Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

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
- 3
- 4
- 5
“Boss? That story Hernandez told about the brothel in Chuparosa? You're not going to believe this but I was there that day. Not working out of that particular brothel, but I heard about the shooting. The gang of bounty hunters. A bunch of us went to the bodies to see if there was anything of value. And we could take off them. We could hear him doing all kinds to that female bounty hunter. It was real scary.”
Karen was looking quite pale as she spoke. Sitting on the end of DB’s bed while the writer sat against the headboard, propped up by pillows, listening with interest. He nodded at her to continue.
“I met her one time, after they had turned her into a whore. Hernandez had made a real mess of her. She'd lost an eye. He'd broken three of her ribs, and her jaw. And he'd slashed the soles of her feet with a straight-razor, so she couldn't run while they had the blacksmith make up a collar and chain for her. Once he and his men had all made use of her and ridden away, some of the locals took pity on her. Eventually, she was set free. She was moved to the local doc’s place while she healed and then let go. But I don’t know if she got very far. She was still a real mess.”
They were still in Strawberry. Three days following the loss of the bandit-hostage Consuela. DB had apparently been awaiting a letter and it had finally arrived.
“So, who’s next on the list?” Karen asked.
“Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway. I’ve just received word from his brother, who is in fact Valentine’s doctor, that Jim Boy is down in Blackwater. So that’s where we’re headed.”
“Are we still on the Cattleman chapters?”
“No. I have enough on the Cattleman now. We’re moving onto my best friend, the Hutton and Baird Schofield.”
As he mentioned the name, DB drew the highly decorated model, that appeared to be his prize, and spun it around his index finger. Karen stared at the revolver. It was beautiful, something about it felt attractive but also butch. The Schofield was like a wolf, powerful and dangerous and beautiful in a masculine way. The Cattleman was more feline in its beauty, equally powerful, though somehow more feminine, like a cougar or panther.
She pictured herself with a Schofield but the image made no sense to her, the longer barrel, the weight and its advantages of fast reloading didn’t really make sense for her purposes. She needed a pistol she could easily conceal in her skirts, that didn’t weigh her down. And the fast reload wasn’t a feature that seemed like a necessity for her specifically. She was happy to stay with the Cattleman. At least for the time being.
“So, to Blackwater? Right now, or in the morning?”
“At first light. We’ll have a meal down in town tonight and then we’ll have an early night. And up with the dawn it will be another long trail south for us.”
She found him looking at her again. Since Consuela he had been all over her as though the Mexican had alighted a lust inside him that he was trying hard to extinguish through exhaustion.
“But I’d like to build up an appetite, so how about you take off that dress, my girl. I have a different hunger that only you can slake.”
“Right away boss. You want the harlot or the little lost girl…?”
<><><>
It was hot in this part of West Elizabeth. It was a hot day and with the sweat of the horses, the layers of fabric wrapped around Karen and the three days ride from Strawberry. She felt filthy, sweaty and tired and really, really in need of a bath. Of course, the Hawks Eye Creek, flowing southward from Mount Shann, was right there beside them, and they were following its southern course until it met the Upper Montana River which flowed just north of Blackwater.
The writer’s busty young ‘assistant’ had already seen that there was an area up ahead where the rocks and tufty grasses, making up the terrain around these parts, was starting to thicken out and extend into the surrounding countryside, almost swallowing the trail they were following. And where the river, already shallow and relatively slow flowing, all but vanished within a plentiful and dense copse of trees and saplings. It looked pretty concealing in there, and more than DB or any fella for that matter, Karen was encouraged to seek the most secluded of spots to strip off her clothes out in the wilderness.
There were always gangs and bandits and those of weak temperament who would be more than willing to snatch up a woman and scarper away with her, and she would never been seen again by man nor beast. As we’ll as her own personal experiences, she had heard plenty of stories over the years. Murfree Brood up in Roanoake, the Banditos around northern Nueva Paraiso, the Laramie’s, and the vilest of all, Skinner Brothers. The things she had heard those types did to people would give anyone nightmares. The things they purportedly did, in particular to women, could give you a heart attack.
Having decided to offer the bathing suggestion, Karen suddenly felt a dire need to try and build up some courage and she fancied a few slugs of bourbon might well loosen her tongue. Afterall, there was nothing wrong with a little Dutch courage. However, coincidentally, as she was reaching into her saddlebag for the bottle, DB suddenly turned to look back at her and, with a grin, suggested the bathing idea himself.
Karen found the perfect spot at a bend in the stream. Waist deep water, not too fast-flowing, the ground more or less flat and surrounded on both banks by a thick flourish of leafy young trees and bushes that blocked the view from the trail.
She left her horse with DB, who said he would water the horses and refill their canteens but would wait until he reached Blackwater and have himself a proper bath with heated water and a bar of soap and everything. Karen still had her loaded Cattleman on her person, but now she had managed to figure out how to wear a slender holster rig beneath her skirts without its presence being revealed, the holster knotted to her bare thigh and the pocket slit through so she could draw the gun without having to hoist her skirts up first. Still, she would have to remove it while she bathed.
She loosened the bodice, hauled the dress over her head and then sat on a flat rock to unlace her boots before taking off her undergarments. Though before her boots, she took off the pistol belt, laying gun and holster on the rock just beneath her dress.
Fully naked with her hair loosened, she slipped down into the water; braced herself for the shock of the cold. And it was cold but her body quickly grew used to it and after a couple of minutes submerged to her neck, seated cross legged on the shale and pebbles covering the stream bed, she hardly felt the cold at all.
She lay back, allowing the water to soak her hair while cool undercurrents caressed her nakedness. Being under the water with the sound of the current pouring by and subdued, refracted sounds of the wind blowing through the surrounding trees above her, Karen failed to hear the approach of the four highwaymen.
They had seen her and her male companion from the cliff overlooking the trail. Their first intention had been to rob and murder to the two riders. However, that was before they got close enough to the riders to see the girl closely. A silent exchange of excited looks sealed the girl’s fate in particular, as far as the four men were concerned. They slid back from their flattened positions on the top of the rock and started down the side that would bring them down onto the trail.
Silas and James sneaked through the woods up to the stream’s edge and then slipped into the water, pulling themselves as quietly as possible along the bottom of the stream, closing the distance between themselves and the girl who was busy, and fortuitously, undressing by the side of a large flat rock. Reg and Cavendish had hidden themselves, Reg in the woods with their horses, and Cavendish half way between Reg and the water’s edge.
Silas used the reeds to conceal himself by the bank and sneaked a closer look at the woman. She was amazing. Silas, in fact all four of the gang had only recently visited the whorehouse up in Valentine and the whores up there had nothing on this blonde. And that was the precise moment she dragged her dress up over her head and with no sign of a bodice, she showed herself off in just her drawers and chemise. And then after spending a minute unlacing her boots, the unmentionables came off as well and she got to her feet, stretching up onto her tiptoes before sliding down into the water. She couldn’t have been more than half a dozen yards away from Silas. The image of her body, the shapely legs, the high rounded buttocks the all but flat belly, there was a hint of roundness to it but little more than a hint. And those huge upthrust jutting breasts, the thick nipples gleaming pink in the sunlight. Her hair, centre parted and handsomely framing her pretty, round face, gleamed like liquid gold, three-day-old ringlets that had reverted to little more than loose waves tickled her shoulder blades.
Wading out into the deepest part, she slipped down to her waist in the water, unfortunately with her back to Silas, though even the flesh of her naked back looked fantastic to his hungry gaze. And then she leaned back and submerged herself completely.
Silas saw James, breathing through a length of bamboo as thick around as his thumb, pull himself along on his back across the rocks of the stream bed. So, Silas took a deep breath and then shuffled himself free of the reeds and started to advance upon her as well.
It went, unsurprisingly, easily. They knew her companion was close by and to take off with her without this knowledge required speed and silence. James got to her first and clamped a hand over her mouth. He was busy trying to pin her arms to her sides with his free hand when Silas caught up and he wrapped both arms around her desperately kicking legs, pinning them to his chest, enjoying the soft hemispheres of her smooth, cool buttocks rolling and jerking against his face. The two men caught sight of each other, exchanged a quick grinning nod and then took off back for the shore. They kept themselves and the girl under the surface as far as they could trying to keep the noise of splashing to a minimum. The place they headed for was easy enough place to spot, even while submerged and carrying along the still struggling girl. She was a real spitfire and not making it easy for them.
However, they managed it and there still didn’t seem to be any sign of the girl’s companion as they emerged from the water, hefting her horizontally between them. She was of course trying to scream so James was having to keep a very tight hand clamped over her lips, so that she couldn’t even shift her jaw or try to bite him.
They found their way to where Cavendish knelt, in concealment with the rope. The hardest part was gagging her. They had the two neckerchiefs ready, one balled to stuff in her mouth the other to tie around her head. The challenge would be allowing them to stuff the first cloth into her mouth without her screaming for help. Cavendish solved it with a particularly brutal punch into her stomach. It knocked all the wind out of her lungs and moving fast he stuffed the balled-up rag into her gaping mouth and quickly knotted the second rag around her lower face. Then he went to work with the rope. It wasn’t a full hog tie, he bound her wrists behind her back, bound her arms to her sides and then bound her ankles together as well. Once secure it was much easier to carry her; the gag allowing James to use both hands around her upper arms while Silas gripped the ropes around her ankles.
They found their way to Reg waiting patiently with the horses. The two soaking men lifted their prize together and dumped her face down across the rear flanks of Cavendish’s horse, while he reached back and grabbed a fistful of the rope that was around her torso to make sure she didn’t slide off his steed’s rump. The other two finally hauled themselves into their saddles and then all four of them made off.
At first, they moved at a trot down to the stream and started along it, though they made sure they were a good way up from where they had snatched the girl before they made any noise. Once they deemed it safe, they took their horses back up onto the trail and rode off at a gallop heading east.
The previous night they had slept in a deep and well concealed cave, which started in a fissure between two rocks wide enough to walk a horse through, but once you were past the entrance, like a bottle, the entryway widened into a full-on earth floored cave. They had even managed to light a camp fire that first night. And each man, taking his turn on watch in the cave entrance, noted there was no visible sign of the flames of their firelight from outside. A little smoke seeped out but most of it was held inside, trapped in the top of the cave’s bowl, which made it potentially uncomfortable within, but they soon learned that as long as they were lay down, it didn’t interfere with them too much.
An hour later, once they were back at the cave, they led their horses though in single file the men on foot. Cavendish had to drag their naked catch from the back of his steed and James carried her over his shoulder. Once they were all safely hidden inside the four men went about their duties as standard. Reg took care of the horses, removing their saddles and laying out grain for them to eat. Silas set about relighting the fire. Their dried wood, hastily collected from the previous night, was mostly still present, and he always had flint and tinder on his person. He had got a flame or two dancing on the bowels of the fire within thirty seconds. James got the first watch in the cave’s bottleneck. And Cavendish got first dibs at their woman. He unfastened the ropes that secured her, other than the gag, of course.
Knowing she would have to fight, naked and unarmed through at least three out of the four of them Karen chose not to. Perhaps once they had used her and were all asleep, she might be able to slip out of the cave, or grab one of their six guns. However, for now she would not struggle while they had her. It was not like she hadn’t been in worse situations before and survived them.
The first of them stood over her, grinning, licking his lips, the front of his was already trousers tented forward. He thumbed the leather straps of his suspenders from his shoulders and then hurried through the buttons of his trousers before letting them drop around his ankles. He started on the buttons of his filthy shirt even as he sat down, then turned his attention to slipping the loose-fitting trousers off his spur-adorned boots before finishing off with his shirt. The drawers stayed on, were hurriedly unbuttoned and shoved down to his knees. And then, with his erect cock jutting from the shadowy nest of his hopefully not lice-ridden pubic hair, he fell atop her.
Karen lay back on the earth floor while the man roamed over her, lying on her, rubbing himself against her, stroking and squeezing. His rough, unshaven face scratched at her flesh, his disgusting saliva anointed her, his teeth nipped. She could feel the hot bar of his erect meat against her cool thigh.
She shivered beneath him but it wasn’t really fear, it was more through the cold that seemed be embracing her. The stream water had initially cooled her sun-kissed flesh, and then racing through the woodland trail, bent over the back of a horse, naked and wet, had seemed to cool the very air around her air as it caressed her bare flesh and now, here she was, naked and shivering inside a cold and dirty cave.
Her nipples tingled uncomfortably as his mouth laved one, teeth chewing and pulling; while his fingers pinched and twisted the other; rough face and fierce palm pressing into the smooth softness of the two big orbs.
Karen said nothing, just gasped little hisses and whimpers of discomfort. All the while the heat of his hard cock was screaming at her, pressed firmly against her smooth thigh. His hips rolled back and forth in an attempt to push her thighs apart so he could plant himself between them.
She allowed her legs to spread, but not too much. She didn’t want him to think she was actually encouraging his attentions. Not fighting was one thing, open invitation was something else entirely. Of course, he didn’t care. And as though he hadn’t even noticed her reluctant cooperations, he got his knees between hers and shoved at her legs until they splayed apart and came up so that there was nothing between his cock and the hot young cunt it wanted access to.
Gnawing on her nipples, he reached blindly between their groins and positioned his warm shaft against her equally warm pussy lips. With a quick, urgent stabbing thrust he was inside her. A muffled groan of pleasure washed over Karen’s turgid, raw nipple while he braced his knees into the earth and stabbed the remainder of his inches inside her body. She hissed in response. While he groaned long and deep, and then started to hammer into her with short rapid strokes.
Karen’s heels dug into the earth and her hands clawed at it. Within seconds, she felt an fist sized pebble that she accidentally raked to the surface, and for a moment she pictured herself slamming in into the side of her rapist’s skull. But then she pictured herself trapped beneath his unconscious body and the other two in the cave drawing their pistols and advancing on her ready to put her under the earth in retribution.
She flicked the stone away with her fingers and lay back, staring into the blackness above her head. All the while, the man lying on top of her continued to hump away, driving his hot hardness savagely in and out of her hardly lubricated tunnel. She didn’t remain unlubricated for long. After five rough and fraught minutes, he suddenly stiffened and started to groan urgently, his body shaking, his groans intensifying.
Karen grimaced at the feel of the hot surging wetness of his cum spurting into her, the multiple splurges tumbled together into a few protracted moments of wet heat but she couldn’t differentiate the individual spurts. It was more like a prolonged emptying of his seed into her.
Finally, with a moan and a little throaty laugh of post-rape euphoria, he lifted himself off her, gave one hardened nipple a last cruel twisting tug and then stood up between her spread calves and started to haul up his dirty, stained drawers.
“Next.” He muttered, heading over to the low crackling fire.
“Reg, you wanna do what we did with the whore in Valentine?” Silas offered.
“You mean, Van Horn, don’t cha?”
“Van Horn? Van Horn…? No, that was the pig on a spit. I mean like put her in between us one of us underneath the other on top. Sharing, like.”
“Oh, yeah, sure that was fun last time.”
Karen didn’t like the sound of that. She had been ‘sandwiched’ before, often pinned upright between two ruffians. A few seconds passed before the two shadowy men appeared on either side of her from out of the gloom. One of them was already naked and erect, the other hurriedly stripped down to his union suit, the crotch buttons snatched apart until his erection jutted forward.
“Up! Get up girl, right now. Or by Jesus I’ll flay the skin from your back!” Snapped Reg, standing over her in his unmentionables.
Karen rose, still shivering. She could feel Cavendish’s seed trickling down her inner thigh. The one in front of her she recognised as one of the two who had pulled her out of the stream. He stood in front of her and grabbed a firm two-handed grasp of her tits.
“Nice pair of milkers on this young whore.” He said, grinning. “Real nice.”
Behind her, the horse handler, Reg lay down on his back and reached out for her.
“Get your ass down here whore. Squat over me… actually no, hold on. Get your mouth on my iron and give me a good sucking. You’ll want it real wet for where it’s going.”
Karen wished for a dime for every time she’d heard that said to her. From her poor dearly departed Luke who had passionately taken her anal virginity, through probably half of every man who’d offered coins to lay with her, all the way to DB himself. And now this guy who was nothing more than the next on the list.
“Face up or face down?” She asked nonchalantly.
“Ohhh, this one’s no stranger, she must have done this more than once before… dirty harlot.” Reg commented, an amused sing-song voice. “Face up, you good for nothing. But only after you get me good and wet with those bee-stung lips.”
Karen exhaled a little forced sigh, her only protest against the cussed affronts. Like the actual raping, she had experienced worse in the past. She turned and crouched over the man’s hips. And was met by the short twin barrels of a gleaming nickel-plated Derringer.
“Just in case you think about biting, you’ll get both barrels for your trouble.”
“I’ve got that, brother.” Silas chuckled.
There came the scrape of metal on leather. Karen glanced to the side and caught sight of a shadow against the cave wall of the man behind her with a revolver in his fist, his finger on the trigger, though it was un-cocked. Next, she felt the cold metal of the muzzle insinuated between the lips of her vulva and sliding into her pussy. The blade foresight scratched at her inner walls. Whatever the gun was, she was glad it wasn’t a Cattleman; at least there wasn’t the added jut of an extractor tab beneath the barrel to make it even more uncomfortable.
