Total Woman Trainers Ch. 06

Krystal keyed the jet's intercom.

"Ten minutes to touchdown, sir. Please buckle in."

Ned buckled in. The sparse grass and flat terrain rose up towards him. They crossed the outer edge of the concrete runway and the jet nose tilted up as the wing wheels bumped down. The nose wheel connected with mother earth and the plane slowed swiftly when Krystal reversed thrust. It was a short taxi to the small craft terminal.

She shut down the engines, trotted down the foldout stairs first, and made the arrangements for tomorrow's mid-morning takeoff. The ground crew promised to have the jet ready to go for the darling blonde pilot.

She got Ned settled in the black town car and followed directions down US29 towards the Central Wyoming Fairgrounds.

He thumbed again through Brenda's briefing packet. Her father was anxious for Brenda to escape the remote cattle range, to find more than a broke down cowboy and a herd of kids. He wanted her to rise up in the world and stake a claim to a better life.

Brenda had been approached by TWA Recruitment and they pledged her to not share the scholarship details with her widowed father. He would only know that his oil lease business associate had located for her a scholarship for an innovative academy.

Ned knew her father's secret TWA Pledge Contributor associate was sponsoring his business friend's brunette daughter for the scholarship, and that the father implicitly trusted his friend, dampening his curiosity.

Ned and Krystal found Brenda, the amateur rodeo clown, still in costume: face painted, baggy dungarees, oversized plaid shirt, dusty hair and cloggy boots. She was hanging with the local young cowboys after practice.

Krystal played hostess and introduced Ned, first to Brenda and then the young male crowd.

Each tall lean cowboy, at one time or another, had invited Brenda out, mostly to local cowboy bars with the ubiquitous bull riding machines.

They all remembered that one time when an inebriated Brenda writhed on the slow moving hump, inadvertent pantie and nipple flashes tantalizing the bar slackers. They were trying again for her attendance tonight but were put out when she declined their urgings and walked to the town car, escorted by the middle-aged Ned.

The jilted boys immediately turned to hitting on bodacious Krystal who deflected their attentions, claiming work duties all day.

"No, got work to do tonight. But just in case I'm free later, where's the party?"

"Buster's. You ever ride a bull, Cowgirl?" they jostled.

Krystal reimagined the question as not about a machine but a stud bull alpha male, prone in bed with his bulky cock solidly up her cunt as she ground her hips atop his groin.

"Sure, plenty of times."

"Well, I'd like to see how long you can last!"

Krystal thought the cocky young cowboy was cute. Maybe later tonight he would feel, rather than see, her bull riding talents, and she would see how long he could last.

Krystal dropped Ned and Brenda, still clad in her plaid shirt and blue jeans, at her ranch home outside of town.

Her father was absent, off in Jackson Hole, on a fly fishing weekend with Tom, a last minute invitation. She knew he loved fly fishing for trout in the bar channeled streams during the day. She was less aware he enjoyed fishing for barflies at night. Her father was widowed but not dead; he still liked the occasional roll in the hay.

Ned relaxed on the back porch, surveyed the prairie spread out to the horizon. Small herds of cattle and horses leisurely grazed among the oil well pump jacks.

Brenda set up the charcoal grill and added thick steaks, the smoke rolling out from under the barbeque cover. He heard her fuzzing with other meal courses in the kitchen, retrieving the steaks and advising Ned that dinner would be ready soon. She needed to change.

Half an hour of quiet was broken by her plaintive dinner summons.

"Come and get it!"

Ned tracked inside and followed the smell of food to the ranch house dining room. Its wood paneled walls were decorated with stuffed animal trophies around the roughhewn table and chairs.

There stood Brenda, and Ned was stunned by the transformation. From her shiny neat hair to her long legs stretching below the short dress hem, she had trans-morphed into a preppy wholesome Casper College student. The little black spaghetti strap dress, high heels, preppy face makeup, and modest jewelry were picture perfect.

'Come and get it' suddenly took on a different meaning. She graciously guided him to a seat and sat on the other side of the narrower dimension.

The charcoal steaks were sumptuous, with bread and salad and warm apple pie for dessert. Her generous cleavage spiced the atmosphere, jiggly invitingly when she laughed.

During the meal, Ned conducted the initial light conversation to start her Evaluation Assessment interview. He queried her details and life goals. Her conversation and manners were gentile and erudite.

