Dallas

**Warning to Readers- This story contains male-to-male penetration in a consensual non-consent situation.

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"Dallas Moore is riding in!" The announcer's voice brought screams from the stands, high pitched and unyielding. "Eight time IFR Champion Tie Down Roper. This boy's got a resumé a mile long. And from the sound of things, the ladies don't find him tough to look at, either!"

The sound of the screams echoed through the arena, but he barely noticed. He bit down on his piggin' string and kicked his horse into the box, backing him into the corner. Red ears perked forward and he stared straight through them, focusing on the calf in the chute.

"And he's out!" the announcer screamed.

Two swings, a throw, and he was off his horse, racing down the rope.

"There it is! Two wraps and a hooey! This is gonna be fast!"

It was fast, but was it fast enough? He threw his hands in the air to stop the clock and hurried back to his horse waiting patiently a few feet away.

"Stopped the clock at a six point eight! That's goin' to the lead if the calf stays down!"

That calf wasn't getting up. In his entire career only four calves had managed to get out of his tie, and this wouldn't be the fifth. He took a deep breath then smiled, tipping his hat to the crowd. They screamed, and the signs they held with his name painted across them danced in the stands.

Six seconds later and he was holding his hat in the air, showing off his perfect smile. He rode out of the arena and stopped in the holding pen, turning his horse back towards the arena to watch the last competitors in his event. Only the top twenty in the world made it to the International Finals Rodeo, also known as the IFR. Unlike the National Finals Rodeo, which had long been considered the Super Bowl of rodeo until it was replaced by the IFR twenty years ago, the IFR included cowboys from every continent. So when he won a world championship title, he truly was a world champion.

While he waited his eyes began to hunt, scanning the crowd. Women held signs confessing their love for him. Others held signs with encouraging words for him, some even rooted on his horse, Ransom. Every year since he was twenty years old he had claimed the tie down roping title. For the past eight years he had been Western America's golden boy with the golden hair. And now here he was again, his ninth time here, and already leading the first go round.

Her blue eyes and fire hair stood out in the sea of blonde, watching him from her spot in the box seat on the edge of the arena. Her fingers grasped the small silver key she always wore around her neck, her smile taunting him while she ran it up and down the thin chain. His jaw tightened and his teeth bit down on the inside of his cheek. She had told him if he won the first round she would let him out of his cage. Let him inside of her. And while he missed the feel of her warmth, he worshiped the way she withheld it from him.

No. She had said she would let him out. She had never said she would let him inside of her. After five years in her servitude, he knew semantics meant everything when she spoke. And he worshiped her for it. For all of it. He worshiped her as often as she would let him, in every way she would let him. Her toes, her pussy, her breasts, her ass. Whatever part she would allow him to touch. And his parts? They were at her disposal.

The screams of his fans broke his thoughts, and he realized the round was over. His 6.8 had held, and the announcer was calling him back into the arena for his victory lap. He kissed to his horse, following the flag girl through the gate. He pulled off his hat and held it out towards the crowd, the true cowboy wave.

What if they knew? To them he was everything a cowboy should be: charming, strong and smoldering with old fashion masculinity, rough hands and a smooth voice. But would he still be their golden boy if they knew?

He often thought about how it could happen, and the looks of horror on their faces. Maybe he would get injured. His clothes would have to be cut off in front of thousands, revealing his cage and her brand. Or she would decide enough was enough and out him to the world. Come to the middle of the arena after a winning round and drag him off his horse, tell him to bend over and take him roughly in front of the crowd. The scenarios played in his head often, always making him ache inside of his prison.

The lights and sounds from the arena faded behind him as he rode away leaving him in a quiet darkness. He weaved through the trailers in the contestant parking area searching for his own under the dim lights scattered randomly throughout the lot. In the sea of white Bloomers, Harts, Four Stars and Elites he finally managed to find his own, easily recognized by his name written in huge black letters across the hayrack and his accomplishments and sponsors listed boldly down the side.

