Mid morning sun blazed upon the barren fields. The breeze, almost non-existent as the heat rose with an unprecedented fury. This summer has boasted a record scorcher. It was only the second week of July.

Upon the Double O Ranch, minimal activity took place these days. Madame Deena was widowed less than six months ago. The ranch was now solely her responsibility, all three hundred acres of her. Over 50 staff had relied upon the Double O for jobs. From hired hands to groomsmen, stable mates, and even kitchen and clerical staff to mind the modest gift shop, the help was dropping off like flies on a daily basis.

The kitchen was shut down indefinitely after an altercation one day. Apparently the head chef Jean-Louise had made unwelcome advances towards the Madame. Sure all the staff stole glances at her. Who could deny a sneak peek at those shapely thighs, those rubenesque hips?

Occasionally the madam even was mildly amused when the help undressed her with their unfaltering, insatiable eyes. Madame Deena often donned tight, extravagant apparel on her long trail rides.

Once a storm had crept in, doused in her elegant blouse she’d dashed into the kitchen in hopes of escaping the downpour. Her bulbous, perky dunes had left little to the imagination. Glistening, mocha nipples defied the fabric that barely concealed them. Long, chestnut locks flowed down her back. Dark mysterious eyes scanned the room, holding all prisoner who were daring enough to abandon their tasks in brash insolence.

“Mais non, mon cheri! You’re all over drenched and the sheevers,” Jean-Louse had served the painfully obvious while addressing her so informally, so infuriatingly crass.

Madame Deena flinched in repulsion. Further he’d advanced the space of comfort and distance between them.

Unsuccessfully she subdued a gag over his wretched breathe of kielbasa and cheap merlot. As he set down his cleaver, he’d also discarded his concept of dignity and respect. The madam recoiled as he brushed her locks free of her soaked brow.

“Mais non Madame, we cannot have you catch cold.” Somehow in his own distorted reality Jean-Louise gave himself permission to manhandle her impressive breasts. It’s unclear what the widow had said at that point. It doesn’t really matter.

As the other kitchen hands scattered, no one knows for sure what even happened. Legend has it Madame Deena reached with such fury, she’d twisted the witless cook’s thumb back, smacking it on the pastry table, then sliced it clean off with his own cleaver. Others claim she’d threatened to castrate him. One thing’s for sure, no one laid on eyes on Jean-Louise within the Double O Ranch ever again.

It was the exact same dominant confidence Madam Deena exuded the day she’d seduced five stable mates at once. The mistress had taken a much earlier trail ride this fateful mid July scorcher. Any effort to catch a breeze or cool down was barely worth the investment.

Any of the Double O Ranch staff worked diligently these days. No one wanted the axe to fall unexpectedly. No one wanted to offer reason for early termination. The handful of stable hands trudged through the day’s labor with admirable pace. No one had even looked up when she’d trotted through the pen on her trusty stead Candlesceace. Leather stirrups creaked and moaned as she swung her shapely thighs over the saddle.

Her spurs glimmered in the sunlight. Clearing her throat, she tapped her other boot impatiently. With neck breaking speed, Cyrus a true shit brick house ran over. His black muscles tweaked and flexed each time he nodded profusely. He grabbed the horse’s bridal in silent gratitude.

“Just a moment, young man,” the madam beckoned in her regal tone. “Cyrus that is…please fetch your colleagues for a moment as well.” Meticulously she tugged one leather gloved finger at a time. She’d removed and folded them, perhaps in effort to distract her thoughts.

“Oh yes M’ame. Yes indeed Ma’m,” the stable hand was beside himself having his noble employer remember his name. Dust particles twinkled and drifted through the beams of sunshine. Gradually one by one, four additional, strapping gents made their way to the centre of the barn.

Madam Deena fanned her sweltered profile with her gloves. The rugged help with their rippling muscles surely contributed to her molten desires. As she took a deep breath, her eyes met each of theirs; such young, loyal men. Struggling against emotional outburst of a common paean, Madam Deena cleared her throat.

“Gentlemen, I’m afraid I have some rather unfortunate news.” All eyes were on her. She’d owned the room; not unlike so many of the aristocratic soirees in the past.

“As you may know the Ranch has sustained a tremendous loss since the Master’s passing.” The men bowed their heads out of respect and out of anticipation of what was next.

“The gift shop is closed. Crops have suffered. The economy is poor.” She paced the barn before them, her expensive boots collided with the oak planks along the floor. “Cut backs have been necessary…..”

“Please Ms. Deena…can we still work for the Double O?” The madam’s confidence feigned momentarily. Pierro, a slim broad shouldered Italian made her lose her train of thought.

“Yes…well….,’ she’d hesitated while shrugging her shoulders. “Your jobs are secure.”

A unanimous sigh exhaled around the group. O’Hara, a red haired, fair skinned reluctantly intercepted. “But we cannot help but sense something is awry.“

“Precisely, the point I was approaching.” A formidable battalion style rider’s crop had materialized, seemingly out of thin air. The elegant Deena maneuvered the staff, restoring a sense of power and control. “Times are tough men…” She looked down for affect, searching for the right words. Gulping, at last she’d unleashed, “I cannot afford to pay you this week.”

An uproar ensued among the group. Steadily the volume rose with aggressive distaste.

“How am I to put food on the table for my kids?”

