“So I decided to up the ante on them, to really make them pay to play. I wanted to see how they would respond to the higher stakes.” Buford licked his lips again. He continued: “I was pleased by their response. No matter how high I raised the stakes, they never flinched away from the punishing treatment, and remained gamely spread-eagled.
“They made excellent targets, splayed out like that, and let me pummel them, first with one boot heel, then the other, making good contact; but they were obviously just getting their kicks from getting kicked, since they just kept on playfully taunting me, inviting further abuse, by putting themselves on display like that. They did look a bit sore after I put them through the wringer a few times though.” Buford laughed in appreciation of the pleasant memory.
Tiffany looked confused. Despite her painful familiarity with Buford’s games, she wasn’t sure what the “Ringer” was.
Buford intuitively sensed what she was thinking, as he so often did. “The ‘Wringer’,” he said, “now that was a fun game, with one lip caught tightly between the soles of both boots, pulling on the lip, seeing how far it would stretch, before it somehow managed to pull free. I really liked that game.”
Tiffany’s tender nether lips began to ache in empathetic response to Buford’s story. Tiffany began to wonder whether they really did have a mind of their own.
“Anyway,” said Buford, “I really enjoyed playing with your pretty pussy lips, and I definitely got the better of them, which put me in a much better mood by the time I finally got around to feeding you your meal.”
Tiffany looked pensive. Buford wasn’t a bad guy, she thought; he just had some odd ideas. She had placed an ad offering to work for food, and Buford had been the only person who had bothered to respond. She had been very hungry when she had first gone out to his farm to meet him, and he had offered to feed her in exchange for cleaning the chicken house. He had pointed out to the city girl that chicken droppings were quite nutritious and thus could be used for fertilizer; and when she had hesitated, he had pointed out to her that, if she couldn’t stomach the idea of taking them orally, there was always another way for her to take them, since they were already predigested and her stomach was not needed to digest them. She had opted for the second method: She really had been hungry. She wondered whether Buford had been serious when he had given her the choice, or whether he had just been taunting her. He hadn’t seemed surprised when she had accepted. Not that it mattered now.
She looked up at Buford. He always drove a hard bargain with city folk, who he felt looked down on him; and reflecting back on it now, she thought that perhaps she had looked down on him when she had first met him. She certainly didn’t look down on him now. After a year of helping out on his chicken farm in return for chicken “feed”, as he liked to put it, the city girl felt practically in awe of him.
Further, she had always been impressed by the way this backwoods farmer communed with Nature, as if he understood what the hills and lakes were saying to him, and the plants and animals too; and he had just confessed to her that her nether lips spoke to him as well; and she had to admit, a bit ruefully, that when they were so utterly exposed as they were in Buford’s depiction of them, especially in front of a man like Buford, well, they really were just begging to be abused, and even deserved to be, since she couldn’t really fault him for giving in to their entreaties.