Roping the Cowboy by Teresa Noelle Roberts "Have you ever tied up a cowboy, ma''am? Because I''m available if you''d like to." I turned to the man who''d just propositioned me, ready to snarl at him. Instead, I smiled. I live in a city with the unofficial motto "Keep Austin Weird," so I''m inured to oddity. And since I''m a pretty woman with flame-patterned hair and a fondness for wearing Docs with fishnets and very short skirts, I sometimes get hit on in fairly outrageous ways. Which is fine if the outrageous come-on is also polite. Hell, if the polite outrageous line is being delivered by someone hot, I''m not above considering it. And the guy asking the provocative question was a tall, handsome, dark-haired example of one hundred percent genuine cowboy.

You see a lot of desk jockeys in Stetsons and boots around here--this is the capitol of Texas, after all, even if Austin is more known for tech and alternative music than cattle these days. But I can pick a real cowboy among the wannabes by the way he carries himself (or herself--there are real cowgirls, too), the way he wear his hat, a weathered, wind- and sun-burned look and fine crows'' feet, even if he''s young. But mostly it''s the eyes. Cowboys are used to a long focus, looking at a far horizon, not at a computer. So when a cowboy chooses to focus on you, it is a choice and he really focuses, like you matter, not like you just happen to be in his line of vision. This particular cowboy was focusing his greenish-brown eyes, and his attention, on me in a way I''m not used to seeing in someone I don''t have tied up already. Like I was the gateway to a heaven he never thought he''d reach. And did I mention handsome? Cheekbones to die for, a deep tan, and dark hair, almost black, with a few featherings of silver.

Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. His intense hazel eyes were almond-shaped and fringed with long lashes like a showgirl''s, an arresting note of softness in his knife-edge appearance. "What makes you think I''d want to tie up a cowboy, cowboy?" I raised the bourbon I''d been nursing to my lips and looked into his eyes as I sipped. His eyes narrowed but his pupils dilated. He leaned toward me, but stopped before he got into my personal space. I swear I felt his dick harden. It was hard to tell in the bar light, especially with his dark complexion, but I swear he flushed.

"Right before they went to the restroom, your friends were teasing you about boys and rope. Sorry for eavesdropping." When Heather and Dana are tipsy, you don''t need to eavesdrop. They make sure everyone knows whatever they''re oversharing. Sometimes this was an annoyance. Tonight, I''d call it a feature. I swung my legs around to the side, making sure he got a good look at the fishnets, and at everything my little red dress wasn''t hiding. "It''s fun to tie up boys.

But it''s more fun to tie up men." I looked at him as coolly as I could, smiling a slow, predatory, red-lipped smile. "Which are you, cowboy?" He gulped and glanced away. His big hand fumbled with his empty beer bottle. But when he looked back at me, his gaze was steady. "Like to think I''m a man. But I reckon I''ll be whichever you want tonight. That is, if you''re interested.

" "Good answer. Next question: do you always ask strange women to tie you up?" "Never." Something in his voice told me he was telling the truth. "I''ve always been curious, but never knew how to ask. Can''t ask a woman who knows me well, because she thinks I''m one kind of man and might get turned off finding out I don''t always want to be the tough guy. Can''t ask a stranger because it''s a good way to get slapped. Thanks to your friends and their pink drinks, I know you like bondage. And I''m hardly ever in Austin, so if I make a fool of myself we''ll never see each other again.

Figured you''d probably say no, but you probably wouldn''t slap me." He stopped and looked stunned, as if he didn''t know where all the words had come from. I set my drink down and leaned in toward him. "What makes you think I was going to say no?" Then I kissed him. My hands went to his wrists, holding them, and while it was obvious my small hands could only immobilize him if he chose to obey me, he did. I paid the bar tab--my friends'' too, because I owed them a thank you--as I hastily explained when they returned from the restroom to find me kissing a cowboy. My new chew toy, Jake, followed me home, driving an F450 that had clearly seen heavy use. We went through some quick negotiations, which I think surprised Jake pleasantly.