Her Associate's Studies were just like everyone else's in these parts: Agribusiness, the classic Central Wyoming curriculum for a land full of cattle, horses and oil. She saw that the elite academy scholarship would open higher career possibilities, for more refined topics like Human Relations, Anatomy, and Hospitality.

Ned heard her wish list but in his mind he thought Sexual Relations, Erotic Anatomy and Alpha Male Hospitality. He told her that her looming education would include staff and visiting lecturers providing her deep lessons in all those topics. He warmed to her forthright answers, providing an opportunity to Segway into the real meat of the interview.

She liked all sex positions, claimed sensitive nipples, orgasmed easily. She practiced feminine genital hygiene, used a shaver. Her glamor cosmetic skills were limited here with few chances to use them. Ned assured her she would assimilate those talents and much more at the Academy.

He saw Brenda in a different light, seeing beyond her outward unsophisticated rowdiness, perceiving a wild heart inside a cultured young woman.

The dishes were abandoned on the table as Ned took her hand and ascended the stairs to her bedroom suite. It was a natural thing, no more questions needed, just a move from the verbal interview to the next level of intimacy.

They were unhesitant about stripping each other completely. He twirled her panties playfully on a finger, his arm high like twirling a lasso. He tossed them on his pile of clothes, staking his claim to his traditional souvenir and memento of an interview.

Brenda stood calmly, watched his rodeo pantomime, awaiting his lead in the next stage of this uncommon interview. And he provided it, broaching the obvious question.

"What's all this talk about bull riding?"

"It's not talk about it. Let me show you how we do it."

Brenda pushed him on the bed. She smiled and leaned over his groin, her silky hair brushing his cock as she noodled around until her lips found his knob. She proficiently sucked him to a full standing erection.

Mounting up, she recreated her infamous bull riding burlesque, one hand waving over her head as the other braced on his chest. She writhed her hips on the genuine stud bull wedged between her legs, using his embedded cock as a pinion. Her tits wobbled freely, her pussy massaging his erection in all the right places.

Ned manhandled her bouncing boobs and too soon hollered his semen into her womb.

Throughout the remaining night, she demonstrated her other agilities at sucking, missionary and doggy sex. The fucking was accompanied by the nature's outdoor symphony of prairie dog whistles and a coyote answering one of Ned' howls of delight during a particular solid burst of orgasm.

Before morning, they fucked in missionary and when he was pressing her farthest feminine depth, at the very moment of spew, she probed his open mouth with her tongue. She tickled his gums behind his front teeth, as her cervix rubbed his cock tip. It was the hardest cum Ned had experienced in a long time.

They rose early the next morning, and dressed in casual riding clothes.

Brenda toured Ned through the barns and stables, where they saddled a pair of horses for a ride.

The early spring sun grew warm quickly and she took off her shirt, going topless away from the homestead. Her breasts bouncing to the pace of the trotting horse as they followed a side trail into Rotary Park.

They stopped at the waterfall, hobbled the horses who found sprigs of grass to munch. They sat on a viewing area bench. Ned beheld the overlook vistas spread out towards the city.

He perceived Brenda kneeling and opening his pants. He let her perform an affectionate blowjob while he watched hawks soar high over the foothills. He spewed pleasantly as he watched the idyllic scenery and she swallowed his ejaculated cum.

They rode double back to the ranch, her naked, and him bare-chested. The horse's slow gait wobbled Brenda's breasts against Ned's back as they led her horse along on a halter. She opened his pants and exposed him. Her hands cupped his soft cock and balls dangling between his splayed thighs, but got no effective reaction from Ned's weary manhood. But her naked pussy against the moving oiled saddle leather. She closed her eyes and enjoyed a mild orgasm, hugging Ned's body and kissing the back of his neck in the afterglow.

They put the horses in the corral, dressed and ate a light breakfast on the back porch. The Evaluation Assessment had run its course.

She sadly escorted Ned to the town car that had arrived during their naked morning ride, waiting in the driveway, but apparently unattended. He rapped on the dark tinted window and heard a bustle inside.

The far rear door popped open and a lean cowboy struggled out to his feet, pants unbuckled, working feverously to zip up his blue jeans fly. A pair of white panties dangled from his hip pocket.