Ransom's breath blew from his nostrils like white smoke in the cold air while he unbridled him and put the halter on. He shivered in his button up shirt, the cold seeping into his skin now that his adrenaline was no longer keeping him warm. He opened the door to the living quarters, grabbed his jacket off the couch, then quickly stuffed his hands through the sleeves and zipped it up.

When he stepped back out of the trailer he could see her short blue dress and long coat making their way towards him. His heartbeat sped up like it always did when he saw her. He assumed it was because it sensed his brain was sending all his blood between his legs and needed to compensate somehow.

The dress, the darkness, and the sight of her petite frame making its way through the trailers reminded him of the night they first met, though that night the dress had been red. He had won the rodeo earlier in the day and spent the afternoon with his friends at the makeshift bar on the rodeo grounds. A brunette barrel racer whose name and face he couldn't remember had been more than eager to bring him back to her trailer, and he had happily obliged. He didn't remember much of the encounter other than it being similar to all his other encounters- short and to the point. He was still slightly more than drunk when he tumbled out of her trailer and began staggering through the lot trying to find his own in the middle of the night.

Even though he had recently had sex, he hardened when he saw her. She was walking his way wearing cowboy boots and a red dress, surrounded by a few of her friends. He told her she was beautiful, then in his drunken state asked her to bend over so he could see her pussy. She had replied she would bend over for him to kiss her ass. He said he would love to. She laughed and hiked up her dress, daring him. He got to his knees and buried his face between her cheeks. He had never licked a woman's ass before, but it was everything he had dreamed it would be.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, bringing him back to the present.

"The taste of your ass, Mistress," he replied, careful to keep his voice low to prevent being overheard.

She pushed up on her toes and flicked her tongue playfully over his lips. "I love you," she said, lightly brushing her hand over the crotch of his jeans.

"I worship you." He bent down to press his lips to hers, praying for a taste of her tongue.

"You need to unsaddle. They're waiting to interview you after you put Ransom away."

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, unbuckling the back cinch. She bent down and started pulling off the splint boots, wrapping them around his stirrups so he would be ready for tomorrow. Once he pulled the saddle off she threw the winter blanket over Ransom's back and began buckling the straps.

Ransom's shoes echoed on the concrete while the three of them walked towards the giant building across the parking lot. From the outside it looked like a simple gray warehouse, but the inside contained a massive warm-up arena and hundreds of stalls. He enjoyed his last few moments of peaceful darkness before stepping through the door and being blinded by fluorescent lights.

"Nice run, Dallas," several people commented while he made his way to the stall.

"Thanks," he replied, pausing to shake hands that stuck out in his direction.

When he reached the stall it wasn't long before a blonde with a microphone being followed by a cameraman was hurrying his way. These were the rules of the IFR. Any cowboy who won a round had to do a brief interview after.

"Dallas, I have to say," the blonde started, her bright red lips plastered into the biggest smile she could manage, "the sound in the arena was deafening when you made your victory lap. There seems to be a lot of people out there rooting for you. What would you want to tell any aspiring young calf ropers who were watching you here tonight?"

"I would tell them don't get discouraged and don't fight your head," he replied, mimicking her enthusiasm. "Sometimes runs don't go as planned. I mean, I stumbled and fell flat on my face at one of the biggest rodeos in Texas this year. But I dusted myself off, finished my run and got back on. We're cowboys. It's what we do."

"What would you say is your motivation to keep going, even when things don't go as planned?" she asked.

The prison he was locked in. Its weight motivated him with every step. "I love what I do. It's such a blessing to be able to rodeo and make money doing what I love. I don't think I ever lose motivation because I just tell myself if something goes wrong it's okay, I'll get another chance for it to go right."

"I'm sure riding a three time AQHA/PRCA Calf Roping Horse of the Year doesn't hurt to ensure things go right. Ransom looked like he was ready to go tonight."

"Ya," he said, nodding. "Ransom is one in a million. I knew he was somethin' special from the first time I got on him when he was just a colt. He always puts me right where I need to be."

"Thank you so much for your time, congratulations on your win tonight and good luck in the next round. Is there anything else you'd like to say before I let you get back to enjoying your victory?"

