They didn’t notice when she walked in at first. Mistress Goddess JenaCBlack, the most feared and revered cowgirl in the West, stepped into the dimly lit room. Her black leather chaps hugged her long legs, their fringe swaying with every confident step. Her fitted leather vest gleamed in the flickering lamplight, framing a figure that commanded attention. Perched atop her dark, flowing hair was a black cowboy hat tipped just low enough to shadow her piercing eyes. And her boots—oh, those boots—clinked with the sharp music of silver spurs as she made her way to the center of the room.
“Evenin’, boys,” she drawled, her voice smooth as whiskey but with a dangerous edge that made the hair on their necks stand on end.
The rowdy chatter ceased, and the buckaroos turned toward her. Their bravado faltered as they took her in: the coiled leather whip at her hip, the smirk tugging at her crimson lips, and the sheer, undeniable authority radiating from her.
“I hear this here’s a saloon,” the Goddess continued, her gloved hands resting on her hips. “Not a barn. So why’s it smell like bullshit and trouble?”
One of the men, a scruffy sort with a crooked grin, leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “We’re just havin’ a bit of fun, darlin’. No harm in that.”
Her eyebrow arched, and her grin widened—a predator sizing up her prey. “Darlin’? Oh, sweet thing, you just made your first mistake.”
Before he could blink, her whip unfurled with a crack, wrapping expertly around the bottle he’d been holding. With a flick of her wrist, the glass shattered against the floor.
“Lesson number one,” she said, stalking toward him, her spurs echoing ominously. “In my saloon, I’m the only one who gets to call the shots.”
The room was silent as the other cowpokes watched their comrade squirm under her gaze. JenaCBlack turned to the rest of the group, her voice dropping to a low purr. “Looks like y’all could use a bit of teachin’.”
She reached into her saddlebag, pulling out a sleek, polished strap-on harness that glinted like her spurs. Her subs—loyal, disciplined, and utterly devoted—had learned long ago that Mistress Black's lessons were as much about pleasure as they were about submission.
“Get up,” she commanded, pointing to the rowdiest of the bunch. Her voice left no room for argument, and he obeyed, his cocky grin replaced by nervous anticipation.
In the private backroom, she tied him to a sturdy post, her leather-clad figure moving with a deliberate, hypnotic grace. The others watched through the cracked door as she leaned close, her whisper sending a shiver down his spine. “You’re gonna learn respect, darlin’. And by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be beggin’ to stay in line.”
With each deliberate motion, Mistress Black asserted her control, using her strap-on to push her submissive to the edge of ecstasy and obedience. His bravado dissolved into moans, his body surrendering completely to the Mistress’s will. She moved with practiced precision, her leather chaps framing her curves as she brought him to the brink and back again, leaving him breathless and grateful for her dominance.
When she emerged, the buckaroos were already straightening their hats and sitting upright, their previous arrogance replaced with awe.
Mistress Jena adjusted her hat, her smirk victorious. “Now, who’s next?”
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