She said nothing, merely ignored the momentary penetration and the hand that stroked and squeezed her buttocks. She licked her lips and then slid her mouth down Reg’s vile tasting, unwashed meat. After only a couple of up and down strokes of her puckered lips, she felt hands grabbing her around the waist and haul her upright, legs straightened and kicked to spread outside of Reg’s. Of course, Reg grabbed a tight hold of her head to keep her mouth down over his crotch, working on him, even shoving at the back of her head to force her deeper onto his shaft. At the same time Silas pulled her righted lower half straight, pistol still lodged a couple of inches inside her, his free hand back onto the cheek of her ass.
Karen sucked hard and deep, popping the swollen crown in and out of her tight throat, though she did let out a little sigh of relief as she felt Silas withdraw the barrel from her pussy and quickly replaced it with his cock. He thrust into her cum-slick pussy and gave her a few leisurely thrusts.
“Oh, nice and warm. Pretty tight too. I’m surprised, I must say.” He grunted, pumping back and forth at an easy pace.
Silas watched the urgent up and down bobbing of her head, then chuckling, slammed hard with his hips pushing her forcefully forward. Reg’s guiding fistful of her blonde tresses forced her down balls deep. Taken out of her own timing, Karen gagged and spluttered as saliva burst from the seal of her lips. However, Reg refused to let her up until he felt her throat muscles struggling and straining and her gagging grew louder and more desperate tightening the exquisite play of her throat muscles surrounding his erection. She had slapped at his thigh four times in lung-burning desperation before he finally let her up.
“Right Silas, you’ll have to let her go a while. I’m about ready for the whore.”
“Fine. I can stay hard for goddamn hours, my friend.”
Together they rearranged Karen until she was squatted over Reg with her back to him, almost in a crab walk, hands and feet on the earth beneath her, lowering her pert, rounded buttocks down toward his saliva darkened crotch.
“Ready for it going up your ass, whore? I bet you’ve taken more cock up your ass than you’ve shat turds!”
She didn’t reply. His hands closed tight on her buttocks, fingers digging in hard as she descended onto his lap. As her anal entrance settled against the warm blunt head of his shaft, he switched to stroking, squeezing and spanking. Then firmly, one hand holding his cock steady, he pulled her down onto his length.
Karen’s groan, as Reg slid balls deep into her anus, was drowned out by his loud moan of pleasure, but then he had to hold still while Silas shifted in over her. He squatted down, putting his knees onto the packed earth between Reg’s legs and Karen’s wide spread thighs. He leaned forward, one hand on the root of his hard on, the other urgently grasping one of Karen’s large breasts. He was digging in his fingers in to the full orb, as though to hold her steady while he pushed his shaft into her still cum lubricated pussy.
Of course, he slid in easily, sliding forward until his flabby groin was pressing against the crux of her taut inner thighs, his shaft buried to the hilt. The tightness and heat from her body as well as the second cock shoved up her anus was exquisite. The two men, experimentally and then with more confidence, started to thrust forward and back. They quickly asserted an urgent back-and-forth rhythm. They had obviously done this before, and more than once or twice, Karen judged, gritting her teeth and breathing through the burning discomfort.
Silas’ face twisted into what could have been passion or rage, stared dangerously into her eyes as he hammered in and out of her. One hand was at her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, using her body to support his weight, while his hips rammed furiously back and forth. His other hand shifted about abusing her flesh at random, squeezing her breasts, pinching and pulling her nipples, cruelly slapping the twin full, bouncing teardrops, making them shake and dance. He gave her a few slaps across her face, thrust fingers into her mouth, playing with her tongue. He even grabbed her slender throat, squeezing, holding her about the neck while he tried to jerk her ripe young body down to meet his agitated thrusts.
None of this was anything new to Karen of course. Men had done it all to her before and a lot worse. Though she had to admit that, over these recently weeks with DB, he had always been more gentlemanly with her when he took her or bade her to use her mouth or her breasts on him. Perhaps even more gentle than her husband had been, certainly more patient. Though that was a hard truth to admit. And she had been getting used to the uncommonly gentle attentions of the older gentleman who was currently using her.
To refer to him as her lover didn’t seem accurate somehow and she couldn’t bring herself to think of him in those terms. However, it had caused her to get a little too used to his gentler attentions, and this current experience had very much dragged her back into the harsh and painfilled past she was just starting to convince herself she might have put behind her and it grated on her fortitude, battered her recently repaired self-respect. Part of her was starting to think she should never have allowed herself to go soft, that she should have maintained those defences that served her so well in Annesburg and south of the border. She had almost forgotten how brutally hard and how much bitter suffering this kind of rough and uncaring male attention could induce in her.
Of course, she was denying DB’s using her to obtain the services of the gunslingers he was interviewing. So far, they hadn’t and in the future weren’t likely to show her the same gentleness and patience as DB and it was him putting her in that position.
Speaking of the devil, With Karen lying face up, braced on locked arms and bent and spread legs, with one man under her and the other above her, she was in a good enough position to spot the silent silhouette of DB appear in the cave entrance a little to her right.
The glint of light from the cave entrance caught on the top strap of his drawn revolver, and she saw him signal her with it. She wasn’t certain but made a decision to follow along with her instincts. She suddenly reached up with one hand, pressed her palm onto Silas’ chest and pushed hard, trying to elevate him.
Of course, he pushed back, even bringing one hand back to slap her hand from his chest. He spat, cursed her and, pushing down against her locked arm and hand, laid a vicious open-handed slap across her face, splitting her lip and whipping her head around on her slender neck.
However, even as Karen wailed at the sudden flair of sharp pain in the back of her neck and her cheek and lip, there was a boom, and Silas’ face exploded right in front of her. The features literally folded outward as one of DB’s heavy grain .45 slugs passed through the back of his skull and exited through the bridge of his nose, turning his face into a fist sized hole. Brow, eyes, nose and upper lip all disappeared in a cloud of red mist. His lower jaw dropped free, hanging loose, only held in position by the ligaments and skin of her lower face. A gout of hot blood burst from his lolling tongue to rain like a short-lived waterfall down Karen’s naked body. The body fell onto her even as she was trying to roll to one side, away from the rain of crimson.
She didn’t see what happened next. She was being shoved and punched and kneed by Reg as he struggled to drag himself out of the middle of the sandwich of bodies and earth that temporarily pinned him. Karen felt the shadow of DB pass over her rather than witnessed his approach but there was another deafening boom that made her ears ring, the sound bouncing off every interior surface of the cave. Through momentarily deafened, she felt the crumple of another body behind her, right through the packed earth she was half pressed onto.
Before she knew it Reg was out from under her, and she was hauled to her feet. However, it was by Reg, not DB. She was dragged upward and the naked flesh of her rapist and abductor was pressing up against her shapely back. She felt cold steel pressed under her chin while his hand encircled her waist holding her tight against him. The hand didn’t remain there for more than a second, almost immediately sliding upwards until he was cupping one of her blood-streaked breasts.
“I’m afraid it’s just down to you and me now, friend.”
“Well, I got the young harlot, so you’re gonna throw down that iron or I’m gonna blast her pretty skull all over this cave.”
“Or you could put the piece down, release the girl and simply walk out of here. No interference from me, my word of honour.”
“Do you think me daft?! Your honour’s worth shit! You’d just gun me down if I let your whore go.” Reg spat. “Naw, I’m leaving with her. She’s full of goodies. And I’m taking her off yer hands. I’ll take her and use her up but good, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
Karen didn’t hesitate, even as she reached up for the double-action in her kidnapper’s grip, she was turning her head towards his and opening her mouth. She bit down hard, grinding her jaws back and forth and tugging backward hard at the same time. Her teeth sawed into the flesh and gristle of his ear and the plump edge of his cheek beside it. At the same time, she snatched the revolver away from herself as Reg screamed and jerked himself back, the sudden violent reaction tore away the rim and lobe of his ear. His reaction to remove himself from the Karen-inflicted attack pushed him straight into DB’s waiting sight line and the ex-Cavalryman fired one heavy slug straight into his midsection.
Karen still had hold of the barrel of his revolver but as the bandit fell back, his hand slackened his grip gifting the pistol to Karen’s grip.
“I have your clothes and horse just outside, my dear. I’ll be waiting.”
Not in any rush. Karen waited for DB’s departure and then passed from man to man, first putting a vengeful bullet into their faces, except for Silas who no longer had one. Afterwards, she searched their pockets, pulling together a small bag of valuables, mostly cash, jewellery and pocket watches. Their saddlebags provided substantially more treasure, including a welcome bottle of fortifying Ginseng Elixir and a half-full bottle of aged Pirate Rum. Gulping down one and then the other back-to-back warmed her and calmed her jittering body, though in the seconds that followed she became numbed and woozy.
She emerged naked from the cave, pistol in one hand, handkerchief of treasure in the other. She stood over the dead body of the fourth man and casually put a .45 slug through the face of the throat slashed Cavendish, who had been left half hidden in the undergrowth just outside the cave. She reached for her clothes and boots which DB hand slung over her horse’s saddle. While she silently dressed, which took a while due to the light-headedness and numbness from the otherwise pleasant and welcome tonic/booze concoction. After checking Cavendish’s blood splashed corpse for additional treasure, she slipped her assembled findings into her own saddlebag.
They were finally back on the road after fifteen minutes from Karen’s last vengeful bullet. She had tossed the double-action onto the body finding it heavy triggered and badly balanced.
Nothing much was said, in fact they rode at a leisurely place until nightfall where they camped out in a tent under a light drizzle. Karen cooked a couple of rabbits over the fire, adding a little wild mint she had found as well as mixing in a few leaves of scavenged wild tobacco - just to try out, which she promptly decided to never try again. Cigarettes were one thing, untreated raw leaves as seasoning, was quite another. Afterwards they had slipped into the tent, lying side by side in their bedrolls. DB hadn’t touched her, other than offering a silent kiss on her forehead, which had almost surprised Karen.
Once DB was snoring away, Karen had slipped quietly out of her bedroll and gathered all of her accumulated treasure from her saddlebags. She had set up the tools to clean her revolver, using the practice as a cover should DB awake suddenly and ask what she was up to. Instead, she sorted and separated her treasures, cash from jewellery and watches, coins from notes. In total cash she had almost five-hundred dollars now. Perhaps a hundred of that amount was in the form of gold nuggets, maybe more. Most stores accepted gold still so it practically amounted to cash, but finding a fence was always her best bet. The jewels, rings, buckles and watches she would certainly have to find herself a fence. She might have as much as seven or eight hundred dollars now. Maybe more if she could find a fence and ‘convince’ him to give her a good rate. Plus, if this trip so far was anything to go by, there would be plenty more chances to get her hands on additional riches.
<><><>
The Blackwater Saloon was no lowdown tavern or cantina. Situated on the corner of Main Street and Van Horn Street, the establishment was plush and beautiful. It wouldn’t have felt out of place in Saint Denis. Spacious and well decorated, it was filled with a rich diversity of clientele, perhaps not as rich or diverse as Saint Denis’ saloons but without doubt a far cry from the drinking holes of Valentine, Van Horn or, God forbid, Annesburg. Being the only saloon in the town it was the central location for gatherings, second only to the church.
Karen felt out of place there. She had presented herself to her best ability, carefully fashioned ringlet curls of her blonde hair dancing jovially around a small canoe shaped cap jauntily arranged atop the crown of her head. Her dress, in emerald with white lace details, was an opulent flourish. It featured a daringly low décolletage that brought many an admiring look and more than a little male attention. However, at least half of the occupants were unable to string more than two words together, while the other half would have felt at home in the French styled salons of Paris, never mind Saint Denis. Though, so far at least, she had blended in and been welcomed along with her employer.
She had taken a table on the ground floor in the bay window, under DB’s instruction to cast her in the brightest eye-catching sunlight, while her employer had strolled up to the bar to order drinks and luncheon for them both.
James Calloway was standing right there at the bar. Bold as brass. The tall and lean looking gentleman wore a tailored pastel blue and white suit with frock coat. The mirror behind the bar revealed the rest of his attire, a lavish blue and gold vest, stylish white flop hat and extravagant moustaches. The holster-rig belted to his left hip, was pristine tan leather with black dyed features giving an air of style over and above the simple form of the belt and holster. Polished silver rivets flanked the cartridge loops and reinforced the stitched edging of the holster. Inside, Karen recognised the extended rear panel and relatively straight shaped black grips of a Hutton and Baird Schofield .45 revolver.
Apparently feeling eyes on him Calloway turned and eyed Karen across the room, the poker table lay between them but the game had recently finished and only one man remained seated there playing patience. Calloway cast a glance at Karen’s face, then a long blatant stare at her large breasts and then a second glance at her face accompanied by a polite smile and touch to the brim of his hat. Karen was there to sweeten DB’s offer should her body be required so she made sure to return the smile, along with a flirtatious display of coquettish pleasure and embarrassment.
Once Calloway had turned his eyes back to the bar, DB politely turned to the gunslinger who stood alongside him. He offered to buy the older man a drink. His offer brought about nothing but suspicion to begin with, until DB introduced himself and then Calloway’s eyes seemed to light up, his moustache twitched into a smile and the two men shook hands. The offer to purchase of a drink was accepted and so was the offer to join DB at his table. Especially when the table in question was revealed to be the one Karen was sitting at.
“My dear Miss Jones. May I present the James Calloway?” DB announced as they arrived at the table. “Esteemed gentleman and world-renowned pistoleer.”
“What a delightful young morsel of a lady! An honour to make your acquaintance, my dear Miss Jones.”
“A real pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Calloway. A real pleasure. I’ve heard many a great tale about you sir. Many great things.” Karen gushed.
She smiled her sweetest most girlish smile, batting her lashes at him and leaning forward so that her huge looking breasts almost popped straight out of her dress. Calloway’s eyes almost popped out of his head and he stared at Karen’s chest.
“It turns out that Mister Calloway has actually heard of little old me. I feel quite beside myself with embarrassment.” DB said, applying his own little performance.
There was group of men on the far end of the front of the saloon gathered around a couple of tables, at times rowdy, at times quiet. Many of them were looking toward DB, Calloway and Karen. There were low comments. They were all drunk but their occupations could have been a mixture of labourers, cattlemen and farm and ranch hands. It was impossible to determine. Their expressions however, appeared dark, disapproving and disgruntled. Karen didn’t know why. They had switched around once the drink and food had been brought over. Karen now sitting on the opposite side of the table, while the two men had taken up the opposite side of the table so that both had their backs to the wall and were facing the two entrances to the Blackwater Saloon as, Karen had learned, was only natural for men of their occupation or reptations.
Keeping one eye on the rabble across from them, Karen turned her ear to the conversation between the two gunslinging gentlemen. Surprisingly, Calloway seemed to have forgotten about Karen, he was leaning in close to DB as the two men chatted excitedly, smiles never far from their lips, sharing their passion for all things firearm and battle, and they both appeared to be enjoying their conversation very much.
A barmaid came down to the lower floor from a flight of stairs at the near side of the bar. Karen caught her eye, being the only other woman in the place. Karen looked her over just as everyone else, other than DB and Calloway were doing. She was in early middle age, perhaps twice Karen’s age. Surprisingly tall and willowy russet brown hair, worked up into a loosely piled bun with ringlets that caressed the back of her neck and danced, like soft maple springs, in time to her rapid stride. She had a high forehead, cold grey eyes the size of a doe’s, her nose was long and hooked, her least attractive feature but her startling eyes and full rouged lips tore the attention away from it. The neckline of her emerald and cream dress was low, and the uplift of the bodice made the most of her breasts, but they were not particularly large.
Karen watched her as she was called over to the rabble in the corner. There were the usual alcohol authorised approaches, the lewd comments and gestures, the slaps on her skirts-protected behind, the perverse gestures with barrels of revolvers. She ignored some, entertained some, reacted indifferently and showed her revulsion to others. The casual groping she ignored, unless it hurt or became too explicit then she slapped it away. It was par for the course, especially for a woman in a saloon, tavern or cantina.
Karen knew it as well as anyone. She could probably even attest to having it worse than most on at least two occasions. Down south of the border after she’d left her husband’s ranch behind, she had been gang raped in the back room of a taverna, by seven men, so she had been told afterwards, though some had used her more than once. She had even ended up going to jail for it, ostensibly for activities unbecoming an occupant of a catholic town. Or something like that. Though she believed she had been locked up in order to stop a repeat performance. And, she suspected, to give her a better chance to recover from the aftermath. She had been almost blind drunk for the first half hour and unconscious for the hour that followed but the physical damage had been profound. The doctor and kindly old man full of sympathy and redundant rage had been surprised at her body’s recovery and her own resilience.
The second occasion had been in Annesburg. Again, a gang rape at the inn there. Though she had been the only one to call it that. Her gambler partner had cruelly gambled her body and lost. The winner had offered to share her with everyone in the place. And four of them had taken him up on the offer. Including the barkeep. It hadn’t been halfway as bad as the previous occasion, but it hadn’t been anything close to pleasant. And it had taken her over a week to recover. Not that her partner had given her a week.
Four of the men, having harried the barmaid enough, now followed her over to the green-felt covered poker table, which was the closest table to Karen’s, and settled down there. Waiting impatiently for more drinks, the brightly coloured wooden chips and for which they had each paid $5, and the requisite deck of cards.
A couple of their friends came closer to observe the game as did Karen, shifting her chair around for a better angle. DB and Calloway didn’t even register the change in the situation other than to cast a couple of miffed glances their way as the increased rowdiness and noise was disturbing their animated and good-natured conversation.
