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Karen Jones in A Red Dead Redemption 2 Prequel.	By : Nickamano Category: +M through R > Red Dead Redemption Views: 3084 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Red Dead Redemption 2, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Emmet Granger sat astride his horse, his wide brimmed hat protecting his already lined and leathery face from the glare of the Ambarino sun, while his men busied themselves ransacking the rear of the stagecoach.
They had picked their spot at a low crossing point where the Dakota River grew shallow, more or less due north of Valentine. And then they had waited behind nearby boulders for the stagecoach to appear.
It was cold this far north, despite the high blazing sun. Only a few miles north of them the ground was frosted with a light sprinkling of snowfall. The Stagecoach had been a half-hour late but Wald, Granger's lookout, had thrown up his signal, his battered Lancaster repeater gripped in his upraised arm. There had been a hush of excitement around the five strong gang, all lying in wait on both sides of the river bank. They had waited until the four-strong group of horses, not the best Granger had ever seen, had been splashing through the ankle-deep water when he had fired the shot from his trusty Cattleman, springing sprung the trap.

‘The Ox’ MacDuff side-by-side in one hand, yanked on the rope which splashed up out of the water and startled the stagecoach’s horses, while at the same time one of the twins - Earnest, burst forward from behind two trees on the northern bank, brandishing a carbine repeater. While Rusty - the other twin, and Wald hefting a sawed-off and a Volcanic pistol respectively, popped up from behind two boulders in the southern bank, essentially surrounding the stagecoach.
The shotgun ride-along guy levelled his side-by-side at one of the twins But Granger, astride his jet-black Thoroughbred up on the north bluff overlooking the ambush site, had skinned his Cattleman and put a .45 Express through the man’s cheekbone which almost blew his head off. Certainly, it took away five square inches of the opposing side of her face. The crack of the shot echoed around the walls of the mini canyon, while acrid smoke which had flashed into the afternoon air, began drifting idly in a thin grey-white cloud.
‘The Ox’ ran forward with an old buccaneer’s cutlass, his favourite weapon, and slashed through the trappings holding the horses to the coach. Then he drew his own Packenbush double-action and fired a shot that had the horses racing off in sudden fright. Three of them galloped off downstream while one lone Kentucky Saddler took the north trail, passing by Granger who was now making his way down from the bluff.
The twins were already clambering into the stagecoach while ‘the Ox’ jumped up and dragged the driver down from his seat to loot him and the all but decapitated shotgun-rider. Wald used the stock of his Lancaster to smash the lock on the storage box at the rear of the coach.
Granger took his time in closing in on the robbery site, letting his men have the fun, while he oversaw the robbery from a distance. By the time he finally drew alongside the coach could see that there had been only two passengers. Probably a mother and son. Though the son, a portly fellow with mutton chops was at least fifty which meant his mother must have already surpassed seventy. They had both been stabbed through the necks, the blades left in place, the couple cruelly drowning in their own blood. It was quiet and relatively clean, while their clothing and persons had been ransacked for treasures.
Earnest, the burlier of the twins who had no doubt gotten the most sustenance while within their dear departed mother’s shared womb, leaned across his weaselly brother and tossed Granger a brand-new Cattleman six-gun he had taken off mutton-chops man. Granger stuffed it into his saddle bag. He would give it a good once over later.
He was thinking about the possibility of perhaps improving his own shooting iron when he spotted the approaching canvass-covered wagon from his saddle. Fortunately, they were in a valley shadowed by the bluffs on the northern side, plus the high sun would be in the wagon driver’s eyes, so they would be hard to spot until they were closer. He hissed for silence, watching the wagon approach.
The trail on the southern side of the river followed a cut in the cliffs essentially a natural path, that descended smoothly down to ground level then continued along the southern side of the river following the river for a quarter of a mile before twisting south and ascending a slope to the top of the cliffs. So, Granger manoeuvred his steed to the southside of the river where the trail forked and blocked the path of the oncoming wagon. He waited. The others continued with their looting quietly, knowing not to draw attention to themselves. Wald and ‘the Ox’ kept an eye on the approaching wagon and Granger, in case he needed back up. He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.
The man with the reins, short, stocky and blond saw the coach stranded in the shallow river, then he saw the movement around it, then he saw Granger himself blocking the way. His eyes went wide and he tried to lash the reins, hoping to force his way past Granger, rather than get stuck behind the stagecoach.
The “git-up!” didn’t even leave his lips. Granger quickdraw-ed from his right hip, a literal blur of motion and shot the wagon driver in the face. His skull and grey matter burst out of the back of his head and spattered into the rear of the covered wagon, eliciting screams from within. Two distinct screams, two distinctly female screams.
The horses at the front of the wagon reared in shock and fear but they didn’t run. Wald, being the closest ran over and grabbed a bridle and calmed the two horses, shushing them with gentle sounds and coaxing words.
Granger climbed down off his horse while ‘the Ox’ hurried over to the rear of the covered wagon.
“Springa, Carl. Springa!” Came the deeper of the female screamers.
A moment later, a little boy jumped down out of the rear of the wagon and dodged ‘the Ox’, his little shoes taking him into the water which for a boy of his age, somewhere under ten, was up to his knees and quickly approaching his waist. It was nothing for one of the twins to leap down out of the stage and grab the boy.
At the same time as the twin grabbed the boy, halting his desperate struggles by holding him under the water for a few seconds, Granger was clambering up into the driver’s bench of the wagon, pushing the mostly headless corpse down to the earth and then peering into the cover rear.
In there amongst the quality oak furniture, chests, trunks and other household goods, tools and saddles and twine knotted stacks of books and the like, were too women. The girl was pretty as a picture, in her early- to mid-teens, perhaps, her simple dress was snug enough to revealed a hint of curves beneath the pinafore front. She was a startling pale blonde with sapphire blue eyes.
The mother was simply gorgeous. Obviously, an older version of her daughter, though she must have given birth young as she didn’t look far into her thirties. Though having given birth to two children, assuming the boy was also hers, she had not quite managed to lose all her baby fat. And now possessed a visibly more robust form than that of her slenderly curvaceous daughter.
“You come close. And I shoot!” The mother screamed at Granger, in broken though adequate English.
She held a well-polished varmint rifle. Granger’s first reaction was to laugh however, the woman held the muzzle beneath the taut and upraised chin of her daughter’s head and even though only a .22 calibre, it was still more than deadly to a human at that range. At most ranges, in fact. Tears of horror and desperation were streaming down her cheeks and she was quickly sweeping the narrow barrel of the small-game rifle between her daughter and herself, threatening their lives.
Granger slowly moved his hands up away from his own quickdraw rig. He had the strength and reactions to throw himself forward and snatch the rifle out of the woman’s hand, but before she managed to pull the trigger, would not be possible. One or the other of them was sure to take a bullet before he could take the gun and he had already decided to take them both along. It would be a few days before the fence arrived in the area and it was quite a while since he or his gang had had a woman. And none of them had ever had a woman as fine as either of these two Nordic beauties.
“Give up that gun, woman.” He said, a rough growl, thick with threat.
“You leave us! Go!”
“Not gonna happen.”
The girl was crying and wittering in her own tongue. Granger had hoped it would be enough of a distraction for the mother and give him an opportunity to make a move, but her eyes never left him and her hands were steel hard and solid on the stock of that gun.
She was now keeping the muzzle firmly under her daughter’s jaw, rightly judging the younger’s beauty and worth to outmatch her own. Granger might personally disagree, but the majority of men would side with her on the view.
“You go! Get out! I shoot!”
“We have your boy. He didn’t get far.” Granger said slowly and carefully.
The mother’s eyes didn’t change much, though the daughter’s eyes did. Granger turned his head, though he kept his eyes on the mother.
“Whichever one of you has the boy, bring him around to the front of the wagon.” He called.
There was a shouted reply and then splashing and other whimpering and grunting noises. And a second later Rusty appeared with the boy under one arm with his free hand at the child’s slender throat.
“Hold him up Rusty, so these inside can see him.” Granger shouted.
The boy was small and slim and Rusty, though thin and rangy himself, easily hefted his little body by the neck and the back of one knee, up over his head, offering a little grunt with the exertion, while the boy whimpered, rabbiting in wild terror in whatever foreign language he spoke.
“C… Carl?!” The mother gasped, while the sister whimpered, staring past Granger with tear-streaked eyes. “No! No! Carl!”
“Now then, you hand me that pea-shooter and give yourselves up, or my boy’s gonna drown yours in the river.”
“Mama! Mama!” The girl cried. “Please sir, do not hurt my brother.”
“Then tell your mama to hand me that rifle.” Granger said, holding out one hand, open palmed.
“Ain’t hard girl. You tell her, or your little brother dies.”
The two blonde beauties were shivering and weeping, staring into each other’s eyes, maybe weighing up their potential suffering and their chances.
They were really only faces, that was the only part of them exposed, other than their dainty little pink hands. The only visible hair was little loose tufts of pale blonde peeking out from beneath their starched white bonnets. They were both dressed like some kind of Puritans, plain-looking black and white dresses, long sleeves and high necks and those little white bonnets. However, the dresses fitted snuggly and that gave Granger enough of an idea of the attractive shaping of the bodies beneath. And both of them were shapely enough for him. He knew his gang’s tastes perfectly well, they would go nuts over the girl. But, the more robust shape of the mother was so much more to his taste. Sweet little Goddamn piggy.
Watching her eyes and expression, Granger could almost see the thoughts shooting through the mother’s head - losing both their men folk, having already lost her husband. Perhaps losing both her children and possibly her own life, after doubtless being assaulted by a gang of men. Or she could surrender, save her son’s life. She and her daughter would certainly be assaulted by this gang of men. They might die anyway. Or perhaps if they pleased these men, they would survive.
Of course, her thoughts would not extend beyond that. She would not think about what they would do afterwards, husband dead, belongings stolen or destroyed. Their only prospects, after they had been fucked to high heaven by Granger and his gang, then abandoned in the middle of nowhere, would be to become whores. And that was only if they could make it on foot to the nearest town in savage, wild country without any idea of where they were, with wolves and Indians not all that far away. They might get fucked all over again by the redskins and then killed, or sold for guns and whiskey. Or they would be run down in the wilderness by wolves or bears and eaten alive. No, as far as the woman was thinking was how to survive the next few hours, or the next day. Herself and her daughter and her son.
“Last chance.” Granger said, grinning, his own thoughts had made him goddamn horny. “Give me the rifle or listen to your son drown. Or shoot yourself and we get her, or shoot her and we get you.”
She waited a little too long so, Granger shouted outside to Rusty.
“Right! Rusty, drown that little bastard!”
“Sure thing boss!” The young twin giggled.
The mother and daughter both screamed, the mother sweeping her rifle barrel around to Granger. With the reactions of a Cottonmouth, he snatched it smoothly out of her hands, rotating his body to one side so the muzzle never pointed directly at him. The gun didn’t even go off as he pulled it clear of the blonde’s grasp. And she screamed in horror over losing her only bit of leverage. And the two blonde beauties huddled together, cowering in a mutual-terror embrace.
‘The Ox’ immediately clambered up into the back of the covered wagon with his Double Action revolver covering the women, as Granger grabbed the both of them by their long pale straw tresses, crushed bonnets somewhere in his fists, and dragged them out into the open.
The smaller twin was still happily dunking the child in the river while his small limbs thrashed.
“Rusty, leave him now.” Granger grunted. “Dump him on the bank. The wolves can have him.”
“Sure thing boss.” Rusty said, his harsh high-pitched voice heavy with disappointment.
Rusty, having dragged the boy onto the near back of the river into the mud and stones and rotten, grass-snared branches, and dumped him there, now fought the struggling mother over to one of the horses from the covered wagon that Wald had already cut loose, while Granger did the same with the daughter. The mother was crying out to her dazed, half drowned son, trying to illicit some response while trying to fight her way over to him, but Rusty wasn’t giving her any chance at all.
The two weeping, struggling women were hoisted up onto their own horses. Then Earnest approached the two blondes with two pairs of shackles which he locked around their ankles, a long length of heavy iron chain connecting each shackle passed beneath each horses’ barrel like midsection. Then from upon his own horse, Granger looped a lasso around each of their necks, looping the other ends around his saddle horn. Everything and everyone secured, Granger turned to his men, all saddled up or about to be.
“Earn? Wald? You got everything of value? Someone checked the Swede’s pockets?”
“Yeah, Granger.” The other twin replied. “Everything’s looted.”
“All cleared.” Wald added. “What about the wagon?”
“Ox, give that Wagon a quick once over and then follow us, ten minutes, no more.” Granger said.
“Will do.” The huge trapper-type grunted. “Granger? Save some for me, huh?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout that. You’ll get your share. These two’ll be working hard.”
And with that Granger led his gang and their two captives, across the river to the northern bank, and then up the steep trail to the top of the cliffs. He had to be careful, not only to keep an eye on the two blondes but also to keep them close, he didn’t want too much distance between his horse and theirs or the nooses would pull tight and strangle them both before they got to where they were going.
Once they breached the top of the northern bluff, they turned west and followed a trail that ran, for a time, parallel with the railroad. After following the trail for a few miles Granger led them south, turning from the trial completely, seemingly at random. Then it was through woodland and grassland and rocky patches of bare earth until they emerged on a flat pasture dotted with spruce trees, a few skeletal corpses without a single leaf to their name. their arrival also startled a small herd of Rocky Mountain elk, who scarpered away into the all-encompassing trees as soon as the horses and humans appeared.
In the middle of the clearing named Clawson’s Rest, which sat atop another bluff overlooking that same railroad, was a small single-room shack. Not many people knew about it, as it was far from any of the main trails. And Granger knew it would be the perfect place to lay low and await the days it would take for his fence to arrive in Valentine which currently lay to their east on the opposite side of the Dakota River. And now that they had plenty of food and booze and these too blondes they had more than enough entertainment with which to pass the time.
<><><>
It was a four-day trip on the railway from Annesburg to Valentine. A roundabout circular route that took in Van Horn, Saint Denis, Rhodes, and then north into the Heartlands to Valentine where it terminated. If you wanted to go further west toward West Elizabeth you would have to change to the southern line at Saint Denis., that took a southerly route after Rhodes, bypassing Valentine and instead crossing the mouth of Flat Iron Lake and on into the western territory, sweeping north again crossing Ambarino territory until it swept south to Annesburg again, completing the circle.
DB and Karen were on the northern line route to Valentine in search of Emmet Granger, following a rumour of his gang’s activity somewhere north of the frontier town.
DB had grown rather taken with Karen and currently enjoyed looking at her. She was really quite lovely once she had been properly cleaned up and dressed nicely, a little effort spent on her, to round out the rough edges, so to speak.
It was five days after their initial meeting and two days into their train journey. DB was urgently anticipating sliding his meat into Karen’s backdoor, the only unsampled orifice she had remaining, but there was not enough privacy on the train and he had decided to make a point of it as soon as they had secured a hotel room in Valentine.
He had primarily intended to engage in tit fucking Karen’s fabulous acreage, and keeping her pussy for night times. However, she had proved so talented with her mouth, or more accurately her tongue and throat, that he had demanded oral treatment more times than the admittedly first-class tit fuck.
What enamoured him even more though, well not entirely accurate, but what additional enjoyment he had discovered in Karen’s company was just that, her company. Talking with her, having her listen. She was entertaining and a good listener. And she seemed to appreciate being spoken to as a human being, something he supposed she had not been accustomed to since that lone year with her dearly departed husband.
DB very much enjoyed taking his meals with Karen. And chatting in bed, once she had cured him of his lascivious needs, which she accomplished with a thoroughness and ability that he wished his sweet wife could manage once in a while. And so long as Karen remembered her main occupation while under his employ, to satisfy his every lust and to assist him in his writing in whatever way he demanded, he would be more than happy to entertain her and present her with lavish gifts.
One such lavish gift was a night in the first-class dining car. The dining car was utterly rudimentary compared to the likes of certain first-class presentations he had enjoyed in New York and London and, God forbid, the Orient Express. However, the décor was attractive and food was actually pretty damned good. Surprisingly so. Tasty and cooked by someone who had taken more than adequate training.
Karen had looked equally tasty herself, in a lavish and revealing gown of crimson and emerald that hoisted and presented her large breasts in a way that was at the same time eloquent and mouth-watering.
An afternoon in Saint Denis the day before they boarded the train had allowed DB to purchase a number of outfits for his young assistant. Four of which he had chosen for her, specifically to accentuate her naturally curvaceous allure. While two he had graciously allowed her to choose for herself. Then he had dropped her at a high-class salon to have her hair fixed and styled, while he had spent a pleasant couple of hours enjoying a few hands of poker and a few tankards of beer at the esteemed Bastille Saloon.
What had emerged from the salon had been a real, ravishing young beauty, eye catching and breath taking. That same real young beauty had escorted him onto the train and had been seated opposite him in that first-class dining car. And she had been receiving more than a few stares from the other tables and even the waiter, a handsome dark-skinned lad around Karen’s age. He had almost spilled the second bottle of champagne as his eyes had been entirely drawn into the deep and lush expanse of her large and overly enticing cleavage.
It helped and hindered things with DB and Karen in equal measure. Being so far apart in age, people appeared to assume that DB was her father or benefactor, and that appeared to, in other people’s eyes make her available to be courted. Sometimes the interruptions by salivating, panting young men were amusing and enticing for DB, partially because he got to do everything to Karen that all these attentive young upstarts were only able to dream of.
“So, you an expert on guns, or something?”
Karen voiced her enquiry, following a large gulp that drained her glass of champagne. She was an impressive drinker, certainly able to take her booze better than most her age. DB replied after he casually brought over an attendant with a look and a gesture, and requested a bottle of sherry.
“I know more than most, perhaps, but an expert, no… I have experience with firearms and I have a writer’s proclivity for arranging sentences into reasonable flow. The two together are more than enough to entitle me to take on this subject.”
He opened the bottle of sherry and Karen immediately lifted her glass, reaching across the table so he could fill it.
“My husband, Luke had a shogun. One of those double-barrelled ones.”
“Perfect piece for farming.”
“And he had some old revolver too, went back to the war, I think. He’d had it… He’d had something done to it so he could still use it now… I don’t know much about guns…”
“I would assume a conversion kit from percussion-cap to self-contained cartridges.”
“I guess so, I didn’t really pay much attention.”