A disheveled Krystal tumbled out behind him, tucking her big tits into her uniform blouse and jacket, and smoothing her skirt back over her bare ass. The cowboy tipped his hat to Ned.

"Sorry, sir, we're running a little late."

Grinning, Ned shook his head in wonder. Or, actually, no wonder at all.

"It's okay. A last one for the road, Krystal?"

"Yes, sir."

His chauffer grabbed the cowboys open shirt collars and dragged his face down to hers for a smothering 'goodbye' kiss.

Set free, the cowboy tipped his hat again and hustled towards the stable, embarrassed at being busted by the boss man's daughter. Brenda called after the retreating farm hand.

"Go on, Bucky. The horses in the corral need feed and water. Hurry up."

Krystal came around and opened the nearside door for Ned. He leaned in and took a parting kiss from Brenda before loading himself into the town car.

Brenda offered a caution to the chauffer.

"Careful, ma'am. That cowboy's as wild as an unbroken mustang."

Krystal took a last longing look at the fleeing Bucky and mumbled a giggle under her breath, fanning her forehead.

"Yeah, I know..."

The women shared the laugh.

As Krystal wheeled them to the airport, Ned thought of the potentials in life awaiting the magnificent Brenda, and her eventual short-lived shock when faced with worldly realities on the day she encountered her familiar benefactor. Tom and his TWA Pledge Contributor Coach Tutor buddies would help Brenda ride happy trails towards a bright horizon, as they rode her body to brilliant gratifications.

Her Father Daughter Weekend would probably require a surrogate alpha male, likely Tom, unless by then he confessed his subterfuge to her father. Then he could send his friend for a few times as his Freewill Weekend surrogate and eventually arrange his surprise attendance at Brenda's Father Daughter weekend.

Before exiting the town car at the airport, Ned directed Krystal to make the computer entries that would approve Brenda for enrollment at the Total Woman Academy.

-----

Cate, the Redhead Ivy League bookworm

-----

Cate was born Catherine to an affluent couple in an upscale Connecticut ex-burb. Her mother descended from 'old money' and her father, a hard charging New York City financial lawyer, had considered her the perfect match: wealth and beauty. He had wooed and won the Scottish heiress and used her money to run up his own sizeable fortune.

But fortune was not as kind in their home. His wife turned out to be sexually aloof woman who, after having done her duty by delivering Catherine, lost all further interest in sexual congress. The marriage devolved into an arrangement where the husband spent his weeks in Manhattan and maybe half his weekends back in Connecticut.

As she grew and matured, their daughter's name morphed through childhood as Cathy, to teenaged Caty in her preppy high school to her current collegiate age moniker of Cate.

Her pre-college influences came mostly from her mother, a socially challenged suburbanite who wanted her lonely life validated by creating a kindred spirit, instinctively steering her daughter towards the same sexually-repressed existence.

By fate alone, Cate lost her virginity on prom night to one of her exclusive prep school's football players, a painful non-event where she lay motionless as he rutted at her groin. Its only purpose was to get equal post-virginity status with her more outgoing clique mates.

As her high school days ended, her parents explored various high-class universities. Ivy League was a foregone conclusion. But her father wanted a more rounded education and leaned on his network to achieve his aims. He generated Cate's Scholarship Referral as a TWA Pledge Contributor who regularly attended Guest Coach Tutor events without the mother's awareness.

Cate's mother wanted her daughter to be like her, a coy chaste wallflower. On the contrary, her business scion father wanted to be a Wall Streeter cock chasing wild thing, a future deal closing aid in his drive to financial dominance. He wanted his demure daughter's life enriched by the TWA curriculum, nixing her mother's suppression of Cate's sexual passions, hoping to grow her into a viable helpmate in his fiscal empire.

His TWA colleagues had met Cate at family and community gatherings. They found her demure character both charming and provocative. They saw that she was socially detached and almost never smiled. They suspected she was perpetrating a shrewd subterfuge and speculated that she cloaked a vivacious libido underneath the sour disposition.

They asked their friend if he was fucking his daughter yet. His shifty denials only fueled their fantasies and gave his locker room standing a bogus boost. They complained he was hogging her succulent pussy all to himself.

After all, he was freely fucking their female offspring on his frequent visits to TWA campus events. They nagged him incessantly to enroll his nubile daughter and divvy up his selfish hoard of her sexual favors.

