I came out here to earn my own place on this drive, not to take a man's orders.
My independence is not up for discussion. I say that to myself most mornings.

Preston runs the drive. He turns a request to shut a gate into a command, and my pulse jumps every time.
He has never said out loud what he means to do to me. He does not have to.
Last week a task he set me ended with me standing nearer to him than any of the crew.
Then he made me wait there for the next one. I waited. I would have waited longer.

That is the shame of it. Not the orders. That I stopped arguing and started leaning in.
He says my name across camp and the leash pulls tight in me.

The drive ends in eleven days and the correction he keeps promising has not landed.
Bent over. Bared. Handled the way he handles everything on this trail. Kept there.
My standing with the crew depends on nobody seeing it, I told them all I answer to no one, and I ride at his flank all day.
What is left of my independence if I obey him? What is left of me if I never find out how far I would go?

A full-length western obedience training and rough discipline erotic novel featuring a ranch hand and the trail boss who tightens the leash.