My first memory as a child is waiting in line for the carousel ride, a rousing fantasyland of wonder, where horses come alive and I would be the reigning princess. My memory begins and ends in that line, because my parents deemed the line to be too long for them to stand in the hot sun.

I’d end up riding the horses for the first time the following year, and revel in the freedom every year that followed. Until I was thirteen years old, it remained my favorite ride. Back then I had an incorruptible soul, where every little thing evoked a sense of promise and endless possibility.

As a child, I was a princess galloping on a horse. Tonight, I’m the Queen held in place by my lustful King as I stampede toward the inevitable, and though the carousel is dark and void of life, it moves just the same in the pitch-black imagination behind closed eyes. I hear the music that refuses to sound. I feel the rising and lowering of the gears as we spin in slow circles.

Kemper holds me tight, a strong hand caressing my stomach and I’m trapped between two extremes—the heat of his body and the hardness of the gold and white cane-painted pole.

“Well,” he huffs, “this is eventful.”

I politely disagree with his sarcasm, “It’s peaceful.”

“Maybe,” he sighs as he jumps off the horse and lands on his feet beside me.

I slide back on the seat, taking advantage of the additional space. “Just pretend it’s moving.”

He tilts his head and scuffs his boot against the metal and rugged flooring. “My imagination doesn’t work like that.”

“Really?” I stare him down. “Does it work when you’re thinking about me? When you’re lying in that ancient motel bed with your pants around your ankles, polishing your dick and wishing I were there to finish you off?”

“Jesus,” he groans. “That’s a little graphic, don’t you think?”

“A little graphic, but wholly appropriate.”

“If you insist on knowing,” he says lowly and leans down to my ear, breathing warm fire against me, “it’s a little more graphic than that.”

“Then use your God-gifted imagination.” I spin one leg off the horse and hop to my feet so that the horse separates us. “No touching,” I command, “but I want to see you use your imagination.”

His eyes dart to side and he tilts his head at me.

“Do you want to touch me, Kemper Scott?” My hand glides to the buttons of my shirt, and undoes them in quick succession. “Do you want to watch me undress?” He nods in approval as I throw the plaid shirt behind me. I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head and toss it beside the plaid. My fingers reach behind my back and unhitch my bra, the straps falling down my shoulder, but I freeze in place and wait. “It’s your turn.”

He takes no time disposing of the blue dress shirt, and rips the white undershirt straight over his head. He moves to climb over the horse, to meet me on the other side, but I protest with a wag of my finger. “We’re pretending, remember?”

He swallows a breath of protest and reaches for his jean-clad erection. He pumps his cock through denim, chewing into his lip while his eyes struggle to stay open. “I want to bend you over this horse.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you till you can’t walk.” He frees himself form one boot, then kicks off the other. “I want to come deep in your pussy while kissing you.”

I wait until his eyes are pulled short for a short moment to let out a light laugh. When his eyes are thrown back open, I’m back in seduction mode with a straight face, full of desire and anticipation.

“I want that too, Kemper.” I pull the straps of my bra down my arm until my breasts are exposed, perky and waiting. “I imagine you standing before me, hard and naked.”

“That’s easy enough.” He smirks and drops his jeans in an instant, stepping out of them when they pool at his feet. His erection tents in black underwear, and without taking his gaze off me, he slides them down his legs and steps out of them. “Is it everything you imagined?”

“Everything and more.” I free myself from my own jeans and tangle my fingers in my panties, taunting and teasing him. His chest heaves because he wants to rush the space between us and close the distance. He wants me right here, right now with exactly zero fucks that anyone could see. “Now hop on the horse and use your imagination.” I grip one hand around the pole and marvel at his beautiful body kissed by the light of the moon. “Pretend to feel the wind in your hair.”

He does as instructed and jumps onto the horse, his muscular ass hardly fitting on the seat because he leaves enough room for me to sit in front. He closes his eyes and exhales softly, his head is thrown back an inch and his chest heaves. A smile ripples across his face, but it fades just as quickly. He might think this is stupid, but he’s playing along.

I step out of my panties. My lips tremble and my body shakes. It’s too cold to be bare-ass naked outside. It’s probably a felony to be this naked in public, but I’m too lost in this new world I’ve engulfed myself in to care.

While his eyes are still glued shut, I reach for his hard cock and wrap my hand around his flesh. He gasps and shifts against my touch. I swing one leg over the horse and rise to a standing position so that I straddle the inanimate animal. The cold metal of the pole is freezing against my tits, but I know the cold is only temporary as a fire burns behind me, and soon beneath me.

I lower myself onto his cock, reveling in the sweet burn as I impale myself on his hardness. A long treble of a moan slips from my lips as I sink deeper and deeper until we’re skin to skin.

He reaches his strong arms around me, with one hand held against my stomach, holding me in place, and the other hand groping at my breast.

“Move,” he begs, but I’m the one in control and I want him to be reminded of that, and to always keep it in the forefront of his mind. I buck my hips backward and lean back into him, throwing my head over his shoulder. Blood pumps through the veins of his neck and his body shifts underneath of me. “Please,” he begs, and I finally oblige.

I throw myself forward and wrap both hands around the pole. I begin to ride him in long, careful strokes, up and down as if the ride itself were moving. His palms grip my sides as he tries to assist, trying to make me move faster, but I’m content to ride the waves of the slow build.

When I close my eyes, I’m back in fantasyland, bucking my hips on a horse as it stampedes through a field of green. The warmth I feel from Kemper beneath me, behind closed eyes, is that of the sun kissing my skin.

The funniest thing happens, when I open my eyes and I see the world for what it is, dark and gloomy with clouds merging into the light of the moon, I accept it, taking pleasure in the way he fills me, completely in every way imaginable.

And too soon, he’s bucking his hips upward as he releases his seed inside me and I’d be disappointed if this were any other night. It’s not. I don’t crave climax, because what I’ve found is more thrilling than any orgasm. I’ve found peace, and I’ve found it here with him, and I don’t know what that means, but I’m willing to pay the price to find out.