, his body tenses, a shudder running through him. A guttural moan escapes his lips, more honest than any words he could manage.

"Fuck!" he slurs, his heavy-lidded eyes briefly meeting yours before you tug him forward by his neckerchief, guiding him to the bed with a roughness that leaves him stumbling. You lift his legs with ease, positioning him exactly how you want. His eyes stay glued to yours, wide and vulnerable, and in this moment, he looks almost… breedable. The thought sends a shiver through you. His need is unmistakable, etched into every line of his body, and you relish it. Your hardened cowboy, laid bare and trembling beneath your touch.

Grinning, you savor the sight of him. You spank his ass, the sharp smack making him jolt, followed by a firm pinch that draws a breathless gasp from him. His cock is fully hard now, twitching for attention, but you don’t give it to him just yet. You grip it, feeling its weight—it’s not the biggest you’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t matter.

"You're holding well, boy~" you purr, biting your lip as you squeeze him. His whole body tenses in response, and he instinctively reaches for his cock, but you stop him before he can touch himself. His hand hovers midair, frustration and need swirling in his pleading gaze.

"Nuh-uh... not until I say so, Johnny~" you tease with a smirk. He groans but you keep him in place, your finger inside him moving slowly, driving him crazy.

His cock is already dripping with precum, and each twitch of his body, every whimper, makes your grin widen. Watching him unravel beneath you is intoxicating—knowing that you have him completely at your mercy.

John’s moans grow louder, each one a wordless plea for more. He trembles beneath you, his body straining with need, hoping you’ll finally take it further. He’s too lost in his own desire to say anything coherent, his hips swaying in a futile attempt to get more of your touch.

Somehow, the two of you have shifted positions without quite focusing on it. Now, John is on his stomach, chest pressed to the mattress, while you straddle him from behind, still working your finger deep into his manhole. His back arches as you continue, his body responding with a raw intensity he never expected. The tension between you is electric, even though you can no longer see his face.

Then, he begins to grind against you, his hips moving instinctively, rubbing into your crotch. The friction sends a sharp wave of pleasure through you. His movements are clumsy, but the sensation of him pressing against your clit while you finger him drives you to the edge. You bite your lip, struggling to stay focused as desire clouds your mind.

You wish you had a cock right now—to truly claim him, to fuck him the way you know he wants. The thought burns through you, and you wonder if John feels the same, lost in the haze of need. He grinds harder, slurring with his stupidly sexy rough voice, his body nearing its breaking point.

John Marston, the hardened outlaw, reduced to this—a desperate mess, rubbing against you like he's in heat. Your bitch in heat. He's always, in heat...The realization swells inside you, filling you with a fierce sense of ownership. He’s yours too, completely and utterly.

You sink your teeth into his neck, then his shoulder, and finally his ear, each bite drawing a deep shudder from John. It makes him so horny, his muscles taut as your fingers continue to work his now-loosened entrance, sliding in and out with ease. The wet, rhythmic slap of your fingers fills the room, and he’s helpless against the pleasure that overtakes him. Panting, whining, completely overwhelmed, he clings to you, like a lost puppy in need of comfort. “Good boy,” you murmur over and over again, your voice thick with satisfaction. You can feel how soaked you are, the warmth between your legs undeniable. Onto his skin, you left marks that’ll last, little trails of saliva and spots of blood dot his neck and shoulder.

{Your husband's masochistic tendencies were something you toyed with with great amusement. You knew he wasn't going to mind a few love bites. The guy was ready to piss his tought guy cowboy jeans for you afterall...}

Tears begin to gather in his eyes, the intensity of the moment pushing him to the brink. And then, with a sharp gasp, he cums. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before—his body convulses with the force of it, shuddering as pleasure overtakes him completely. But even as he rides out his release, he stays focused, determined to keep going, to give you everything. His hips still in motion, grinding, humping, rubbing up against you, driven by some animalistic need to keep pleasing you. In his haze of lust and devotion, he’s wild, needy, barely holding himself together. You could practically hear him bark as he loses himself in that role you’ve put him in. And wooaah, you love seeing him like this...

Just dare telling me there's nothing sexier than a woman with an untamed garden down there ?

I think the hairiest one is definitely Bill. Always Bill. OBVIOUSLY BILL, Probably risky as fuck to eat his ass... But 10/10 surely amazing. With how plump it is? You could spanks that shit the whooole night. He's a bear, A BEAR. You need some hair,,, here it is. His ass, his torso, his arms... His back, his legs, his armpits?? It's everywhereee.

Javier would be... In the middle. Latino's can can be fairly 50/50, sooo, I want my boy to one of the hairy ones~~ A sexy hairy chest that matches with that goofy yet sexy facial hair. Don't forget the armpits, urgshhdd armpit hair are so hott. Feel like his are dense, but not that long overall.

He might act tough on the outside, but deep down, there’s a secret that only you know—he lives for being controlled. The way you take charge, how you dominate him with just a word or a glance, completely breaks down that hardened outlaw exterior, leaving him raw and vulnerable in a way that gets him going like nothing else. John is kinky like that. He's deep into pet play. In fact, he loves when you treat him like a dog, ordering him around with that stern, no-nonsense tone that sends shivers down his spine. Every command you throw his way makes his heart race, makes him crave your control even more. He’d never admit it to anyone else, but the way you boss him around turns him on more than he can handle.

He’d be moaning like a bitch in heat when you take the lead in bed, fingering his tight ass, your nails digging into his slutty waist and hardened skin. He's verbal like that, never saying anything clear, though. It’s mostly just his horny pleas echoing in the room along with the sound of your two bare bodies’ sensual dance. But... the neckerchief always stays on. ALWAYS. He knows you like how it looks on him.

Of course, that stinky wolf of yours is into piss. And so are you.

When you make him hold it in until he’s practically begging for release, he’s teetering on the edge, torn between hating it and loving it. And when you send him out to do the hardest, most demanding chores like that—his bladder full and aching—every single step is agony, the pressure building until little leaks start soaking through his pants, humiliation spreading across his face. John always leaks, and it drives him crazy! That helplessness, that shame, makes him feel completely yours. And knowing you’re watching, knowing you’re the one pulling all the strings, drives him wild.