The Widowmaker War

by Kurt Barker

  “Thank you for helping us out,” she said as she came to the table. Her voice was soft and smooth, like a purring cat. “My name is Ingrid, Ingrid Peters. What's yours?”

  “Tom Blackshot. Nice to make your acquaintance, although I'd have preferred better circumstances. Who were those thugs, anyway?”

  “Some drifters, I guess. They just started making trouble. It might have gotten pretty bad for us if you hadn't showed up,” she said, laying a hand softly on his shoulder. She leaned over him to smooth the tablecloth, letting her abundant cleavage swell through the opening of her blouse just inches from his face.

  Just then the door was flung open and the redhead walked in, lugging a bucket of water. “The bastards saw women living alone and thought they could get away with anything,” she scoffed. “We get 'em like that sometimes.”

  “This is my sister Molly,” Ingrid said. “Molly, this is Tom Blackshot.”

  “That's some horse you got, Tom Blackshot,” Molly said, dropping the bucket on the table. “I didn't think he'd fit in the stable! You must be quite a fella to ride a monster like that!”

  “Thanks, but he's friendly enough once he knows you,” Blackshot said. “What made you settle out here by yourselves?”

  “We wasn't hardly by ourselves at first,” Molly replied. She brushed the strands of scarlet hair from her face and gathered her unruly mane into a loose ponytail. “We had husbands, but mine died last year and Ingrid's has been gone even longer.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “Aw, that's how it goes. Ingrid's weren't no good, anyhow.”

  “Molly.” Ingrid's voice was low but icy.

  “Well, it's true,” Molly countered. “You've just about said as much yourself. Hell, I reckon mine wasn't much better if I'm honest. It's hard to find a good man out here- unless one walks right into your house out of the blue.” Her big green eyes twinkled as they looked Blackshot up and down. Meanwhile her hands worked at the buttons on her blouse and then she stripped it off, baring her firm, voluptuous breasts and slender stomach.

  “Molly!” Ingrid's voice was sharp now.

  “I gotta wash up for supper. It don't make no difference; he's seen my tits already- an' most of yours, too!” She jabbed a finger at Ingrid's deep decolletage. “Where is supper, anyway? Ain'tcha got it ready yet?”

  Ingrid stalked back to the fireplace. “You're impossible,” she sighed.

  Molly grinned at Blackshot as she lapped water onto her chest and arms. “Don't get huffy. Mister Blackshot don't mind, do you?” Her fingers moistened her rosy nipples and left glistening streaks across the soft, creamy flesh of her breasts as she pressed the bulging mounds against each other.

  “The importance of regular washing was instilled in me from an early age,” Blackshot replied.

  Ingrid returned to the table shortly bearing dishes of hot stew; she placed one in front of Blackshot and the aroma that wafted up to him made him realize how hungry he was. Molly took the bucket from the table as Ingrid placed the other two bowls in their spots. She went then to the door of one of the little rooms at the back of the house, pulled the tapestry aside and spoke a few quiet words through the doorway.

  A few moments later another woman emerged from the room; she was clad in a long black dress and a lace hat with a thick veil hanging from it which covered her face. She did not speak or look up at Blackshot, but shuffled noiselessly to the fireplace where another dish of stew was waiting on the hearth. Once she had picked it up with gloved hands she turned and retreated back to her room. Blackshot could not make out anything about her appearance other than to see tufts of blonde hair extending from beneath the back of the veil.

  “That's our sister Grace,” Molly mumbled with a mouth half full of stew, jerking her head toward the door where the veiled woman had gone. “She's still mourning her old man. That makes us three widows.”

  “That's some bad luck,” Blackshot said.

  “Our luck's turning around,” Ingrid said as she slipped into the chair next to his. She smiled brightly at him and he felt her hand rest on his thigh beneath the table. “How do you fancy the food?”

  “I can't remember the last time I've had such a tasty meal- or such pleasant company to enjoy it with.”

  Ingrid blushed, her had still stroking Blackshot's thigh. “It's nice to have a man in the house again; it's been a long time since we've had one here. I don't count those rotten tramps that came around earlier as men.”

  “Neither would I,” Blackshot agreed. “They seemed to have quite a grudge against you, hauling that wagon all the way out here just to smoke you out. Have you had trouble with them before?”

  “No, we've never seen them before,” Ingrid replied.

  “What about the other fellow? The one that was hanging back by the rocks? He had a hook for a right hand.”

  Molly's eyes widened for a second and Blackshot felt Ingrid's hand twitch on his leg, but when Molly spoke her voice was composed. “A hook for a right hand, huh? Nah, we don't know nobody of that sort.”

  “I'm sure we'd remember if we saw someone like that,” Ingrid agreed stiffly.

  Blackshot could feel a new tension in the room, and he knew that the girls were hiding something from him. Still, he supposed that if they wanted to keep some matter with that man to themselves, he had no reason to make it his business. He smiled and said, “Yeah, I reckon you would. Well, I've got to thank you ladies for such a delicious meal and the gracious hospitality.”

  “You ain't leaving, are you?” Molly queried.