She shrugged, gulping down her glass full of sherry, before she went on. It seemed that Ms Jones took great enjoyment in libations. It made DB wonder about her other vices. He would have to press her to find out.
“He always promised to teach me how to shoot but never got around to it. There were always so many jobs to do on the ranch.”
“I would imagine so. If I may ask, what took him from you?”
The question was surprisingly delicately put.
“Consumption. Weren’t pretty.”
“I would imagine not.”
“So, what pistol do you carry? Which do you, you know… favour?”
“Major Schofield’s variation of the model three, Hutton and Baird…”
The look of confusion on Karen’s face was priceless.
“The ‘Schofield’, Madam.”
“I heard of it, I guess. Never seen one though.” She said, shrugging as she filled and then emptied her glass.
“Actually… the best way to explain my own position is for you to read the introduction to my article.”
“Okay…”
“I’ll pull it out for you to peruse when we go back to the carriage.”
Karen nodded and then gave a whisper of a smile while DB refilled her glass from the bottle.
“Although I adore the Schofield, indeed it saved my life numerous times in my previous employ, I have actually taken to carrying a plain, though functional, Cattleman on my hip.”
“Why’s that?”
“This is my personal Cattleman…”
Replacing the bottle, he reached down under the table to his right hip and then pulled a polished darkened steel revolver which he placed on the tablecloth in front of her. It was obviously well maintained. The metal was treated in a dark blued-steel and featured improved sights, rifling and sporting lovely, rich mesquite grips that were almost in sunset hues, and had been meticulously professionally carved to perfectly fit his hand. Of course, his companion didn’t know or recognise any of that. She just saw a black revolver with a handsomely streaked reddish-brown handle.
“Nice.” She said with a nonchalant shrug.
“Indeed. And this is my personal Schofield revolver.”
Simultaneously, he reached beneath the front of his Worsted coat. From under his left arm, he drew another revolver. This one positively glowed. It was plated in gold with silver inlay patterns just about everywhere, all swirls and scrolling and leafy vines. And, on closer examination, scantily clad nymphs dancing and frolicking together. The gold and silver were highly polished to an almost mirror finish. And equally lovely were the pearlescent hand grips, made of mother-of-pearl. And inside which Karen recognised startling gleams of silver and white amongst the seams of scores of off-white colours. She vaguely remembered her mother had possessed a choker that had always been around her neck and that had been made mainly of mother-of-pearl, Karen had thought of it like captured starlight as a young child. Now as she gazed at the swirling pearly white, silver and greys, she was bluntly and harshly reminded of semen. The sudden comparison made her almost choke on her sherry and a little of it went up her nose as she tried to stifle the simultaneous laugh and choke.
She took another look and found that along the Barrel’s top was an inscription. “Presented to Major DB Gould, for impossible bravery and for achieving the impossible. In gratitude. A. McA.”
“President MacAlister…?” Karen whispered, slightly awed.
The handgun was a miraculous thing to behold, nothing less than a work of art. Karen didn’t doubt it had never and would never be fired. So, it made sense to have a different gun to carry around and use. Though carrying around such a work of art was strange. If it was her, it would be locked up in a safe at home or in a safety-deposit box in a New York bank.
“Why the Cattleman though, why not another Schofield. You know, a plainer one?”
“A reasonable question. Other than the length of the barrel as standard, which can be customised of course, the Schofield’s main advantage is in speed of reload, especially on horseback. You can hold the revolver and reins in one hand, leaving you the other hand to reload. It’s much, much harder to do that with the Cattleman and its loading-gate and ejector. And at full gallop, all but impossible. On the other hand, the Cattleman is much cheaper, parts are easier to exchange out on the frontier. And in nearly all peace time situations, the reload speed isn’t too important. Both are equally reliable, though the Cattleman is easier to repair as there are more moving parts in the Schofield, more to go wrong if you don’t take care of it. Keep the Cattleman well-oiled and you can’t really go wrong and there are so many of them around that you can pick up a replacement or replacement parts pretty much anywhere you go.”
“Well. That answered that question.”
Smiling, lopsided, at DB’s mildly offended expression, Karen lifted her drained glass yet again, silently requesting a refill. He obliged her with a roll of the eyes.

They were heading back through the narrow passageways of the train to their cabin following their enjoyable meal when, passing through the open-air space between two of the connected carriages, someone grabbed hold of Karen’s upper arm and pulled her urgently back into the all-consuming shadows. It was not surprising to have people standing where the carriages connected, but someone suddenly grabbing her from the shadows and pulling her away from DB was certainly a shock. Of course, DB was acutely aware of the interruption though he pretended he noticed nothing and did not even miss his tag-along young lady. He kept on strolling in blissful ignorance.
Karen pretended to stifle a gasp; though her peripheral vision and her long since honed natural suspicion, especially of shadowy spaces, had altered her to Mister Klein’s proximity before he had grabbed her and she played her part adequately, allowing Klein’s hand to cover her mouth before she could make a pretence at a gasp. Karen felt arms in rough wool envelope her buxom torso and pull her urgently into a firm embrace. She could sense his desire for her in her tightness of his arms and the firmness of the body pressed up against her. She could smell the tobacco and whiskey on his breath. He kissed her, drunkenly hot, and clumsily fervent. While Karen did her best to reciprocate in kind.
“You have to let me go, sir. He might discover me missing at any moment.” She gasped.
“Can you slip out later tonight, Miss Karen? Oh please, say yes, I can’t go without you for much longer.”
“I shan’t promise, but I should think so. He sleeps like the dead once he’s away. Where?”
“Can you come to my cabin?”
“…Alright then.”
She wasn’t able to actually blush, but she made all the right facial expressions. He took her agreement as something to celebrate and pressed his lips hard against hers again, arms crushing her in his excited embrace. One hand slid down beneath the upthrust of her bustle and grabbed a handful of her meaty though perky buttocks. While their tongues frolicked and he moaned out his barely controlled desire.
“What time can I expect you, miss Karen?” He asked after they finally drew apart.
“Not too early I’m afraid. Say… midnight?”
“Midnight?!”
His frustration was palpable from the manner he half shoved her away, as much as in the tone of his voice.
“But that’s hours away!” He groaned. “That’s too long to wait!”
“I can make it up to you, Mister Klein. If say… I stay with you ‘till the dawn.”
“Throughout the night! Oh yes! But that sounds fine! More than fine!”
“But now, you must release me, sir. Please… My benefactor…”
He did so, Karen stepped back, rubbing the feeling back into her upper arms.
“I’ll await you with bated breath.”
“And whiskey…?” She added with a lopsided smile.
“All the whiskey you can drink, dear child. Until midnight then.”
She gave him one last kiss on the moustache framed lips, and then pulled herself free of his once more suffocating embrace.
<><><>
Karen knocked on the thin veneer of the door to Mister Klein’s private cabin at three minutes to midnight, though the pocket watch DB had lent her might well have been in need of winding. The door swept open so quickly Karen felt the air disturbed, and she was drawn hurriedly inside. It pressed shut behind her and the little draw bolt slammed home in a hurry. She wore a high collared heavy coat and her boots. So, the fact that all she wore beneath was a thin linen nightdress was well concealed.
“Oh, miss Karen, my wonderful, voluptuous maid...”
His breathy moans were continuous as he took her immediately into his arms, planting hurried kisses all over her lips, face, cheeks, eyelids, the lobes of her ears, the side of her neck.
“…My sweet girl… My divine temptress.”
“I take it you were awaiting my arrival, Mister Klein.” Karen giggled.
She pursed her lips whenever his pressed against hers and moaned at the feel of his hands roving up and down her back and rear. She glanced around the redwood interior of the cabin as he held her close, kissing up and down her throat and smelling her hair. And moaning. The bed was already made up from the fold down benches on either side of the enclosed space, the blinds drawn and a single lantern glowing, casting an intimate yellow-orange light over the small space.
“Can we sit, Mister Klein?”
“Of course, of course, get comfortable, dear girl. I have poured you a glass of whiskey already…”
“You sit down there, Mister Klein.” Karen said, nodding at the hastily made bed. “Perhaps you can help with my boots?”
He excitedly sat down on the edge of the bed while Karen lifted one foot and placed it directly in his lap, knowing that the contact with his groin as well as the view - of her upper calf, knee and lower thigh, devolving into shadow beneath the hem line of her long coat - would be more than ample to get him hooked. Not that he needed hooking any more than he already was. He just needed his tongue loosening and the whiskey and promise of her in his bed should do that. Fortunately, his own nervousness helped her out.
“We were talking about gunslingers in the bar-car.” He reminded her, while working through the lacings of her calf length boots.
“Oh sure!” Karen gushed. “I love all a’ them guys, the stories told about them? Just gets me going, you know?”
“You have a favourite?”
“Oh, I dunno. Mister Rickets, maybe? Donkey Daniels, Calloway, the Miller gang. One or two others. Black Belle seemed a really strong lady. Inspiring. Red Harlow… But I’m not sure he even existed. I don’t much like the sound of Hernandez and his gang, the things they do to women. Reading between the lines, you know…?”
Karen gave a deliberate shiver and then swapped legs, now that Klein had dragged her unlaced boot free. He had been liberal in where he put his hands, unnecessarily stroking his fingers half way along her thigh. It was not unexpected.
“Those kinds of details tend to be left out of the Penny Dreadfuls and those ‘Wild West Heroes’ books. It’s all romanticised, and carefully sanitised.”
“I guessed as much,” Karen said with a nod. “but you can still read between the lines can’t you…?”
“Certainly.”
“Mister Klein… When we last spoke, I had the feeling you were implying that you had a few stories of your own… Anything you might care to divulge?”
“Perhaps… You ever heard of one Emmet Granger?”
“Granger…? Doesn’t ring a bell, I’m afraid.”
Her feet bare, Karen started to slowly work down the buttons of her coat while she watched Klein’s eyes roving the shapely curves of her lower legs, then the flare of her hips, the slim waist and broad shoulders, and of course the jut of her bosom.
“The Beaver Brook massacre? The Chaparral murders? From ‘82 and ‘90 respectively?”
Karen just shook her head, eyes wide. Deliberately pausing in the unfastening in her buttons.
“Granger is one of the big names of our time. When men look back at history, Granger’s name will be up toward the top of the list.”
Karen’s hands paused over the third button, though her wrists, pressing against the canvass of the overcoat held the two flaps together, concealing what lay beneath.
“You suggesting you’re acquainted with this Granger?”
“I could be, I could be…” He offered with a transparently coy smile.
“Ohhh, that’s very interesting Mister Klein…” Karen grinned. “What might you tell me about him?”
Klein, smiled back, his eyes glinting. Karen responded by continuing with the buttons of her coat.
“For one, he likes to rob stagecoaches and banks.”
“Ohhh, do go on, please, Mister Klein!”
Having loosened the last of her coat’s buttons, Karen, slowly and with a playful smile curving her full lips, drew apart the front flaps of the garment revealing the sheer white of nightdress she wore beneath. Klein’s eyes bulged with shock and surging desire as he beheld the overt and perky curves that the young woman’s nightdress appeared incapable of concealing.
“Oh, God-damn it, girl, look at those huge milk jugs of yours! I need those, my girl. In my mouth, in my hands, wrapped around my cannon!”
Deliberately ignoring the suddenly rude switch in his demeanour and manner, Karen offered a coy, lopsided smile.
“So, which is to be first, Mister Klein.” She asked.
<><><>
The one room shack at Clawson’s Rest was a log cabin, built by who knows who and abandoned who knows when. There was a single door of hewn planks and the windows were all shuttered. Though on the flat bluff atop a cliff, it was well hidden by scattered trees and blanketing undergrowth. It also had a low roof, square wooden tiles covering canvas over planks, so overall it didn’t rise above the height of the surrounding trees. So, it was well concealed and secluded.
The only issue had been one of privacy. There were two beds, a double and a single to the left of the entrance, forming a sleeping-half of the cabin. While the right housed cooking, washing and storage and a little table for eating at. The two functioning halves were separated by a floor to ceiling sheet of sewn canvas that might have been a mainsail at one point, now a partition.
Granger had generously taken possession of the smaller single bed.
They had put the captive women to work at cooking a brace of jackrabbits the twins had rustled up on their arrival, along with some tins of vegetables someone had left in the cabin and a few berries from the surrounding bluff. MacDuff wandered out to make a little survey of the surrounding countryside while Wald fed and watered the horses. Meanwhile, the twins had taken up places at the dining table and played pontoon with an old deck of cards while they awaited their meal.
Granger took the far end of the dining table and drew his revolver. And then from his saddlebags, which of course they had carried into the cabin with them, he retrieved a small screwdriver, a bottle of gun oil and his cleaning rag. The latter had once been a stranger’s all-cotton wedding shirt before he was shot, prior to his wedding night pleasures, which of course Granger had taken in full, in the dead man’s stead.
He took his beloved Cattleman revolver apart piece by piece - every screw, every spring - until it was nothing more than a collection of component parts. The twins maintained nervous looks and much care about the table while their boss worked his gunsmith-style magic. Knowing from experience what would happen if an inopportune bump or knock of the table cast a screw or spring to the ground and was lost.
To Emmet Granger, every single component of that particular Cattleman was carefully chosen and even more carefully maintained. Each separate piece was special and irreplaceable, unless a higher quality replacement revealed itself to him, like a form of divine providence. The other two returned to the cabin with nothing to report, the twins passed a reserved hour playing pontoon for their recently procured trinkets, which Rusty won the majority of. All the while Granger lovingly and carefully stripped, cleaned, oiled, polished and reassembled his revolver.
Once their meal was finished and the plates and cups tossed into the sink, Granger grunted, stretched and eyed the mother with a new hunger.
“Time for fun.” He announced.
Whoops of excitement filled the tiny cabin and the twins immediately lifted up the dining table and then knocked its legs off, before they hauled it outside through the door. At the same time, the other two dragged the double bed over to the kitchen side of the cabin. While the two European women stood aside, shivering and staring uncertain about what was about to happen and yet knowing full well all the same.
With nothing more than a dark look, Granger expressed where the mother and daughter where to put themselves. The daughter, white faced and teary eyed, reluctantly put herself onto the double bed and was immediately surrounded by the remaining four gang members. Granger pulled the weeping mother away from her child and led her onto the single bed on the other side of the privacy partition. He simply informed the mother to “strip” and started to do the same himself.
He had a rangy, slender frame though his arms and wrists had a muscular bulk. His receding hair was cropped short, but there was still enough at the front to at least offer the semblance of a youthful appearance. In another ten years he would be bald on top, probably. His torso was all but hairless though a musculature was visible beneath the pale, pasty skin. He pulled himself free of the faded long-johns. His cock, nestled in a patch of wiry pubic hair that crept up to his navel, which was already offering a hint of a bloat to his belly, jutted vigorously outward at a forty-five-degree angle. After he had basked in the mother’s wide-eyed stare, he shucked off the long-johns too.
The mother, though she didn’t appear to understand English, followed Granger’s lead and started, with shaking hands and clumsy fingers, to remove her own clothing. While the outlaw stood naked and obscenely rampant, watching her.
Beyond the partition, the noises of the other four outlaws and the teenage daughter were tell-tale, painting a rather obvious picture of what was happening over on the double bed. It was mostly laughter, alongside squealing and the tearing of fabric. Granger turned back to the mother, grinning as her shocked-white face stared at the partition where her only daughter was no doubt being assaulted by four brute outlaws.
Granger grunted with lust and then dragged the singled bed from its corner out into the centre of his half of the cabin. He nodded his head at the mother, an instruction to continue to remove her clothes. She appeared to understand. Tears streaming down her face and whimpering stuttered words in her own language, she slipped out of her dress, stepped out of the slip and petticoats beneath it, leaving her naked in the lanternlight. Her udders were great over-handfuls, her flanks were taut yet fleshy, her haunches firm and pert yet substantial. Her face he already knew was lovely but when she loosened her tied up hair and he saw it cascade down around her face and shoulders like a spring sun, even the tears and misery twisting her features didn’t dampen her obvious beauty.
Even so, he walked over to his saddlebags like every other time he had done this, rummaged for a moment and then with a grin of excitement, brought out the pig head mask. He threw it onto the bed and pointed at it. She understood and pulled the horrible mask, made from an actual pickled and dried pig’s head. Looking through the cut-out eyes she climbed onto the bed; by instinct taking up position on her hands and knees.
Granger sometimes made use of a pickled pig’s tail as well that was stuck on the end of a lathe-turned birch butt plug, but he didn’t bother with it this time. He took a slow turn around the bed taking in her piggy-human half-breed appearance, his mind swimming in tingling lust and his cock throbbing in reaction to the look of her. All there, just for him.
Though the noises of gurgling and gagging. And the sharp loud bark of flesh-on-flesh slapping and grunts from the other side of the cabin diverted his attention a moment. And as he passed the partition of sailcloth, he drew the edge away and couldn’t resist a peek at the daughter and his men.

What he saw didn’t surprise him in the least bit. The pretty teenager, naked, lean and taut with butter-blonde hair in two plaits was, like her mother, on her hands and knees. However, she was sandwiched between four aggressively rampant and energetic outlaws.
Rusty, ever the masochist, had taken possession of the girl’s mouth. Gripping her plaits, like the reins of a horse, he was driving his blood-filled ruddy erection back and forth between her lips with pace, making her throat bulge as her mouth met his filthy lice-ridden pubic hair. He often enjoyed the nip and scrape of his victims’ teeth on his manhood, and from the twisted look on his face it looked like he was getting plenty of that attention.
His twin, Earnest was beneath the girl, between her spread thighs thrusting up and down rapidly, with both hands gripping only one of her generous young breasts. One hand squeezed the plentiful orb while the fingers of his other hand tortured her engorged nipple, pinching and pulling at the swollen bud.
Sadist to Rusty’s masochist, MacDuff was kneeling behind the girl obviously sodomising her, partially leaning over her lithe back. A hand gripped the nape of her neck while the other reached around the side of her ribs to cruelly pull and squeeze her other breast.
Finally, Wald who was simply a pervert, stood at MacDuff’s side while he used the sole of one of the girl’s dainty bare feet to rub his cock and balls against, possibly to keep himself hard while he waited for one of her holes to be freed. The action seemed to be ticklish for the girl as her foot kept kicking out and twitching, the toes curling and then stretching. But Wald had a good tight grip of her ankle and instep and she could do little as he masturbated with the flesh of her naked foot.
