He had been working his ass off to impress the girl. Flowers, imported chocolates, the sort of precious little handmade gifts from overpriced boutiques that people in this part of the country went gaga over. He found himself visiting the Van Tassel estate to have tea with her, feeling as if he had been transported back in time, wondering why this wasn’t a simple swipe right or left situation.
Still, he was a man of his trade, and he knew his trade well. The lilies must be gilded by hand, and it was a slow and laborious process. He would keep visiting, keep buying her pretty little trinkets and telling her amusing stories, listening to her vapid chatter in return.
It was one of those days that he had shown up to the Van Tassel farm, an armload of flowers in the crook of his elbow, coming to take the girl out to lunch.
Ichabod Crane was no stranger to the sound of a woman enjoying her pussy being licked. After all, he had gotten his nose wet on the job on more than one occasion.
It was, however, the last thing he expected to hear as he followed the dirt path from the main house to the luxurious stables, as the housekeeper had directed him. If there was one thing Katrina loved more than pretty clothes and new charms for one of her expensive bracelets, it was her horses, so it was not altogether surprising to be told she had been out riding. Ichabod halted in his tracks when he heard the sound, realizing the little flower was riding something other than her horse.
He wasn’t sure what it was about him that lent itself to always having such an advantageous position to such goings-on. Perhaps it was his lankiness, the ability to practically disappear if he turned sideways, or maybe that his great, gangling height placed him higher than one would expect to find a spectator, for he had a perfect vantage point yet again.
They were in the grass, a blanket spread out for a picnic, although the only thing being feasted on at that moment were the dewy, nectar-slickened petals of her cunt. Katrina was up on her knees, legs spread wide, her dress hitched up around her hips and her panties discarded. The wavy dark hair on the head she gripped was familiar to him. He observed her hips shift, listened to her breathy little moans, and watched as Brom Bones tongued the girl’s clit, fluttering against it like the wings of a hummingbird. She gasped when his full lips closed around the succulent little pearl, sucking, sucking, her head dropping back, his licking resuming.
Ichabod realized, when the strong arms of the headless body lifted her, dropping her back against a broad, solid chest until her legs opened further, that the headless men were superior in ways he had never considered. His heart seized when the object of his affections moaned with her whole throat, the fat cockhead belonging to his rival catching at the plump lips of her pussy, pushing into her slowly. He watched as her delectable pink folds gobbled him up, hungry for each prodigious inch. His hands clenched into fists when Brom Bones began to thrust, fucking her in a way that made the sweetest little sighs issue from her mouth every time he pumped upwards. When the horseman palmed his own head, nestling it against her cunt and resuming his licking of her clit, Ichabod knew he was completely out gamed.
Slumping in defeat, he edged back up the pathway until the amorous duo was completely out of sight. The flowers would be used in his office, gifted to each of the ladies who came in asking after their child’s grades or if she might be of better assistance as a volunteer. He had reached too high, and like Icarus, came tumbling back to earth to the dulcet sounds of Brom Bones sucking the girl’s clit as he fucked her. Ichabod knew when he was beat. There was simply no competing withthat.
“Didyouenjoytheview, Professor?”
Ichabod’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice. Brom Bones stood before him, bulging thighs looking ready to burst out of his tight, white shorts. His polo shirt was similarly painted on, and his head — broad, angular face with laughing dark eyes and a perpetual look of amusement — was tucked under his arm like a basketball.
His resolve to stay away from the racquet club lasted nearly an entire week. He simply couldn’t help his return. It was one of the few signs of luxury he was able to flaunt, the thrill of doing so greater than his ambivalence over seeing the horsemen again. The days since his last visit had been an aggravation, like a chafing beneath his skin, and his nights plagued with more of those treacherous dreams.