The game had hardly started when the main double doors were slammed open from outside and a whole swarm of filthy, dusty and rambunctious young cowboys bustled into the bar, filling the space and unconcernedly elbowing people who got in their way. Since the early days of life and work in the country, this had been a normal sight. Half drunk, overly-excited and recently paid young men and boys happy to be done with the arduous task of escorting their beef across country now overly ready to spend as much of their hard-earned pay as they could on booze, gambling and whores, if they could find them. Those very needs had brought more than a few towns into existence out west. The promise of cowboy’s pay and the services which could be offered that would most effectively separate the boys from their coin. When the cowboys came to town, the gambling houses rubbed their grubby hands together, the taverns and cantinas raised their prices and watered down their liquor, and the whores rubbed animal fat into their loins and, more often than not, got themselves hopped up on opium in preparation.
The sudden increase in rambunctious noise was immediately deafening, and the gang of overly excited youths was more than a little intimidating. However, for DB and Calloway it was interrupting their fun and apparently engrossing conversation. DB somehow managed to fight his way to the bar, grab the barman’s attention. Though alongside him the barmaid was being accosted by a half dozen cowboys, a couple of them trying to order drinks while the others openly groped and molested her, ‘playfully’ flipping up her skirts to get a look at her legs and her knee length bloomers, and pulling at the neckline of her blouse to get a better look at her tits. So far, fortunately Karen had gone unnoticed.
There were arguments and name calling relating to DB insinuating himself to be first to get the barman’s attention rather than waiting his turn but bills exchanged hands and a large brass key was shoved across the counter. BD returned to the table.
“Mister Calloway…”
“Oh, DB call me ‘James’ or ‘Jim Boy’ I guess. Whichever you prefer.”
“James then. James, I have secured a small private room atop this very flight of stairs. Would you care to join me to continue our fine and interesting reminiscing and conversation?”
“That my fine fellow, would be just dandy. We must be away at once from this dreadful inferno, it splits the ears so!”
“I don’t think your expertise will be required on this occasion, Karen.” DB said. “Perhaps returning to your rooms would be prudent?”
“I think you’re probably right. I’ll just finish off my drink first. Then take the rest of the bottle back with me.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss.” Calloway added, tipping his hat.
“And you, sir.” Karen said with one of her beaming smiles.
The two middle aged men strolled away side by side and arm in arm, helping each other up as they ascended the stairs. Their sudden and flamboyant departure did not go unnoticed by a number of the remaining patrons. Though only half of those of adequate observational skill seemed to think anything of it. Of those, there were numerous scowls and dark looks plus comments of the kind mentioning the kind of sexual propensities found in places such as Sodom and Gomorrah. Spitting out ideas and practices that were “Sinful”, “against God”, “debauched”, “not welcome in civilised society” and “deserving of a touch of Christian justice”.
Though in Karen’s experience a lot more alcohol consumption would be required before any such Christian retribution would be taking place.
Taking another shot of her amber coloured heaven, Karen found herself smiling. Before there was enough alcohol consumption taken to award any of these idiots the gumption to go and punish the ‘fornicators’, they will have long since forgotten all about it.
She leaned back, now half concealed in shadow and she casually drank and watched as the initial furore calmed and the men separated into smaller pockets of rowdy animation. A poker game was instigated and quickly garnered two more players and several interested observers. The few cowboys who did notice her were surprisingly respectful and though they gawped, getting an eyeful of her on-display assets, she was not subjected to the same treatment and attention of the barmaid. Perhaps her upper-class appearance tempered the men’s propriety. Though the other two chairs around her table were claimed by others early on and added to the circumference of the poker table, and Karen was of the opinion that this might well have helped her to avoid unwanted attention and advances. It was much harder to get close enough to a woman to engage in lewd conversation or make attempts to seduce if you have to stand over her at the far side of a table, safely out of arms reach.
Feeling safer than she would have expected, Karen poured herself another glass of bourbon. She sat and drank and watched the comings and goings with detached amusement. And slowly she started to see interesting opportunities. Potential plans began to formulate in her head, and she found herself increasingly excited and motivated to put those mindful plans into motion.
Things settled down after a while. The cowboys and other patrons more or less intermingling with little conflict, spreading out, drinking and chatting. And the poker game flowed well, more and more money and valuables hitting the table.
Karen was even noticed and yet not particularly pestered. She received appreciative looks, a few polite smiles, and also no small amount of less than polite stares. However, she was not harassed or tossed ribald remarks or comments and it got to the point when she felt able to get up and wander around the saloon a little without feeling in danger. Attention, hungry looks, staring nonstop, but nothing too obscene or forceful where she would feel the need to defend herself. However, one hand remained constantly close to her revolver’s grips.
Karen took a long hungry look at the valuables on the table. There were a couple of gold and silverplated pocket watches. Some jewellery. Cash obviously. A mother of pearl handled sheath knife. And a very pretty snub-barrelled and nickel-plated Bulldog six shooter, that matched the knife. A nice distraction, like some mass brawl, and she could easily sweep a couple of handfuls of that stuff into her skirt pockets. And nobody would be the wiser.
However, as she wandered around watching and listening in to all the different conversations, she heard a little core group who were apparently thinking of sparking up some trouble. It seemed like, perhaps, enough alcohol consumption had now taken place for trouble to start, and none of their number appeared to have forgotten about the two men having slipped quietly upstairs into a private room.
“Where those two old fellas gone, anyhow? They been alone upstairs for quite a while, and leaving a lovely filly like that down here on your own. Don’t seem right somehow.”
“Somethin’s going on. Somethin’ ain’t right, I tells yer!”
“You thinking tails-lifters?”
“Fruits? Hey, you may be right!”
“That’s disgusting. It’s a goddamn sin!”
“If that’s what they’re up to, they ought to be strung up, damn it!”
“It ain’t like that, they ain’t what you’re suggesting!” She put in. “You’d all best leave ‘em alone if you know what’s good for you!”
Karen was not afraid for either DB or Calloway. She was seeing this as the exact opportunity she could take advantage of in order to snatch a few items of worth from the poker table.
“Screw that! What else would they be doin’ up there all this time?”
“I say we deal with it! I say we show ‘em what happens to their kind in our town! I say we drag ‘em outside and string ‘em up!”
“We should make ‘em see what they’re missing. Make ‘em fuck this young piece. Drag her up there an’ make her put them back on the straight an’ narrow.”
“Fuck that. We string ‘em both up and then she can come over and sit at our table!”
“Yeah, best a both worlds!”
“What d’you say boys?!”
Karen didn’t know how to reply to that. It had got out of hand too quickly. They were more than likely just mouthing off, but at least couple of them were itching to get up off their seats. Karen slid her hands around the grips of her Cattleman in readiness, her thumb on the hammer, ready to draw and cock.
The bartender appeared from behind the bar with a double barrel, waving it around at no one in particular and shouting over the din of the too many rowdy patrons.
“Alright, that’s enough.” He shouted. “Any more talk like that and I close the bar. Anyone actually try anything, with any of my other customers, I fetch the Goddamn Sheriff! Y’all hearing me, fellas!”

Someone whipped out a hand, grabbed the coach gun’s twin barrels and swung the piece up toward the ceiling. The barman let out a shocked yell and the shotgun suddenly went off with a deafening boom. Then all hell broke loose.
Karen immediately took advantage, surreptitiously keeping her head down while the whole place broke out into a rather nasty drunken brawl. Men slammed into men, fists flew, kicks aimed at groins, sometimes finding their mark yet often missing their opponent entirely; there was far too much consumed alcohol to allow most of them to hit whatever they were aiming at. People started to pick up chairs and barstools. But fortunately, at least for the time being, pistols and knives remained undrawn in their leather.
As was correct decorum in this situation Karen ducked down under the table for shelter. The bar tender managed to haul himself and his shotgun back behind the bar. Of course, it wasn’t long before someone had thrown a bottle or tankard and smashed the big mirror behind the bar. There was as much, if not more, shouting and throwing of curses and grappling than there were thrown punches.
Still, Karen was close to the poker table and couldn’t resist shuffling across to conceal herself beneath it. She was fortunate not to get noticed or dragged into the fisticuffs. While everyone was distracted, she hurriedly scooped as many of the treasures on the table as she could, then darted back down beneath it pocketing everything she had grabbed and waited for an opportunity to hurry toward the door.
From under the table, she had observed the bartender managing to use his shotgun as either a threat or a club, effectively enough to get to the doors and safely out of his premises. He would no doubt already running up the street for the law. Karen hurried over to the safety of the underside of another table, and another, keeping close to the wall and in the shadows, closing the distance between herself and an exit. She was probably safe even if she did get spotted. At the moment, these young men were more enamoured with drunken violence rather her. However, it might not take all that much pushing to draw them into another kind of lust.
“We should get out of here while we can, Jed.”
“You know what my friend? Foreman Robards is gonna be busy for a while here, sorting these assholes out, maybe bailing some of our guys out of the jail and the like…”
Karen had crouched walked from under-table to under-table while the fighting continued around her, very much too close for comfort, though she had told herself she was more than likely safe, she still had her Cattleman in her fist. She found herself in the opposite corner from the bar, under the edge of a table not two feet from the wide spread thighs of two dusty cowboys. For reasons of their own neither man had decided to indulge in the brawl, instead relaxing back in their chairs as a casual audience. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they had started to make bets on the myriad outcomes. Keeping her head down, she listened with rising interest to their casual back and forth.
“You still thinking about that broken down stage, Jed?”
“Indeed I am, Ellison. Those two women. They looked ripe for a plunking, and plenty rich in them dresses. Might be fun to be had. And that old fat driver, he’ll still be trying to fix that wheel come sunset…”
“So, you wanna get ourselves a bit of private entertainment?”
“I wanna go out there and do me a little robbery and maybe a bit of the other, to boot. You with me, friend?”
“I surely am! Let’s slip out this here side door, while everyone’s distracted.”
They did so. Karen drew herself deeper under their table, after they’d scraped their chairs out and half-heartedly shoved them back under the table, and watched them leave. She counted out a minute and then followed them onto the bright sunshine of Blackwater’s main thoroughfare. Luckily her horse was still tied to the hitching post where she had left it and she could see the two cowboys trotting leisurely away side by side at the far end of the street, heading south.
Unconcernedly hoisting up her skirts above her knees, Karen pulled herself quickly into the saddle but instead of following the two cowboys, she turned her horse and manoeuvred down an alleyway to her left. Checking there was no one around, she started to haul her latest treasures out of the skirt’s pockets and transferred them back to her saddle bags. She also re-holstered her Cattleman against her thigh and looped the little leather thong over the hammer to secure it. Only then did she wheel her steed back onto the street and headed south.
The two cowboys were no longer in sight but there were few trails heading south from Blackwater and all the southerly trails turned west before long or you would be riding straight into Flat Iron Lake, so she wasn’t worried about losing them.
She roused her mare into an easy gallop and cut across the rolling hills, passing the few farms and lone homesteads beyond the outskirts. And sure enough, from the top of one grassy rise she spied her quarry. They were easy to spot. The younger man wearing a flat-cap, and a tan leather vest over maroon Long-johns, faded to pink; while the older man wore a white and blue striped shirt under a black vest, and a distinctive Bulldogger hat with red feathers in the band.
She kept her distance and remained on the hilltops while the cowboys kept to the trail. They were at full gallop and Karen confidently allowed them to get lead on her. Even so, through her little binoculars, little more than opera glasses really, she was able to keep them in sight even if the glasses were required to confirm she was following the right two people.
As she rode, Karen made her plans. She had little to go on. A broken-down stagecoach, rich lady passengers and an old, overweight driver. Would there be a shotgun rider too? Were the rich ladies being escorted? She didn’t think she would be able to gun down the two cowboys in a straight shootout. She would have to wait until they were distracted and get in pretty close too. The two men had implied that they might take pleasure from the women passengers as well as robbing them, so as far as Karen could picture the situation, the cruellest way was the obvious one.
It took close to an hour, but she eventually spotted the carriage from the top of one of the rises, though she remained on the far side of the rise and put the leafy canopy of a small tree between herself and the site of the broken stagecoach.
The stage was in a bad way. There were two wheels off it and one of the horses appeared lame. The driver, she assumed because of his prominent girth and the shock of white hair, was standing at the rear of the carriage looking at the wheel-less axle and scratching his head while another man, either the shotgun rider or one of the passengers, was bent over the lifted hoof of the lame horse, using a knife to scrape away at the shoe. As though that would help a lame animal.
There were two women, in rich looking silk and taffeta that glowed like ruby and sapphire under the high golden sun. They both looked young and svelte and both had dark hair. They were perched side by side on a bleached rock obviously waiting to be underway.
Both women abruptly turned their heads toward the northern trail as the two cowboys appeared over the rolling horizon, emerging from a shallow valley not two score yards from the stage. The two cowboys steered their horses off the trail arrow straight to the stage, pulling up under a tree at the side of the deserted trail, dismounting and half-heartedly knotting their reins around a low fork. They didn’t hesitate long to show their cards.
Karen dismounted and crawled up to the grassy top of the rise, lying down to watch the attack unobserved through her opera glasses. The only sounds she heard were delayed cracks of their revolver shots. Perhaps a high scream on the light breeze, though it could just as easily have been a bird cry.
The man in the feathered Bulldogger had first wandered casually over to the man working on the horse’s hoof. Karen decided to call him Jed. She had heard both their names from under their table but didn’t know who was who. She assigned names. It wouldn’t matter, either they or she would be dead in the next half hour or so. While Jed set about befriending one man, his compadre, Ellison, tipped his own flat-cap toward the two ladies, then stood at the side of the driver and two separate conversations started up.
Karen watched carefully. Jed surreptitiously slipped a large bowie knife from his belt sheath while the man chattered away animatedly, gesticulating as he assumedly described their brake down adventure to the cowboy. Meanwhile Ellison maintained a low conversation with the driver, all the while keeping one hand on the grip of his Volcanic pistol throughout.
Jed made his move first, grabbing his man and drawing the blade of his knife quickly across his throat then sawing back and forth a few times to make sure. The man’s grey suit and white shirt turned maroon and black with the sickening waterfall of his blood.
A second later, no doubt the man’s dying gurgles alerting the others, Ellison drew his Volcanic and fired twice into the gut of the fat driver, who didn’t even manage to get a hand to his own holstered pistol. The women barely even moved but the two cowboys both strode quickly across the grass to cover them with their guns. The women’s hands both shot up into the air quick as lightning.
Jed kept his eyes and his double-action on the women while Ellison looked up and down the road that, other than a couple of shallow dips, was completely visible for miles in both directions. It was also completely devoid of traffic.
Jed spoke to Ellison who nodded, holstered his pistol and then started to rummage through the pockets and persons of the fresh corpses. He was quick with the driver but very hesitant when it came to the man with the slashed throat. He even hauled on the leather riding gloves from off the driver’s dead hands to avoid getting blood over his own. He folded whatever treasures he had discovered into a handkerchief he had taken from the jacket of the driver and turned it into a little bag. Then he joined Jed in front of the women and after some threatening gestures and even a slap across the face of the woman in green, more treasures were handed over and bagged up.
Ellison took the knotted handkerchief to his horse and slid it into his saddle bags, continually keeping a close eye on the women. At the same time, Jed had climbed into the off-kilter stagecoach and started to ransack the baggage and then interior for more sellable goods.
Ellison returned from his horse and purposefully took a seat on the rock, pushing himself in between the two women. Even from such a distance, when the four people appeared no larger in height than the length of her middle finger through the field glasses, she could see the lascivious aspect of Ellison’s grin as he took his seat and looked from one youthful female face to the other.

Karen decided this could provide the opportunity she would need to move closer without being seen. They would be distracted and at best have one eye on the trail, but not from the hillside north of them. She crawled back from her vantage point and leaped up into the saddle. And then set her horse over the crest of the hill as a leisurely stroll. She felt too much speed down the hill might create noise and the speed of her closure might attract attention too early, so she took her time.
Ellison busied himself, voraciously French kissing the woman in the red dress, while the woman in green sat on the other side of him, encircled by a controlling, possessive arm. She was pulled half across him, held there, one hand rubbing firmly at his bulging crotch.
The other cowboy, Jed, was continuing to search through the baggage and inside the broken carriage for valuables.
Without taking his lips or tongue away from the weeping girl in the red dress, Ellison had reached down with one hand and worked furiously at the buttons of his trousers, he felt around inside and then pulled out the stout shaft of his erect dick. While it stood there hard and pulsing under the sun, he reached out blindly and found the dormant hand of the woman in green, he took her hand back to his erection and started her rubbing it again. Though this time and much to her horror and disgust, she was made to encircle the shaft in her small fist and jerk the foreskin up and down.
She kept it up even as he reached behind him to his waistband and drew out a horn handled hunting knife from its sheath. Still getting firmly jerked off, he used his knife to slit open the bodice of the kissing woman, apparently interested in the pair of teats she was concealing within. It was just about the time Karen’s steed had levelled off, coming from the slope of the hill to the flat at its foot. The woman in red had her bodice lacings severed, the garment loosened and the cowboy’s hand shoved inside after her young tits.
Jed had finished his search and had his Bulldogger hat off his head and upturned in a hand, with a number of additional treasures gleaming inside it. His eyes glittered just like his finds as he placed his attention to the two women.