Grinning, Granger turned his attention to his own piece of meat.
“You’re gonna be making some piggy noises when we get going.” He grunted at the woman, knowing she wouldn’t understand him.
He would have to figure out a way of making her understand. She, on her hands and knees wearing his pig-mask, looking back over her shoulder to face him, her body all aquiver in shame and terror, big sorrowful and fearful eyes staring at him through the empty sockets of the pig-mask. It was perfect.
<><><>
Karen worked hard on the man, she had subtly educated him about the quid-pro-quo process, coyly avoiding his demands whenever he avoided giving her the answers that she wanted, and then liberally rewarding him whenever he did provide useful information. It was somehow empowering, even though the rewards she gave him were demeaning and humiliating for her. Then again, it was no different than what she’d been having to do for the last few months, and her life had always been under threat back then. Now it wasn’t. In fact, it was well protected.
Primarily she had played her part well, making this man’s desire for her hike itself higher and higher, building his excitement at the prospect of being alone with her and the pleasures that, in time, he might be given access to. It had kept him keen and attentive and respectful. And that was a world away from the type of whoring she had fallen back on in Annesburg, where she had ended up essentially begging men to fuck her for a pittance just to try and keep up on her ever-rising debt. This way at least made her feel both desirable and powerful.
Secondly DB was close by, her protector. Well-armed, well trained and good to his word. He might be her pimp but he was a ‘gentleman pimp’ if there was such a thing. At least she felt little fear from him. She knew he would be within earshot and a good loud shout would bring him running, pistol in hand.
<><><>
Granger drove his erection rapidly into the pig-woman’s dry clutching cunt with abandon. The way her snug, warm tunnel clung to and gripped his meat was great. At first, he had worried a little about the itching that always came after a heavy dry fuck, the friction rubbing away at the flesh of his dick. And so, he had made use of the leftover brine from a can of vegetables he had found at the back of the cupboard under the sink and gobbled down. She had sucked at his meat through the pig’s snout, getting him ready to take her properly, while he’d scrunched the can’s roughly cut-open top into an oval. Leaning over her sweat-soaked back, he had hauled her hips upwards to a better angle and then he had poured the brine down between her buttocks, dousing her puffy vulva. He had thoroughly enjoyed the way she twitched and gasped around his dick in response. Then he’d reached over her generous buttocks and splayed her inner lips, exposing her tunnel, and poured in the remainder of the salty water. She had mewled loudly around his throat-pumping cock, her body jolting beneath him. And he had to grip her tight around the hips and put his weight onto her to keep her under his control, and keep his dick filling her mouth.
By the time he was ready to stick it into the pig’s cunt, most of the brine had leaked out from her tunnel. Unlike the animal fat he usually used when lubricant was necessary, the salty water didn’t really coat her walls very well, nor did it stay put, instead trickling out like piss. Even so, he got into position, dick head pressed a quarter inch into her tunnel mouth and leaned over her back to take a fierce controlling grip of her big piggy udders, before forcefully thrusting his whole self into her. He found there was actually very little lubrication present and the little piggy squealed as her cunt walls gripped his ramming invader and were dragged along while he started to stretch her out. He thrust into her using his whole length from oversize crown to wiry-nested root.
While the piggy squealed and wept, whimpering words in a language he didn’t understand, Granger gritted his teeth at the continuing frictional heat, silently willing the sow to get wet while his hands clutched and squeezed roughly on those heavy udders. Hoping to get her wetter to ease the dragging friction on his pulsing shaft, he soon let go of her teats and righted himself. Putting one hand on her hip to control her back and forth motion, his other hand closed on the tops of her flesh quaking buttocks. He spread his fingers, pressing down into her pliant buttocks and slid his thumb down in between her cheeks before pressing hard with the pad of his thumb against her little anal star. He forced his thumb up her ass as deep as it would go. Her loud and desperate animal like reaction made him laugh and caused his fast-pounding cock to jolt with additional pleasure and hardness.
<><><>
By three a.m. Karen had picked up on all the information she had needed to get from Mister Klein. He was a fence who was on his way to a meeting in order to look over some unnamed third party’s ill-gotten gains, then he would use his contacts to make as much of a return for both his own percentage as well as his illustrious client as possible. The name Granger was never specifically spoken of, beyond the initial trumpeting of him as a celebrity connection, but from the snippets he had unknowingly shared, Karen was as certain as she could be that it was Granger that Klein was heading for. When she casually broached the prospect of herself being introduced to this particular illustrious client or perhaps another of his acquaintance, Klein more than baulked at the notion, physically paling and robustly shaking his head.
“That would be ill advised, miss, very ill advised. These are not good men. Indeed, they are just about all of them, very bad men. Very bad men. And they have no concept of how to treat a lady. It would not be beneficial for you in any respect, to put yourself in the company of these kinds of men. No good would come of it, and I fear a great deal of harm would invariably fall upon you… A great deal of harm. It is not like the dime novels and Penny Dreadful tales. Many… Most of them would not think twice about forcing himself on a woman. And many… most of them have committed that particular crime in the past. Sometimes killing their victims after their… ‘fun’ had been concluded. They are very bad men.”
It was almost a sweetness to feel Mister Klein’s erect meat beginning to wilt a little inside her as he spoke of the bandit’s attitudes toward the fairer sex. Karen found herself smiling as she rode his mostly hard cock. She used her pussy muscles to tease and caress his warm, yet softening, length and it brought out a groan of pleasure from him, immediately diverting his attention from the idea of Karen and some of her so-called heroes getting together. She quickly brought him back to full vigour with the use of her internal muscles, gripping him tight as she drew her tunnel along his length, while increasing the pace of her bucking hips.
Her hands were already braced on his chest but to catch and divert his attention she drew them in and locked her elbows, catching and pressing her huge breasts together between her upper arms, making them seem huger still. His eyes went wide, locked onto her bosom and her overly tweaked and sucked nipples, that were visually engorged and ruddy and seemed longer and thicker than ever. Though to Karen they felt tender and raw and swollen. Over the last three hours Klein had spent much of the time sucking, licking, chewing, pulling and twisting at her nipples, using them to pull her heavy breasts away from her chest and shake the full melons, slap them together, lift them up to her mouth to get her to kiss and lick them.
Unfortunately for Karen, her method of diverting him worked a little too well, as his hands that had been cupping and spreading the cheeks of her perky bottom relocated themselves back to her tits for the umpteenth time. And once again she moaned and hissed at his overexuberant manhandling of her swollen nipples.
Fortunately, a few seconds of that overenthusiasm combined with her skill at milking his now rock-hard cock, brought him to climax within a minute. Fighting the urge to angrily slap his pinching, pulling fingers, she indulged his momentary sadism. Instead, she stared down at his face, reading his expression, using her vast experience of men’s emotions while fucking her to judge when he was going to peak. And at the precise moment she bounced herself off him and came back down, trapping his beetroot red shaft between his belly and her slick pussy lips.
The instant his cock was trapped between their heated flesh, he came like one of those geysers she had heard about up at Cotorra Springs. Three long ropes of his seed burst a sudden lancing trail, like liquid lightning, flashing across almost the entire length of his torso and coating him in salty cream from abdomen to mid chin. Karen quickly rocked back and forth with her hips, using her splayed pussy as a masturbatory tool upon his pulsing gusher, working more and more seed from his over worked scrotum, which he splurged all over himself, until nothing more than an ooze trickled from the eye of his fat purple crown. He all but fainted with that orgasm.
Karen sighed heavily, relieved. She rolled off him and stretched herself out alongside him on the bed, allowing herself a light doze as her companion began to snore. His silvery liquid seed cooling and already starting to dry along the length of his torso.
As had become her habit of late, Karen robbed her mark while he slept, in the quiet hour prior to dawn. Not too much - a little of his cash, a trinket in the form of a string of pearls with a silver pendant. A gold-plated pocket-watch. And a spare Cattleman revolver that he carried at the bottom of a deep saddlebag. It appeared used and doubtless a spare, as his main pistol - black lacquered with polished walnut grips - was suspended in its holster rig over the lantern’s wall brace above the bed. She used a nearby glass ashtray, a hefty thing, and slipped it into the bottom of the saddlebag to approximate the weight of the stolen revolver, so unless he really went rummaging, he shouldn’t easily notice its loss.
She finally slipped back to DB’s private cabin where he awaited her. Impressively awake and alert.
“So? What did you learn? How did he approach you?”
“He kissed me and he had a good grope of the melons. Then begged me to meet him later for a drink in his private cabin. So, I think I pretty much got him under the thumb – I met up with him, got him good and sozzled, give his cock a bit of attention. Well, a lot of attention, it took most of the night. But he let slip plenty when he was close to coming. You know how it works.”
“I can certainly imagine. Go on…”
“Well, he’s definitely a Fence. Works out of Saint Denis mostly, that where he seems to have a stall as a front in the Chinese quarter, he said. He talked about passing on faulty goods, on the cheap of course…”
“Well understood to be a term for stolen goods.” DB said with an accepting smile. “Please go on, my dear.”
“Also, his contacts are all local men so they can shift the stuff quickly and easily.”
“Plus, you have the docks and also the railway to move the goods around quickly… Anything more useful to me?”
“Of course, like I said, I got him singing after I laid it on thick about my interest in Wild West heroes, Landon Rickets, Jim boy Calloway, one or two others. I didn’t mention Granger, of course, but it made him think he had a kind of leverage to get what he wanted from me so, soon enough, he started to sing. He ‘deals with some of those guys’… all that horseshit. He sang so loud he didn’t even realise how much he ended up telling me. He’s actually meeting Granger somewhere north of Valentine. Though he didn’t never say exactly where.”
“We’ll just have to get a couple of horses and follow him, then. You any good a tracking?”
“A little. I’ve helped my Luke track missing cattle before.”
“I’m not bad. We’ll scrape through between us, I guess.”
“Supposedly he’ll be getting a look at Granger’s wares and then going back to line up a few buyers.”
“A good use for one of those portable box cameras, I imagine. Photographic evidence of the specific items so the prospective buyer can see for themselves.”
“Yeah, and before you ask, he did have one in his cabin. I saw it in his valise when I was helping myself to his coin.”
<><><>
Having fucked all the fun out of the mother over the course of much of the night, the following morning, Granger swapped her over for her surprisingly resilient and energetic daughter, Wilma.
Of course, the tired and skinny teenage girl didn't suit the pig mask so he hadn't bothered with it. Instead, he had just pushed her down onto the bed and fucked each of her three holes for all he was worth. He had fully drained his balls into the mother Marie throughout the night. So, though his shaft remained hard throughout, his cum deposits into the girl’s three already over-used holes was miniscule. She was exhausted and already very sore from recent seemingly endless abuses, and her holes were a little stretched out having been used for most of the night by four men, often simultaneously. However, she also knew and spoke good English, so it was much easier to impress on her certain fantasies he wanted to play out while she rocked herself back and forth on his cock.
“Right, you. We’re gonna play a little father/daughter game, okay?”
“Okay sir, just please… please, be gentle with me, those men were rough last night and I’m still very sore.”
“Not my concern. You don’t satisfy me, girl, you’ll be getting a bullet!”
The girl sulked, despair momentarily grabbing hold of her but then humping noises, whimpers and sobbing came from the other side of the partition. Maria was getting it again and for some reason it induced Wilma to buckle down and get back to taking her own sexual torture.
Granger pushed the girl flat onto her back and then raised her legs, pushing them right over and spreading them until her knees and shoulders met. Then he shuffled up against her buttocks, her bony ass cheeks pressing against his splayed inner thighs. He gripped his erection beneath the spongy head and pressed it against her tiny little sphincter mouth.
“Let your daddy up your ass, my girl!” He grunted as he asserted pressure.
The girl was pale, blowing out harried breaths and looking distinctly uncomfortable. She let out a little moan as Granger tried to force his cock up her already savaged and smarting bottom. He didn’t find it easy, despite the fact that no doubt all of his men, except maybe MacDuff would have already buggered the blonde teenager more than once over the previous night.
“Goddammit girl! You relax that ass! Can't afford no new goddamn sprog mouths to feed!”
“I'm tryin’ Mister… Pa! Pa!” She corrected herself through her snivelling. “Please, but it hurts so!”
“It'll hurt a lot goddamn more if you make me take my belt to you...!”
He watched, observing as young Wilma forced herself to relax. She spat on her hand and reached between then to lathe some of her spittle over Granger’s fat raping hard on. It did the job as, going from the twisted facial expression that etched into her lovely youthful features, a sudden solar burst of white-hot pain lanced through her well rutted guts as his drool slickened shaft blazed a trail into the pre-savaged depths of her tight rectum.
“...Ahhh! There she goes! Atta girl!”
He immediately started to thrust his whole length in and out of her hot, quivering tunnel with an excitement, power and passion that the girl struggled to put up with. Granger didn’t bother voicing it, but he was fully committed to ensuring that this extended period of forced sodomy, the painful and humiliating experience, would not improve for her at all. He was getting a second wind and was more than ready to hear her squeal.
<><><>
The town of Valentine was fragrant with the odours of animal excrement and cowboys who had been out of the trails for days on end without much in the way of cleanliness. It was a pretty noisy and busy place, though there weren’t many buildings along the east-west main thoroughfare. And the street itself was little more than a slurry pit of wheel-rutted mud, animal dung and human vomit.
DB and Karen paid for their already secured room in the Saints Hotel on the south-west corner of the main street, Karen remained inside, standing by the window to watch the Smithfield’s Saloon a little way along the opposite side of the street, while DB crossed the lake of mud and dung to procure a couple of horses at the nearby stables.
As the train had pulled into Valentine’s station at the southerly end of the town, Karen had kept her distance from Klein, concealing herself from view as the man appeared to have been looking out for her. Whether that had been because he had discovered that she had robbed him, or that perhaps he merely wanted to share some kind of illicit libidinous farewell. Neither the vivacious young woman nor her employer could guess. So, while Karen had kept herself out of sight hurrying around the rear and then the far side of their hotel so she could sign the register and take their things upstairs, DB had continued in his subtle observation of Klein as he had disembarked the train.
The professional fence had immediately headed over to the Saloon, hurrying along with luggage in hand. Once he had disappeared inside, Karen, not wanting to be cooped up inside the hotel room slipped out through a rear door and down the hotel’s back stairs to go for a wander around Valentine. However, first she changed into a different dress, a simple cut crimson taffeta low neckline number with short puffed sleeves and black lace detailing. She added a small cap and net veil that matched to help conceal her identity should Klein choose to take in the town too. Still, Karen avoided the main thoroughfare and instead followed a little path around the rear of its southside buildings.
She passed the rough looking outdoor butchery stall again and continued around the rear, passing the oppressive looking gallows, then turning her attention to the backyards, looking out for painted on signage on any of the building’s rears. Though there was little in the way of painted-on signage to the rear of the buildings, the opposite end of the street revealed the tell-tale stinging aromas of sulphur and the tang gun oil easily. It was how she managed to locate the gunsmiths.
Feeling interested in obtaining extra ammunition for her newly acquired Cattleman, she opened the back gate and crossed the small patch of rough wild grass to the backdoor. She found it to be locked, so Karen slipped down the alley beside the shop and then, crossing her fingers that she wouldn’t be spotted, should the fence glance out of the saloon’s windows at just the wrong moment, she hurried in through the door.
She had to wait while the smith dealt with a young and surly cowboy and his older and surly foreman, and took the opportunity to look around, attempting to keep herself unnoticeable. While the proprietor was distracted with the cowpokes, she snagged a box of .45 Long from an open display stack on the shelving unit beside the entrance, surreptitiously slipping the cardboard box into a pocket in her skirts. After another couple of moments, the two men finally departed and the smith turned his suddenly rather gleeful attention toward Karen.
“Hello young miss, I’m R.L. Dalton, gunsmith and proprietor. How can I help a pretty young thing like you?”
“Please to meet you Mister Dalton. I recently came into possession of a Cattleman and was hoping to get it checked out, maybe cleaned up?”
“Sure, I can do that miss, just slap it down on the counter and let’s have a look.” He suddenly burst out laughing. “Damn, I sound just like Doc Calloway across the street!”
Karen forced a smile as she, with deliberate slowness, drew out the revolver from another pocket in her skirts. She watched as the smith’s hand hovered furtively near his own hip-holstered sidearm until she had placed the pistol onto the counter top and released it. Only then did his hovering hand relax and his attention turn fully on the handgun.
He picked it up and ejected the five loaded cartridges with a practiced hand and then gave it a thorough once over, checking the sights, the smoothness of the cylinder’s rotation, the hammer and trigger, and then each of the screws holding the piece together.
Karen studied him as he expertly worked his finger and gaze over the weapon. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, barely three inches or so above Karen. He wore black pants and unbuttoned vest with a white shirt beneath, no tie, no pocket watch or wedding ring. He was slender built though broad across the shoulders. And looked to be somewhere in his forties, though his dark receding hair was already mixed in with grey around his temples. His face was somewhat ruddy with small piercing eyes and a narrow mouth, a hooked nose that looked to have been broken at least once. He also wore spectacles that naturally, just like with her current employer, left Karen feeling inferior. At least regarding intellect, the obvious skill appeared to ooze physically into his dextrous, expert fingers.
“Seems okay, maybe a little worn and grimy. I can strip it down, clean and oil it for you.”
“I’d appreciate it mister, really.”
Karen’s reply was weighted with a not-so-subtle flirtation. Her full lips lightly pursed, large lustrous eyes holding his attention, her body language exemplifying her hour glass figure, arms clasped in front of her in order to push her bosom together so that it jutted naturally upward, deepening the upper slopes of her on-display cleavage. She had unbuttoned the top few buttons at her throat while the smith had dealt with the cowpokes earlier.
“Of course, I have plenty of upgrade options if you’re interested, longer barrel, improved sights, handsome grips, alternate metal plating, engraving...”
“That would depend on cost, I guess Mister Dalton. I’m not a wealthy girl.”
“I’d say, miss, you look pretty damned wealthy from where I’m standing.” He said with a smile.
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” Her coy smile belied her words.
