Leigh's Awakening, Vol 1 - The Hike
Copyright© 2022 by TopherLovesLeigh
Chapter 1
True Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Leigh's first exhibitionist experience.
Caution: This True Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual True Story Wife Watching Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Big Breasts Public Sex
Spring Break was approaching fast, and for once, Leigh and I were not racing toward the chaos of South Padre Island or Daytona. The beer-soaked crowds, blaring music, and beachside debauchery had long been part of our springtime rituals ... but this year, something had shifted. We craved something more intimate, a chance to rekindle the spark that had faded into the background of our busy lives.
One late afternoon, I found myself in a corner booth at The Chicken Oil Ranch, the walls around us plastered with license plates and old signs. The air was thick with the scent of fried pickles and mesquite smoke, and the wooden table beneath my forearms was scarred by generations of college students. Fritz, a fellow Engineering student at Texas A&M, sat across from me, nursing a Lone Star longneck, his boot tapping idly on the floor.
“Spring Break’s coming,” I said, exhaling slowly. “Leigh and I are trying to find something a little more ... laid back, you know? Away from the beer bongs and crazy frat boys.”
Fritz grinned, his Cajun drawl as thick as ever. His family had roots deep in the bayous of Louisiana, and though his father had been the first to get out of the swamp and get a degree, Fritz still carried the wild, woodsy energy of his kin. He was into all kinds of outdoor activities, camping, fishing, and hunting.
“You don’t wanna party?” he asked with mock disbelief. “Man, hell’s gotta be icing over.”
I laughed and shook my head. “We just need something different.”
He took a slow sip, eyes narrowing as he was contemplating an idea. “Well ... Laura and I are heading out to Sam Houston National Forest. Just the two of us, a bunch of trees and peace and quiet. Ain’t a soul out there this time of year.” After pausing to take another sip of his beer, he continued, “You could come wit’ us.”
I leaned back in my seat, letting the thought settle. Leigh and I had been out with Fritz and Laura a few times, drinks at Dudley’s Draw, tailgates at Kyle Field ... and the idea of spending a couple nights with them in the wild had a certain rustic charm. A far cry from the sweaty motel rooms of Corpus Christi.
“That might actually be perfect,” I said, smirking. “Of course, you know Leigh’s is a bit of ‘princess’. She’s not exactly the ‘pee-in-the-woods’ type.”
Laughing Fritz responded, “Yeah Laura took a little bit of convincing, but after a little bit of prodding, she eventually gave in.”
Despite being born and raised deep in the heart of Texas, surrounded by weathered ranch hands, dusty cattle drives, and the low hum of oil rigs in the distance, Leigh was unmistakably, a “princess”. Not the tiara-wearing, storybook kind, but the sort molded by lineage, legacy, and generations of Southern gentility. Standing nearly six feet tall, there was a natural poise to her posture, a subtle Texas drawl in her voice that could sound like sweet tea or cold steel depending on the moment.
She could ride a quarter horse like a seasoned cowboy and had the sculpted body of an elite athlete ... but Leigh had never known a life without polish or privilege. Her fingernails might be dusted with hay after a morning ride, but they were always perfectly manicured. And while she could unsaddle a horse after a hard ride, if need be, she would do it with a toss of her silky black hair and a smirk that reminded you she did not have to. The ranch hands who worked for her daddy, would tip their hat, and greet her with a “Howdy, Miss Leigh!” as she sauntered past in her tight blue jeans and hand stitched custom cowboy boots. The greeting was not just out respect to their employer, but it was a recognition of Leigh’s incredible beauty.
But it was not just money that made Leigh privileged, it was legacy. Leigh came from Texas royalty. She was descended from the “Old Three Hundred, those first families who had braved the wild frontier under land grants from Stephen F. Austin. Her great-greats had carved ranches out of scrubland before Texas had a flag of its own, and that history still echoed in her bearing. It was the way people listened when she spoke, the way doors opened, sometimes quite literally, just because of who her daddy was and who her granddaddy had been. She carried herself with the calm certainty of someone who had always been chosen first for everything, and never by accident.
In a place where money talked and good manners and propriety were necessary; Leigh was fluent in both. She knew when to curtsy and when to use her family name to enforce her will. Her world was one of cotillion dances and country club luncheons, but also early mornings in the saddle, the scent of leather and mesquite thick in the air. That tension, between polished decorum and the wildness just beneath is what made her magnetic.
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