“Outrageous-“

“Busted my ass-“

“Hotter than hell-“

Madam Deena had to react swiftly before a riotous mutiny exploded.

“There is an alternative. As this is merely a temporary schedule,” the madam’s heart raced, her palms clammy as she took a deep breath chasing composure. “We’ll be back on schedule the following week. Several bids have been placed on our blue ribbon thoroughbreds.” Deena shuddered in anxiety. “Such a handsome return will be furnished to never have to remotely be uncomfortable again.”

The stable mates fidgeted from their exhaustion. It seemed borderline torment to place these hard working men on an emotional roller coaster.

“Until next week I can only pay you in lieu of cash.” Facing each of them once again, her icy eyes regarded them individually.

“I have seen how each of you look at me.” Nervously, Cyrus scuffed his tattered boots through the hay. “One would have to be deaf not to hear the whistles and cat calls.”

Yahn, a lanky groomsman blushed in spite of his bronzed tan.

“Regardless of our varying backgrounds, I’m still a woman with needs. You’re all young and healthy men-“ She was stammering now on the verge of tears. “So this week, until next…my body is yours, free to do with what you wish.” Defeated with humiliation, she looked down, turned about the face. “Each of you may take the remainder of the day to decide.”

Leaning upon his pitch fork, Sean a giant of a man with long, flowing hair went after her.

“Wait, Madame!”

He caught up with the baroness, towering over her with his seven foot frame. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear. The madam appeared overjoyed and relieved. Her knees buckled. Sean swept his boss up behind the knees in the nick of time.

O’Hara fetched one of the mare’s blankets, snapping the dust off with a flip of the wrist.. He laid it flat upon the cushiony hay mow.

Cyrus was already returning with two vast, deep pails of water. Upon fire plug legs he’d moved with grave and speed. Pierro and Yahn had shed out of their denim overalls. Massive undeniable cocks in hand, evidently the Madam’s proposal appealed to the nude and primed help.

The circumstances suddenly unfolded very quickly. Little hesitation involved, Sean set Deena down upon her knee high boots. Sheer lust was thick enough to slice in mid air. O’Hara grasped her suede vest, cinching top to bottom fasteners with one burly meat hook. In swift Neanderthal motion, he reefed the fabric back, attaining grateful access.

Her perky, yet ample breasts bounced and swayed from the recoil. Pierro kissed her lush, rosy lips and was slapped venomously for his efforts. Just as quickly she yanked him back, swirling and darting her tongue around his in blissful truce.

The towering spectacle Sean still stood behind her. Suddenly he cupped each of her breasts from behind. Pliable flesh squished amorously beneath his mammoth hands.

Each Yahn and Cyrus stood on either side of her groping animalistic arousal. On impulse, she clutched O’Hara’s ivory white wand. Pointed obscurely, inquisitively towards her, it twitched in her palm. Deena sighed as her neck was licked and kissed from behind. Pure reflex encouraged her to grip the wand further, faster, sheathing and unsheathing its head in rapid shifts.

Soaking from slit to buttocks, she quivered. Hungrily the madam lapped Pierro’s tongue. Her right hand wrapped around his impressive sausage.

Yahn and Cyrus gyrated their callused mitts into her woven slacks. Their grips so urgent and zealous they’d ripped her bottom and zipper down. She fidgeted restlessly. Teeth chattered gently upon Pierro’s tongue. A wedge of black panties peered above from behind the disheveled slacks.

As humidity clung in the stagnant air, the desire exploded beyond conception. The remaining, Sean, O’Hara and Cyrus, peeled out of their dungarees. Five rigid cocks surrounded her like a lynch mob with torches.

Instinctively they progressed onto the horse blanket. A blur of flesh, white, bronzed, red and feminine olive eclipsed the blanket. One random cock each in either hand was shellacked vigorously for their trouble. An absurdly long schlong pumped in and out of her lush bee stung lips.

Cyrus and Pierro tore free the woven, gray slacks. Impatiently the stocky stable mate swirled his fat cock around the lips of her lacy clad jewel box. The Italian’s muscles rippled and flexed as he lifted her torso. He slipped beneath her, her generous bulbous ass poised for entry. The madam’s panties were stretched clear of her hips and cheeks, torn of fin a frenzied demand.

Eyes rolled back into Madam Deena’s skull, she’d shrieked with a vengeance if not plugged to the hilt with a gargantuan cock. Her teeth clamped upon the shaft. Her reaction involuntarily as Pierro ascended into her tasty, tight little bung-hole. Cyrus eased into her tremoring, sopping pussy.

Together they pumped her orifices like the artesian well out back. Wildly Deena bucked and thrashed. Untamed lust burst free of her as she jerked and thrummed at random, varying cocks. Her mane was drenched, a product of tenacious restitution. On unspoken cue, the help released her. Determined, the stable hands were adamant on breaking their filly of her insolent ways.

As she braced on all fours, O’Hara and Cyrus splashed pails of cool water upon her. She shivered violently, uncontrollably she writhed upon the woven blanket, aching to be filled.

Long into the day until the brink of dusk they’d taken turns thrusting and pounding her flank to the point of bruised, blissful oblivion. At last the sun had set, crickets chirped in the meadows. Under a pre-harvest moon, five stallions burst free their copious seed upon Madam Deena’s glistened face and tits. And they had merely begun to reap what they’ve sown.