Of course there were the prestigious parties and events they all went to.The marching soldiers were the low end of the social ladder; they weren’t e...titled to be called princes or other prestigious names. But they were not going to work in the oil fields; that was nasty, hot, dangerous work so the military was the place for them.They spent days cleaning equipment, barracks and practicing whatever. Of course they looked good all decked out and lining the routes when important visitors came.They. He was no longer my pet, he was my abuser - and oh boy, did I want to be abused.“Just don’t hurt me,” I played along.“I’ll hurt you as much as I want to hurt you, slut.”He bent forward and with one hand, he grabbed my hair moving it to one side. He then bit down on my shoulder; careful not to break the skin. I yelled in glorious pain.“Shut the fuck up!” Eric growled as he slapped me across the head. I would have liked the slap to be harder but I bit my tongue.Still holding my hair, he jammed. I signed the withdrawal receipt and accepted a deposit receipt of $35,000 for the sale of 4,000 head of cattle to Richard King. We loaded the bags of money into the steel wagon box, locked it up, and drove it back over to the hotel.In the hotel restaurant, we found the ladies waiting for us, along with Richard King, a total of twenty vaqueros, and Raphael with Frank. After a quick breakfast, we mounted up and rode for home, with Raphael and Frank driving the wagon and everyone else on. I was surprised her weight wasn't hurting my ribs as I only felt the restriction from the extra weight.I was still between the large breasted redhead, Frieda, and the small blonde, Judy. The group was very diverse, all very different in size and shape. The only common things were their short hair and their single mindedness. I should get them to tell me how they all got together. I'm sure it would be a good story.I turned my head to look toward the bathroom, trying to figure how to get out of.