The Buffalo - Sex Stories

The Buffalo

For thousands of years before western civilization invaded the American plains, its native people hunted the buffalo. Having only basic tools, the death of each animal was a battle hard won. As such, the hunters carried a degree of respect for the beast, and a tradition of using all parts of the animal was established. While its flesh served the obvious purpose, its skin made warm clothing and provided shelter, and its great bones made structural supports, weapons, and tools. It is the same mindset with which the Native Americans used the buffalo that lives on today in the relationship between Jenny and her father. Her legs burned. Firm calves throbbed from the repeated motion. The balls and sockets of her hips complained with increasing anger. And… it was glorious. The fifth time Jenny ran home from school, everything changed. The first four days were painful and tiring, each thud of her pink Nike’s shaking her small frame, jostling her fluttering heart within her chest. But now, on day five, she broke through that barrier. The pain was still there, but it was secondary in her mind to the pure joy of exercise. Two blocks from home, she slowed to walking pace, and it all came back to her. The run had allowed her momentary peace from the fear of what had happened at school that day, and what awaited her at home. She stopped and took a few more deep breaths; taking notice of the sweat running down the crease between her full breasts. They had always been an obstacle, being more ...

... than a bit too large for a girl of her size. Jenny was a very pretty girl, with a small round head and a stout pug nose flanked by piercing blue eyes. Standing only a little over five feet tall, her blonde mane stretched down the small of her back, terminating a few inches above her waist. She was newly sixteen years old, but aside from her well-developed chest, her looks suggested a girl several years her junior. Glancing down further at her legs, she saw they were trembling. Not from the run, she thought, but from nervous trepidation. She was home. Opening the side door, she entered the kitchen of her modest home. All surfaces were sparkling clean, as a direct result of her labors last night. “Daddy, I’m home!” The kitchen was to be cleaned top to bottom twice a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. Her father kept a clean house. He was an engineer, who at a young age had built a very successful company on the manufacture of lightweight and reliable fuel pumps. Last year he sold it. Her daddy didn’t discuss matters of business with her, but she overheard a conversation between him and his lawyer in which he said something about “eight figures” being a fair price. She dropped her backpack at the kitchen table as her father walked in. “Hey babe, how was your run?” he said, a smile on his face. He wore a slimming grey v-neck and basketball shorts. His hands were covered in grease, undoubtedly from another one of his basement projects. “Good daddy, really good! I’m glad you decided I ...