Kendall Jenner & The Mechanical Bull

Kendall & The Mechanical Bull

Kendall Jenner had never been shy about wearing little and letting people look. She thrived on it-the eyes, the whispers, the way a short hem or a flash of skin could tilt an entire room in her direction. What she usually hated were surprises. Tonight, though, the surprise turned out to be exactly the kind she didn't mind.
"Kendall, your driver's downstairs!"
"Finally," she muttered, stepping into the elevator of her penthouse. The short white floral dress stopped high on her thighs, the soft fabric shifting with every step and giving the briefest glimpse of matching white cotton panties underneath. The neckline sat just low enough to be interesting. She looked expensive, effortless, and deliberately on display.
When she slid into the back of the black car she noticed the driver wasn't the usual one.
"New face?" she asked, voice light, a little curious.
"Temporary cover. Other guy's out. I'll get you wherever you need," he answered easily.
She accepted it without worry-her team only hired people who cleared every check-and rested her head against the window. Ten minutes later the car slowed in front of a low, unmarked building on the edge of the city. Soft bass leaked through the walls.
Kendall sat up. "This isn't the usual route."
The driver glanced back with a small, knowing smile. "Private spot some of the industry people use when they want to unwind without cameras. You can stay in the car if you want, or come in for a drink. Completely up to you. Door's open either way."
She hesitated only a second. The idea of a dark, anonymous room full of strangers who already knew her face sent a familiar spark through her. She stepped out.
Inside, the space was dim and warm-low sofas, a small wrestling ring off to one side, and in the center a mechanical bull fitted with a thick white fur saddle. A handful of broad-shouldered men lounged around, drinks in hand. Eyes tracked her the moment she entered, but the looks stayed respectful enough that she didn't feel threatened. Curious. Interested. Exactly the attention she usually courted.
A deep voice came from her left. "You're Kendall Jenner."
She turned. A large man with an easy grin raised his glass. "Buy you a drink?"
She considered him, then the room. "One. Something light."
The bartender mixed a rose-colored cocktail that tasted bright and sweet. She sipped slowly, letting the warmth spread through her limbs until the edges of the night softened into something playful. She stayed clear-headed enough to know exactly what she was doing; the alcohol only loosened the usual careful filter.
The bartender nodded toward the bull. "Ever tried one of those?"
Kendall glanced down at her short dress and the thin white cotton underneath. A slow smile curved her mouth. "In this? Seems like a bad idea."
A few of the men laughed, low and encouraging.
"We'll keep it slow," one offered. "Just a ride. You say stop, it stops."
She looked at the fur saddle again, then at the watching faces, and felt the familiar thrill of being the center of every pair of eyes. "Fine. One ride."
Someone adjusted the thick white fur over the bull. Kendall approached, ran her fingers across the impossibly soft surface, and swung a long leg over. The moment her weight settled, the dense fur pressed up against the crotch of her white panties, the texture dragging lightly over the soft mound of her pussy. A ticklish, electric sensation shot straight through her. She shifted experimentally and the fur stroked her again, teasing the sensitive skin through the thin cotton.
"Oh... that's different," she murmured, already a little breathless.
The bartender hit the switch. The bull tipped forward gently. Kendall grabbed the horns to keep her balance; the motion forced her hips down harder against the saddle and made the short dress ride higher, flashing the sides of her panties and the smooth undersides of her thighs to the room. Soft cheers rose.
The bull began a slow, rolling rock. Every forward and back motion dragged the dense fur across her clit through the cotton. The fabric quickly dampened. Her pussy lips parted slightly under the pressure, the soft outer folds swelling as the repeated friction stroked her. She could feel herself getting wetter with every pass-slick heat soaking into the white panties until the material clung translucent to her folds and the fur beneath grew shiny with her juices.
"Fuck..." she breathed, voice low and surprised. Her hips started to move on their own, tiny involuntary rolls that ground her swollen clit harder into the saddle. The men watched in silence now, eyes locked on the way her ass flexed and the dress kept slipping higher.
The rhythm increased. The fur worked her relentlessly-soft, continuous pressure against her clit, the soaked cotton sliding back and forth between her labia, the wet sounds growing audible. Her thighs trembled. She could feel her inner walls clenching around nothing, the empty ache making her rock harder.
"Oh my god... it's-right there-" Her voice broke into a moan she didn't bother to hide. The crowd stayed quiet, respectful of the moment even as they stared. Her panties were completely plastered to her now, the outline of her puffy lips and the hard little peak of her clit clearly visible through the wet white fabric. Juices had started to drip past the edges, darkening the fur beneath her.
She chased the sensation openly, grinding in tight circles, the short dress bunched around her waist. The bull kept its steady, merciless rock. Her orgasm built fast and heavy-heat coiling low in her belly, thighs shaking, breath coming in short, needy gasps.
"I'm-going to-fuck-"
She came hard. Her whole body locked, head thrown back, a long broken moan spilling out as her pussy pulsed and flooded. Clear fluid soaked through the cotton in a visible rush, running down the fur saddle and the insides of her thighs. Her legs shook violently; the aftershocks kept rolling while the bull slowed to a gentle sway, still stroking her oversensitive clit through the drenched fabric until she finally whimpered and lifted herself off.
She stood on unsteady legs, dress still hiked, white panties translucent and clinging, a thin trail of her release sliding down one thigh. The room was quiet for a beat, then a few low, appreciative murmurs.
The temporary driver stepped closer, expression calm. "Told you it was just a ride."
Kendall smoothed her dress down with slow fingers, still breathing hard, a satisfied flush high on her cheeks. She met his eyes and gave a small, wicked smile.
"Next time warn a girl the saddle does that."
He chuckled. "You looked like you figured it out just fine."
She walked out beside him under her own power, the cool night air against her still-sensitive skin, already replaying every second of the friction and the way every man in the room had watched her come undone-and how much she had liked it.