The female bodies were distracting both the young men considerably and neither of them noticed Karen slowly dismount. Jed had dumped his feathered hat on the ground by the rock and gone over to the women. Without a word and little more than a glance at Ellison, he grabbed the green dressed woman by the upper arm. She was already busy with the other cowboy. Her head, gripped by Ellison’s free hand, was pushed down into his crotch. Karen could see that her lips were already wrapped around his cock, saliva trickling down the swollen shaft. Her eyes were squeezed shut as Ellison forced her head up and down his shaft. Jed abruptly dragged the woman up from Ellison’s lap.
Though he glanced over at his friend, he didn’t show any concern about his blowjob getting interrupted, letting the woman’s sucking lips slide up off his length without complaint.
In fact, he looked across and grinned as his companion, without a moment’s hesitation, dragged the green dressed girl down onto the ground on her back beside the rock and then fell excitedly on top of her. In the green girl’s stead, her red dressed companion suddenly found herself elected as Ellison’s replacement cock sucker. He grabbed the back of her head, pulled her off his slick lips and then firmly guided her into his lap and down the length of his drool slick erection. Her lips parted obediently and she found herself pressed, face first, along its throbbing, hard six inches.
As Karen started across the grass toward the two young men, Jed was fighting with the struggling woman in the green dress, who was squealing and sobbing and begging, while he none too gently slapped her thighs apart so he could lie down between them, all the while fumbling with his trousers to free his rampant rape tool. The woman slapped at him, tried to push him off her, wriggling frantically beneath him. He leaned up to drag her skirts up past her waist, shoved her hands out of the way and then slapped her hard across the face for her interference.
Karen had been on the receiving end of those kinds of slaps before, they jarred the jaw, thumped the brain about and left you seeing stars. It allowed Jed plenty of time to position his erection and drive it brutally up into the young brunette. Her momentary daze was shocked free by the sudden burning sharp pain of the unwanted penetration, another experience Karen was all too familiar with. And then he was rutting away on top of her like a rabid dog. While she screamed and sobbed and flopped about beneath him.
Ellison had both hands on the head of his woman. He was forcing her all the way down his length while she whimpered in breathless, wet complaint whenever she wasn’t gagging, though unlike her companion she didn’t appear to be quite as ready to put up a fight.
Keeping one eye on the dual rape, Karen made her way over to the temporarily abandoned treasure trove, kneeling and running an exploratory index finger through the mixture of jewellery, coins and notes. It looked like a pretty good haul.
“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
She casually rose to her feet, flashing them a hopefully disarming smile and turned to face the two men. One hand had been hidden inside her pocket all the while and the two men had unbuckled their pistol rigs and shoved their revolvers to one side in order to rape their two captives. They had both paused in their endeavours, though each remained fully embedded. Ellison held his poor victim down around the stem of his shaft, while one hand slid slowly across the flat rock to his right, his reach searching blindly for the grips of his holstered pistol. Jed didn’t seem able to stop his own rape. His body was frozen, head turned to look back over his shoulder, though his eyes were darting constantly. He had a hand around his victim’s throat, the other cocked sideways to rest on the surface of the rock alongside him, supporting his uplifted position. Though throughout, his hips continued to rock back and forth, obviously propelling his erection in and out of the woman in green and seemingly unable to relinquish his pursuit of sexual gratification.
Keeping her eyes tight on the two men, Karen knew Ellison would be the first to go for his gun. He was already doing just that, just slowly, an attempt at secrecy. Hoping to get the drop on the newcomer.
She didn’t give him the chance, abruptly pivoting her concealed right hand, she whipped the barrel to the horizontal, still inside her skirt pocket and fired from the hip. The powder-flash erupted, right through the fabric of her dress, sending the .45 bullet straight through Ellison’s midriff and out through his back, shockingly the entry hole was barely an inch above the woman’s head.
Of course, Karen’s dress caught fire, but she calmly patted the small flareup out with a fold of her skirts in her left hand as she drew the Cattleman from her hidden pocket and took a supressing shot at Jed.
The second cowboy had already pulled out of his woman and was scrabbling to get himself around the rear of the big rock. Unfortunately for him, the frantic escape took him away from his cast aside pistol belt. Cocking her Cattleman again, Karen calmly walked around to the rear of the rock. He was lying there, shaking, trying to shove his ruddy erection back into his trousers. His eyes were big and wild. He looked up at Karen, tried to stutter a plea.
She aimed for his sternum and squeezed the trigger. However, she accidentally jerked it a little and the bullet ended up tearing a hole straight through the lower half of his terrified face. The misplaced shot left behind a nightmare inducing mess, but at least he died instantly.
Keeping the revolver drawn and in her right hand though down at her side, she came back around the rock again, the woman in the red dress was a little blood splashed, her eyes huge and wet with tears. In fact, her whole face appeared wet, trails of mucus from her nose as well as saliva from between her full lips were like icing covering the lower half of her face.
The other woman sat up, whimpering and groaning but only quietly. She shoved down her skirts, reasserting her modesty but her hands remained at her crotch as though putting pressure over her pubic area might stem the no doubt throbbing pain she was feeling down there. Karen had long been accustomed to that dull throb. The woman’s hands were also shaking uncontrollably.
Keeping her eyes on the women, though also on the surrounding countryside, she collected the two pistol belts, glanced over their contents, there were a few cartridges in the loops, but it would take too much time and effort to collect each individually. Next, she looked over their pistols but realised she didn’t have enough of an eye to judge them in comparison to hers. Besides, she had grown to like her own Cattleman, even with the lewd design on the grips. It was in good condition and it fired true and seemed to be accurate. She tossed the guns out into the wilderness and dropped the belts at her feet then headed over to collect her treasure.
She left the hat where it was while she went over to the cowboy’s horses. She had heard that many riders trained their horses to kick out if people approached their saddlebags, so she climbed into the saddle of each and slit the leather thongs knotting the bags to their saddles then tossed them away from the horses. Neither horse attempted to interfere.
In the saddlebags was not only the handkerchief parcel from the dead coachman and shotgun rider but also an amount of cash, similar amounts in fact in both of the saddlebags. Perhaps the cowboys had just been paid for their duties. She transferred the cash to her own saddlebag along with a couple of boxes of revolver cartridges she also found there. The woman in the red dress was kneeling down beside the treasure hat. Karen stood up and turned to face the two women, the one in green was still seated on the rock, looking distastefully at the corpse of Ellison which was slumped over on the far side.
“You leave that where it is.” Karen shouted, thumb meaningfully snapping back her Cattleman’s hammer.
“But it’s ours, it belongs to us!” The woman in green complained.
“Not anymore. Consider it my payment for saving your lives.”
“But it’s all we have, now those two… men did what they did… who’ll marry us now?”
“If that’s the worst of your problems, consider yourselves lucky. You’ve got their horses at least.”
The woman backed away as Karen came over, collected the treasure-hat and then tipped it into her saddlebag. Then she tossed the hat, tied her saddlebag back onto her own saddle. And then jammed her foot into the stirrup. As Karen kicked up into the saddle, she turned her attention back to the two women. Both were now seated on the flat rock, side by side, both sobbing in each other’s arms.
“If the horses don’t make you much, I hear the saloons in Valentine and Armadillo are always taking on new girls, that’s one option at least.”
She neither heard nor cared to hear the responses from the two women, and she hollered at her steed and offered her heels to its ribs, the horse gave a loud whinny as it took off at a gallop. Karen directed the animal north back up the shallow hillside and then east, back toward Blackwater.

<><><>
The hotel and saloon where she had left DB with Calloway was closed. A lone man, not the bar tender, was standing outside brushing the sidewalk with a broom, clearing up a ton of broken glass. Karen noted that one of the main panes had been smashed.
“Quite the ruckus, young miss. Happens every once in a while. Them God forsaken cowboys, you know.”
“I was here earlier with a friend.”
“There’s no one inside now, miss. And we’re gonna be shut for a day or two at least.”
“You think of anywhere else my friend might have gone?”
“Another saloon or hotel, you mean?”
He asked, leaning on his broom handle, supposedly in thought. Though his eyes were very much taking in the shapely allure of Karen.
“Wait a minute, your friend wouldn’t have been Mr Gould, would he? He took a room upstairs with another gentleman for peace and quiet.”
“Yeah, that’s him, gentleman type.”
“Well, he actually left you a note. You must forgive me miss, when he said he had a note for his companion I didn’t picture someone such as yourself, miss. I pictured the bookish type, someone older, maybe matronly, if you take my meaning.”
“Do you have the note?” She said trying to bite down her impatience.
“What? Oh, sure.”
He patted his trouser pockets, front and back and then drew a folded slip of paper and passed it to Karen.
Karen, I’m sorry we missed each other. I concluded my interview with Mr Calloway and am now hurrying toward Rhodes to catch up with one ‘Billy Midnight’. Calloway give me a letter of introduction to Mr Midnight, which I hope will do the trick. After Rhodes, I shall be continuing east to Saint Denis where I shall remain for some weeks writing up my notes and speaking to my publisher. I expect you will catch up to me at either location. The easiest route is to ride north from Blackwater until you hit Riggs station, (where we disembarked the Hernandez train if you remember). Then you can simply follow the train line to the east (gallop across the bridge). Follow the train line in a south easterly direction and it will take you straight to Rhodes. If I’m not in Rhodes continue east into Saint Denis. I’ll leave a note at the train station there for you with my current address. Come and find me at your convenience. DB.
Karen pocketed the slip of paper, and then strolled silently back to her horse. It took a while to realise that to all intents and purposes, she was at a crossroads. She could keep to her agreement with DB, continuing to be his sex slave and sexual bribe to all kinds of unsavoury gunslingers. Which she had long realised potentially put her in constant danger. Or she could simply ride away and make a new life for herself.
Riding out, for a few hours, Karen found herself on a plot of land west of Blackwater, a few rocks, a few trees dotted about, a crescent of cliffside three or four yards in height. And a small rundown shack. It might have been a homestead once, or the beginnings of one and there were signs that squatters had been there in the past, burned markings of campfires, rusted tin cans, pieces of burned bone and scraps of cloth and the like. But, at least for now, it was deserted. She entered the shack as night fell, after brushing feeding and watering her horse, using water from an old well on the land, where the water had somehow remained fresh. Then after a quick meal of tinned goods and water, she chose to bed down.
For safety’s sake she lay the horse down and hobbled her beside the shack. Then, hefted the saddle, saddlebags, reins and horse blanket into the shack with her. She used a length of old rope that had been left looped over a rusted nail on one wall, to tie the door shut from the inside and then stripped down to her under-things to sleep. She spent time stripping and cleaning her Cattleman as DB had taught her, then reloaded it and put it alongside her on the floor.
She awoke with a concise plan. The following morning, she rode back into blackwater to the hardware store and then bought herself a stout lock box and a small spade. She exchanged a tiresome little joke with the overtly flirtatious shop owner that yes, she was playing at pirate and was going to bury her treasure in the lock box and then make a map and mark it with an ‘x’. Though the latter was silly fantasy, the former was precisely what she intended to do.
She separated the cash from the watches, jewellery and gold nuggets and locked the notes inside the lock box. The coins she kept on her person for expenses. She had dreamed about that cave she had found alongside Cattail Pond and decided it should be the perfect place to hide her lock box. The corpse resting in that cave must have been there for twenty years or more; seemingly undisturbed, unmolested for all that time, so there was every chance that no one else knew of the cave or would accidentally stumble across it.
The ride north was hairy. It was different riding alone and she spent half her time looking over her shoulder and pulling off the trails to hide among rocks or in the trees whenever she heard or otherwise sensed anyone approaching her. She wore a deep emerald dress she had bought in Strawberry, which allowed her to better conceal herself amongst the greenery of the countryside. Fortunately, there were enough familiar landmarks from the ride down through West Elizabeth and Grizzles West that she was able to make the journey unmolested and without getting too lost.
She found herself at the odd abandoned house-cum-stable south of the pond, where she and DB had spent that one scorching day. It was cooler at this time of year, and yet she followed DB’s example from the previous excursion into these parts and settled down inside the building. This time she pulled her horse inside with her and waited for nightfall.
She made the last stretch by moonlight, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. And a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon that she had diluted with a health cure to make the booze last longer. It softened the burn and didn’t do anything for the taste. However, the still warming effect of the Old Blood Eyes and the always helpful Dutch courage, did both help her through those last few miles of the trek up to the pond.
The night seemed to be filled with sounds meant to frighten; owl hoots, coyote or wolf howls, strange noises she couldn’t identify, while the cold made her shiver and drink more of the warming bourbon, that got her drunker and more frightened of the dark and the possibilities of bandits or Indians who might by hiding behind every rock and tree and within every shadow, ready to leap out and carry her away.
Finally, Karen reached the pond, tying her horse up in the shadows to the low branches of a tree at the edge of the pool where the animal could drink and rest. She lugged the spade and the lockbox over to the tree-crowned cluster of rocks she remembered the cave was hidden inside. It took a heart-rending moment to locate the concealed entrance, and along with the residing fear of her being alone and the wild surroundings and the dark, she started to wonder if she was in the right place at all. Or that perhaps the cave had all been nothing but some dastardly vivid dream.
The relief she felt on finding her way inside, introduced to that slightly mouldy smell, the dry earth and the echoes of old smells from the mostly skeletal corpse. That corpse, momentarily unnerving, revealed itself as nothing more than a shape of utter blackness against the all but pitch-black shadows that surrounded her, and yet it was a relief she could practically taste. She felt a giddy excitement, and a desire to throw out her arms and embrace this luscious relief to her bosom. She stretched out with her back against one rock and relaxed, finally feeling a sense of safety and security within her hiding place.
Karen considered using flint and tinder to light a small fire and get to work. But she decided even inside her cave, the light might carry and attract the curious, men or beasts and she chose instead to wait until sunrise.
The sunrise awoke her bathing her in green from the mosses, grass and leaves that covered the gaps in the rocks and acted like curtains over tiny triangular windows. The place was just as she remembered, the corpse, its size and shape, the earthen detritus of the ground.
The problems showed themselves to her at once but they were an easy remedy. She stripped off her dress working in her boots and underclothes. The spade handle proved too long for the confined space, so she lodged it between two rocks and putting her weight onto it broke it into two. Tossing the broken end into the undergrowth outside, she crawled back into her cave and set about digging her hole.
The earth was rather loose but it was messy work. She had also chosen to use the corpse to conceal her hiding place, realising the freshly dug earth would stand out, so she dug her hole on the far side of the body, buried her lock box, covered it over and then shuffled the dead man a foot or so to his right until he essentially sat on top of the box.
Once that was finished Karen climbed quietly out of her cave, pausing more than once to listen out for the sounds of men nearby. But there was nothing. She pulled off her undergarments which were filthy and soaked with her sweat and then swam across the pond toward her horse and where she had left her dress.
Again, fortune smiled down on Karen just like the high blazing sun, and she was able to pull on clean underclothes and her emerald dress, and then ride away on her horse lighter and happy that, even if she was robbed now, she would still have around half of her haul of treasure safe for her to return to. Taking a different path away from Cattail Pond, she soon spotted a signpost pointing out the trail that would take her south to Valentine and so, with a shrug, she took it.
She passed a few men on horseback and while keeping one hand casually on the reins and the other in the folds of her skirts, wrapped around revolver’s grips, she passed each of them completely unmolested. A couple of the trapper hunter types scowled at her, perhaps they didn’t figure women should be out in the wilderness at all, never mind alone or escorted. One gentleman with a fishing pole and a silly looking hat adorned with feathers.
“Dear girl, how delightful it is to see such feminine beauty amongst the natural exquisiteness of such a setting as this forest.”
Karen received his compliment with a flushing smile, but she kept a close watch on his hands. However, he simply tipped his hat and rode on with a beaming smile.
A few hours later a trio of men, two of them rough looking types, one big and burly with a wiry black beard, the other was younger, barely a teenager and possessed thin weasel-like features. The third was older and slender built with a neat salt and pepper moustache. The older man appeared to offer a little more gentlemanly bearing than the other two. Though all three were heavily armed and screamed of ‘bandit’. They passed her by just beyond Cumberland Falls. The youngest immediately started to make lewd comments and the bigger man began to steer his horse toward her but the third man snatched the reins and pulled him back into line, muttered a comment to the mouthy one. Then he called out to Karen.
“Just a friendly bit of advice girl, it ain’t the smartest of things for a pretty young lady such as yourself to be riding around the country unescorted.”
“Little whore liable to get introduced to good hard Callander iron!”
“Knock it off Mac!” The older, gentlemanly one snapped.
“I ain’t completely unescorted, Mister.”
As Karen offered her reply, she halfway unholstered her cocked cattleman from out of her skirt’s slit though she was sure to slide it quickly back out of sight so as not to suggest violent intent.
“My compliments young miss.” The older gentleman said.
He smiled warmly, tipped his hat and the three men rode on.
As she rode into the outskirts of Valentine late in the morning of the second day after leaving Cattail Pond, there was a feeling of pervading excitement and not only in Karen herself, it seemed to be in the very air of the town. It only seemed to build as she passed the stables and then the outdoor butchery.
She pulled in at the hotel where she hitched her horse, daydreaming about a hot bath followed by a blissful night in a soft bed. She caught on to worried hisses and whisperings from across the way and from the next building over. A couple of small groups were muttering and throwing furtive looks toward the bank. Karen caught murmurings of O’Driscolls in the bank. Whispers of someone gone to get the Sheriff. She saw women hurrying along the boards, children being hustled indoors into stores and homesteads and down the passages between the mud-flecked wooden buildings.