I don''t think it had occurred to him that bondage might involve his desires as much as mine, and might not involve the kind of sadism he''d stumbled across in porn. "Nothing wrong with pain and humiliation if people are into that," I explained, "but I''m not and it doesn''t sound like you are, either. I just like rope." More like I love rope--the way rope decorates a man''s body, and the way new worlds open to him when he realizes my ropes mean he doesn''t have to be tough and in charge for while. That he can relax and be taken in the best possible way. Jake''s look of relief was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as his body was when I told him to strip. He wasn''t a romance-novel cowboy cover model.

I like looking at those pretty guys with their big, decorative muscles, but there was something about Jake''s lean body shaped by riding and roping, its taut power and overall strength, that I liked better. His skin was olive everywhere, but he had a working man''s tan, darker on his face and his ropy forearms than the rest of his body, not the uniform bronze of a cover model. He had a sprinkling of dark brown hair on his chest, pointing down to his groin, and a thicker, darker thatch around his cock and balls. I decided fire-engine red rope would be the perfect color for him, a fierce contrast against his dark complexion. When I started by wrapping rope around one of his ankles, then worked up, I surprised him again. "Aren''t you going to tie me to a bed or something?" he asked. "Patience." I kissed him, letting rope trail over his skin as I did.

He shuddered as the red, soft length teased his nipples, tickled his flat belly, brushed his straining cock. I kissed him again before he could speak, tasting beer and cigarettes on his breath. Not my normal turn-ons but I liked the hard, stereotypical masculinity of it, in contrast to the way he was giving himself to me and my ropes. The Western hero, subdued by kisses and the mere tease of rope. Hotter than a Texas summer day. Hotter than lava. Slowly, meticulously, I created a lattice up each of Jake''s legs, then worked my way up his torso. Decorative bondage takes time, and this took longer than usual because I lingered over the texture of Jake''s skin and I studied his reactions.

He didn''t speak a lot, but his breathing and body language spoke volumes, and most of what they were saying was "Wow!" I couldn''t help interrupting my work with kisses and caresses. By the time I was done, Jake was embellished with diamonds of rope and jewel-like knots. His cock, set off by the red ropes, jutted upward. A large, flat knot rested just above his cock, right where I''d be able to grind my clit against it. Like I said, I love rope. As a finishing touch, I looped a thinner piece of red rope around his cock and balls. Jake made a helpless, frightened noise, but didn''t protest or use the safeword I''d given him. I wrapped a couple of times, not tight at all, just enough to give him a sense of pressure, and tied it off at the base of his cock as an improvised cock ring.

"Oh my God," he exclaimed. "Always figured something like this would hurt, but it feels great." "I could make it hurt, but I don''t want to." I knelt briefly and kissed the swollen tip of his penis, just a quick contact with my lips that made him jump with need. God, I love that kind of reaction. Only when he was decorated for my pleasure did I lead my cowboy to the bed, a Mission style with sturdy posts and a solid headboard, perfect for the rings I''d added. "Lie down, cowboy," I said. I''m afraid I didn''t sound all that commanding.

I''m not that style of domme, just someone who likes to share the fun of rope, the pleasure of letting go. Not every guy likes that style. But it seemed Jake did. Once he was supine on the bed, I tied his arms together, wrist to opposite elbow, over his head, and then tied his arms to the headboard. The position accented the lines of his muscles, and there''s nothing prettier than work-honed muscles wrapped in rope. I spread his legs--actually he did for me, without being asked--and secured his ankles to the bedposts. I stood back for a second, still fully dressed, and surveyed my work. My body felt weighted, heavy with arousal.

My hot, hung, helpless cowboy looked almost perfect. Almost, but not quite, and I finally figured out what was missing. I took his hat from the chair where he''d set it and placed it on his head. It didn''t sit perfectly in his current position, but it got the point across. Jake got the point, too, because he chuckled deep in his throat. "Could have left my boots on, too, ma''am." "And ruin my sheets? Don''t think so." I considered for a second.

Maybe it would have been worth ruining the sheets, but I didn''t want to bother untying him. Now, finally, I undressed. No, I stripped. I danced my clothes off, making a show of it that the bound man on my bed watched with keen, hungry eyes. By the time I was naked, I was also wet, and my cunt was quivering with anticipation. All right, it already had been, because the teasing way I''d bound him teased me, too. But studying him as he tested the ropes that restrained him--n.