The smith’s eyes were lost in her cleavage, though impressively his hands moved independently on the Cattleman, as a small screw driver appeared from nowhere and started to take apart the pistol, screw by screw. Soon enough the grips, cylinder, ejector rod and barrel were all separated parts, lying on a square of pale green felt atop the counter. And yet Karen watching all the while, could have sworn that his eyes never left her tits.
“You think maybe we could come to some arrangement, sir?” She asked, stepping into the innocent maiden routine.
“I’m sure we can, miss. Of course, the more you want me to do for you, the more I’ll expect doing for me. You understand?”
“I understand. I don’t have much time either, though. Maybe you could shut up shop for half an hour?”
“I don’t see why not… Why don’t you wriggle that ripe body out of them clothes, so I can judge your merchandise, so to speak.”
Karen nodded and then came around to the proprietor’s side of the counter top, the wall behind them filled with rifle racks, drawers beneath for pistols and spare parts, as well as displays of holsters, pistol rigs and ammunition bandoliers above the longarm racks. There was even a stuffed cougar standing on a barrel in the corner.
Beneath the buttons, the dress laced at the front, which made dressing and undressing a one-person job fortunately, and she hurriedly loosened the knots and then pulled at the lacing down the front of the bodice. Once those were freed, it was easy enough to slip her arms out of the sleeves. Using little shimmies of her shapely hips, she wriggled free of the dress, leaving her standing there in only her white linen chemise and drawers. The shoulder straps were flicked away next, Dalton groaning long and loud as Karen freed her huge, perky breasts. Her already blooming nipples, a rosy pink, seemed to glow like lit coals after sunset. They proved so tantalising that they dragged him toward her like a fish on a hook. Karen offered a coy smile, basking in the older man’s appreciation of her body. However, he was obviously too aggravated by what she was offering him as he closed the distance between them, one hand freeing his pistol rig and letting it drop to the floorboards while the other started on the buttons at his fly.
Karen took a hasty step back, keeping herself out of the range of his grasp until their contract was agreed.
“I’ll bring you to completion Mister Dalton.” She said. “But only once, where and when is up to you.”
“I’m happy with that.” He said hurrying past her to lock the front door and put up a small handwritten notice in the window. “Now c’mere.”
As he returned to the counter, she realised that the excitable smith had already opened his pants and scooped out his erection again, closing the gap between them. This time he pulled Karen into his hungry arms. He smelled of gun oil but tasted of tea, and stale tobacco as he pressed his lips to hers and pushed his tongue into her mouth. The kiss didn’t last long, he wasn’t particularly interested, though his hands groping her tits professed a protracted interest of their own. Karen eventually had to gentle push him off her, so she could go down onto her knees before him to take his engorged shaft into her mouth.
He wasn’t particularly sizeable, his length filled her mouth, the head tickling her uvula while his pubic hair tickled her lips. But other than its weighty heat laying on her tongue, the remainder barely caressed the sides or roof of her mouth. She cupped his balls in one palm and one buttock in her other and worked on that hot meat with tongue, saliva and suction, until he was panting and groaning at her pleasuring orifice. After the first minute or two he leaned down and fastened her huge tits into his palms, none too gently. He switched between cupping and squeezing the warm, weighty orbs and taking hold of her stiff nipples to tweak and roughly pull at the heated buds. They were still tender from Klein’s hours of attention the previous night, but Karen had to ignore the discomfort and work on his shaft. This couldn’t take too long.
Under her expert oral ministrations, his cum was quick to splurge but Karen only got a quick watery taste of it as the first jet coated her tongue and struck the back of her mouth, making her gag. That was fortunate because it tasted vile, tangy and salty and sour. Dalton, groaning his pleasure, almost immediately yanked free of her delectable lips and instead hosed down her tits, using one hand to jerk the remainder of his climax over her flesh, which were cupped and lifted with his other adventuring hand and forearm.
Afterwards, he threw her an oily rag from beneath the counter to clean herself up. While he slipped his wilting member back into his trousers. Karen hurriedly mopped up the mess, then dragged her gown back on while the smith returned his attention to the revolver.
“Come back in an hour, girl. And I’ll have it good as new for you. Better even.”
Karen returned to the hotel room the same route, keeping clear of the saloon and the fence. And once back in their room, she could see from the upstairs window that her boss was still at the stables. So, she used the water jug, bowl and wash cloth to properly clean the cum and oil residue from her cleavage then she towelled herself dry, redressed and then relaxed back on the bed until the grandfather clock downstairs chimed the hour.
She rose, tidied her hair and then returned to the gunsmiths. He was waiting for her and the shop was closed but her pistol was nowhere in sight.
“Do you have my revolver?”
"Throw that bolt over the door will you, girl?” He said first.
Karen locked the door for him again, before turning to the gunsmith. She eyed him expectantly.
“Your revolver. I do… except... I’ve done such a great job for you…”
“Why thank you Mister Dalton, I appreciate it…”
“I ain’t finished, girl. I done such a great job that I don’t think your payment matches my efforts, if you know what I mean.”
Karen sighed.
“We had a deal, Mister Dalton.”
“I ain’t asking much young miss, just a little kiss and cuddle before you walk outta my life. Ain’t too much to ask, is it…?”
Karen sighed.
“I guess not…”
Even as the words were escaping her lips, he pulled her aggressively into his arms, pulling her tight against him and staring down between them as his grip of her forced her breasts to bulge irrepressibly out of the unbuttoned neckline of her dress. He groaned deeply at the delectable view. Karen felt one hand across her shoulder blades, darn near crushing the air out of her lungs. While his other was burrowing beneath her bustle and the layers of linen and taffeta until he found the firmness of the cheeks of her bottom. Fingers and palm pressing possessively into the firm, bubble shaped orbs.
His lips mashed onto hers and his tongue wormed its way beyond her lips and past her teeth. Karen considered using her teeth on his tongue, but she didn’t want to create a scene and bring people running over. Instead, she gave in to his advances and returned his heavy wanton kisses, bringing her own tongue into play. Reading the room, she slipped a hand down between them to locate and then stroke playfully at the lozenge of hard hotness once again tenting the front of his trousers.
The second time he took her around to his little shop, which took up the left third of the store, partially partitioned by the large shelving unit she had stolen the cartridges from. It also had blinds drawn over the windows for additional privacy. He sat himself on a comfortable padded chair and drew Karen down onto his lap, hurriedly unbuttoning his fly to free his erection.
It was awkward to organise, but within a few moments Karen was sat on his lap, her skirts dragged up around her hips with his erection jutting up between the tops of her naked thighs. She took to jerking him off and fondling his balls while they French kissed and he stuffed a hand down the neckline of her dress to grope her breasts and torture her nipples some more. It went on until he reached a second completion which Karen, at the last minute, caught in another oily rag. Though the great watery streamers burst upward almost as high as her eye line and then cascaded back down over their combined laps. Karen was able to catch each in the rag as they rained down and at least protected the taffeta of her skirts, or the outer visible layers at least.
She slid off his lap and they both righted themselves, before the smith returned to his counter. He unlocked a drawer beneath the brass and wood till and placed, wrapped in a velvet cloth, Karen’s Cattleman onto the countertop.
“So… I gave it a new barrel with improved rifling and sights. Gave all the metal work a good clean and polish. Replaced all the screws and springs, and I added some brand-new grips too, just for you.”
Noting the decidedly licentious smile on his flushed face, Karen flicked back the four overlapping triangles of red velvet covering the revolver and then stared down at the weapon.
It didn’t look like the same piece. It looked new, fresh from the factory and in her eyes, at that moment, the most beautiful thing she had ever possessed. The barrel, now five and a half inches, and the frame remained the standard iron alloy, though both had been oiled and polished to a near-silver finish so that they gleamed beautifully. The screw heads and trigger were black and provided contrast and feature to the silver-grey of the metal.
“I split-pointed your bullets too, before slotting ‘em back in. Gives you extra ‘umph’ and practically guarantees your enemy won’t get up after getting hit. Be it a bandit or a cougar.” He added as she examined the heavy revolver.
The grips were of lovely reddish-brown Mesquite wood and featured ripples of distinctive black grain-lines. They resembled DB’s Cattleman’s grips. Perhaps not quite of that quality, but still, the grips were lovely. However, Mister Dalton had used some kind of pyrography technique to delicately burn a design into the grips on both sides. The design, with inlaid highlights in silver or lead showed a pretty and shapely hourglass figured burlesque dancer, part way through performing a high kick, hands gripping and lifting her skirts up to her hips, showing off long shapely legs and a vast cleavage. Karen suspected it was meant to represent her. It was mildly dubious addition and she was not certain she approved, but at the same time the inlay and burned grooves provided a slightly improved texture to the gleaming polished mesquite, offering better grip to her fist. And though entirely lewd and somewhat gaudy, it was quality artistry, and was certainly not something he could have simply rushed together in an hour however, they must have been hanging around the shop, she assumed.
“Thank you, Mister Dalton. You appear to have outdone yourself.”
“Young miss, you certainly made all my efforts worth it.” He grinned. “And then some!”
“It’s nice to be appreciated. But now I have to go. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“Oh, the pleasure was all mine miss. Absolutely all mine. Every goddamned second of it.”
He shouted the last sentence as she pulled the door closed behind her and then slipped back around the rear of the ship and down the alleyway again.
DB returned to their hotel room less than a quarter of an hour after Karen, and she had to slip her refurbished Cattleman under the mattress. He dropped two pairs of brand-new looking saddle bags onto the floor beside the bed and then passed her the papers of ownership of two fresh horses.
“Yours is only a Kentucky Saddler, but it’s a pretty mare, Buttermilk. I also found a rather handsome Dark Bay Andalusian stallion. Just basic saddlery. You can ride, I take it?”
“’Course I can. You don’t know much about frontier farming, do you?”
“I know all I need to.”
Dismissing her with a shrug and turn of the head, the gentleman writer went over to the window and gazed across the muddy street toward the saloon.
“No sign of our fence?”
“Nope.”
“Good. I was a little worried that we might have missed him, what with Mister Levi, the farrier, being so very meticulous with his paperwork; signing and his talk on care packages and the like.”
“I haven’t seen any sign of him.” Karen shrugged. “Though of course, we can only see the storefront from here. I’d bet that place has a back way too.”
“Hmmm… I might just pop across, see if I can wrangle us some kind of early warning trigger or some thing.”
“Sure… Whatever, that means…”
With a dismissive glance at Karen, who knew she would have to remain in the room now, DB drew back from the window and reached for his hat.
“If you’re going to the saloon, how about bringing back a bottle of something good and strong?” She asked his broad back. “I got a thirst.”
He cast her one final non-committal glance and then slipped out and took the interior staircase departing the hotel through its front door. Karen went over to the window. Keeping to its edge, she watched her employer cross the street, stroll across the boards beneath the awnings of the hardware store and then step through the saloon’s swing doors and disappeared inside. Knowing he would be back when he was back, Karen withdrew from the window and relaxed on their bed to wait, hoping he’d bring back some bourbon or scotch. Even tequila would be welcome.
She had fallen asleep when he returned. Though, with the butcher just outside, shouting to anyone passing to have a look at his fly-ridden and probably sun-bloated wares, how she managed to get to sleep without a gut full of booze, Karen couldn’t figure.
“That went well.” He said, tossing her a bottle of something burnt orange in colour. “I’ve gotten the pianoplayer to play a particular tune if he sees our guy looking like he’s leaving.”
“Clever,” Karen said, working the cork from the bottle. “We can have a drink while we wait.”
“Amongst other things.” DB added with a suddenly illicit grin.
Karen rolled her eyes, concealing it with the hefty slug of whiskey she took. DB shrugged off his jacket and pistol belt and then joined her on the bed.
<><><>
Granger sat at the table, after he had made the women make the gang’s evening meal. They had both been limping and exhausted, bruised all over, but they had managed it. After the meal of beans and squirrel stew, along with heavy gulps of bourbon that had been passed around the table, they both seemed to get their energy back. Which was fortunate, because they were desert.
Granger had remained at the table while his gang had dragged the women over to the bed, threw them down onto it. They had stripped and then climbed onto the mattress to join the mother and daughter. He had decided to wait his turn and have both of them service him together. Have them share his dick, one sucking his balls the other tonguing his ass, before he made the Marie wear the pig mask again. But first he had wanted to have another look at his earnings from the stagecoach robbery.
He half listened to the gangbang on the bed, the bed which looked like it was on its last legs. The middle was bowed, the tarnished brass head and foot rhythmically swinging toward each other like a pair of pendulums, keeping time with the rampant hard and fast raping that was going on. Wald was getting his dick sucked by Marie while Ox was slamming her doggie style. She sounded like she was suffering, maybe taking it in her ass, though Wald’s cock made a pretty effective gag. The twins were spit-roasting young Wilma who was flat on her back, her head hanging over the side of the bed. And it sounded like she was drowning and choking at the same time.
Granger stared at the layout of three Cattleman revolvers spread across the table. His own beloved, a spare he’d picked up a couple of days ago, and the new model Earnest had grabbed from Mutton chops man on the stagecoach that afternoon. The one from a couple of days ago, taken from a lone traveller whose skull Wald had split open for his boots, was old and not very well maintained. Though the dry and smooth click of the cylinder rotating was promising, as was the sound of the cocking and falling of the hammer. Possibly the main spring was of good quality metal or manufacture. But the barrel was fouled and the trigger felt loose and warn. Two of the screw heads were shot. And the grips were a dirty, grubby pine. Cheaply varnished. Even the grain was nothing to write home about. Mutton-chop’s revolver was another story though. He looked it over carefully and then pulled across his trusty screwdriver and started to strip the promising item down to it’s constituent parts.
<><><>
It was an hour past sunset, well beyond twilight when they heard the piano beginning to play the tune they had been listening out for. Expecting to be leaving the hotel at a moment’s notice DB and Karen had eaten early in their room and then made sure everything was packed into their baggage, which would be kept secure in the hotel while they travelled in pursuit of Klein the fence. Immediate necessities were stuffed into saddle bags and pockets, to be transferred to the horses and then they settled down to wait, sharing shots of the whiskey that DB had brought back from the saloon.
However, it wasn’t long before boredom and alcohol fuelled a mutual lust, and by the time the bottle was two thirds empty, they found themselves stripped naked and writhing on the bed. Karen got loud. She usually did when she was drunk. It was good for the johns. It made them feel strong, talented, good fuckers. Like it was their doing, their ability that brought out the orgasmic pleasure-filled din that Karen inevitably issued. Of course, in reality it was the booze heightening her own feelings and drowning what few inhibitions remained for her.
She fucked DB fast, energised by the whiskey; she sat astride DB’s naked hips, her thighs splayed on either side on him. His fat and delightfully warm cock buried inside her to the hilt and she rocked and rolled her hips back and forth and round in rapid energised circles, while his hand cupped and squeezed her large breasts, holding on to each soft orb and pressing his fingers deep into her flesh. She was panting but instead of light breaths, the exhales came out as rather loud throaty groans. She had taken up the on-top position, gripping his hardness in one hand and spreading her pussy lips with the other then and impaling herself and taking him at once to the root. Once settled, Karen had grabbed the whiskey, slugged her last mouthful and then trickled the dregs over the upper curves of her breasts and her nipples.
Of course, DB knew that game and he sat upright as Karen worked her pussy muscles on his cock, then clamped her hefty tits in both his hands and fastened his lips to a nipple to suckle, drinking in the last of the whiskey. He switched back and forth from nipple to nipple sucking hard and nibbling while Karen wailed and moaned at his oral assertions. Then he laid his tongue over the glistening upper slopes of her mountains, lapping up the vestiges of the taste of the strong booze. And only when he could taste nothing but her own flesh and the salt of her sweat, did he lie back and let her noisily fuck him.
The whiskey had the opposite effect on each of them. It made her loud and fast, both energetic and quick to climax, while it gave DB staying power. They found themselves switching positions each time Karen had burst her sexual juices all over his lap. Though after Karen had instigated her on-top and reached her climax it became DB making the decisions about where he wanted her next. He put her on her side with him behind her, one hand grasping a fleshy ass cheek with his other reached around to her front trying to cup and squeeze both her tits in his single palm and spread fingers, without much success. She jerked her hips rapidly back and forth against his embedded cock, adding her own noisy gasps each time her sweet ass slapped loudly against his hips.
They were in the missionary position when the interruption came. DB was filling his face with her tit flesh. Karen using both her hands on the outer curves to push them together for his pleasure, while he rammed into her with deliberately slow but powerful cervix slamming thrusts. His own passion-filled grunts were easily drowned out by the orgasmic din that Karen was squealing out, even as she came in another gusher, spraying his balls, groin and upper thighs.
Her noise was so loud and erotically distracting that she was never going to recognise the change in the tinny, hollow, wind-blustered piano music slipping into their room from the half open window. Fortunately, DB was closer to sober and though he was slamming hard, urgently working his hips toward attaining his own orgasm, he still had half of one ear on the distant echoing melody. When it played, he immediately recognised the pianoplayer’s musical warning.
Karen howled as he abruptly pulled out of her, cutting short her on-going climax and completely foregoing his own. He grunted at her to get dressed and to hurry about it. And then snapped at her when she lay there unmoving, whimpering and moaning in her interrupted, yet hotly pulsing erotic pleasure. He was pulling on his half-buttoned shirt and hauling the suspenders over his shoulders, as Karen finally regained enough self-control to copy him. Using a sheet to wipe down the sweat and orgasmic juices from her voluptuous figure, then grabbing her red dress and her chemise and drawers. By the time her dress was on and she was lacing up her boots DB, fully dressed and armed, was hoisting the two saddlebags onto his shoulders.
“I’ll meet you at the stable.” He grunted. “Do not keep me waiting.”
Karen absently nodded without looking up as she finishing the long lacings of one boot and then pulled on its counterpart.
<><><>
The others were all asleep finally, having completely exhausted themselves after their protracted copulations. All four members of his gang, naked and snoring on the completely trashed bed. More than a couple of them leaking after-cum seepage onto each other’s pasty naked flesh. There’d be disgust, curses and fistfights in the morning when they all woke up, and for Granger, it would no doubt be hilarious.
In the meantime, Granger had the two little, cum streaked, shivering Swedish whores all to himself for the rest of the night. And he was going to use them up, until there was no more of worth in either of them.