And then there was a sudden whimper that sounded like it wanted to be a scream from within the bank next door, which caught Karen’s attention a moment before the bank’s doors swung open and three men burst out from within. They each held a stuffed white canvas bag, and wore either a bandana or a mask that covered their faces.
Karen froze as she caught a glimpse of the inside of the bank. A man lay on the floor, face up in a pool of blood, an indentation in the temple of his skull obvious even at a glance. There was also a woman lying on the same floor a few feet from the man. Though she was face down and her dress had been thrown up over her waist, her undergarments missing, exposed to all and sundry from the waist down. Her long legs were spread wide apart. Between them glistened neither of them were moving.
Two of the masked men, brandishing a LeMat revolver and a lever-action shotgun respectively, ran straight from the boards over to three tied up horses awaiting them. Without looking back, both leaped up onto their steeds and bolted. They burst away, up the far side of the stables, heading toward the river. The third man, brandishing a nickel-plated Cattleman, ran past Karen. His eyes locked in on her as he caught sight of her while making for his horse. There was a shout and an echoing crack from the far end of the main street. Karen realised the Sheriff had emerged from his office and was already taking pot shots at the third bank-robber with a Litchfield repeater.
With barely any thought or hesitation, the man reached back and grabbed Karen, pulling her against him and putting her between himself and the Sheriff. She felt the barrel of his revolver pressed against her jaw. And immediately the Sheriff cursed and threw up the barrel of his repeater. Laughing, the robber forced Karen over to his horse, stuffed the fat canvas sack into his saddle bag and then ordered her to get up into the saddle in front of him. She did so, pressing the sides of her legs against the front of the horse’s muscular shoulders, while the robber used the stirrups to mount himself to his horse’s rear. He snapped at her to pass him the reins and then roared at the horse to go.
Karen managed to whistle back to her own animal just as they swept up across the front of the stables. She trusted the horse to give its head that specific shake that would free its looped over reins from the hitching post and then pursue its mistress, the way the good ones were trained to do.
They rode hard and in silence for almost twenty minutes, racing all the way, taking some of the same trails Karen had taken in her tailing of Klein months earlier. However, they veered off to the east before they got close to the river and entered a dense forest.
The man had taken both reins in one fist his other arm encircled Karen’s waist and he was pressed up hard against her, luckily the saddle’s cantle lay between her bottom and his crotch. Karen had one hand on the saddle’s leather-bound horn which was pressing in to her pubic bone, while her other hand had surreptitiously slid down into her skirt’s pocket, unnoticed by her kidnapper. By the time they entered the woodland she had her fist around the grips, her finger on the trigger and her thumb over the hammer spur.
She didn’t even hesitate or think about what she was about to do. She drew the revolver, cocking the hammer as it cleared the fabric of her dress and then swept the pistol across her front, thrust it around her side, twisting in the saddle to gain the desired angle. The moment she felt the thick muzzle thump into the man’s stomach, she pulled the trigger. He gave a grunt that was all but drowned out by the crack and boom of the gun going off, and fell back straight off the rear of the horse, though one foot got caught in the saddle. Karen grabbed the reins from his dead hand and pulled the animal to a halt, then she turned and put a second shot into the robber’s chest.
By the time she had emptied his saddlebags and his pockets and his Cattleman for good measure, her own horse had caught up with them. She mounted her own horse, after throwing the second pair of saddlebags over the saddle’s seat, trapping them under her rump as she climbed up and settled herself in position, then kicked her horse into a fast canter through the trees, as quick as animal could safely navigate the obstacles of the pine trunks. There hadn’t been any sign of the other two robbers, who had been well ahead of Karen and the third man all the way.
She rode aimlessly for hours, until the sun was beginning to set behind the mountains and then found her way to a small homestead a little to the south, just beyond the edge of the forest. She dismounted and led her steed quietly into the barn.
There were lights on in the house but they would be enjoying their supper and probably already locked up for the night. The barn was not in good condition and other than one rather sorry looking Kentucky Saddler, it was deserted. Karen brushed down her horse and fed and watered it from the barn’s own supplies and then bedded herself down in the hayloft, in sight of the doors. She had her two Cattlemans loaded and ready on either side of her makeshift bed.
Before sleep, she looked through the robber’s saddlebags, counted a full three-hundred and forty-eight dollars in cash from the canvas sack, mostly in notes. Plus, some rings, earrings, bracelets and necklaces and pocket watches. Probably snatched from the bank’s patrons at the time. There was nothing else of value other than a box of .45 shells that Karen added to her stores. And the new Cattleman.
This particular one was a thing of beauty, it looked practically brand-new, the nickel brightly polished except where powder stains had tainted it though it didn’t have any engraving. And the grips, though of a lush dark walnut that set off the nickel nicely, were overly large for her small hands. If she wanted to keep and use this new revolver, which thought she did, Karen would have to swap the grips over.
Concerned at the risk of being discovered in the night, Karen didn’t sleep well. Instead, she leaned back against a number of bales of hay, comfortable in the dark, yet with the unfamiliar creaks of the barn, the wind shifting through the nearby woodland, the nightlife and their song, all of it kept her awake and alert. She found herself thinking again about DB Gould and how her life had been before he had taken her on and paid off her debt. To all intents and purposes, he had saved her life. She was his sex slave, she didn’t choose when and where to fuck or with whom, but wasn’t it still an improvement on how her life had been in Annesburg? Openly begging every man she came across to stick his dick in her and for mere pennies? Desperate. Not living as a human, but as a set of holes to be ravaged day and night. She had hardly slept. And making the necessary money each day had been exhausting, degrading and hard work. The humiliation and self-debasement had been all too necessary to keep those hoodlums from cutting her open from privates to throat. They had talked to her about those Whitechapel murders over in London, England and that the rumours were that the guy had escaped the police by coming over here. And that, perhaps, he was right there in Annesburg right now, under their own employ…
And the realisation reasserted itself that DB really had saved her, and though she still had to fuck him and anyone else he told her to, he really wasn’t that bad to her. It had been an adventure and she was already richer than she ever had been in just these few months. So what if having to give her body to men to use for their pleasure? So what if that was still a part of her life? Every occasion since she had left Annesburg had been less painful and less terrifying, maybe even less shameful. Even that Mexican rapist on the train. Even Granger with his sick liking for pig-fucking fantasies. Even that gang assault in the cave… Well, that had come close. But all in all, it had been less horrible, certainly no worse than the average day in Annesburg.
By the time her mind had gone over and compared all those sordid, despicable and often painful experiences before DB, to those since being in the company of the writer, she had already decided to go back to him. He was going to free her of her obligation after his book was done anyway, she just needed a bit of patience and to carry on taking the opportunities to profit. In the morning she would head for Rhodes.
Karen awoke with the first light of dawn. It was a weird sensation to wake up without realising you had been asleep. By the time of the first cockcrow, breaching the early morning silence, she already had her horse saddled and was leading it quietly out of the barn.
She did consider travelling north first and adding her new bundle of cash from the bank robbery to her buried lock box. However, that would mean digging it up and then reburying it. And the more often she went to that hidden cave, the more chance she had of being spotted or at least leaving accidental clues for someone else to follow.
Instead, she returned to Valentine, though she took a trail into the town that brought her in from the south, avoiding the main street, the saloon, the hotel and the Sheriff’s office. She bought a train ticket at the station, to the town of Rhodes, Scarlett Meadows County, in the State of Lemoyne.
While awaiting the arrival of the train, Karen managed to pilfer a well-worn carpet bag from a pile of luggage ready to be ushered onto the train’s baggage car. Once there was no one to catch her intended purloining, she slipped off out of sight with the bag, hurrying into an alley close to the stinking sheep pen. She had to force the lock with a hat pin, but the framework and handles were stout and there were still a pair of buckles to secure the top. In the alley she dumped the contents, tediously conservative and overlarge matronly styled women’s clothing, which she bundled up and then stuffed behind a loose plank of the wall of the building next to her, and quickly replaced it with her own precious saddlebags.
A porter offered to take the bag from her and place it in the baggage hold with the others but she politely refused, saying she preferred to keep it with her and would put it out of the way beneath her seat. The man, of course seduced by Karen’s natural charms and youthful attractiveness fawningly demurred to her preference.
With her treasures beneath her seat accompanied by one loaded Cattleman and the other well concealed in the holster behind her skirt’s pocket, with its additional slit for access, Karen made a restful trip across the two states without interference. She was afforded the usual male attention, of course. Though, for once, she felt able to politely ignore the attention and flattery. She accepted it all with grace, the kind of grace of a lady DB would have approved of. And she felt no obligation to give any more of herself than the occasional smile and occasional small talk. For once, finding herself in receipt of drinks, meals and company, of varying degrees of asinine, without having to do anything in return.
Rhodes was hot and dusty, with a reddish hue to the earth, that gave the whole county an odd sense. As though it was different from everywhere else. Somehow unique. Though she remembered arriving in ‘The North’ after her time in Nuevo Paraiso she had felt much the same sensation, the view through the window of the carriage through West Elizabeth and then New Hanover had been startling in its changes the shades of green, the rock shifting from sandstone and reddish rock to the dull greys of granite.
The aura of the south pervaded. Well-dressed gentlemen and distinguished ladies, with dresses and headwear that resembled an earlier era, strolled idly and with an easy gait along the dusty main thoroughfare. She could see the Rhodes Parlour House, restaurant and saloon in the distance. Bright white boards covering its walls, a rear balcony with an exterior staircase. A white picket fence surrounding it, separating it from the remainder of the town. She knew at once that would be where DB would have taken a room. However, she walked from the train station across onto the main street and spotted a smaller hotel or boarding house opposite the gunsmiths. And she led her horse, freshly led from the train and resaddled, over to a nearby hitching post and then climbed the steps, carpet bag in hand, crossed the veranda and entered the converted house.
Once she had obtained her room she changed her clothes, first using the washbowl and washcloth provided. And then found a suitable hiding place for her saddlebags. She slipped the nickel-plated revolver under her pillow and pocketed her main pistol into her skirts as usual. She left the room locking the door with the key provided, before heading straight toward to the Parlour House.
The pristine white painted double doors, standing at the main entrance, beyond a vine-adorned porch, were paned in quality glass and featured lace drapes on the inside, tied and pinned carefully onto the doors. The parlour house’s interior décor matched the clean and delicate design implied by the entryway. The downstairs was a combination of white paint and varnished rosewood colouring. While from what she could see, the upstairs was two-tone style white paintwork with vertical plain varnished pine boards, while the upholstery and drapes were all in green.
A line of booths, divided by the double door entrance, lay along the entrance wall, each with small stained-glass panels. Individual tables with white table cloths filled the centre of the floor, obviously the restaurant area. And on the left, a curving staircase lead up to an upper balcony.
There was a card game going on upstairs. She could hear a croupier calling out cards, which suggested blackjack. There were a small number of whores in the tap room, dressed down to show what they had to offer and using paper or lace fans to address the heat. But also, there were a handful of couples, mostly taking up the booths, dining and drinking, keeping to themselves.
The heat was a surprise to Karen. Of course, she had got used to worse south of the border but there wasn’t the same expectation to dress like a high-class Parisian lady down in Chuparosa, unlike here.
She swept her gaze left and right, taking in ladies and gentlemen drinking and smoking, some partaking of a meal, some openly bartering with the painted ladies. There was a piano against the wall to the right but there was no one playing.
The bartender, partway through serving a couple of frockcoated gentlemen, suddenly called over to her from the far end of the spacious room.
“If you’re looking for work, young lady. You’re okay in my book. But you’ll have to square it with the Greys first, and they always insist on a couch interview.”
“I ain’t looking for work, mister.” Karen replied. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Really? Okay… Well, I don’t know how you do things out west, but down here in the State of Lemoyne, we don’t usually have unescorted women frequenting our establishments.”
Another gentleman interrupted Karen before she could reply. Tall, thin, bearded and middle aged; he wore an elegant suit in blue and grey, a puff tie, a richly stitched vest with silver and royal blue vines and a fat dark cigar gripped between his teeth. He was as arrogant and self-assured as he was drunk. And he stank. Booze, stale sweat and tobacco.
“Young lady, if you are in search of a gentleman, might I present myself?”
“Thank you, but I’m looking for a specific someone, not just anyone.”
“I’m far from just anyone, young lady… I’ll have you know, I’m…”
Karen, smiling up at the gentleman, who had positioned himself deliberately toe to toe with her, silenced him by surreptitiously pressing the muzzle of her revolver against his groin.
“Go and harass someone else, mister.” She said under her breath and dropping her smile. “I ain’t in the mood.”
He flushed beetroot, cursed her under his breath but backed away. Karen concealed her revolver, took one last look around the ground floor room and then made her way up the stairs, to what amounted to a three-sided balcony.
DB was indeed at the semi-circular blackjack table at the far end of the room, placed more or less above the bar. The players had their backs to Karen, the dealer facing her. There was another man seated alongside DB, but it was her employer who held her attention. He didn’t look his usual spic and span self. His jacket was off hanging on the back of his chair, his vest unbuttoned, his shirt showed sweat stains under the arms. He had an amount of salt and pepper shadow around his jawline, as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. As Karen approached quietly, she watched him place the last of his chips into the painted circle beneath his cards. She saw a jack of spades and a five of diamonds. He had just requested another card, which was revealed to be the eight of hearts. He sank down into his seat as the dealer called the result “Bust at twenty-three” and took away his chips.
The other player laughed, drawing Karen’s attention. He was very rotund, with ill-fitting and sweat stained clothes and a bulldogger hat that was too small for his pumpkin shaped head, she couldn’t see his face but the rolls of flesh across the back of his neck were ruddy and glimmering with sweat. He was laughing with, at least in Karen’s opinion, far too much amusement at another man’s misfortune. It was an annoying laugh too, a high-pitched mule-like guffaw, intercut with little breathless snorts.
“Oh, well Mr Gould, sir. Your luck surely has abandoned you ain’t it!”
“Yes, it seems like it has done, sir.”
Karen noted the dealer was actually distracted, looking between the two men toward her, his eyes wide, taking her in. His distraction caught the other men’s attention and they both swivelled in their seats to look too.
“Whoooee! Hot damn!” The fat man said, not particularly quietly.
When DB saw her, he rose from the chair, pushing it out of his way. She actually felt herself blushing when his entire face lit up at the sight of her. His smile seemed to stretch from ear to ear.
“Miss Karen, what a pleasure. You found me.”
“What, Mr Gould, you know that fine filly?”
Ignoring his companion, DB hurried over, barely managing to maintain enough decorum to avoid the apparent desire to throw his arms around her and lift her up off her feet. Instead, he calmed himself and took her hand in both of his but she could see the delight and the relief in his face. Karen smiled back, not knowing what to say. He finally released his clammy warm grasp and, unable to remove his smile, returned momentarily to the gaming table.
“Sir,” he said, addressing the dealer. “You have taken all I have and I bid you a good afternoon.”
“Not quite everything Mr Gould, you could put up this new piece of collateral.” The other man said through another of his infuriating laughs.
“Sheriff. If I did so, the young lady would become property of the house, not your good self.”
“Me and the house could make certain arrangements, I’m sure.”
The dealer just looked embarrassed, red faced and sheepish. He wouldn’t look any of them in the eye, instead choosing to silently shuffle the cards the way only an experienced dealer can.
“You jest of course.” DB grinned.
“Play another hand and we’ll all find out.” The other man replied through a thick and somehow putrid looking smile.
DB ignored the remark, drawing his worsted coat from the back of his chair and hooking the garment over one arm, he pushed his chair back under the table and then stepped away and took Karen’s arm in his, leading her back toward the stairs.
“Come Miss Karen, we shall retire to my room. I’ll buy you a bottle of Old Blood Eyes and we shall converse. I fear I have need of your expertise.”
DB’s room was just downstairs, around the side of the bar, then straight ahead through a pair of batwing doors and across a corridor. It was a simple room, though bright, clean and colourful. DB tossed his jacket over the back of the lone desk chair, pulling the discarded puff tie from its hip pocket which he hung over the door handle. Then he unbuckled his gun belt and hung that over the corner of the headboard before finally shrugging off his vest, which he threw on top of the jacket.
“Just give me one minute, Karen.”
He dug into his trouser pocket and chinked a few coins, heading for the door.
“Bourbon good enough for you?”
“Sure.”
“Get out of that dress while you’re waiting for me.” He muttered, then pointed absently toward the dressing table. “There’s a wash basin and face cloth, should you need to cool off.”
Karen was still working through her bodice lacings when DB returned. He put the bottle and two glasses down on the nightstand and went over to help her undress. They didn’t discuss Karen’s disappearance from Blackwater, or her reappearance here.
“I’m glad you’re here. I’m having real problems with Mr Midnight. You can definitely be of help.”
“By fucking him?” She tried to keep the sneer out of the words, but didn’t quite manage it.
“By seducing the Sheriff, actually.”
“You’d best tell me the whole story.” She sighed, pulling the dress over her head and laying out across the counterpane.