"Fair was fair" they whined, "Caring is Sharing".

He desperately wanted to but hesitated; it wouldn't be easy. If her mother suspected anything, well... divorces are fickle affairs. He loathed letting go of any of the family bankroll, let alone a potential half. So her mother must remain oblivious to Cate's intended incursion into the exotic realm of elite alpha males.

Still, he was dying to have TWA acclimate her to physically gratifying older males as part of her TWA guest coach tutor encounters. That would be their deeply gratifying component of her poise curriculum. After prep school graduation, or sooner if practical, he wanted to leverage her erotic participation in closing some of his stalled business deals.

And he was not himself immune to her shy sexual allure. He looked forward to the time when TWA unencumbered her mind from her mother's prudish brainwashing. And made her accessible to him like the other TWA coeds he fucked, but especially during Father Daughter Weekend although he prayed it would be sooner.

Her parents enrolled her that fall in the coveted Ivy League college, Cornell University, tucked away in the vineyards and wineries in Upstate New York's Finger Lakes. And keeping with her superior affluent standing, housed her in a converted downtown boutique dormitory, an old Victorian mansion. Accommodating just four bedrooms, the shared common areas were equipped with modern luxury furniture and fixtures.

Cate never really emerged from her homebody routine, engrossed in reading poetry, shunning any attempts at campus social interaction. But fate has a way of moving things forward.

Cate's housemates, unknown to her as recent TWA graduates, encouraged her to answer the anonymous summons and clandestinely abetted the TWA Recruitment's vetting, who then apprised Cate of the elite scholarship availability.

The Recruiters shared vague highlights of the tri-fold curriculum, and its prerequisites for enrollment, including a decision making evaluation assessment of her basic feminine maturity by a TWA Coach Tutor.

"Will I be able to peruse studies in poetry?"

"You will be challenged to embrace the depths of your passions and sensations in TWA's lively and exhilarating romantic curriculum" they assured her.

Unadventurous by nature but foreseeing some life enrichment possibilities, she agreed.

-----

"ITH, Ithaca Thompkins Control, this is TWA 001, requesting a vector for landing."

"TWA 001, this is Ithaca Control, proceed to outer marker for Runway 32. Winds from the north, 5 MPH, gusts 20 MPH. Welcome to the Finger Lakes, sweetie."

Krystal rolled her eyes, she was only a 'sweetie' now?

"Roger that, Control."

She keyed the intercom.

"Seven minutes to touchdown, sir. Please buckle in."

Ned had already secured himself and peeked outside at the low rolling hills of Upstate New York. The countryside was a patchwork of private vineyards and the pressing vat barns, filled with last fall's harvested barrels of wine, aged and waiting to be bottled and distributed for the regional consumption. The wheels bumped down, and the plane shuddered as Krystal reversed thrust, slowed and taxied to the terminal.

Per routine, she shut down the engines, trotted down the foldout stairs first, and gave directions to the ground crew to have the jet fueled and ready for takeoff tomorrow. She focused again on her VIP passenger.

Krystal escorted Ned to the black town car waiting on the apron, opened the rear door and seated her alpha male charge inside. She wheeled the car from the airport, down Route 13, towards the town of Ithaca, overlooked by the Cornell University campus perched on a ridge beside Cayuga Lake.

Ned had reviewed the assignment package in flight. It described Cate and her background and spurred his thoughts on his approach to her erotic emergence.

Ned's challenge was to tease out Cate's repressed sexual decadences. He knew she had them, those same buried carnal passions innate in every fertile woman, even chilly ones like Cate and her mother. He must go slow and easy, not spook her, but still move her steadily towards the primary goal. And he only had one night.

He strolled into Carl A Kroch Library to the William Wordsworth Collection. He found her serenely waiting for him at a tucked away reading space at Kroch Library.

She was folded into a big comfy chair: green headband, plaid skirt, turtle mock neck green sweater, low heeled walking shoes, long thick auburn hair laying down her front and back. She was reading a book of poetry.

Ned quietly greeted her. He asked what she was reading. It was "Perfect Woman", a 19th Century short poem by William Wordsworth, her personal copy since the original manuscript was stored hermetically within the nearby Rare Manuscripts Collection. She just liked being close to it, as if its romantic aura could seep through the protective walls and into her heart.