He climbed, naked, up onto the cleared dining table on his back and then grabbed the mother by the upper arm and hauled her over to him until she understood she was to climb up onto the table above him. He used his grip of her arm and waist, then her hair and the nape of her neck to shove her about, arranging her so that she lay over him on her hands and knees, mouth over his cock, hips framing his head.
“Girl.” He growled then, unable to see much of anything except the mother’s pussy and little pinprick star shaped ass hole, filling his view. “You put yourself down at the foot of the table. I wanna feel your face right up between my cheeks. You get me?”
“Yes, mister.” The girl whimpered, heavily accented but perfectly understandable. And understanding.
He drew his legs up and apart, then lifted his hips a little. One hand grabbed one of the mother’s bruise-tainted buttocks, pulling it away from its nicely shaped sister while his other hand stretched down her back until he could get to the tangled hair on the back of her head and he put his palm firmly in place and pushed down on the back of her skull.
She took the obvious instruction and a moment later Granger groaned as he felt the dual pleasure of two female mouths on his flesh. The elder engulfing his cock inside the warm, wet confines of her experienced mouth. While beneath his balls, cupped gently and fondled by small and delicate fingers, he felt warm breath and then the warmer, wet tickle of a tongue probing the flesh between his buttocks. Though it must be, that tongue didn’t seem altogether inexperienced either, switching between probing stabs and touches with the tip and deliberate lolling licks up and down with the flat. He felt the girl’s saliva slicking up and down his ass hair, as she lapped and probed, the surface of her tongue tracing long, teasing laps along his perineum and either side of the inner curves of his cheeks before the tip settled on his anal entrance and started to lick and stab at the puckered star.
“That’s nice girl, but don’t just dab at it, shove that tongue right up in there. Get it deep, push in hard.”
“And tell your momma to get my dick right down in her throat… unless she wants to see her little girl having to do it to the barrel of my Buck.”
The girl pulled away long enough to rattle off a translation, no doubt interpreting Buck to revolver or whatever the Swedish was for revolver. And then her tongue was pressing hard at his anal mouth, sliding into the tight ring and making Granger groan in pleasure. His groan intensified a second later as his oversized cock head slid abruptly right to the back of her mouth and then with a surge of warm saliva and urgency from the mother it popped, almost audibly into her throat, making her gag around its girth. Yet keeping him balls deep nonetheless.
“That’s more like it.” Granger laughed in utter sexual joy.
Then he put both hands onto the mother’s hips and pulled her pussy down towards his waiting mouth.
<><><>
Karen had to adjust herself on the hard leather of the saddle a couple of times. At first, it had been a pleasant firm rocking stroke across her pussy lips, with only the cotton of her drawers between the leather and sensitive flesh. But after ten minutes ascending a shallow rise just off the path leading north out of Valentine, it started getting too much. More chafing than caressing. And she lifted herself in the stirrups and tucked her skirts back between her thighs, folding the fabric into a pad, creating more cushioning between her pussy and the saddle. It did the job. However, she was neither an accomplished or frequent equestrian. In fact, she hadn’t been on a horse since coming north out of Nuevo Paraiso. Still, she and DB rode at an easy pace and the scenery north of Valentine on this warm and gently breezy night was refreshing to her.
<><><>
Granger had voraciously sucked and chewed on Marie’s cunt and shoved multiple fingers into her ass while she continually and noisily deepthroated his cock, gagging and slurping and drooling throughout. At the same time Wilma had been stuffing her tongue deep up his ass while her gentle hands caressed his balls. And with all that dedicated female attention, it didn’t take long for him to explode powerfully down the mother’s throat. Throughout the protracted orgasm, he held her face down tight at the root of his cock, until she had drained his balls completely.
Granger was still feeling supremely excited, even though his slimy shaft had fully wilted following the mother’s swallowing his load and then cleaning him up afterwards. He remained in place on his back on the table and ordered the two Swedes to swap places and carry on the same action on him. He knew this would mean that the daughter would have to work that much harder; at first to bring him back to full hardness, and then sucking his seed out of his balls for a second time, but that suited him just fine.
<><><>
The trail had led them around the back of the stables, around the front and then down the side of Chadwick’s Farm, and then a long a faint trail that led them for over an hour and more, over shallow hills through a little copse of trees which soon gave itself over to full on woodland. Karen had expected a slope leading down into a gully but the trail and DB’s tracking skills led them instead upward to a cliff edge and a mouldy looking old rope bridge which, to Karen’s eyes, looked nothing less than suicidal. However, DB neither hesitated nor slowed his steed very much as he crossed, spurring his stallion onward immediately.
It was not quite that simple for Karen or for her pretty buttermilk mare. It whinnied and snorted, slowed and stamped, scraped at the raw earth half covering the rock of the cliff edge before the ungainly, swaying rope bridge. It wasn’t until they were on the bridge that Karen found herself staring down into the night time gloom beneath her as the glistening silvery snail trail of the Dakota River swept by, fifty yards or more beneath them. In the dark it was more than a little nerve racking. In fact, she realised that she would have felt much safer if she had dismounted and led her horse across, as sitting upon his broad back put her high above the protection of the bridge’s suspension and guide ropes. Still, she knew it was too late and urged the horse forward. It didn’t move.
Wishing she had a canteen of whisky handy to give her courage, and wishing for spurs, she put her heels to its flanks and gave it a couple of encouraging clicks with her tongue. Eventually it stepped onto the bridge and staggered uneasy across the old greyed-wooden planks, complaining all the way. Unable to hide its fear. Again, Karen wasn’t far behind in the fear stakes and she filled her mind with plans of what she should do if the horse reared or the ropes broke or a plank snapped through. Eventually though, and with her heart somewhere in her throat and apparently constricting her breathing, Karen and her horse made it across the bridge.
DB sat astride his own animal with a slightly amused look on his austere face, waiting for her on the narrow ledge of the opposite side.
“The secret is to exude confidence. And not to give the horse the chance to get skittish.” He explained causally.
The fence, Klein, was something like an hour ahead of them, they did not want to alert him to their pursuit and so rode casually. Fresh hoof marks in the soft earth, fresh dung revealed his track. They were also blessed with the occasional glimpse of him through DB’s high quality field glasses, illuminated by the moon, as he made his way up the long trail on the far side of the river. All together it reassured them of their direction while they traversed the trail along the top of the clifftop on the opposite side, which was flanked by trees and boulders each appearing to be fighting the other for space on the flat rock of the cliff top. After an hour they found themselves descending the other side, working their way down another shallow slope, this one walled in on the right by vertical weather-smoothed cliffs.
<><><>
Granger had decided to give the daughter a turn at being his little piggy sweetheart after all. He made her put the mask on, make the noises and crawl around the boards on her hands and knees, him following her around, slapping and spanking her as though he was wrangling a prize hog, until he had her cornered beside the old blackened stove.
Once cornered, he planted himself over her lower back, legs spread aside her slender hips and lowered his cock into her waiting ass. It was an easy penetration, her rectum still stretched out from the day’s over use. He rutted her hard, however, probably due to the multiple times her ass had been reamed already, she proved unable to manage the required piggy noises due to painfilled sobs. Without the essential piggy noises to fuel his fantasy, he eventually started to lose his erection and with a growl of frustration he yanked out of her, shoved her down onto her side and dragged the pig mask from her head, while she lay there weeping hands clutching her tight little buttocks protectively.
Granger turned to her mother, who knew well, perhaps even better now she had witnessed her daughter’s attempts, what was expected of her. She took the mask, tied it in place and then started to crawl around the floor, snorting and playacting the rut-able sow. His excitement and his cock, once again growing and expanding, he started to playfully chase her around the kitchen area, slapping her ass and giving her light kicks to the thighs, shoulders and ribs to trap her in some corner or against the sink unit so that he could take her.
<><><>
The steepening rocky slope led to what Karen first thought was a narrow ledge, emerging between two towering verticals of cliff wall and taking an abrupt right turn. But the ledge turned out to be the lowest point of one side of a valley. To her left rocky ground suddenly sloped upward to meet the ledge and bring them out on the valley floor. Ahead of them were the ‘X’ shaped support struts of a railway bridge which travelled at right angles to their direction. Or so she thought.
DB, paused to examine the ground in the bright moonlight, and then abruptly remounted. He turned his horse to the left and started to ascend another slope that rose between another two immense verticals of grey rock.
Karen followed him up the steep slope, which emerged onto the flat high ground again, at the top of the cliffs. The trail began to run parallel with the trainline on their right. DB had already pulled his steed over into the concealment of a little copse of trees and was standing up in the stirrups. He used his field glasses to check and see if Klein was visible somewhere ahead. He was, but only as a pale horse shape moving in and out of the shadows and before and behind occasional firs which grew along the trail far ahead of them, ascending the hills on their right beyond the railroad tracks. He was perhaps half the size of the tip of DB’s pinkie finger in scale.
Karen wondered how far ahead of them that put him. She tried to think of times she had been on horseback and tried to picture passers-by, guys further on down the trail, or riding over a rolling grassy field until the local town came into view, and trying to picture the size of other riders and how long it would take to catch up to them. Of course, it all depended on how fast the horses were going. They took off again. Following the trail that continued to run parallel with the railroad line, cutting through wild grass and shrubs with random trees dotted about the rolling flats of the cliff top.
It took them almost an hour to reach the position where had seen the fence. The trail had developed an arm that cut off to the right, crossing the train tracks and then angling onward into the upper slopes of more hills. The trail grew winding and uneven, like choppy waves, the horses having to traverse a peak and a trough, and then work hard to ascend the next peak which also swept abruptly right or left. A brief respite of flat ground, flanked by trees and boulders awaited them, and then the ascent would begin again. At one point Karen was able to glance down the side of the slope to her right and she spotted the railroad beneath them and she was shocked at how far down and small it was.
It grew colder and the bright moonlight revealed sprinkles of diamond glinting frost and even jewels of freshly deposited snow frozen amongst the blades of grass and the needles of the fir trees that their trail weaved amongst. The rocks and boulders glimmered in the moonlight as though they were submerged in still lake water. There were easily visible hoof prints in the crisp frost and snow and even Karen knew they must belong to Klein, even though he was no longer in sight.
She could feel the reassuring weight of the newly refurbished Cattleman in the concealed pocket of her dress, bouncing gently against her thigh, in time to the rocking of her body and the horse between her legs. She looked ahead at DB, a few yards ahead of her along the trail. His hands loosely gripping his stallion’s reins, feet in the Mexican style stirrups, rowels of his spurs glinting in the moonlight, their sway almost mesmerising. She had a sudden image slip into her mind. Of her quietly drawing the revolver and plugging DB in the back, perhaps fanning the hammer, putting all five split points through his back to ensure he died quick and without warning. She could loot the corpse, toss his saddle bags onto her horse, go back and collect his baggage.
That autographed gold, silver and mother-of-pearl revolver he’d shown her at dinner on the train was surely, on its own, worth quite a bit of cash. Maybe enough to get her for out east, or over the border to Colorado. She could buy herself a little ranch, or maybe a saloon and start a new life, way out of the squalor of the whole painted lady’s world. It would be so quick and so easy. If she just had the fortitude.
“All you have to do,” Karen silently told herself. “Is put your hand in your pocket, take hold of those nice new grips. Pull it out. Cock that hammer, and then point it… and…”
She looked at his broad back, covered by the colourless darkness of his Worsted coat. It was a wide target, practically impossible to miss from this range. A ten-year-old couldn’t miss that shot. So why was she shaking so much? Feeling sick at the prospect? Why did her hands feel like they were stitched onto the reins of her mare?
“It’s just like that first time you took a guy’s cock out of his pants, down on your knees in that alley.” She thought. “Sure, you were scared shitless, your hands were shaking and you felt sick inside then too, but you did it and you earned your tin. You bought that bottle of bourbon, and that made the next time a little easier.”
She wished she had a good bottle of bourbon in her saddle bag right now. That was the kind of fortification she required. And then that other person started to toss images into her mind. At first, they were memories, or at least the images conjured in her mind’s eye by memories of their conversation at dinner on the train. His expertise in firearms, he was an ex-Major or Colonel or something. That meant he was good at shooting, surely. Certainly, better than her. What if he cottoned on to her plan and gunned her down first? He might just put one in her gut and leave her out here to die slowly, or get eaten by alive wolves. Or she might be found by Indians. They wouldn’t give her a good death, from what she’d heard about their ways.
What if he killed her horse and left her stranded? Shot her gun out of her hand or something. Didn’t hurt her but left her horseless and alone up here? Maybe stripped her down to her undergarments first? Dressed on not, she’d certainly die from the elements before she made it back to Valentine on foot, if she could even find her way back. And that would be the blessing end. She could just as easily be eaten alive by a cougar, wolf or bear, bitten by a snake, or found by Indians or bandits and raped to death over a few days or weeks.
No, being in temporary servitude to DB wasn’t so bad really, was it? He had a nice cock relatively speaking. It was clean at least. And he treated her okay. He wasn’t too rough or sadistic. He was better than most men who had introduced her to their cocks. He was almost kind to her, he put her up in hotels with comfortable beds and baths. Bought her pretty dresses, fed her and gave her whiskey pretty much whenever she asked. The travelling was interesting and mostly first class. And she was learning plenty from him too when she thought about it. If nothing else he offered her opportunities for the future. He had already saved her from a nasty comeuppance at the hands of the gang up in Annesburg and, at least for now, lifted her completely out of that horrible life she had found herself in.
Decision made, and recognising that the sick feeling and the shakes had already dissipated along with it, Karen settled down into her role as DB’s assistant and bed warmer. She noted that the temptation had evaporated, like a puddle on a late spring day in New Austin. The temptation had been the revolver. And she made the decision to use it only to protect her person, and if it was ever necessary to back up her employer. And those two reasons alone. Other than perhaps an opportune robbery or two. She had found herself quite adept and would never refuse herself an opportunity should the chance arise.
<><><>
It had felt wasteful to have access to the daughter even though the mother provided more fun, and so Granger had pounced on young Wilma again after he had pumped a load into the mother’s piggy rectum. Although Wilma was tighter and prettier than her mother, took it up her holes well and could deep throat like the most experienced Rathskeller whore. And admittedly, she made great noises while she took the dick. Still, Wilma simply didn’t suit Granger’s fantasy at all. She was too slender and taut bodied to feel very ‘piggy-like’ and the mask didn’t do enough to help with his fantasy. So, after a half hour of making the effort which only resulted on not ever quite maintaining a full hard on, Granger swapped back to the Marie. He dragged her back onto the floor on her hands and knees and forced her into the mask again. She understood much better what he required of her by this time and went straight into playacting the ‘pig farmer and his sow’ scenario.
He had Marie trapped under him, his legs spread astride her slim waist while the hourglass curves of her hips and torso flared beneath him, before and behind. He had his hands gripping her shoulders while he sawed his distended cock vertically in and out of her swollen piggy pussy. And then her ass hole, alternating a minute’s worth of thrusts in one hole and then the same in the other, while she snorted and whimpered and snuffled, sounding half-human submerged in a world of pain and humiliation, and half, to Granger, sexy wanton piggy-slut taking it hard and enjoying it immensely.
While piggy Marie took his lust into her, however he desired, Granger had made the daughter once again kneel behind him and tongue his hairy sphincter while she cupped and gently palmed and teased his swinging balls. Earlier, while exclusively sodomising his hot, sexy mama-sow, he’d made the constantly sobbing human girl play milk maid. He had her crawl under her to milk her udders and tease her clitoris, and to lathe the ridged underside of his cock with her saliva-coated tongue until he had blasted mama-sow’s pussy with his seed, though he pulled out halfway through and spurted a fair amount over the girl’s face and flicking tongue.
But then he had remembered the pleasure of the feel of a tongue up his ass, and on the next pig mating he had given the human daughter new instructions.
<><><>
Karen glanced up to see the first slash of pale colour in the eastern sky. They had been on a northerly trail when they first met the hints of snow in the air and on the ground, which thickened quickly, but Klein’s direction led them onto an easterly trail which sloped downward, quickly leaving the snow behind and exposing them to an eyeful of colour in the low clouds on the horizon as the sun began its slow ascent. Though the horizon was mostly slashed by clumps of tall obscuring firs.
It was a shock that they had been riding for close to a whole night, though their pace had been little more than a leisurely plod and the horses had been able to drink from streams and puddles and pools all along the way.
Another off-shoot trail at which Klein’s steed’s hoof prints and manure turned them through another quarter circle, until they were heading south again, following another animal track that weaved and worried its way through the trees surrounding them. The sun broke through the clouds, its pale orange rays lancing through tree canopies like golden spears, though the angle half blinded the two trackers, slowing their pursuit even more.
<><><>
Klein arrived a couple of hours after sunset. Granger had finished with the women and they lay curled up on the floor covered by their clothing in the corner by the stove to try and get some sleep using each other’s naked bodies for heat. Granger had returned to the table, righted one of the overturned chairs and sat down drawing the lone oil lamp over. He took his revolver and cleaning equipment again, reasserting his admittedly obsessive routine in disassembly-cleaning-reassembly. He also propped his tarnished but well-wound pocket watch up against the base of the oil lamp so he could keep his eye on the time. Those other four were all fast asleep still, multiple snores creating a strangely relaxing background noise.
The knock came abruptly yet not unexpectedly. And it was a special signal of knocks - 3 then 2 then 3. This not only identified Klein, but also asserted that he was alone. If he had been with company, any kind of company, he would have knocked 3,2,1 and in that instant all hell would have broken loose. Granger picked up his Cattleman from the table, already reassembled and fully loaded with six .45 cartridges, and then glanced across to the sleeping quarters side of the little shack. The twins were both awake and up and already busy with the two Swedish women, while Ox and Wald were still asleep. Though Wald, on hearing the knock at the door, was stirring. He had one eye already open and a hand close to his Volcanic pistol.
“Who’s ‘at?” Granger called from a position beside the door.
The thick wood of the log cabin’s wall would stop any in coming fire, unless someone managed to get a miraculous bullet through the thinnest part where two half cut logs met.
“Klein. You expecting anybody else, Mister Granger?”
“No. You alone?”
“Did I mess up the knocking?”
“No.”
“There’s your answer.”
“Best come in then.”
“You got stuff for me to look at?”