Billy Midnight was a recluse. He lived alone in a little shack on the edge of the woodland northeast of Rhodes. The townsfolk didn’t like him. Had he been female, they would have called him a witch. He was often blamed for local troubles without the evidence to support their blame. So, when a house on the outskirts of the town was raided by an unknown assailant, one night two weeks earlier, Midnight’s name was the first to be tossed around. In the house there had been a mother and daughter, the mother in her late thirties, the daughter nineteen. The father had been killed during the war and the daughter’s husband had a job that took him out of the state. The daughter was seven months pregnant when the man knocked on the door in the evening, claiming a snake bite had incapacitated him. The mother opened the door with her hunting rifle in hand but the man grabbed the barrel and tore it from her grasp and then stuck his own Volcanic pistol into her face, forcing her to let him inside.
The daughter went unmolested, a rare mercy due to her state, but became servant and cook while the mother took up the remainder of his attention. He abused and assaulted the mother over and over again, shaming her and beating her as he used her to his heart’s content, the house filled with her screams and pleas and sobbing. Before the man left the house after almost a week, having taken everything he could of value and eaten them out of house and home, the mother was dead. He had tied the daughter to a chair, but didn’t realise she had a small folding knife in her skirts and was able to cut herself free and run down to the Doctor, and then the Sheriff.
The only description she could offer the Sheriff was of a grizzled middle-aged man with a thick moustache, dressed in black with a stocky build and close to six feet in height. And having evil countenance and look to the eye. From the description, as well as the local prejudice, the Sheriff heard ‘Billy Midnight’ in the suspect’s description and immediately brought a posse together to arrest the one-time gang member and killer.
Midnight was drunk-sleep in his little shack and the posse were able to pick him up and throw him over the back of a horse in shackles. The first he knew of his arrest was when he awoke in the jail cell the following morning in nothing but a stained union suit.
Typically, with this heat, DB had lain down naked on the bed, having stripped, while Karen had taken a coat hanger, and moved her dress from the bed to the door of the armoire. DB admired her lush sensual nakedness as she moved around, his cock was already half hard and tingling as his hungry eyes followed her around the room.
“I’ve missed you, Karen.”
She turned to throw him a half smile, the turgid upthrust of his member informing her how excited he was to be back in her company.
“I can see that.”
“Come here, you can ride me while we discuss matters. It’ll help to stop me reaching my end too quickly.”
She obediently crawled over him, feeling the heat emanating from his pale, battle scarred flesh and the slick sweat coating him. She was already sweating too and the feel of her lubricated flesh sliding over his was pleasant. He lifted himself, his hands reaching for her breasts and cupping them while worked her way slowly back down his body, he sat up to keep her tits in his hands while she lowered herself until her face baked in the heat waves from his lap. She slid her mouth down his up thrust erection, more for lubrication and the fun of foreplay. She realised she wouldn’t have the energy for anything excessive. And she was going to have to do all the work anyway. Once she had him moaning and his shaft was hard and hot as a rock edging a campfire, she climbed up his body, settled herself astride his lap. Taking his cock into her small fist, Karen lowered herself down onto it. The saliva did its job and her pussy would lubricate itself quickly enough. It almost always did.
Once she was comfortably rocking her hips back and forth and DB was back to happily cupping and caressing her full breasts. The Billy Midnight conversation continued. He casually thumbed her nipples as they talked and the way his caresses made her shiver put a tremor into her voice.

“So, is he guilty of the crime?”
“Who’s to say? He certainly denied it.”
“But surely, the daughter would be able to say one way or another if it is Midnight?”
“Unfortunately, the Sheriff chose to send the daughter to her husband, or at least to family close to where he was working. It happened as soon as the Doctor gave her leave to travel. Even before they had gone out to bring Midnight in. It seems like the description was enough to convince the Sheriff that Midnight was their man... A bit faster now Karen, my girl…”
“So, what do we do about it?”
“Get Midnight out of jail.”
Karen stopped, stared down at DB. She was taken aback. Kidnapping Consuela had been one thing. A criminal hostage to ensure their survival and escape. But an out and out jailbreak? She didn’t think it would be his style.
She didn’t take in his little hip thrusts or his urgent sounds for her to go on. She winced as he tweaked her ensnared nipples, but still didn’t obediently resume riding his cock until he leaned up to give her a heartly slap on her tight ass.
“What if we convince the Sheriff that the description is too vague?” She suggested. “Pick up three or four other men of a similar build and stature, with the moustaches. Dress them all in black and parade them, embarrass him into admitting it could be anyone of them?”
“It wouldn’t be enough. We’d have to track down the actual culprit and get a confession out of him. And even then, I’m not sure our good Sheriff would believe it.”
“Then…?”
“The only way I can see it is to bust him out of jail. He goes on the run. Once he’s free he wouldn’t be able to refuse my request. I could ride along with him until I get what I need, then make for Saint Denis. I have meetings with my publisher scheduled.”
“And what am I doing while you’re springing him out of jail?”
There was an illicit, trouble maker’s grin that spread across DB’s flushed face. His hands were back on her breasts again, kneading the perfect tear-dops with rising ardour. A little too firm, fingers digging in a little too fervently. Not that Karen really expected anything less for any man. Even her Luke had got over excited with her figure and his freedom to play with it on occasion. Though he did usually apologise afterwards and was always certain to make it up to her. It was just men and their inability to control their lusts.
“Distracting the good Sheriff. You saw his reaction today. It’ll be easy.”
DB hoisted himself upward onto his elbows, Karen reading his move, leaned forward, putting her hands onto the bed on either side of his ribs. Her big breasts swayed, swinging forward until they filled his view. She kept herself still so he could give her tits all the attention he wanted to, though she used her pussy muscles to squeeze his hardness.
Another little forward hitch and DB was able to latch his mouth onto one of her fat swollen nipples. He sucked and licked at the bud, enjoying the spongy feel, the heat of her flesh and the salty, fresh sweat taste of her. He moved across to her other nipples and repeated his attentions. Giving the engorged teat little gentle nips with his teeth. He went back and repeated the nibbling on the first saliva-slick nipple.
Karen allowed her body to slowly rock back and forth on his cock again, her tit remained locked in between his lips all the while, creating sweet sensations of hot pressure, vacuum and friction within the fullness of her breast.
At that moment, her employer’s comment about the Sheriff’s reaction finally hooked itself into her attention.
“Wait, you don’t mean that other fella at the blackjack table?”
Karen felt her stomach turn when DB, released her breast from his mouth and craned his neck to look up at her. Still grinning, he nodded.
“That was the sheriff? But he’s disgusting!”
“Yes, yes, he is. You’ll have your work cut out I’m afraid. He is rather lardy, I’ll admit.”
Not only was she disturbed by DB’s amusement of the prospect of Karen seducing him, she could feel inside her that his cock was straining, full and thick and harder than ever. Was he was really taking pleasure at the thought of her suffering under the bull of a man? But then his grin slipped and he frowned up at her.
“But you’ll need to keep him fully occupied while I slip into the jail. I have to find the key, free Midnight all unobserved. So, preferably after dark. And then ride him safely out of town unobserved. It might take some doing on both our parts. But he’s already shown you have his eye, you have the attractiveness and I’ve no doubt you have the talent to keep him thoroughly distracted for the night, perhaps if you really put in the effort, you can keep him out of the way until lunchtime of the following day. Give Mr Midnight and myself time aplenty to put some miles between us and Rhodes.”
“But he’s vile! I could smell him from the top of the stairs.”
“You exaggerating, girl. Besides, this is exactly the purpose of your partnership with me.”
“Partnership!? I’m nothing but a sex slave.”
“If that’s the way you want to describe our contract…”
DB gave a shrug. She had again paused in working her pussy on his length, and again he offered her taut teenage behind an idle slap. She absently started to hump him again, barely aware of her natural obeisance.
“However, you feel about it, Karen. You’re going to do it. Surely you had to accept attentions from other unattractive men back in Annesburg.”
“You know I did.”
“This is just another one of those times.”
She rode him in silence. A pleasant, yet entirely physical, heat was building in her loins, but she found a grim satisfaction in keeping her desire to vocalise the build of those increasingly joyful feelings under strict control. DB, again lifted himself onto his elbows and sucked on her nipples. She could feel the pulsing in his cock, the erection stone hard, stretching her. He was getting close.
“I think, you would get good results with him if you’re as vocal as you can be. Make him feel like a king in bed, that his every touch, no matter how vile or uncomfortable to be pure bliss, will keep him coming back for more.”
Karen didn’t know if DB’s advice was also a subtle remonstration of her current silence. But she kept it up as long as she could. However, when those building oscillations of sensual joy peaked, she couldn’t help but cry out her pleasure as she peaked, her pussy flooding the cock inside her in its own liquid tribute. DB came a few seconds later, his face buried in her tits, his arms around her back both hands gripping her tensed buttocks as he emptied his balls inside her.
<><><>
“Sheriff Garonne, would you be so kind as to walk my ravishing young assistant back to her hotel room? It is getting rather late.”
“I’d be my personal pleasure, sir.” The Sheriff sang. “Mademoiselle, if I might take your arm and escort you right this way?”
For Karen, his attempt at gallantry was as laughable as a monkey performing Shakespeare. However, she prided herself as an actress of far more accomplishment. So she took his arm, plastered a coquettish smile across her face and pressed herself in snug against his flabby, sticky bulk.
The dinner had been a surprise. DB had suggested a meal in the saloon and Karen had liked the idea. It would be like drawing out the recent pleasures she had enjoyed on the train journey down to Lemoyne and its dining car and all the men falling over themselves to woo her.
What she didn’t expect was that the fat greasy man from the Blackjack table would be joining them. In fact, she never quite understood if it had been prearranged by DB and the Sheriff or if Garonne had spotted them enter and simply invited himself to join them.
DB slid in on one side of the booth table and Karen was going to sit opposite, but when Sheriff Garonne strolled over from the bar, and stepped up the booth as though he had always meant to have joined them. So, Karen found herself seated beside BD while the Sheriff took up the opposite side of the table.
She also regretted dressing so flirtatiously, with a low cut and uplifting bodice that showed off her assets to the extreme, while to combat the heat she had chosen to forgo underclothes, as well as any illicit items in her pockets, of course. It wouldn’t do to lump around a two-and-a-half pound Buck Cattleman unless she was completely undefended. And DB was at her side.
The food turned out to be pretty good, French influenced of course, and the alcohol flowed well enough to tone down the irritation of their surprise guest. No matter how much he stared into her cleavage, ogled her and openly flirted, and with increasing crassness the more drunk he became. It got to the point when Karen even felt the urge to lower herself, or place a napkin over her chest to hold off his blatant stares, that came in equal measure to his none too subtle comments.
She wondered if DB expected her to play footsie under the table, to give the Sheriff’s crotch a bit of manual attention, however, every time she considered the idea, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
One of the occasions Garonne got up from his seat to go over to the bar, or to nip outside to make use of the outhouse, DB muttered the order she had been dreading.
“It’s happening tonight. Take him back to your hotel room, or let him take you back to his house, whatever comes naturally. And then fuck him. And keep on fucking him for as long as you can, don’t let him leave, Karen. No matter what. I need time. Time to get Midnight out, and time to get him away clean. You understand?”
“Yes.” Karen sighed.
When the Sheriff returned and took his seat, Karen surreptitiously drew her booted foot up between his naturally splayed legs and stretched out beneath the table, searching for his crotch. His eyes bulged and he stared across at her with a drool-flecked smile. Karen tossed back a coy smile of her own but inside she was seething and sickened.
At one point his hands disappeared beneath the table and he grabbed her booted foot about the ankle. Holding her foot, she pictured him unbuttoning his trousers and underwear as a few moments later, grinning, he was thumping something heavy and dense against the upper of her boot. She knew it could only be one thing and was taken aback by the apparent weight of the member.
They left after coffee, though Karen just helped herself to more bourbon. And then as the sun had long since set, and passed well beyond twilight and dusk, they decided to call it a night.
“I suppose I’d better check the jail before I retire.” The Sheriff groaned.
“You don’t have a deputy guarding the place?”
“As I mentioned, sir. My deputies have formed a posse, gone after a cattle rustler up Ringneck Creek way. I stayed behind for the prisoner. Even though he’s trussed up like a goddamn Thanksgiving Turkey.”
“I could pop my head in for you? If you want to go straight to bed.”
Karen noted DB’s opportunism, as well as the blank look of new-born innocence etched across his lined and freshly shaved face. She turned away to hide her grimace. Garonne of course took to the offer with exuberant gratitude.
So, they parted on the main thoroughfare, DB crossing the street heading for the jail, while the Sheriff slipped a thick sweaty arm around Karen’s slender waist and guided her from her benefactor’s path, away from the main street and away from the direction of Karen’s hotel room. She was not in the least bit surprised.
“Instead of that stuffy little hotel room, Miss Karen, why don’t you come back to my cottage? More secluded, more room. And I have a small stock of confiscated moonshine, it truly puts all of those storebought labels to shame.”
“Sure thing, Mr Garonne.”
The cottage was little more than a shack, there were only two rooms, a kitchen and sitting room separated by a bedroom. The dividing wall contained a central fireplace and chimney so both rooms shared the same hearth. Still, for a slovenly overweight unmarried man, he kept the place tidy, not that there was much in the way of furnishings. Kitchen worktops and a sink lined the rear wall. There was no dining table. There was a single old wingback armchair, possibly from the saloon, angled toward the fireplace. And a rocking chair in the opposite corner, possibly positioned for the early morning sunlight. There was a cupboard with shelves above it. A shotgun sat on hooks above the mantlepiece and a buck skull with intact antlers hung on the opposite wall.
In the bedroom there was just an armoire and the bed, which was big, sturdy and made of hardwood. Above the fire on hooks like a mirror image of the sitting room, an old Winchester repeater was displayed.
On the bedroom wall was a rather risqué portrait of a beautiful and curvaceous woman in little to no clothing, a semi-transparent sheet draped over her as she reclined on a chaise lounge. It was exactly one might expect to find on the wall of a whorehouse.
Garonne hustled Karen straight through into the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind them, it seemed to warp in the wood of its frame, the squeal of door wood and frame wood scraping together. And she found herself worrying for a minute that it might take someone of the Sheriff’s physicality to get it open again. Though, there was a sash window opposite, that she could easily escape from if need be.
As Karen took in the bare wooden boards of the room, the dirty unwashed bedding and the spittoon by the bed, the Sheriff shrugged off his unbuttoned vest and dropped it onto a hook on the back of the door, following it with his ill-fitting bulldogger. Beneath the hung-up clothes, on a separate hook was a coiled leather bullwhip. Without looking at her, he turned toward the bed. He unbuckled then re-buckled his pistol belt before hooking it over one of the turned wooden knobs on the corner of the bedstead. Karen had noted the LeMat in its holster. It looked old, dull as the holster itself, which was a flap-less ‘slim jim’ type from the civil war years. She wondered if it perhaps was handed down from his father. Under the glow of the oil lamp above the bed, she could see the percussion caps encircling the rear end of the cylinder, meaning it hadn’t even been converted to fire metal cartridges.
The Sheriff finally turned his attention to his guest, his dark gaze rolling over her but not unusually, unable to lift upward past her cleavage.
“So, get that dress off then, Miss Karen.” He grunted.
“You promised moonshine, Sheriff.”
He found her eyes then, but his expression worried her. And without another word he took a half-step to the door. Though instead of opening it, he unhooked the looped bullwhip, took it in hand and turned back to face her. He reached up with the gathered coils of leather and hooked them over her hatless blonde head and then yanked her hard up against him. He stared down into her shocked, upturned face with a fiery glare.
“You’ll do as you’re told woman. I’m the goddamned Sheriff of this town.”
His volume was low, his tone hard. Karen felt the pang of fear she hadn’t really felt since Annesburg. DB wasn’t about to come and rescue her this time. She gave a little jittery nod and with shaking hands started on the lacings of her bodice. He turned back, tossed the whip onto the bed and then started on the buttons of his sweat-stained shirt.
She tossed a glance over at the holstered revolver, but discarded the notion. He was between her and the gun belt, and the rim of the holster was high, covering all but the handle and hint of hammer spur. It made a hurried draw impossible, and worse of all, as Garonne had just stated, he was the legally appointed Sheriff of Rhodes. If she killed him, she would have a wanted level on her before she could even get to a horse.
There’d be a shoot to kill bounty on her head, a single lone young woman on the run. A ‘soft target’ for every bounty hunter. She’d be chased down like a rabbit in mere hours and it wouldn’t be an easy death. She’d heard stories, from some of the women in Annesburg, from DB and from Klein back on that train journey into Valentine about what bounty men did to young women on the run. And sometimes what Sheriffs and their deputies did to before the trail and the hanging.
She put Garonne’s revolver and the Winchester over the mantlepiece out of her mind. Instead, she told herself to look at it like a job. Just another guy to fuck for DB, just another occasion where she would be paying off her debt.
The Sheriff was naked well before her. Once her bodice was loosened, she sat on the side of the bed to take off her boots. Another of his coldly dictated orders. Had he anticipated her attempting to escape via his window? Maybe he assumed the thought of running around outside without a stitch on, not even boots, would be enough to put her off the idea? He was probably right. Though he surprised her by sitting down on the bare boards to work on her left boot’s lacings while she worked her way down the right.