"I just want to thank my sponsors," he replied, listing them as was required per his contracts, "thank my parents for their support, thank God for blessing me with this opportunity and, most importantly, thank my beautiful wife, Hannah, for always being there to keep me motivated, even when things don't go as planned."

The blonde turned off her microphone and briefly glanced towards Hannah who was leaning against the door to Ransom's stall waiting patiently. Ransom's sorrel head was over her shoulder, his eyes starting to droop while she repeatedly rubbed her hand down his blazed face.

About an hour later he had finished feeding Ransom and his back-up horses and they were pulling up to the valet at the hotel. He hurried to the passenger side of his truck to open her door, then held open the glass door to the hotel lobby while she walked inside.

The lobby lead to the casino where the IFR was playing on every screen. Straw, silver belly and black cowboy hats were everywhere. It was referred to as the cowboy takeover and it happened every year when the IFR was going on. The city was overrun for an entire week by contestants, their families and rodeo fans all gambling, boozing, shopping at Cowboy Christmas and screaming for their favorites at the rodeo.

Hannah linked her arm through his, an amused smile playing on her face when girls smiled at him as they walked by. He smiled back, but it was an empty gesture. Compared to her, they were nothing.

"Hey, Dallas," one of his rivals approached him, sticking out his hand.

"Hey Robby. How'd you end up today?" he asked, accepting the handshake.

"My calf hauled ass. Was halfway down the arena before I caught. Put me at a 7.9," Robby replied. "How are you, Hannah?"

"Good, thanks," she said, turning her head to the bleached blonde at his side.

"This is my girlfriend, Linda," Robby said, following her gaze.

"Nice to meet you," Linda said, reaching forward to shake their hands. "That's an interesting necklace you have on," she continued, pointing to the key around Hannah's neck. "I'm sure you get asked this all the time, but what's the key for?"

"The greatest treasure in all the land," Hannah replied with a smile, stealing the quote from one of her favorite movies. His blood pulsed in his cage when she picked it up and pressed it to her lips.

"We were just headed over to grab drinks at the cantina if you want to join us," Robby offered.

"Didn't you say you wanted to go get cleaned up?" Hannah asked, rubbing her hand down his forearm. Commands in public were always phrased as a question. Do you need to go check on your horse? Why don't we go to the movies after dinner? Are you ready to go home? Are you sure you want to buy that shirt?

"Ya, I did," he said. "Maybe next time."

"Sure thing," Robby replied. "Congrats on your win tonight and good luck tomorrow."

"Thanks, you too."

They continued on their way, pausing a few more times for brief conversations before reaching the elevator.

"I'm going to go grab a water and some snacks from the coffee shop right there," she told him, pointing across the casino. "I'll meet you in the room."

"Yes, Mi..." he started, then caught himself.

When he got back to the room he took his collar out of its hiding place in his suitcase and locked it around his neck. Then he took his hat off and set it on the dresser before stripping out of his clothes and getting to his knees to wait for her. This was routine, whether they were at home or away. It was all he was allowed to do unless she gave him other directions.

Footsteps sounded outside the door and he heard the click of the lock. She tossed her purse down on the dresser, let her coat fall from her shoulders, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He crawled to her and pulled off her boots, enjoying the sound of her sighs while he massaged the soles of her feet. He took advantage of his position as he always did and looked up her dress, licking his lips when he saw she had gone without underwear.

"Can I please use the bathroom, Mistress?" His voice was soft, unsure if he should have waited to ask but also unsure of how much longer he could hold it.

"Go," she replied, pulling her foot away from his hands.

"Thank you, Mistress." He was always careful to thank her for her kindness. She didn't have to be nice, and she wasn't always. Not allowing him to use the bathroom was how she had trained him to stop drinking. When they had first met he was still in his early twenties, and it took him awhile to learn how to say no to his friends. He would hang out with them after the rodeos, mindlessly guzzling the beers they continuously handed him. By the time he would get back home the alcohol would already be running through him.

"Please, Mistress, please, I really need to go!" he would beg while she pulled the chain through the restraints on his wrists.