Once Klein was safely inside, Granger shut the door and slid the heavy bolt across before moving over to the table. Klein followed, though his eyes shifted over to the left toward the rest of the gang. Staring at the twins fucking two attractive though exhausted looking blondes. The girl was taking it doggie style from Earnest, while Rusty lay beside her on his back making the older woman ride him. Rusty was also reaching across to firmly squeeze the young one’s breasts and tug at her nipples, while she rocked tiredly back and forth on her hands and knees.
It was nothing to Klein, probably as much as half the time he spent with this gang at least one of them was busy raping some woman hostage or fucking a prostitute, either right there in the room with them or at least within earshot. He took his fill of their languid morning fun, while Granger dragged over his saddle bags and started to spread out the jewellery items he had gathered from the last few heists. Klein’s attention quickly shifted from the naked female flesh being used to the valuables laid out on the old table.
<><><>
That blinding low sun had come and gone by the time they had lost track of Klein’s whereabouts. It was in the woods after the trail, possibly a natural animal track, had petered out. It hadn’t helped that Karen had been forced to pause in order to empty her bladder, after that bottle of whiskey at the hotel. And squatting in the undergrowth to pee, with a full-length taffeta dress on, was not the simplest of actions either. After shucking the drawers down to her knees, she had to gather all the length up around her hips, pulling it froward and trapping it between her thighs using her arms to keep it clear of her naked bottom. And then piss away what felt like the full measure of that bottle of fine whiskey.
Still, once they were back on track, DB managed to spot enough clues to find their way onto another of those natural animal tracks, again featuring the fresh hoof prints of Klein’s horse. The trail led off again into the woods, though there were numerous hoof prints this time, older yet deeper than Klein’s that overlapped them. Could they belong to Granger’s gang? Karen would have voiced her speculation to DB but he had asserted the need for silence once they had slipped off the main track into the woods.
They eventually dismounted in those same woods, tying their horse reins to trunks of young trees and then continuing on foot. After another half hour they spotted the dark silhouette of a small log cabin in a clearing beyond the treeline. It was perhaps on the edge of a cliff. It was hard to recognise from where they were. They backtracked a hundred yards to their horses and then in whispers, in case there was a guard outside, they discussed how best to approach. Well in fact, DB dictated his plan to Karen. And with a heavy heart and a lot of nervousness, she turned and walked those hundred yards again, emerging from the trees into the clearing that to some was known as Clawson’s Rest.
<><><>
The knock at the door brought gasps of surprise, four six-guns and a Volcanic pistol all drawn and aimed at the large, dark hinged rectangle of solid wood.
“Someone fucking followed you!” Granger growled at Klein.
“Not possible, Mister Granger.”
“Well, someone’s at the door. You go and answer it.”
Klein huffed at the order and crossed the distance between the door and the dining table where he and Granger had been sitting. He slid back the bolt but then Granger’s harsh growl stopped him in his tracks.
“Wait. You get back.” Granger snarled, pointing with the barrel of his Cattleman. “Stand back there. And put your iron on the table.”
Klein shrugged and did as he was told. Uncocking his own Cattleman and putting it on the table and then walking back to the wall opposite the door and leaning up against the split logs that formed its surface. Granger glanced across at Wald with the Volcanic pistol still trained on the door. The knock repeated itself, two quick and not particularly loud raps. Granger ignored it, his attention still on Wald.
“Put that barrel on him. If he moves off that wall, put lead in him.”
“Righto boss.”
Granger, Cattleman gripped on one hand at full cock and pointed low at his hip, went to the door and swung it open.
A very pretty straw haired girl stood there in a maroon dress. Though the dress was fetching and fitted snuggly, it looked creased and dishevelled, as though from a long ride. She was speaking to him but his ears were closed as his lustful eyes took her in.
The parts that caught his attention were her lovely big, green looking eyes, full lipped mouth in an attractive round face. Her light blonde hair was centre parted and tied back, with a fringe that swept down over her temples almost into her eyes, leaving her forehead clear. The bangs at the side of her face had been worked into pretty ringlets, though time and no doubt recent horse riding had loosened the curls out of them somewhat, so that they passed the curves of her shoulders. The other eye-catching part of the young blonde was her tits. She appeared slim in general though still somewhat robust. Huge in the bosom, while the rest of her appeared proportionately slender and taut figured. Perhaps halfway between Marie and Wilma’s figures.
Those tits were encased, even presented in a lowcut bodice of her dress, underneath which she appeared to wear a silk blouse, which was loose, unbuttoned to the middle of her bust, the bodice hoisting and supporting those two big mounds, the white blouse framing them deliciously. The morning sun cast delightful shadows over those twin mountains, but the intensity of the morning light also cast highlights onto the shadows, light bouncing across the creamy flesh of those milk jugs and their illicitly deep valley, making them utterly mouth-watering.
Granger whipped his Cattleman over so that it lay in his palm, fingers curled around the cylinder, index finger blocking the cocked hammer. He used the barrel as a hook, deliberately slowly, he pressed the heavy, hardened steel barrel down the neckline of the blonde’s dress and then he pulled her into the shack, still filling his bulging eyes with the robust upper curves of her uplifted breasts. The blonde gasped but didn’t try to resist as she was drawn into the shack, not that Granger would have allowed her to resist.
“Miss Karen?” Klein gawped seeing her. “You followed me here? Alone? But I warned you girl!”
“A spy, Klein?”
“Not at all, Granger, if anything a… a fanatic... She has a thing for gunslingers, pistoleros. They get her going. We met on the train into Valentine. She must have followed me all night.”
“She can’t have been traveling alone…” Granger growled, sparing Klein a dark look.
“She had a guardian with her on the train, but he was just an old man, bookish type.”
Granger, remained still for a moment, thinking, continuing to eye the girl. Then he released a held breath and whipped the Cattleman back into its holster on his right hip and, smoothly uncocking the hammer as it spun into its leather cradle. Immediately he shoved his left hand into her bust line, dragging her up tight against him. His eyes locked to hers. She was actually little more than a kid, a teenager. Certainly not yet into her twenties. Mouth watering with renewed lust, he turned his head, but not his eyes, toward his gang.
“You boys, take Klein to see our stash. Let him have a good look at the wares. Me and this little bird have to get ourselves acquainted…”
“What d’you want us to do with the Swedish whores boss?”
“Take ‘em along. Maybe drop ‘em off somewhere quiet.”
“Er… dead or alive boss…?”
“Alive you dumb bastard! They treated us good didn’t they? There’s that little cabin northeast of here, on this side of the river.”
“Oh, yeah, erm… Dodd’s Bluff? You want us to drop them off there?”
“Yeah, tie ‘em up, but not too tight.” Ox nodded, taking in Granger’s orders. “Now, get outta here!”
They hurried, but not fast enough for Granger, the two women snatched up their discarded clothing which had not only been used as makeshift bed covers but the men had also used the tossed fabrics to wipe off their cocks following each and every orgasm. So, the women’s clothing was stained, sticky and coarse with close to twenty-four-hour’s worth of human secretions of various degrees of dryness smeared over them. Of course, it was better than wearing nothing but their boots, so they pulled on the stinking, miss coloured and misshapen garments in a hurry.
There was a constant, noisy but short-lived murmur and clattering of movement as the seven of them collected what they needed and then filed out of the shack, shutting the door behind them and leaving Karen alone with Granger.
Karen and DB had discussed things before she had headed out to the shack’s entrance. If DB himself had turned up, it would have led to a gunfight in seconds no matter how much he had attempted to prove his peaceful intent. Granger was not the trusting sort. Though when it came to women, he underestimated, even dismissed them all as inconsequential except when it came to slaking his lusts. No woman could ever be a risk to him.
So, it became apparent that Karen would have to make DB’s introduction and voice his offer herself. And alone. Of course, DB did not allow her to offer any approach other than ‘temptress’. Though she had her own Cattleman in her dress pocket, any attempt to draw or fire the weapon would invariably result in her death. She was inexperienced, the revolver was not easily accessible and any sign of malintent on her part would immediately result in Granger drawing on her. And he was faster, vastly experienced, maintained no morals against shooting women and children, and his revolver was much more accessible. Karen wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Make the offer. Make sure you put yourself across as harmless as possible and use your assets to convince him. Keep him happy. And perhaps, once he has enjoyed you, he will be more open to listening to your offer to speak with me. Just don’t make him angry.”
Karen had known that fucking men besides DB would be, in fact already had been, part of her duty and she had steeled herself to the prospect. It was no different to her previous occupation. As long as they had the money, you couldn’t afford turn anyone down. So, the thought of spreading her legs for this robber and killer was nothing to her.
So, when he grabbed her suddenly, harshly dragging her up against his rangy though strong body, she was not surprised and immediately took on the persona of someone innocent though not necessarily unwilling to his advances.
His right hand cinched the nape of her neck while his left came around the small of her back and then dipped low for her ass grabbing the firm orbs of her buttocks, but there was a lot of fabric between his flesh and hers so almost immediately that hand was shifting handfuls of her skirts upward, bunching the material, working the dress out of his way so he could get to her sweet fleshy buttocks. It wasn’t easy and when he did get his hand onto her ass the fabric of her drawers, though thin by comparison, was still between them. However, by then his other hand had pulled her face onto his own and his lips mashed onto hers, Granger growling with desire at the feel of her soft, plump and warm lips against his thin, chapped ones.
Not wanting to make him suspicious about what her hands might be doing, but not wanting to present herself as too wanton or experienced, Karen put both her hands onto his upper arms, stroking up and down his tense biceps and keeping her touch there, obvious and calming. And reading his obvious desire, Karen opened her mouth to his tongue. He delved in deep at once. His hand on the back of her neck was like a tight leather belt and she couldn’t have pulled away if she had tried, instead she liberally laved her tongue against his, flicking and spiralling the two organs around each other.
It was hard to breathe as his urgent desire had her nose half crushed against his and their lips were locked, airtight. Fortunately, Karen had through sheer need, learned to hold her breath for longer than average periods. Deep throating john’s cocks, and having those fat swollen crowns forcibly lodged for long periods down her throat had forced her to learn in a hurry.
In fact, he did run out of breath before her, their lip lock breaking as he pulled back. He was panting, his gleaming eyes stern and flinty yet glowing somehow with lust. The hand on her ass continued to squeeze and pinch firmly, and the hand on her neck squeezed and rubbed while he started down into her flushed young face.
“You carrying, girl? You’re surely not dumb enough to ride all night up here without a shooting iron on you. And surely you ain’t dumb enough to leave it on your horse, are you?”
“I got a revolver in my dress. Why don’t you pull it out? It’s down by my right thigh.”
“That all you got?” He asked.
Karen nodded, eyes wide, feigning innocence.
“Keep your hands up on me, girly. While I disarm you.”
He hauled it out after a frustrated few seconds’ searching for a way into the pocket, he eyed it, flipped it over in his palm, cocked the hammer and spun the cylinder. He didn’t seem particularly impressed.
“It’s just one of the Valentine guys. Nothing to write home about.”
He dismissed it, laid it on the table behind him, and turned his full attention back to Karen.
The rest of the day went as Karen had expected. This Granger guy was a typical John. Hungry for her body and impatient. However, it wasn’t long before his personal quirk rose to the surface. Hurriedly, with passion, he spun her around and loosened the threads of her bodice with one hand, aggressively tugging at the bow and then the crisscrossed lacings, while with the other hand he unbuckled his pistol rig and tossed the heavy leather gear onto the table. He spun her back to face him, immediately shoving a hand down the front of her loosened neckline, grasped the warm, soft orb of her left breast and hauled it up out of the neck of the front of her gown. He wrapped his free hand around her waist again and pulled her against him, returning to kissing her while he clawed, squeezed and pinched at the big breast and its thick, rosy nipple. Of course, the kiss barely lasted a minute before his voracious mouth dipped and took hold of her exposed breast, licking the pale warmth of the orb and then fastening his lips over the puckered areolae and his teeth around the firmed stub of her teat.
Karen gasped and moaned as he nipped and chewed on her nipple, flicking at the trapped tip of it with his warm tongue and hot breath. His hands grabbed her bodice again and yanked at it, pulling the sides in opposite directions to loosen the lacings further before reaching down the neckline for her other breast and hauling it up and out as well.
He feasted on both hefty orbs and their erected nipples while his hands ranged her torso, squeezing breasts, caressing up and down her hourglass shape and continuing to work at the dress. Karen, concerned it might get damaged, helped him to take the dress of. Though while he continued to hungrily feast on her tits and bite her engorged nipples, there was only so much she could do. It wasn’t the type of dress she could just shimmy out of. It had to come up over her head, to be removed.
He was old enough to have just about enough patience to step back and allow her to haul the dress over her head and lay it onto the table. He stood back and looked her up and down, now just in her chemise and drawers. His eyes never left her body while he started to excitedly strip out of his own clothing. While Karen stood there allowing him to drink in her youthful and shapely splendour. Only twice did his eyes lift high enough to take in her face or make eye contact.
She couldn’t decide whether or not she should be talking to him about DB’s proposal or not. Though eventually she remembered that, once men were touched by the desire to shove a cock into her, nothing else would enter their attention or interest them. And she decided that waiting until he had at least slaked his desire once or twice before bringing up the prospect of an interview with her employer, would be the best course of action. Give him what he wanted, make it as good for him as she could. And then, once his balls had been pumped into her and he was relaxing back in that divine warmth of the carnal afterglow, then she would bring up DB and his book.
“Get the rest of the shit off and get over there on the bed.”
“The broken bed?”
“Don’t keep me waiting girl, and don’t piss me off!”
“Alright, alright.” Karen huffed. “Damn…”
As she moved over to the bed, slipping off the shoulder straps of her chemise, Karen watched him undressing himself out of the corner of her eye. He was slender and rangy, toned muscles visible though not built up, more like strained across his skeleton and covered in pale and slightly mottled skin. The rusty brown body hair that covered his chest, lower arms and calves was darkened by the paleness of his skin. He slipped off his long-johns, peeling them down his lower legs. His cock, a pale, thick chunk of bratwurst, pendulum swung from the crux of his groin as he tugged the underwear from his feet. Its shape stood out against the dark wiry nest of his pubic hair, was obviously semi hard, in reaction to Karen’s body and promise of the pleasure he would be taking from it.
Tossing his Long johns on top of her dress, he remained at a three-quarter angle to her, as though showing himself off, only his head sweeping around to take her in. Karen sat on the edge of the broken bed, its centre point in touch with the floor boards. There was hunger, desire and aggression in Granger’s face, visible in both his smouldering eyes and the clench of his jaw. It was something Karen was well used to since she had been forced into the life of the soiled dove.
Shoving down her nervousness, she offered him a cocky lopsided smile and it broke the moment and drew him across the small room, straight into her personal space. With her seated and him standing Karen found herself looking up at his naked groin. Her next move was obvious.
She held her eyes on his, as she took his scrotum in one cupped palm; a heavy sack, low and weighty containing large testicles. Her other hand took up the root of his thick shaft and angled it toward her full lips. Without breaking eye contact she took his fat crown past her lips, wetting them first with her tongue and keeping them tight around the girth. She pushed the wrinkled foreskin backward as she drew him past her lips and over her tongue which started to swish and flick side to side and back and forth across the veiny underside. Ignoring that the flesh was tacky and tasted of sweat and sperm and cunt, Karen took him deeper, sliding her face deep into his groin as she recognised the salty tang maybe held a hint of the taste of anal as well. She worked the solidifying cock with her tongue, tight pursing lips and oozing saliva.
When he hit the back of her throat, she felt his hands grabbing hold of her skull, one around the back of her head, fisting in her hair and the other beneath her chin. However, she beat him to it lurching forward and popping his crown firmly into her throat. She worked the crown rapidly back and forth in and out of the tight ring of the entrance to her throat, feeling as much as hearing the repeated slick popping sound as the crown lunged forward and then sprang back into her mouth to be attacked by her fast, hard-working tongue. She swallowed the flooding mouthful of saliva in that moment of clearness, taking a well-timed breath, and then lodged him back into her oesophagus.
If Granger allowed the little whore to keep this up, he’d cum on no time. He stared down at her naked tits, huge and still blessed with the perkiness of her youth. The obscenely stiff nipples and puckered areolae up turned and perfectly situated on the upper curves of those heavy, full, juicy teardrops.
He reached down and grabbed hold of one, marvelling at how full and firm it actually was. Most busty whores he had handled turned out to have tits full of hot air, all squashy within, all give. You could mash a tit to jelly in your fist and there’d be no resistance. But these were really prime meat, firm and pliant with plenty of bounce. He flicked the nipple with his thumb, scratching the springy bud with a ragged nail and grunted with satisfaction when in response, she jolted and whimpered delightfully around his throat engulfed meat.
Her full lips were lost in his greasy, wiry pubic hair and he felt her tongue sliding out past her plump bottom lip to tickle the sensitive flesh of his swinging ball sack while her throat muscles worked voraciously at his meat, cinching and rolling up and down the half of his shaft that was stuffed well down her throat. Granger rolled her fat nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugged it so that he pulled the teardrop away from her chest, pinching harder. Her responsive moan shot wonderful vibrations into his throated meat and he repeated the assault on her other tit.
Her amazing mouth was bringing him, in no uncertain terms, very close to filling her orifice with the contents of his balls. So, he used his grip of her head to drag his erection out of her gripping throat and the seal of her lips, pulling himself all the way out of her mouth, releasing a spray and drooping rein of her saliva that kept them connected until the weight of it snapped, leaving him with a cock that glistened and a pair of tits that were thoroughly anointed with her thick, bubbly spittle.
Karen dragged in much desired heavy breaths as she was given her temporary reprieve. Though inwardly she cursed that her attempt to make him cum in her mouth had failed. She had hoped that emptying his balls would have been enough to satisfy him and then she could have brought him around to the actual reason for her visit. However, he had put a stop to her plan by pulling out. And now his cock, hard and long as a Schofield’s barrel, swayed heavily in front of her, dribbling teardrops of precum and drool from the thick, pulsing head. He abruptly shoved her onto her back, slapped her thighs apart and buried his face between them.
She squirmed as she felt his mouth and breath against her pussy lips. She felt conflicted, as his tongue slid forward and licked upward parting her sticky lips. Since being widowed she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times a man had put his mouth on her like this and she remembered enjoying it with her husband, but it felt too intimate, the actions of a lover not a john. Of course, she was in no position to complain or try and stop him.