Once her boots had been dragged off, she stood and pulled the dress up over her head. He was thoughtful enough at least to take it off her and hook it through one of the hangars in the wardrobe in the corner. She noticed too that once she had pulled her dress off, leaving her completely naked, he had averted his gaze, keeping it down while he took the dress from her and hung it up. Only then under the light of the oil lantern hooked above his bed, did he turn to face her and slowly raise his eyes.
As Karen watched him taking her naked hourglass splendour in, she couldn’t help but look him over as well. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. Though other than her husband, she had rarely seen an altogether pleasant sight of a naked man, they all tended to be mottled, scarred, hairy and or overweight. This man, who could be anywhere between thirty and fifty, was like a barrel, or a bull. Thick arms and legs that with all the fat looked too short and stubby. His sagging pectorals looked like breasts with thick hairy nipples, his belly was made up of huge rolls of overlayed fat.
She expected what lay between his legs would be lost in shadow but he was already fully hard, the shaft pulsing and ruddy. It wasn’t at all lengthy though, the light from the oil lamp revealing a rather little and stubby looking member. Not the smallest she had ever seen, a little over four inches perhaps. However, what he lacked in length, he more than made up for in girth. He was almost as thick around as her wrist, the foreskin, already rolled back due to the blood-filled crown, was shot through with swirls and lightning bolts of veins and the muscles making up the hardened cock were visibly bulging. It might have been flattering in other circumstances. However, it disgusted Karen and she had to work hard to keep that feeling from showing on her face. It bobbed and swayed as he leaned across to the bed and scooped up the whip. The firelight painted in the sack of his testicles for a moment. They were big.
“You won’t need that Mr Garonne.”
“Don’t tell me what I don’t need.” He growled. “And call me Sheriff.”
“Yessir, mister Sheriff.”
“Are you mocking me, miss Karen? You shouldn’t ought’a do that.”
“I’m sorry Sheriff, it wasn’t my intention.”
“Shut up and come here.”
Shivering uncontrollably, she closed the space between them. Garonne reached up and hooked the looped whip over her head and around her neck again, then jerked her forward so forcefully that she stumbled forward, her naked body slapping against his. His bulging, fat filled skin was slick and hot and rank and made Karen cringe inside, but once her body was against his, the whip tight around the nape of her neck, his free hand slid around her back and pressed her firmly her against his bulk. He leaned down and kissed her, his lips smacking into hers. His thick, vile tongue forced itself into her mouth.
It was all Karen could do to stop herself gagging on the foulness of his breath. Only the flavour of the booze he had drunk made it bearable for her. He kept the tension in the coiled whip, stopping her from being able to pull away and forcing her to roll her tongue playfully around his. While he wantonly groaned into her mouth, she could feel the thick, stubby mast of his engorged cock pressing against her flat stomach, practically burning her flesh. His hand clamped onto her ass pressing her more firmly against him, squeezing the orbs of tight muscle. The best Karen could do in response was to put her hands on his sides. Even that was hard for her, the clammy flesh had trickles of armpit sweat cascading over the backs of her fingers and hands. Putting the nauseating sensations out of her head, she pressed herself even more firmly against him, then pinched his probing tongue between her lips and sucked on it.
“Yeah, Miss Karen, that’s it.” He moaned once she’d finally released his tongue. “But it’s time to get to your knees, I think.”
It was agony. His girth was so much that Karen was barely able to stretch her jaws wide enough to take him into her mouth but even then, she wasn’t able to keep her teeth from scraping along his rapidly thrusting meat, it was just too large to fit her mouth. Which was ironic, because an inch narrower and she could easily have taken his entire length. As it was, she wasn’t even able to get the whole crown past her lips without her teeth scraping harshly on the swollen glans which brought angry reactions from the Sheriff. The first time he gave her a verbal warning, then shoved inside again. The second time, as he drove his way in following his warning, he yanked his way clear and then slapped her hard across the face before pushing past her lips for a third time. That third time, in as many seconds, that she scraped him with her teeth, he grabbed a rough handful of her blonde curls and yanked her cruelly off his cock and threw her to the floorboards in his rage.
“I’ve warned you. And you didn’t listen.”
“I’m sorry, you’re too big, I can’t help it…”
“Now!” He roared, interrupting her apology. “You will receive punishment. Up against that wall. Right now! Face the wall and put your arms out, like our Lord Jesus on the cross. Move!”
His physical strength scared Karen. The amount of weight that was naturally behind his clout and how he had slammed her into the floor. Her scalp was stinging where he had yanked on her hair and shoved her, and mucus was flowing along with the tears. If she hadn’t been gritting her teeth when he had slapped her across the face, he might well have split her lip as well as, no doubt, leaving a red mark on half of her face that was stinging terribly. That was all in addition to the over exerted ache in her jaws.
She struggled to her feet and feeling suddenly woozy, had to grab the knob at the bottom of the hefty hardwood bedframe to stop herself toppling over. She had to pause there, on her knees, head lowered, until the room stopped spinning quite so much, Karen couldn’t help shiver as she heard the rolling leather ‘thud-dump’ as Garonne uncoiled the bullwhip. Quivering in fear and trying to hold back her rising panic and brimming tears, she staggered to the far wall and put her toes and palms against the dark wood. And then her forehead met the roughhewn panels as well.
The actual whipping wasn’t as terrible as she had expected. She didn’t really know what she had been expecting, a Cat o’nine tails maybe. Something that would bite into her flesh and tear slivers of skin off her leaving her back running and bloody. What she got instead was a series of stinging, hot burn-like lances of sensation, mostly across her tensed buttocks. It took five of those red-hot lashes, before Karen involuntarily started to let out short sharp yelps of pain.
Twice the cracker actually snapped right in between her buttocks. ‘Perfect’ hits. The first licked its short-lived agony directly onto her puckered anal mouth, snatching a full-on squeal from the back of her throat. The second unfortunate kiss from the cracker touched her tender vulva and she leaped off her feet and screamed at the top of her lungs. It was also when realised she had let go of her bladder.
Laughing, Garonne told her to turn around, but to keep her back against the wall and take the same position. She put her arms and shoulders onto the wood but her raw, stinging buttocks she kept clear. This time the accurately placed whipcracks were exclusively laid onto her breasts. And she was able to see the physical results for herself, lines of raw redness at seemingly random angles, his technique was always the same and yet the cracker’s kiss laid its mark entirely at random. He caught her nipples three times in all, the left twice, leaving her screaming and sobbing on each occasion. But she didn’t try to hide or deflect, or run. And he would always wait, however impatiently, until she resumed the cruciform position against the wall before continuing.
She could also see the full-on sadism he was enjoying, and not only in his facial expression. His cock remained fully hard throughout, jutting upward, thick and bunched with bulging veins, the swollen crown glowing in the lamp light with pre-cum and almost purple. It also looked longer that before.
Finally, grinning, panting and sheathed in sweat, he re-coiled the whip.
“Now, then. Bend over, Miss Karen. Hands on the wall. Make yourself into an ‘L’ shape.”
Was he going to take her right now in that position? His bulk slamming against her tenderised buttocks? That would be absolute agony. But he didn’t do that. Instead, as she watched him over her shoulder, he revered his grip on the bullwhip, and came over to her.
He wrapped an arm under her belly, trapping her and then proceeded to force the sweat-darkened leather-wrapped handle of the bullwhip into her anus. He spat between her buttocks repeatedly, even as the rounded tip was asserted forcefully against her sphincter ring. He pressured and twisted, grunting with effort while Karen whimpered and sobbed and writhed, and then squealed.
However, after almost a minute of effort, he got his way and her anus spread in defeat, accepting the invasion. Garonne thrust it in and thrust it deep. It felt like half of her large intestine was engaged by the stiff, thick shaft of knotted leather. Of course, in reality it couldn’t have been more than six or seven inches but it felt like her entire lower body was stuffed to the gills with bullwhip length.
Karen prayed for oblivion, that she would faint. But instead, still laughing to himself with dominant lusty excitement, he entertained himself by sodomising her with the hilt, dragging the slick leather back and forth against her rectal walls. It enjoyed himself for countless agonising minutes, before he thrust it as deep as it would go and released it and instead grabbed her by the hair. He used his grip to drag her away from the wall and then frogmarched her awkwardly over toward the bed. Karen pictured the long thong of the bullwhip sticking out of her ass like some feline tail.
“On your back now, lift your legs up in the air.”
It was hard to get into the position with a bullwhip sticking out of her ass, but Karen managed it, her hips on the edge of the mattress. He slapped her legs wider apart so he could waddle his bulk in between them. His knees against the edge of the mattress, hands on either side of her shoulders, his sweat-slick belly pressed down on hers.
“Now, reach down and put me inside you.”
His thighs were pressed against the backs of Karen’s and her buttocks, that continued to throb with hot pain. His solid mast lay like a hot log from a smouldering fire along her pubis. She reached down and encircled it in her hand, well tried and failed too. His length filled her palm, but he was shockingly large around. Perhaps thicker even than her wrist. She rolled herself up onto her shoulders and upper back, heels pressing into the edge of the mattress, while she drew his erection down over her pubic bone. There was a sudden tremble of intensity as his solid crown rolled over her hidden clitoris on the way down to her entrance.
She put him against her lips, feeling his urgency pressuring her vulva to spread and her sticky labia to open and offer him access.
However, it was a tight little cave of softness and heat and she wasn’t lubricated anywhere near enough to ease his entry. Garonne took over.
Satisfied that she had put him at the entrance to the right orifice, he grabbed her hips and shoved at her, snarling but his cock just slipped upward, sliding up between her lips and, again, over her clitoris. The raw contact made Karen shudder and let out a throaty moan. Next attempt bent him downward, first lodging between the inner curves of her sweaty buttocks, then after a quick reangle he failed again to penetrate her but simply remained locked in position, his hardness bending between rock and hard place.
Growling with impatience, and seemingly holding Karen responsible for the failure, he reached up and slapped her across the face.
“Let me in!”
Even as he asserted pressure behind his erection, he slapped her again then took an open palmed swipe across her still whip-marked tits. Karen squealed, her body rocked, automatically tensing. Her arms crossed her chest to try and protect her tender flesh.
The Sheriff grabbed the root of his dick and squeezed it, asserting pressure again but to no avail. Vilely, he hawked and spat, using his glans to capture and smear the spittle across the tip of his cock and around her pouting labia. But still nothing gave.
Frustration peaking, he reared back, cocking a fist and then pounded it into Karen’s guts.
“Fucking whore!”
His fist hit her brutally, like a cudgel. Slamming the wind out of her and making her diaphragm spasm. Shocked by the heavy bluntness of her agony and unable to breathe or do anything but crease up around her fist-pummelled stomach, Karen felt like she actually blacked out for a second. Swimming in a timeless expression of breathless horror and cold iron pain.
When reality sank back in, her awareness spreading through her body, it came with a dire, throbbing ache emanating throughout her belly and her core. The muscles of her inner thighs screamed under tension, her buttocks were numb and red hot at the same time and her lower lips felt as though they were on the verge of tearing. She could feel her inner walls dragging back and forth and realised that, somehow, he was inside her and already rutting away. She squealed and cursed, turning the air blue. Her arms and legs flapped about a little, but it was more out of shock than pain. In fact, the burning friction saturating her pussy wasn’t as intense or agonising as she had feared it would be. Had her body come to her rescue and lubricated itself? She could think of no other reason. Unless it was blood…
She glanced down her body, and though his belly was in the way and casting deep shadows, she caught enough glimpses of his girthy cock pumping in and out of her that she confirmed to herself that was pink with pressure and friction and gleaming with slickness but was not bloody.
Relief poured over her, even as his salt spiced sweat dripped down onto her from above.
Soon Karen felt too hot and grew increasingly sickened and nauseated by the rapid back and forth that his body was forcing hers to replicate. Her tunnels walls were stretched and clinging to his thrusting meat, even with the increased lubrication. And, of course, her anus remained stuffed full by the whip handle, adding additional and overtaxing tightness to her vaginal passage from beneath.
Of course, she knew there was nothing to be done, he had her totally pinned between his bulk and the mattress.
Once the shock, discomfort had made themselves known, Karen belatedly started to grow aware of the bubbling trembles of delightful heat that were emanating outward from her savaged core. The centre of her loins was afire with pounding pressure and heat that was almost overwhelming, like that shock of brilliance as a lightning bolt crosses the sky, whiting out everything in that moment. And, beyond her core she could feel those delightful heat waves expanding and spreading throughout her body. Her shuddering breasts felt delightfully warm and taut, suffused with tingles, her areolae taut and puckered, her nipples achingly hard as they swung and wheeled atop her full orbs, dancing in time to the Sheriff’s hammering thrusts. The cool of the evening air like delicious kisses laid on her teats.
She was actually starting to get into the pleasurable side of even this vile and sordid fuck. And it elevated her mind a little, a layer of passion and joy encompassing the pain and the abject disgust of the man humping away at her, and half smothering her with his overripe fleshy bulk.
Which was exactly when Garonne chose to spoil her rising pleasure. At first, he reached over and cupped both her breasts, still sore from the ruddy welts of the bullwhip. He squeezed them in both big hands, trapping her hard nipples beneath his palms, his fingers digging into the tender softness of the jiggling orbs. It also forced much of his weight into her chest and ribcage. And for Karen it was like some kind of medieval torture device, her torso compressed beneath an unendurable weight. She could almost hear her ribs creaking under duress.
He squeezed and mauled for a while, then let go with one hand so he could tease her nipple. Pinching a good firm hold between finger and thumb, he pulled on her stiff bud, tugging the tit up and stretching it away from her chest, giggling it about, pinching the nipple, rolling it. Karen whimpered, wincing at the increasing discomfort, though the sensation only added itself to the pleasure-pain already soaring high between her thighs.
Garonne released her breast, though the other remained cupped in his left hand. His right hand disappeared from her awareness. He lifted one leg putting the foot onto the mattress so he knelt over her. Then she felt something snag on the handle of the whip, still buried in her anal passage. Something caught it, as though incidentally, jerked it painfully to one side. Then she felt the unmistakable sensation of his fist enclosing it. It leaped a little, spasming inside her. But then he started to thrust it back and forth, pummelling her rectum, hammering at her intestinal access, dragging that thick shaft of plaited leather back and forth against the raw, tender walls of her cinched anus. If she started to cramp, she wouldn’t be able to stand that additional pain. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took deep controlling breaths, trying to keep herself calm, trying to relax her anus.
The additional double penetration appeared to be all that the Sheriff required. His thrusts started to grow erratic, faster, deeper, stabbing. His haggard, wheezing groans grew louder and more urgent. As his crescendo rose toward its peak, he started to throw out curses and derogatory jibes at Karen who was really struggling to keep herself calm and take the physical abuses, the emotional stuff rolled off her. He spat on her repeatedly in his vocalised rage, while the sweat continued to pour off him, practically staining her smooth young flesh.
With a sudden bellow, his body locked up, just hips jerking automatically. The leatherbound sodomiser lurched, punching firmly upward, the handle no doubt scraping along the underside of his cock, the paper-thin division of flesh between those two tunnels the only thing between his cock and the plaited grip.
And then she felt the cock spewing its hot seed into her. Hot surges licking at her cervix in extended waves, as his hips trembled and pressed up against the backs of her upraised thighs. Garonne pulled her against him, trembling and laughing through his haggard wheezing breaths, as the joy of his climax overwhelmed him.
The rising pleasure Karen he been observing had been eclipsed by lances of discomfort and disgust, and all she felt now was sickened, overly hot and dirtied by sweat, saliva and one too many colourful insults to her nature.
He slept afterwards. Karen carefully eased the bullwhip from her ass and tossed it into the far corner of the room. Then she lay back alongside him on the outer edge of the bed, enjoying the cool caress of the night on her aching, naked flesh. She wasn’t able to sleep. If she didn’t keep herself steady and balanced, she would hit the floorboards no doubt causing herself more pain. Besides, his porcine snoring was rattling the shingles overhead.
At one point in the night, he rolled over and essentially pushed her off the bed anyway. She managed to catch herself but then had to lie there naked on the cold, dirty floor, with neither blanket or pillow. She didn’t even know if he had pushed her out deliberately while awake or unconsciously.
She knelt up and glanced at the pocket watch that lay atop his nightstand. It was barely after midnight. If she was unlucky, she still had twelve more hours to go in the company of this troglodyte. She managed to sneak a pillow that he wasn’t using from the bed and lay back, considering her options. Sucking him was impossible. She could barely take him inside her, though he had no doubt stretched her so it might be easier next time. She would have to work on her internal exercises to get her good and tight again, once this was over with. Exhaustion eventually drew her into a deep sleep.
She was woken up abruptly by a groan, a curse, and the passing of wind which sounded like a trumpet. And then the bulk and shadow of Garonne rising from his bed and stepping over her. It was much colder and Karen noted that she was shivering, and by the mood of the night she guessed that, probably, a couple of hours had passed.
The Sheriff remained standing over her, an oppressive presence. She half expected to feel a foot slamming into her naked stomach, but told herself that was a recollection of the past life she had left behind in Annesburg.
He let out a low snigger of inexplicable amusement. Yet before Karen could wonder what he found funny in the middle of the night, the hot spray struck her across the chest then splashed up her slender throat, before arcing upward further and catching her lips and splattering into her mouth, she tasted hot vile spice, the familiar tang, it caught in the back of her throat as she tried to let out a shocked curse.
It was that taste and smell that birthed the realisation that he was deliberately, degradingly, pissing on her.