"No. It's bedtime," she would tell him, locking his hands to his collar underneath his chin. Then she would curl up underneath the covers of the bed while he tried to get comfortable on the floor next to her. He could never make it through the night, and would spend an hour working up the courage to wake her up to ask if he could clean up.

She'd just roll over and shake her head at him. "Does it turn you on to piss yourself in front of me?"

No, but the shame of it did.

He walked out of the restroom and took his normal seat at her feet. His mind began weaving through the possibilities of what she would do with him when she let him out of his cage, but a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Stay," she ordered when he reached for his jeans. She opened the door, letting the man inside.

"Dallas, you remember Brenden, right? He came with some friends to watch the rodeo and I ran into him when I got up to buy a soda," she said.

"Yes, Mistress." He vaguely remembered him as a dom from the nearby château they had gone to last year during the IFR.

"Congratulations on your win tonight," Brenden said.

"Thank you, Sir." he replied from his place on the floor.

"Bend over," she directed, walking towards him.

He pressed his cheek to the floor and wasn't surprised when he heard the sound of the lube bottle snapping open. She always enjoyed emasculating him this way in front of company.

Even though she regularly reminded him of his place by demonstrating her ownership of his ass, the first assault never got any easier. The muscles involved in riding horses and tying calves kept him too tight. After she had grown tired of the difficulty of inserting a medium sized plug, she contemplated having him wear one all the time. But it was impossible for him to dismount his horse fast enough in his event with one in.

He held still through the burning sensation of his skin stretching to accept the intrusion. Though a smaller plug would take less effort on her part to get situated, she always told him there was no fun in that.

"Thank you, Mistress," he said once it was in place, then sat back on his heels. It was uncomfortable, but he knew she did it for his own good. It was easier to be obedient and focused with it in.

"Strip," she said, her eyes turning to Brenden.

He began unbuttoning his shirt, taking his time to lay it nicely over the chair. She had many moods, but none of them were submissive. Not to him, not to the dom she had invited to their hotel room, not to anyone.

"Satisfied, Mistress?" Brenden asked, playfully flexing his exposed muscles for her.

"Very," she replied, letting her eyes linger on his swelling manhood. "And you," she said, looking down, "you're going to be a good boy and get me nice and wet."

"Yes, Mistress," he replied. The dull ache between his legs was quickly turning into an unyielding throb.

"Do you want out?" she asked.

"Yes, please, Mistress." He put his hands behind his back, knowing it would be her next command. He was no longer allowed to have his hands free when he was let out of his cage. It was a privilege he had lost due to his inability to not touch himself without permission when he was freed.

She grabbed the piggin' string he had used to win the round out of her purse, then knelt down behind him. Two wraps and a hooey. He had taught her well. She reached around the back of her neck and unclasped her necklace. His hands were already trying to break free when she inserted the key into the lock on his cage. It only took a matter of seconds for his cock to begin showing its worship for her.

"Bed," she directed.

He jumped up and ran the two steps to the edge then made his way into the middle. It was a difficult task without the use of his arms, but once there he positioned himself on his back across the bed.

His tongue ran over his lips impatiently while she crawled towards him. She lifted up the short blue dress she wore then mounted his mouth, her weight pushing his head down into the mattress.

He had missed her taste during the hours that had passed since that morning, which was the last time he had been allowed to devour her. His tongue pushed its way inside her, holding firm while she ground down against it. Then it moved to her clit, deftly gliding over it.

She rotated her body around and lie down over his stomach. The softness of her fingers running up the underside of his cock broke his rhythm. When her mouth closed over the tip he lost contact completely, gasping an involuntary breath of hot air against her skin.

"Focus." Her voice was firm as she spread her thighs farther apart to press harder into his mouth.

He latched onto her clit, sucking lightly before releasing his hold and circling it with his tongue. He hadn't noticed Brenden move in behind her until he opened his eyes and saw the man's tongue pushing into her ass. She moaned loudly in appreciation and ground her clit harder into his mouth. Brenden's fingers pushed into her, making her moist need echo through the room. They were slick with her arousal every time he pulled them partially out, and when he pushed them back in she trembled.