He didn’t waste time after spreading her lips with his tongue and he started to probe between them, licking up and down and around the delicate folds of her core, soon enough drawing involuntary gasps and moans from the depths of her throat. She felt his hot tongue and his warm breath all over her pussy, dipping into the entrance, teasing up near her clitoris, lapping and flicking at every inch of the tender flesh around and between.
A finger came from nowhere and slid inside her, awkwardly moving around and revolving until it located the rough little area on the upper surface that made her groan and the muscles of her spread-wide inner thighs jolt. Her juices were really beginning to flow now and there was a quickly rising storm somewhere behind where he was touching her. His tongue left her vulva for a moment and licked up and down the tender blade of skin between her pussy and anus, and then he loudly hawked and spat. She felt the wetness splatter against the inner curves of her buttocks and a digit pressed against her flesh, anointing and shifting the spittle all around her anal sphincter. Then that same digit, a thumb by the apparent thickness, suddenly pressured its way up into Karen’s ass. And she arched up and cursed at the feel of the sudden penetration, even as another finger stoked back and forth against that sensitive spot inside her pussy tunnel. His mouth, pre-empted by his warm breath, lifted again and his lips locked over the upper half of her pussy, the tongue darting out to flick and probe beneath the little hood covering her clitoris. She felt it, engorged, stiffened and pulsing, already having pushed out from its protective hood and the contact of tickling breath and slick tongue directly onto the little nub added sudden lightning bolts of intensity to the storm that was now threatening a raging downpour.
Her pussy was already flowing, coating his finger and trickling onto his palm and Karen was starting to writhe against him, hands clutching at her breasts, squeezing, pulling at her nipples adding more and more to the precipitous intensity building in her core.
She didn’t know if it had been just to get her wet enough to plough her or if he was deliberately bringing her to the edge and then halting his attentions to frustrate her, perhaps it was some kind of power thing, but Granger abruptly stopped with his finger, thumb and tongue and rocked back onto his haunches. Through tear blurred eyes, she watched him rise to his feet and step away from the bed. Cursing him inwardly and moaning, she put her own fingers to her clitoral hood to try and capture the already dying storm. She watched him, cock still all but fully hard and jutting horizontally from his hairy crotch, turn his back to her and walk back over to the table. He stopped and bent down over a saddlebag that lay on the floor beside one of the table legs, flipped open the top flap, and then hauled something yellowish and leathery out of it.
It took her a moment but she abruptly understood what he was approaching her with. And a wave of disgust arose within the blonde teen. It was the skull-less, hollowed out head of a pig. Really just the skin. Open in the back with the eyes cut larger. Though it must have some kind of boiled leather padding inside for it to hold its shape.
“Here,” he said, tossing her the vile looking thing. “Put that on. Then get on your hands and knees.”
She caught it and looked it over. It was indeed moulded leather inside to maintain its shape and it smelled rank, of vinegar or something. She held her breath and cringed that the idea of the thing touching her hair, as she pulled the mask over her head. But again, she knew she didn’t have any choice in the matter. The vinegar made her eyes water, or was that just her natural reaction of disgust and discomfort?
By the time she rolled over onto her hands and knees, Granger was back at the side of the bed. She felt his hand on her hip then sliding over her pert heart-shaped ass, one buttock and then the other, then between them, a finger stroking over her anal mouth and splaying her pussy lips. Inside the vile mask, Karen shivered.
“I have a curly tail too. It plugs into your ass hole. But I’m certain to be fucking you in your ass hole, so I’ll have to forget about it for now…”
He squatted behind her, taking possession of her heart-shaped rear end with both hands. His palms and fingers spread wide to get as much of his flesh in contact with hers. He slid his touch up over the tops of her buttocks, over her hips and along her sides, his thumbs in line with her arched spine. He swept across her shoulder blades, shoulders and then down her upper arms before reaching underneath and grasping a firm two handed grip of her huge pendulous breasts. He squeezed them fiercely, making Karen hiss and whimper and then curse in pain. And then his trigger fingers and thumbs slid down and took a tight hold of her stiffened nipples. He started to pinch and tug them, down toward the mattress, alternating left and right, firm and urgent as though milking her.
She felt his drool splat onto the small of her back pooling at the base of her spine, trickling over her flesh. And his erection, a bar of iron, became lodged between her buttocks and inner thighs, pulsing and hot as though it was a living thing. He finally released her teats and leaned up, one hand on the top of her ass while the other grabbed his cock and pressed it into position dividing her pussy lips and coating the swollen, heavy crown with her still flowing lubrication.
He thrust forward hard, filling and stretching her with a single brutal thrust that slammed up against her cervix. She cursed and groaned at the sudden and violent invasion. And the stench and bite of the vinegar caught in the back of her throat making her gag and stumble over her reaction to his cock piercing her.
“Now, make some piggy sounds. Pig noises.” He growled as he slowly withdrew his shaft all the way back to her tight gripping entrance. “C’mon whore, you know what this is! Get to it! Squeal!”
She started with a few semi-ironic ‘oinks’ which only annoyed Granger. And she received a couple of harsh slaps on the ass and then a thump to the back of her head, not particularly hard, but still enough to leave her dizzy and aching. She switched to attempts at more realistic approximations of a sow being rutted. She and her husband had kept a few pigs on their farm and had reared a few piglets too.
It proved to be enough for Granger, and he started to wheeze and grunt as he thrust into her, clawing at her buttocks and hips as he slammed himself ferociously against her. To begin with he kept his thrusts deep and harsh but slow, giving Karen the additional challenge of staying up on her hands and knees and not falling face first into the mattress with each slamming penetration. The brutal battering-ram of his cock head against her pulsing over stimulated cervix had her gritting her teeth and her guttural squeals and snuffling-swine approximations became more mindless and uncontrolled. The result seemed to help with Granger’s sick fantasy even more.
“C’mon you young piggy sow cunt, take my goddamn meat, you fleshy sow fuck!”
He leaned over her back again, putting his weight on her and reaching under her to milk her heavy udders anew. Karen tried to maintain her porcine sounds, growing in volume and intensity as her own humiliation and discomfort came out in her performance. And it spurred Granger on to fuck her harder and faster than ever.
“Squeal, you piggy whore! Squeal while I rip that sow pussy apart! C’mon, take my meat up you, take my meat and squeal, you dirty piggy-sow, squeal!”
He snarled his oaths and curses, growing increasingly loud and uncontrolled, spittle flew from his drawn back lips and his thrusts increased, working harder and faster to drive his fat iron shaft into Karen’s tender flesh, hurting her insides more and more.
“I want to hear you squeal, piggy!” He roared, obviously close to orgasm. “Squeal! Bitch! Squeal like a gutted sow, you cunt! …Squeal!”
Karen, squealed louder than ever, letting her vile feelings fill the piggy noises as she struggled with the abuses both battering inside her, leaning over her back and mauling her tender breasts. However, it was Granger’s climatic squeal that filled the interior of the shack as, abruptly, a pouring of thick heavy spurts of his hot, viscous seed erupted deep into Karen’s pummelled and overly tender pussy.
She felt him painting her pussy walls with his scum, and the spurts thrashed violently against her battered uterus over and over again, while he quivered and shook against her, groaning and gurgling continuously. She felt his sweat dripping onto her flesh, as well as his drool. Groaning and cursing over and over, while the contents of his balls transported themselves in that series of heady, scalding unfurling ropes of thick spunk that felt like they were filling her pummelled tunnel to over flowing.
Finally, he pulled out, with a deep wasted groan and rolled over onto his back beside her, giving her one final heavy slap to her buttocks as exhaustion took him over.
Karen hauled the mask off her head and tossed it across the floorboards a disgusted, defeated vent. Then her own energies suddenly escaped her and she flattened herself down onto the mattress beside her abuser on her front. However, in mere seconds she had to carefully roll herself over onto her side as her huge breasts were being uncomfortably crushed between her ribs and the thin mattress.
“Don’t lose that mask, girl. You’ll have to put it on again in a few minutes. I still need to put it up your ass.”
He mumbled the instruction, the breathless words softened through his temporary state of exhaustion and well-slaked pleasure.
“I just need a few minutes to get my second wind.”
When his wind finally returned, Karen was made to kneel beside him and suck him back to full mast while, with a cruel but idle hand he cupped, slapped and squeezed the closest of her mammoth breasts, before taking up a stiffened nipple to perform that degrading play-milking action he appeared to enjoy so much. Far too soon, he was back to full hardness and eager to start buggering her.
“On your back this time.” He commanded, shoving her half-heartedly on one shoulder. “I want to watch those huge sow’s milkers of yours swinging around something rotten, all while I’m ploughing up your backside.”
He knelt at her ass, grabbed her thighs and hoisted them up and back, practically bending her double, though he was sure to spread them apart too so her tits weren’t constricted by her upper legs.
“Hold them there.”
He leaned down and hawked up a mouthful of saliva and then spat directly onto the soft pastel pink blush between the pale orbs of her perky buttocks. Then he used a finger to spread the lubrication around her tight little starshaped sphincter. When he touched his finger to her anus, he saw a little shiver ripple down her body, like pistol-shot recoil. And then when he used that same finger to penetrate that tight ring of muscle and spread the slimy fluid inside her, she released a low gasping moan and her sphincter tightened up like a delicious vice around his digit. And as he corkscrewed the lubrication inside her rectal tunnel, Granger couldn’t withhold a little grin, thinking of the promised tightness that would soon be trying to throttle his cock.
He didn’t want to stretch or lube her too much so he didn’t add more than his single finger, just working it around, up down left right a little then withdrew it with an audible pop. Enjoying a little anticipatory shiver of his own, Granger grabbed the base of his hardness and shoved it indelicately against her anal entrance, putting his weight behind it. Once it was secure with his pressuring hips, he transferred his hands to her buttocks, fingers digging into her spread cheeks, squeezing firmly while he forced her succulent young anus to open up to his hard, throbbing invader.
As the invasion began to succeed, the ring stretching wider as the rounded head of Granger’s meat forced it to open up, Karen couldn’t hold back a squealing curse.
“Oh Goddamn, that hurts!” She whinnied, her whole body tensing under his insistent grasp.
Granger let out a cruel laugh as he continued to push against her delightfully resistant anal mouth, forcing his way inside her, millimetre by millimetre. As Karen’s increasingly pained squeals reached a crescendo, Granger felt his spongy crown finally sliding inwards. And then the battle abruptly ended, Karen’s struggling sphincter muscle defeated as his broad head slid in past her pressurised anal mouth, the tight ring of muscle snapping back like a fist round his iron hard shaft. But he was in there, secure. And it felt glorious. Her anus gripped him tightly, the sphincter squeezing constantly on the circumference of his invading shaft, trying in vain to retake its naturally cinched-tight position.
Finally up inside the young whore’s ass, Granger overwhelmed by the pleasure, let out a long and deep guttural groan. He took a moment, glorying in the combination of forcing her anus to submit, combined with that unique sexual reality of getting his dick up her tight little chute for the first time, and the constricting, crushing feel of the girl's ass hole trying to eject his unwanted thickness.
The searing hot and constricting grasp of the tube of her tight young anus was all but divine, but the urge to fuck, to thrust, to drive his cock back and forth, was instinctive and insistent. He found himself unable to hold off for more than a second or two. And with a grunt and a violent driving stab. He rammed the rest of his meat right up into her rectum. Karen’s arched and squealed through the pig mask, which was not as secure, or as concealing while face to face.
Granger’s hands gripped her ass cheeks in a tight, possessive grip, clawing fingers splayed and pressing deep into the soft creamy muscle of her lush buttocks. He started to withdraw his meaty truncheon from her deliciously hot churning guts. The slow extraction brought out stronger high-pitched whimpers from the girl in the pig mask.
“Squeal like a pig, remember! Go on, squeal you goddamned piggy sow!”
Karen tried her best, sobs and whimpers mixed with haggard attempts at pig-like grunts and squeals. He started to drive in and out of her rectum with more and more voracity, making her huge tits roll all over her chest, slapping her under the chin and against her upper arms and each other. However, the action, combined with the back and forth rocking of her torso in response to his deep pounding, was shaking the pig face further and further from its correct position and threatening to unseat the fantasy element altogether.
Granger couldn’t get himself into the head space, couldn’t lose himself in the fantasy, when he could all too easily see the teenager’s chin and jaw and full lips and her loose curls of straw-coloured hair, it happened each time he yanked his cock back out of the depths of her hot guts. He snarled out his frustration and released her, pulling out of her ass hole with a loud pop.
“Fuck!” He snapped angrily, making Karen flinch. “Roll over again, back on your hands and knees. And straighten your mask.”
She did so in a hurry, scared by his verbal assault. While Granger used a hand to jerk the lower third of his meat in order to keep the blood pumping inside it.
“Let’s give this another try. Remember the piggy noises or you’re just going to piss me off, girl!”
She took up the doggie style position once again, on her hands and knees, head up, the pig ears erect, the snout jutting forth. Karen’s fists were nervously clutching handfuls of the fabric of the soiled, mouldy smelling mattress while she let out continual whimpering moans between the attempts to emulate a rutting sow. He inserted his prime meat back into the hot, gripping chute of her admittedly sensational anus. Granger could see little quivers of exertion playing through the fine muscles across her sweat-soaked creamy fleshed back.
The girl let out a kind of mewling whimper, which collapsed into a loud squealing cry as Granger drove his solid, burning hot cock all the way back up her succulent ass in one powerful, balls deep drive. Then he started to pound her backside, hammering into her. For him this was heaven, it couldn’t get any better, the girl’s ass was brutally tight and searing hot, and only seemed to get tighter the harder he fucked it and with her surprisingly realistic piggy noises, his fantasy was in full swing, that if he squinted, it almost felt like he was fucking the sexiest little piglet in the whole of the west.
Each monstrous thrust was shoving her forward on the bed and tearing deep, gutsy, pleading piggy wails from his young teenage sow. Soon enough, his pleasure dictating his action, he started to sodomise the girl-pig with even more pace and power. And her porcine moaning intensified abruptly, and Granger’s ramping-up aggression erupted. He was so close to climax and his desire to empty his balls inside the sexy sow was the only thing on his mind, the only thing that meant anything to him.
Karen’s high-pitched squealing, less and less pig like, only increased in volume and desperation, in response to the hard, powerful hip slams against her taut, quivering buttocks. The older guy’s rough his hands slapped, squeezed and pulled at her ass, clawing and assaulting her buttocks. And at the same time that molten iron rod slammed into her harder and deeper, stretching her anus and pile-driving her incensed, burning guts.
She wailed and squealed and cried, actually begging him. Forgoing the piggy sounds and taking up pleas of mercy, to be gentler with her. But he didn’t even hear her words, they were nothing but tortured squeals and snorts and snuffling of a sexy sow taking his meat like only she could.
It brought Granger to another level of sadistic on-the-edge dominance and sexual rage. And growling like a devil he really started to lay it into her but that only lasted a couple of dozen scalding thrusts and then he was yelling as his pressurised cum started to fly.
“Oh! Fuck! Ohhh piggy whore! Ohhh take it! Ohhh! Take it all! Right up this gorgeous ass!”
He seemed to squirt into her clutching, churning guts a whole mass of his seed, a dozen or more great heavy blasting streamers.
“Fucking sow-bitch! You fucking take all of this! You goddamn filthy little pig whore!”
Not recognising the content of his grunting, snarling curses any more than he had her pleas, Karen knelt there, moaning and cringing, not believing how he felt inside her throbbing, churning swollen ass hole. All that thick scalding cum, it was like a continuing series of cruel, scalding hot whip cracks inside her rectum. She felt every weighty wet thump of his pressurised seed spraying savagely into her pummelled, tenderised guts. And it overwhelmed her and had her collapsing under him, slumping flat onto the mattress.
Granger rode possessively down along with her, making her take his weight and ensuring he remain buried deep in her battered backdoor as he noisily continued to empty his heavy balls into her pulsing, cramping tunnel.
“Here...”
Granger whipped his revolver out of the flashily tooled rig hanging on the bed post with a smooth whirling flurry.
After their post-coital doze, Granger had allowed Karen to reveal the reason for her visit and had shown a degree of interest, at least in the subject matter. He had slipped, naked over to the table to retrieve his holster rig, after pausing to re-examine Karen’s own Cattleman. Having discarded the, to him uninspired revolver back onto the table, he returned to the bed hanging his own rig over the bedpost. Although, until Karen asked to see his Cattleman, he hadn’t touched it.
With each of them sitting at opposite ends of the messed up and broken bed, facing each other and still naked, Karen watched him extracting each of the cartridges from the revolver’s cylinder with expert fingers that moved quick and clean, obviously well practiced. Then he tossed the pistol over to Karen, enjoying the reactive bounce and quiver of her pert, naked bosom as she reached out and collected the revolver from the mattress beside her hip.
“That’s it. That’s my personal ‘Buck’.”
He said it nonchalantly and nodded at the piece as Karen turned it over in her small hands.
“Those particular grips I got from a guy, probably a bounty hunter, who ambushed me out by Tall Trees, a couple of years back. I got big hands see and those grips are good and fat. Ivory as you can see, and old too, that’s why they’re all yellowed. The vine work's gold inlay but a lot of it is either dirty or already rubbed away. I had some additional engraving added later.”
On the lower third of the grip just beneath the securing screw was an outline of a pig's head in profile. Karen knew that the name ‘Granger’ came from the old-French for farmer. She wondered if the pig represented his name, or maybe his family history, at least before he had turned into a robber outlaw and shootist.
“I believe the hammer came from the same gun. The frame was from a Del Lobo who wanted to prove himself. I put one in his gut and took his things while he lay there dying.”
His smile, while he thought back over that particular face to face, was lopsided.
“I was thinking I might have all that vine inlay extended onto the frame at some point.”
He paused for another couple of seconds, his eyes marinading on the lush, youthful beauty of the shapely naked blonde sitting across from him.
“The barrel and extractor came out of a box of new pistols, meant for Fort Wallace, that we intercepted on the trail. While the cylinder came from a piece I stole from Landon Rickets a little before he switched over to the Schofield.”
“It’s beautiful.” Karen gasped, her eyes aflame as she looked over the pistol’s curves and intricate finish.
“She’s my darlin’ alright.”
Karen tossed the revolver back to its owner and watched in near awe at the speed and fluidity he showed as he reloaded the cylinder and then re-holstered the weapon.
“Now then… Tell me again about this writer fella. Where am I expected to meet him? I ain’t riding down to Valentine, that’s for sure!”