“Oh, God! Jesus, fuck!” She moaned, spitting the words along with the vile hot urine. “Goddamn you! You bastard!”
She gagged and rolled to one side. He was laughing heartily now, one hand on his short stocky shaft, guiding the liberal flow, over her face, over her mouth. She felt it trickling up her nose and past her lips. She could taste it, smell it. It felt like she was drowning in it. Desperate, she turned her head, down toward the wet boards beneath her. It continued to flow over her, over her hair, trickling down the side of her face and her forehead but at least her nose and mouth were clearing.
All the while there remained that shiver-inducing vileness, disgust and shock of actually being pissed on.
“Ha! That woke you the fuck up, Miss Karen.” He guffawed. “Now, get up on the bed, on your back.”
She didn’t move. He was still pissing on her, over her back and buttocks, she could feel the heat against her cold goose-bumped flesh, feeling it pool between her buttocks, the dimple of the small of her back, trickling up and down her spine. She tried to shake herself but she was restricted between his feet. She hadn’t moved yet so he kicked her. The Annesburg experience slammed back into her memory, the instant the top of his foot struck her with a loud, wet painful slap. The dull thud of impact-pain, the sharp sting of flesh hammering flesh. Her breath once again left her in a rush. She let out a silent, gasping, breathless scream.
“Get up there now! He snapped. “Unless you want the bullwhip again.”
Karen forced herself up onto her hands and knees, she was defiled, wet and trembling, but she crawled over to the side of the bed, forced herself through the throbbing pain and lack of oxygen, up onto the sweaty mattress. At least the pissing had stopped.
“You’re gonna wrap those big milkers around my iron and you’re gonna take my cream all over you. You understanding me, Miss Karen?”
“Fuck, you son of a bitch! You fucking pissed on me!”
Gasping, she rolled onto her back, using her elbows to propel her back across the clammy bedding, shifting herself fully onto the mattress while he climbed on after her. He straddled her midriff with his hot sweaty bulk. Kneeling over her, he leaned forward and slapped her hard across the face, snatching a short squeal from her urine sodden mouth.
“Yes!” She whimpered. “I understand you! I understand!”
His cock, once again fully hard and jutting upward above her, glistened under the oil lamp’s meagre light.
Of course, Karen had years of experience of taking a cock in her cleavage. Too many years. Having been an early developer, she’d done it numerous times on the quiet, in exchange for favours and gifts when she was growing up and first getting the attention of the town boys, and men. She’d also done it with Luke often enough when they would sneak out to meet up, before they were married. She did it to keep him happy and maintain his desire to marry her, without getting herself lumbered with a child out of wedlock. Another girl she had known had been lumbered and had been ostracised by the town. With the father being a travelling gunslinger or outlaw, her parents had been forced to bring the child up as their own but everyone had known the truth. It had taught Karen not to spread her legs for boys, no matter how much the activity intrigued her, and she quickly learned how to use her big tits to gain and keep their affections.
Lubrication was key. And there wasn’t any on hand. However, their combined sweat, plus the soaking of his piss was enough to ease the back and forth friction against his foreskin.
He expectantly slapped his erect cock down onto her sternum while Karen cupped the outer curves of her tits in both hands and pushed them into the middle of her chest, enveloping him in her delightfully soft cushions.
He hooked a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her head forward, putting her chin to her chest. Karen didn’t see the need, he wasn’t long enough to pop out of the top of her cleavage and allow her to lick and suck his crown. Still, he kept the hand there, using it as a controlling grasp on her. His other hand pressed flat, palm open, on the top of both her shoved together tits, increasing the snugness around his pulsing shaft and the constricting pressure on her body.
“Oh Lordy, that feels real nice. Oh yes, Miss Karen, I should have started with this. Do a good job now, so I don’t have you give you another flogging. That’s a girl.”
She noted the casual threat and took to the task with experience and expertise. She had garnered plenty through all of those repeated occasions. How many times, and how many cocks? Prior to Luke it might have been half a dozen or more. After Luke… A hundred? Two…? Who knew?
Garonne appeared to have been thinking along the same lines. His hands came down and roughly squeezed her big hefty orbs together around his hot hardness. It was a more than adequate combination.
“Oh, fuck! Use those jugs, Miss Karen. You know how to do it. You know just how to do it. Tight! Snug and fast. Faster though Miss Karen, you’ve already drained me once so if you don’t want me getting frustrated and wanting to punish you, you’ll go faster… Yes, that’s it now! Good!”
His girth was extreme but being so short in length and Karen’s tits being so big, she was still easily able to accommodate him entirely and making his shaft fully disappear between her soft globes. Both of them squeezing her tits together around his cock, he started to thrust with a vigorous pace, while his big balls slapped at the under curves with a quick, gatling gun rhythm.
He didn’t last long, and it was a huge load, splattering under her chin and ricocheting back to almost rain down all across the upper slopes of her half-crushed breasts. The shaft, already throbbing with the rapid beat of his heart was now spasming fervently, the pressurised jets geysering up and projecting over her throat, chest and tits. All the while his body twitched, hips, and arms, the bunched muscles of his thighs while he groaned loud and long. While the great gouts his seed blossomed in hefty surges of pearly white all over her throat, chest and breasts, trickling down both outer slopes and sliding under her arms, down her ribs and cleavage. His rough and erratic thrusting continued, causing the cleavage-trapped and piling up cum to bubble and squelch noisily.
Eventually and with a heavy sigh, he stopped and staggered back from her, almost falling over at one point, having to grab the bedstead for support.
“Make room.” He grunted, apparently wanted to go back to sleep.
Karen found herself shoved down to the foot of the bed, his wide filthy feet shoving her up against the foot of the bed. She managed to untuck a corner of the topmost blanket and wiped her breasts, chest, belly and her face. Then she lay back, in her scrunched up corner and was asleep before she knew it.
When Karen awoke it was well after sunrise. The Sheriff was still fast asleep. She climbed off the bed, desperate to use the copper bed pan. He stirred at the noise of her flowing urine but rolled over and went on with his room-rattling snores. She glanced at his pocket-watch on the nightstand. It was a little after ten. She knew DB had told her to keep him distracted until noon, but it was only a couple of hours shy of that hour and she was damned if she was going to take any more of his abuses, or his fat meat. She was already aching all over and felt filthy and weak.
Resisting the urge to steal his watch and go through his trouser pockets, she quietly pulled on her boots, hurriedly wrapping the laces around three or four times and knotting them. Then she grabbed her dress. Not bothering with the door, she went straight over to the sash window and pushed it upward. It opened onto fields and then woodland, there were no other houses over-looking her. Assured by Garonne’s continued snores, she tossed her dress out first and then clambered out herself and ran across the unfenced off rear yard to the outhouse and dressed behind it, just in case, keeping an eye on the window. But the Sheriff didn’t so much as stir.
Karen groaned as she lay back in the steaming hot water of the tin bath. It had been her immediate request on stepping through the small hotel’s front door. Her first instinct had been to ride straight out of town. But with the amount of drink Garonne had consumed and all his strenuous efforts on top of her, she should have at least another hour before he might come looking for her. After requesting her bath, she had gone up to her room and checked on the hiding place for her treasures. There had been the knock on her door to inform her that her bath was ready and so she had grabbed the Cattleman from under her pillow and then headed to the little room at the end of the corridor.
She reeled from the multitude of uncomfortable stinging sensations all over her body. The heat had drawn out the red welts covering her breasts the ruddy marks what were bound to turn into bruises besides the bruises that were already coming out. In fact, from the chest down she looked like a mess. Her back and buttocks felt like they were on fire, not that she could do anything about that. Or about any of it.
All this pain and humiliation she had to go through again and again, just so DB Gould could get some words for his book. It wasn’t right. So, maybe she owed him her life and he had purchased her debt. She had more than enough now to pay that debt off.
By the time the hot water was tepid and she had washed herself with the bar of soap provided and rinsed the piss and sweat smells from her hair. She had made her decision.
Karen was gone from the town of Rhodes even before the Sheriff had discovered the loss of Billy Midnight from the jail along with the disappearance of DB Gould, who had obviously impressed him so much as to give him the opportunity to spring his prisoner.
While DB hid somewhere and wrote down his notes once Midnight had answered his questions. The Sheriff would be running around like a headless chicken being, as he was, minus the deputies Karen assumed probably did all the actual work. She sat on a bench seat under the blazing sunshine, in the Rhodes railway station. Her treasure-filled carpet bag lay on her lap. Her horse was corralled with the others, ready to be transported into the horse car. She had a freshly purchased train ticket to Saint Denis, clutched in her hand.
She was leaving. This was it. Going her own way.
<><><>
Memoirs regarding the employment, handling and management of the ‘Hutton and Baird “Schofield” variation Model Three Army revolver’.
Chapter three.
James Wesley ‘Boy’ Calloway.
DB – Mister Calloway, could you share your opinion of the Hutton and Baird ‘Schofield’ Model Three?
JC - Huge improvement of the base Model Three. Major Schofield was a real genius. Also, a left hander like me. Did you know that?
DB - I did actually. He was a very accomplished shootist, taken far too early.
(Editor's note - it has since been confirmed with a number of Major Schofield's contemporaries that he was in fact ambidextrous, equally able to fire accurately left and right-handed).
JC - It's advertised as 'First class in every way' a sentiment I agree with. I’d also agree that it’s a testament to United States’ modern design and engineering philosophies.
It's a powerful piece in the hand, partially due to the weight and, to be frank, its rather odd balance. The forward weight of the piece does take a little getting used to, though it also assists in controlling the kick of its recoil. Plenty of people, the manufacturers included, talk about its improved level of power over the Cattleman. Though that isn't actually accurate - it’s assumed that the power comes from the standard barrel length being a couple of inches longer than the Cattleman’s. And also, that it makes the Schofield a more accurate weapon, but they both use the exact same cartridge, so they actually match each other in power. And a longer barrel doesn't actually make much difference either - once you have enough rifling to get the bullet spinning, even in something like a two-inch barrel, one pistol is going to be pretty much as accurate as any other. It’s actually all about quality of manufacture, how little space there is between the cylinder and barrel, as well as the quality of the sights. And let me tell you the sights on the Schofield are a hell of a lot better than on not only the Cattleman but also their own Model Three. And of course, Hutton and Baird are the best there is in our divine land, when it comes to manufacturing quality. That’s the reason their top break designs stand up to scrutiny and won’t fail under the pressures of a big forty-five-long cartridge.
DB – I can attest to that myself. I’ve never had a Hutton and Baird fall open due to bad mechanics.
JC – Though, personally my own pleasure in the use of the ‘Schofield’ is that there’s no hinderance to being a left hander. Unlike the Cattleman. Until you learn the correct way of emptying and reloading cartridges in a Cattleman, it being designed for right-handed shooters can be a real headache. The loading gate is on the right, the finger-stud for the ejector is on the left and the cylinder turns clockwise. For a left hander, you can find yourself having to flip the revolver upside down just to reload the damned thing. With the Schofield's ambidextrous top-break system, it’s loaded exactly the same way if you’re left or right handed. And while I’ll admit in performance the Cattleman is absolutely equal to the Schofield and in balance it’s arguably superior, I would argue that once you're used to it, the weight makes no difference at all. And reloading that Major Schofield’s ‘young lady’ is a real pleasure by comparison. And of course, as you yourself will know, being able to reload one handed while on horseback, is perhaps the Schofield's greatest strength.
DB – I absolutely agree, sir. Finally, could you manage to regale our readers with some kind of testament or account as to how the qualities of the Hutton and Baird’s “Schofield” Model Three have come into play during your everyday life?
JC – Okay, well… I have a memory of making use of the classic advantage of the Schofield. I had a medieval joust of all things, with an Indian over a woman, a squaw, I had taken a liking to. This Indian Chief and apparently befriended a Welsh missionary and they exchanged stories of their histories, among the other business of turning all them heathens into good upstanding Catholics. Part of the exchange was relating to Knights on horseback and tales of jousting. The chief grew fascinated by the idea of jousting. Now this woman I wanted to take as a wife, but she had been promised to another in their tribe and I’d worked well with the chief, helped them with horses and such. So, he wanted me to have the woman as well. He decided that he wanted me and the other fella to fight for her. And of course, he decided it would take place as some kind of dark age duel, like a modern-day version of a joust. The young squaw was a real beauty so, I agreed but suggested we use revolvers instead of spears or whatever they used in those olden times.
You can guess what happened. The other fella from the Chief’s tribe had a Cattleman, stolen or traded, I guess. I had my Scofield. We rode off about two hundred paces and then came at each other, unloading all six shots at full gallop. He was used to long guns from horseback but not revolvers. And all his shots missed. I was drunk so I missed too that first time. The chief called for another joust. This time the young brave was smart and he took his time waiting, until we were closer, I’d emptied my chambers like a drunken fool but I found myself reloading at the gallop and had another six ready to go, while he had only a couple of shots left. I was able to put three through his chest while his last shot just grazed my side. He broke one of my ribs with that shot, but still. He was dead and I got the squaw. Couldn’t make full use of her until my rib mended, but I more than made up for it afterward. She was some woman too. I still think of her sometimes. The Army took her off my hands after a couple of years and I never saw her again. I even named my revolver after her, but got rid of it when I lost her.
DB – A sad end to an entertaining story. Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway. I thank you.

Chapter Four.
Wilhelm Schnell AKA: Billy Midnight.
DB - Your real name is Schnell, is it not? Would you prefer to be addressed by that name?
BM - I go by Midnight now. Everyone knows me as Midnight (He ends his reply with a shrug).
DB - Very well Mister Midnight. I'm interested in your opinions of the Hutton and Baird “Schofield” model.
BM - It is a very good and well-made revolver. I used to enjoy the LeMat. I like to have plenty of ammunition, but the LeMat takes an age to reload and the Schofield is quick. It is also reliable.
DB - Do you perhaps have any issues with the pistol? Anything you wish could have been improved?
BM - Capacity. Six shots is too few. The grips, though comfortable do not ensure the same grip each time, some type of backstrap step just beneath the hammer might have been a beneficial addition. Look at the Tranter and Adams revolvers of Great Britain, they have good well shaped grips with a good notch on the backstrap beneath the hammer. And speaking of the hammer. The Schofield would have benefitted from a long hammer spur too, more like that of the Buck Cattleman.
DB - I have to say I agree with you on both counts.
(Editor – as with all these transcripts, these are edited editions relating to chapters in the text. Much longer, uncensored transcripts of each and every interview, can be read in full in the appendices at the back of the book.)
DB - It's a shame we don't have more time to converse Mister Midnight, but perhaps before I ask you for your personal anecdote, if you have perhaps anything more you would like to add regarding the firearm in question.
BM - It has saved my life a number of times, its reliability, its reload spread, the mechanism through which empty shells can be automatically ejected simply by exposing the cylinder. There are rumours through some of my kin back in Brandenburg, that there are plans underway for what is being hailed as a ‘self-loading pistol’. I for one am very excited about the prospect of faster firing sidearms, hopefully with additional capacity.
DB - Oh? I have heard nothing of this? The double action movement appears to be the wave of the future, at least in the United States. Very interesting. I'll look forward to reading more about these ‘self-loading’ firearms.
DB - Now Mister Midnight, you have a little adventure story for us, perhaps?
BM - Indeed… Where to begin? This will be a particularly short and simple story… Well, I suppose, following the unfortunate misinformation with regards to how Rabbit Matthews met his end, I have since been plagued with death threats, mostly from mundane individuals who believe everything they read on the pages of Newspapers and Penny Dreadfuls. My story details the events of a man who tried to assassinate me. However, it was not a formal quick-draw style shootout. It was one of those cowardly surprise run-in-and-blast-away affairs.
I had been in a tavern up beyond the mountains to the north of Ambarino and the eastern edge of New Hanover, which lies on the designated border of those two states. I had had a few drinks and gotten myself involved in a game of Poker with a small group of other men. We stayed up all night, drinking, smoking and playing. Occasionally taking a break from a hand to relieve ourselves or make use of one of the few whores not already too far into her forties. Someone in the tavern must have caught wind of my identity. He apparently slipped out, collected his old Civil War remnant and returned to the tavern itching to make a name for himself and perhaps avenging Mister Mathews. He burst in through the doors almost as drunk as I and blasted away at the poker table. He missed me completely, killed the man opposite me and one of the unfortunate girls working in the place. The table was over turned. It was true and complete chaos. I managed to draw my Schofield and using the table as cover, I returned fire. But being drunk, I panicked and missed. Fortunately for me he was a bad shot. Another shot went off as he was avoiding my opening salvo, his bullet went up into the ceiling. We found out later that he'd killed the young child of another of the whores. He was a truly bad shot, and we found ourselves squeezing triggers on empty cylinders.
Of course, having the Schofield, I was quicker on the reload, and reloaded in less than half the time, I simply walked over to where he crouched behind the piano, got in close while he was still fumbling with his percussion caps. I placed the muzzle of my Schofield against the top of his head and turned his skull inside out.
After that, I decided to move south to warmer climes, eventually I settled in Rhodes and have regretted it ever since. Ever since that article giving the alleged truth of my killing of Rabbit Mathews, which was then picked up and embellished even further in more than one Penny Dreadful. I mean, really. Would anyone shoot a man dead while he lay there sleeping?
DB - Mister Midnight, you have my sincere gratitude.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Karen Jones in A Red Dead Redemption 2 Prequel.