His perfidious imagination placed him back at the Van Tassel estate, but rather than lurking amidst the rosebushes, as he’d done in reality, Ichabod had knelt on the blanket beside the object of affection. It had beenhismouth that pleasured her, his teeth nibbling the delicate mound between her creamy thighs,histongue dipping into her sweet honey . . . and then the head of Brom Bones had taken his turn, his tongue making Katrina cry out in a way that disturbed the chirping birds in the nearby shrubbery.
Ichabod had been forced to watch his rival’s mouth feast on his rosy-cheeked flower’s cunt, tonguing her clit as messily as he’d sucked off the other dullahan in the locker room. Worse though, was the fact that he’d been forced to watch the horseman partake of her sweet pussy from his hands and knees, ashewas made the horse. Brom Bones’s unoccupied cock speared him open, hammering Ichabod into the grass as his mouth made short work of Katrina Van Tassel’s orgasm. The horseman had abandoned him when the girl mewled for more, leaving him floundering on the blanket, his cock unfulfilled and aching, forced to watch the brute fuck the girl of his dreams, another front row view to Brom Bone’s pulsing peak as Katrina moaned and his unattached head laughed at the schoolmaster’s misfortune.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ichabod snapped, his ears reddening as he pushed away the remnants of the foul nightmare.There’s no way he could know. There’s no way he saw.
“Oh, I think you do,” Brom chuckled. Ichabod watched, scarcely breathing, as the horseman palmed the front of his shorts, flagrantly adjusting his horse-sized cock. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.Views, I should say. I think you enjoyed yourself, too.”
Ichabod blushed hotly, refusing to answer. There was no shortage of instances at that point, his imagination notwithstanding. He had watched Brom Bones fucking and being fucked in turn, had watched him sucking another headless man’s cock, had watched him ejaculate hugely, his big balls pulsing as they emptied, rivers of pearly white cum, leaking from the other head’s lips. He had watched him lick the pussy of the most beautiful girl in town, sucking on her clit as his fat cock filled her, pumping, thrusting, fucking her until she was limp, feasting on her the whole while. He refused to answer.You don’t owe this asshole anything.
“What do you say we make a little wager? I can forgo the field for one day. I’ll stay inside and play your game.”
“A bet?Youwant to make a bet withme?”
“Battering around little balls, right? That’s your sport? But if I beat you at racquetball,” the horseman went on as if Ichabod had not spoken, “you’re going to let me fuck you.”
His eyes bulged out of his head, and his mouth dropped open so far that his jaw was in danger scraping the locker room bench. Ichabod could hardly believe his ears. Brom Bones was entirely nonchalant as if making wagers to have sex with mere strangers was simply a part of his daily dealings.Maybe it is.
“And what happens ifIwin?”
Brom Bones smiled widely.
“That’s wildly optimistic of you, professor. Good for you. Let’s see, ifyouwin . . . I’m still going to fuck you. But I’ll suck your cock while I do it.”
Ichabod realized, around the point that the fourth or fifth ball went whizzing past his face, grazing his great nose, his racquet useless at his side, that he would’ve been far better off challenging the big brute to a poetry competition, or perhaps a sonnet reading. A wine tasting, even a spelling bee. He had never won a game of sport in his life, and Ichabod wasn’t sure why he thought he would miraculously start now.
“I think that’s the match, professor.”
Ichabod was wheezing, but Brom Bones had barely broken a sweat.
“Good thing, too. My balls are ready to burst. Are you ready for me to empty them inside you?”
He half thought it was a joke. Ichabod headed into the locker rooms alone, not slowing when Brom was stopped by one of his glad-handing sycophants outside the racquetball court. His cock was hard, had been since they’d taken the court.You should just hurry up and change and get out of here. You can jerk off at home. If you sit here waiting like some lost puppy, he’ll be outside laughing at you. None of this was serious.
He should have known better, he berated himself. The horseman was a joker, he already knew. Ichabod had gleaned that from the stories he told the boys’ team — pranks and practical jokes, juvenile and mean-spirited, and he had no intentions of being the butt of one of them.