“I can bring him here. If that’s agreeable.”
Granger merely shrugged.
“And how good is he? He ain’t some feather pillow fop, is he? I ain’t gonna talk to some sissy bitch from back East that don’t know shit all about what life’s life out here.”
Karen gave a shrug that set her large breasts quivering slightly, again much to Granger’s pleasure.
“As I said,” Karen replied. “Major Gould’s ex-US. Cavalry and ex-Ambarino Ranger. He knows firearms, got lotsa experience with them.”
Granger sniffed, looked off into the distance over Karen’s shoulder for a few seconds before his gaze refocussed onto the young woman, on her naked splendour, her creamy curves. Her gleaming golden hair, though now ruffled and unkempt. He offered a smile.
“Tell you what, You’ve shown me a good time, so… I’ll agree, at least to see the guy. So, you go get yourself dressed and go and fetch him. I’ll be waiting here for you.”
Karen nodded and rose, heading for the table where her clothes awaited her.
DB saw the gold-topped crimson form of his employee through the trees as she emerged from the shack, though the trunks, low branches and foliage only gave him momentary glimpses of colour. He gave the tied-up horses a little stroke on the neck. He had spent the time, unsaddling, brushing and feeding their two steeds and only a few minutes earlier had resaddled them both. Karen was taking the path through the trees but it curved away from where he and the horses waited off toward the northwest so he started through the woods to intercept her.
“Karen,” He called over to her, more in an elevated hiss than a shout. “How did you fare?”
The young woman stopped and swished herself around toward the sound of his voice, though she could probably see him from this distance even if his clothes were of more subdued hues that her crimson and white. She hoisted her skirts and started to make her way over fallen branches and around shrubs until they met face to face in a small clearing.
“I hope it turns out to be worth it. ‘Cause he fucked me hard, more than once. It hurt. And worse still, I had to pretend to be a pig or some shit. He made me wear a pig head as a mask and make squealing pig noises while he screwed me and then sodomised me.”
DB pulled a face at her descriptions, but Karen saw the twinkle of excitement in his eyes too.
“Well, just look at it as working off your debt. Did you talk him into speaking to me?”
“Maybe. He’s agreed to a meeting at least. Though I get the feeling you’ll have to prove yourself worthy before he’ll give you any tasty stuff.”
“What do you mean ‘prove myself’?”
“Dunno, that’s for you to find out I guess.” She shrugged, a little smile on her lips. “C’mon, I’ll take you back there, introduce you.”
“Is it just him now? I saw a group of his men and two women leave on horseback right after you went in.”
“Yeah, He sent his people off along with our Mr Klein. The women they were gonna drop off at some cabin along the river bank. I think they’d been entertainment for the night. Maybe for a few days. They both looked pretty haggard to me.”
Karen looked across at DB but he just nodded his head, his eyes and attention on the undergrowth surrounding them.
“Thought maybe you might have gone to their rescue. You know, being the chivalrous White Knight? Rescuing fair maidens and all that British crap.”
“I’ve rescued my quota of fair maidens for the year.” He said with a cocky grin, looking Karen up and down.
She felt herself blushing. It might have been a veiled and sordid excuse for a compliment but it was still a compliment, and since becoming a widow, compliments had come few and far between.
“Besides, the chivalrous bit would have been to have rescued them before they became the night’s entertainment. No point rescuing them after their honour had been bruised.”
They stepped from the treeline into the clearing that doubled as grounds for the shack. Karen accelerated a couple of steps, so she led DB, while making sure she didn’t put herself between him and it. If this was some kind of trap, she didn’t want to be standing between DB and Granger when the guns started barking.
“Keep your hands well away from your gun.” She whispered to him out of the corner of her mouth.
They were approaching the door now, barely ten yards from it.
“I’m no fool my girl, I have done this before. More than once.”
“Just trying to keep my boss in one piece, is all.”
“You want your patron able to continue to be able to offer his patronage?” DB commented with a wry laugh.
Just then, the age greyed wooden planks of the entryway swung abruptly open. Karen gave a start and she sensed DB stiffen behind her. The interior was nothing but pitch blackness. Karen drew a breath and continued toward the door, her hands down but well away from her dress. She hoped DB was doing something similar with his hands.
Then Granger appeared in the blackness of the doorway, fully dressed, grimy white shirt, tan and grey pants, worn boots, brown jacket and battered wide brimmed grey hat. His holster rig was buckled around his slim waist, but the tooled leather holster was empty, the Cattleman gripped in a fist that was down low at his hip.
“Outta the way, tits.” Granger growled.
Karen’s advance had stuttered to a halt, having found herself at the wrong end of Granger’s revolver but she took a couple of sidesteps to her left. She noticed one corner of his shadowed face was tweaked into a little grin.
“Let’s see this writer friend of yours.”
DB stood still, his hands were at waist height but like Karen he had angled his palms toward Granger and both hands were a good eighteen inches away from his body. Karen however, noticed that DB’s hat brim had been angled slightly differently, its shadow was cast helpfully over both his eyes.
“You this writer fella?”
“I am. DB Gould. And you’re Mister Emmet Granger, I take it?”
“Yep. Your fine little whore here, says you wanna, what… interview me for a book you’re writing? What kind of a book?”
“It’s an investigation into the revolvers that tamed the West. You’re well known as a staunch adherent of the Buck Cattleman. I’d like your input regarding its quality, why you have chosen that specific revolver exclusively over and above all others, and perhaps one or two recollections or anecdotes relating to your use of the revolver in question that illustrate your high regard for it.”
“You talk like you’re from back East. I don’t like no sissy feather pillow eastern boys.”
“I’m well educated, that’s all. I’ve spent time all over. Most of it in the southern and Western states.”
“You and her both say you writing about shooting irons. But what do you really know about them?”
“Plenty.” DB shrugged and offered a little smile. “But as the author I have to express no bias in my assessments. Hence my interviews with those men who have equal or greater experience than myself.”
“Hm.”
Granger said nothing beyond his noncommittal grunt. However, Karen noticed this thumb lightly slipping over the cocked hammer spur of his drawn pistol, gently sliding it back to its safe un-cocked position.
“I take it you wish me to prove myself, Mister Granger?”
“I insist on it. I won’t give you pig shit unless you impress me. And I ain’t easily impressed.”
“A duel will achieve nothing. I can’t write if I’m dead and you can’t give what I need if you are.”
“Don’t have to be a duel. Just a shooting contest. Quickdraw or target shooting.” Granger turned to Karen. “Hey, young whore, get your sweet ass in here and find something to shoot at, a saucer or bottle, tin can or something.”
Karen huffed a tiny exhale and slipped past Granger back into the shack. She mentally acknowledged the weight of her own Cattleman. She knew Granger knew it was on her person and assumed he would never allow himself to get so distracted as to put himself between two untrust-worthies with guns. And she was right, as she stepped past him into the shack, he stepped back, putting his back to the open door, out of sight of DB. Karen also noticed that, though he whipped his Buck back into its holster, his gun hand remained around the grips.
Trying to ignore him, she glanced around the wreck of a room for a few seconds spotting a few discarded tin cans on the floor by the kitchen sink and a couple more by the sink itself. She picked four up carefully, slipping her fingers into the mouldy insides, taking care of the awkwardly cut open lids with their twisted and serrated edges.
“These do?”
“Sure.”
Karen noticed his eyes only washed over the contents of her hands for a moment while most of the time they bored into the depths of her on display cleavage. He was grinning as she strolled past him and back out into the afternoon sun.
“Go take twenty paces in that direction. And then, when I tell you, toss one of them cans up into the air, hard as you’re able... Wait. Hand me your iron first.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t have to shoot you in the cunt and take it from your cold corpse!” He spat abruptly. “Do as you’re goddamned told, whore!”
Karen re-trod the ten paces she had already managed and then cocked her hip toward Granger, thrusting her skirt’s pocket at him. Granger dragged the revolver out of her pocket. Then, shoving her Cattleman into the waistband of his pants, waved her on her way.
She walked the twenty paces. DB came closer but remained to one side, forming an equidistant triangle, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Karen nodded, dropped all but one of the cans at her feet and then threw the fourth up into the air over her head.
Granger’s draw was lightning fast but his shots were comparatively slow, even though he aimed by eye and fired from the hip. The can was caught in mid-air by the first shot and with a loud metallic zing spun wildly on its axis while the velocity of the bullet passing through, launched it higher into the blue sky. The second bullet took it higher still and off to the right. The third appeared to catch the can on a lip of its base and sent it spinning ass over tip while, somehow, it pretty much hovered at the same height, just floating there spinning. The fourth shot went straight through its side, breaking the spin and again launching it skyward. The fifth put it into a tumble again. Granger waited with his last shot until he was well into its descent, barely over head-height and then he fired. The can whipped straight toward DB’s face, clipped the brim of his hat and flipped it off his head.
Granger laughed, watching as DB idly went over to retrieve his dented hat. Karen noticed, during that interval when DB was collecting his hat, pushing it back into shape, placing it back onto his head and then picking up and examining the six-time holed tin can, Granger had emptied and reloaded his revolver. He whirled it back into its holster on his right hip and then drew Karen’s Cattleman and tossed it across the grass toward her.
She collected and pocketed the pistol as she squatted down to pick up the other cans. Then waited for DB to give her instructions.
“How far would you say it is to the edge of the clearing over there? At the edge of the plateau?”
“Don’t know. Hundred paces?”
“Karen, my girl. Take a can, walk right out there and then hold the can up on the flat of your palm.”
It took Karen a moment to take in what DB had ordered. And then another moment of staring into his calm, emotionless face before she hustled to cross the distance.
“Hold it good and high. And steady, girl.” DB called after her.
Karen counted her paces to the edge of the flat land. Beyond the lip a low cliff dropped away about three or four yards to another flat shelf of grass covered rock which the train tracks horizontally bisected, left to right across Karen’s path. The cliff sloped down to the lower shelf to Karen’s immediate left so rather than jumping down and risking broken legs, she followed the downward slope onto the other flat and then crossed the train tracks and the flat grass land until she stood between two trees on the lip of the second cliff which stood atop the northern bank of the Dakota river.
Out beyond that region, down in the valley beyond, though blocked from view by more of the tree-capped rocky landscape, Valentine would be waiting for their return. By the time she was at the edge and not more than a yard or two from falling down into the river, she had counted eighty-seven steps.
She turned to face the two men who had positioned themselves against the side of the shack. Though Karen was below them the height distance wasn’t too much, she could see both Granger and DB from the knees up and she had no doubts they could see her just as well. Taking a few deep steadying breaths as the men, from that distance, looked no larger than the tip of her finger, Karen balanced the rusty half-crushed can onto the palm of her right hand, then lifted it up over her head, locking her elbow until she could feel the tension in her bicep and the back of her wrist. Her arm trembled ever so slightly.
Three drawn out seconds later, there came a concussive force right above her upstretched hand. The can disappeared into the ether like the good Lord himself had smitten it, with only a loud metallic zing and a vibration in the warm afternoon air. A puff of white smoke appeared over BD’s face.
Karen was called back, the men’s shouts echoing across the open grass land.
“That was some goddam shot!” Granger was saying around a broad grin. “I declare, ain’t seen the like!”
DB smiled, leading Granger back around toward the shack’s entrance. Karen watched them both, noticing that, though casual and friendly, both hands remained close to their holstered revolvers, and Granger always kept Karen in sight as well as DB.
“Then you’ll consent to sitting down with me and answering a few questions for my book?”
“Yeah, why the Hell not.” Granger shrugged. “I got nothing else to do today anyway.”
“That’s excellent news, sir, you have my deepest gratitude.”
“Well, you’ve darn right impressed me! And not many can say that…” Granger laughed, even going so far as to swat DB on the shoulder. “…‘Cept maybe your whore. She impressed me this morning, I have to say.”
“Well, I’m sure I can convince young Karen to supply you with more pleasing interactions while we chat.”
“Huh?”
“She can slip under the table and give you a good sucking while we chat. As long as you don’t get too distracted of course.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“You hear that, my girl? You know what you must do?”
“Yessir,” Karen replied with a heavy sigh. “I heard you, and I understand.”
“Don’t bullshit me girl, you love it and we all know you do.” Granger laughed, giving Karen a light swat on her taffeta covered buttocks.
Karen rolled her eyes but gave him a placating smile all the same, as she followed the two men into the shack. They took the only two available chairs and BD retrieved a small leather-bound notebook from his jacket pocket and a dip pen and pot of ink, laying them out on the table. Granger leaned down to his saddlebag and pulled out an open bottle of whiskey.
Karen couldn’t help but make a polite request for a share of the booze.
“Got something else for you to drink down whore. Something better than whiskey. But it’ll take some work to get it into your mouth. So, you best get to it, ain’t cha!”
He grunted the instruction, grinning excitedly and indicating the underside of the table with a nod of the head and an idle wave of a hand.
"And Karen dear, be sure not to bump the table, won’t you?” Granger added.
Sighing, Karen gathered her skirts, hoisted them around her knees and then crouched down and slid under the table, angling herself toward Granger’s spread legs. His hands were already visible at the crotch of his pants, working down the buttons of the fly to free the bulge that was already evident.
<><><>
Memoirs regarding the employment, handling and management of the ‘Buck Cattleman Single-Action Army revolver’.
Chapter one.
Emmet Henry Granger.
Amongst the most notorious killers of the turn of the century decades, Emmet Granger's name became synonymous with the colourful yet ruthless characters living in the final years of the Old West.
The writer managed to secure a one-to-one interview with Mister Granger, at great personal risk, in order to gain a foothold into the mind of one of the individuals responsible for the kinds of Wild West characters of Penny Dreadfuls and dime novel pulp picture-books, and of course, the revolver that arguably became synonymous with the man himself.

DB - Now then, Mister Granger, perhaps to begin with, you could introduce your relationship with the Buck Cattleman revolver?
EG - Everyone else calls it a 'Cattleman', I call it a 'buck' partly 'cause of the damned recoil. I love that mule-like kick it offers.
DB - What do you like about it specifically?
EG - Every d**ned thing! I love the size of the hammer, great for fanning, much bigger than the Schofield's, shitty little stirrup. The feel of the grips in your hand. They feel like they’ve been shaped to perfectly fit my palm. Like it’s an extension of me or something
DB - What can you tell us about the specific model you favour?
EG - As I told your little spitfire of an assistant. Mine is made up of pieces of others. I search for the ideal parts to put together the smoothest and best working gun I can. I got the grips from one guy, the frame from another, the cylinder, the barrel and extractor... you get the idea... When I find a part that is a better fit, a smoother action, better quality, I just replace it. Once I'm happy, the gold inlay and engraving mark it as I'm happy with it. It’s an ongoing process.
DB - And the obvious question. Why the Cattleman specifically?
EG - Like I said, feels good. Reliable. Powerful and then some. It don't jam or get too dirty too quick. A little gun oil and a cloth, and it'll keep you backed up good. Ain't too many parts to it and the Buck Company make a good gun. Always have. Only I know how to make it better, with the right parts.
DB - Is your act of exchanging parts, essentially an attempt to forge the perfect Cattleman? Is there ever an end to it?
EG - Sure, I already got most of the parts I'm happy with. The amount of engraving on her shows that much, don't it? Of course, parts wear out and there's things'll always need replacing, but there're plenty of these guns out there, so plenty of opportunity to find good quality parts.
DB - Then you would say that the ability to easily exchange parts, their quality of manufacture is a particular selling point of this revolver?
EG - Sure. That and that they’re so few parts in the first place. The fewer parts the less can go wrong. Another of the drawbacks of the Schofield are all the extra parts that a top break with its cartridge ejection mechanism forces you to have to deal with.
DB - So, you’ve always used a Cattleman?
EG - Obviously not. Only since they came out in ’73. Before that I used the 1860 Army model, the Navy model, Hutton and Baird Conversion. I tried ‘em all over the years. But when the ‘Buck’ came out. I settled on that.
DB - Mister Emmet Henry Granger. I thank you kindly. Perhaps as a signing off, you might regale us with a personal memory of an occasion when your use of the Buck Cattleman Single Action Army saved you or allowed you to complete as task effectively, or enabled you to defeat an enemy?
EG - Sure, why not…
DB - Nothing too fancy, just something off the top of your head?
EG - Very well… Let’s see now… There was a drunk competition over a box of dud cartridges. Me and Charlie Parker. Drunk and arguing over a box of dud shells we had purloined off an Escaleran Apache along with his pretty squaw, I might add. We’d F****ed the Squaw all morning, getting utterly bladdered on cheap tequila all the while and then while she was out of it and not longer able to… well. We turned our attention to the box of shells, thinking we could use her for target practice, or at least scare her into getting her second wind. So, we loaded up and started taking pot shots.
She wasn’t really in any danger see, we were a good eight or ten feet away and neither of us could see straight. But wouldn’t you believe it, every f****ing shot was a dud, nothing but a dull click. At first, we got pissed off, but after a couple of reloads with no success, we were laughing our asses off. And then Charlie made a bet.
He said ‘how ‘bout we reload and shoot at each other instead. First one to find a shell that ain’t a dud wins’… We were both blind drunk, remember… So, I said ‘sure why not!’ And we got to emptying cylinders and reloading. Charlie had an old Schofield that had been his father’s and he loved the top break automatic ejecting thing so he fanned his six, all duds, and then ejected them quick as lightning and started to put six fresh in.
I fanned my Buck, all duds of course. But then, instead of ejecting each individually and putting in six fresh which, as you can attest would have taken longer, I did ‘em one bore at a time. Eject one, reload, manually line it up - relying on four cylinder-clicks, full cock on the hammer, and then fire. Then again, eject, reload, four cylinder turns, full cock, fire.
On my third reload I found a live round. Just as poor dumb Charlie finished with his. As he snapped his frame shut and cocked, I fired and put one through his mouth. Wasn’t even aiming really. His Schofield goes off, slices this gouge across the top of my shoulder.
I took all his s**t, and the Squaw, sold ‘em on at The Scratching Post, a little place west of Plainview. Made a pretty penny if I recall. Heard the Squaw got sold on again after a month. Caught sight of her again up in Rathskeller, though I’m not really certain it was the same Squaw, they kinda all look the same to me."
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Karen Jones in A Red Dead Redemption 2 Prequel.