  “You can't! It's so dark now; stay with us tonight and leave in the morning,” Ingrid insisted. Her hand on his thigh slid upward until it was resting on Blackshot's belt buckle. She was leaning close to him, her full red lips close to his jaw and her ample breasts bulged against his arm.

  “The town's not far,” he said.

  “Forget the town,” Molly grinned. She stood up and slid her jeans down her hips to reveal the luscious curve of her ass. “We can find someplace to squeeze you in here.”

  Chapter 4

  “Molly! You've got no manners at all!” Ingrid snapped.

  “Just getting' ready for bed,” Molly smirked as she stepped out of her jeans. “It's about that time, don't you think?”

  “Then go to bed. You can sleep in Grace's room tonight. We'll give Mister Blackshot our room.”

  “And where you gonna sleep?”

  Ingrid's eyes sparkled mischievously as they met Blackshot's. “I'll be in after a while- once I've made sure our guest is comfortable.”

  “I can make him comfortable as well as you. Go on, get some shut eye and leave it to me.”

  “I'm not as tired as you, so I'm going to sit up a while before I turn in. Maybe Mister Blackshot will feel like sitting up with me.” Her hand was still lingering on Blackshot's jeans, which were becoming tighter by the second, while her other hand was moving slowly down the front of her blouse, unfastening the remaining buttons one by one.

  “Now that you mention it, I'm not particularly tired at all,” Blackshot said.

  “Let's settle this fair and square,” Molly said. She sauntered to the fireplace, her thick bare ass swaying in a way that Blackshot's eyes could not help but follow, and took a deck of cards from the narrow mantle. She shuffled the cards in her hands as she returned, and slapped the deck down on the table. “Cut 'em. High card keeps Mister Blackshot company for a spell, seeing as he ain't particularly tired at all.”

  “Excuse us a minute,” Ingrid purred, batting her lashes at Blackshot as she stood up. Her blouse was open to her navel and her full, supple breasts bulged from the gap. She walked to the end of the table and faced Molly as she cut the cards. “You go first.”

  “No, you go first.”

  “Fine.”

  Ingrid drew a card and Molly followed her. After taking one look at her card, Molly growled, “You cheated.”

  “Good night, Molly,” Ingrid said.

  “Sneaky bitch.”
Molly stalked to the dark room where Grace had gone and disappeared behind the curtain.

  Ingrid turned to Blackshot and smiled. “You'll have to forgive my sister's manners,” she said. “We don't get company very often and she doesn't know how to behave herself.”

  “I've got nothing against girls who don't behave,” Blackshot replied.

  “Good, because I think some of it rubbed off on me.” Ingrid's blouse slipped from her shoulders and fell to the ground. Her heavy, succulent tits jiggled like jelly as she jerked her skirt down from her hips and let it crumple around her feet.

  Blackshot stood up from the table and reached the bucket of water that Molly had left by the table. He stepped over to Ingrid so that they stood face to face, their bodies only inches apart.

  “We'd better wash it out then,” he said. He lifted the bucket over her head and tipped it forward so that the water poured out onto her upturned face and streamed down her naked body. She glistened in the firelight as shining flecks of water dripped from the plump bottoms of her breasts and ran down her taut belly and wide hips.

  Blackshot slid his hand around to the back of Ingrid's neck and brought her lips to his in a fiery embrace. Her smooth wet cheeks tickled the bristles of Blackshot's unshaven jaw as she sought him hungrily with her lips and tongue. Her hands were pulling impatiently at his shirtfront, and the buttons came away one after another.

  Blackshot sunk his fingers into the supple flesh of Ingrid's ass cheeks and held her body against his, exploring her damp throat and shoulders with his mouth. A gasp caught suddenly in her throat as he cupped her breast in his palm and suckled her blush nipple, feeling it harden between his lips. He turned then to its twin, licking the beads of moisture from her creamy flesh as he drew his tongue along from the base of the swollen mound to the quivering peak.

  Meanwhile, Blackshot's hand moved slowly across the hollow of Ingrid's belly and down to the patch of tawny hair at the apex of her thighs. She was soaking wet and when his fingertips played along the lips of her entrance, her body tensed against him. Her breathing was rapid now and the juicy flesh of her breast swelled into his mouth as it heaved on her chest. Then his fingers plunged into the sultry warmth of her pussy and she moaned with delight.

  Blackshot sat Ingrid on the table and laid her on her back, still exploring her with his hand. Her body writhed against his probing fingers and her hands pressed against his broad, sinewy chest as he bent over her. His lips touched down on her jaw and again on her ear.

  “So, in that game of cards,” he whispered, “did you cheat?”

  “We both cheated,” Ingrid gasped. “I just cheated better.”

  “You're better at misbehaving than you let on.”

  “Me? I'm not so bad.”

  She turned onto her side, throwing a long leg across Blackshot while she pushed at his shoulder, urging him onto his back. Her sinuous, gleaming body slid down his until she was kneeling between the wide stance of his feet.

  “I only did it because Molly has no manners, like I said,” Ingrid purred, tugging open Blackshot's belt and fly. His long, thick cock surged out full and hard into her waiting hand and she began to stroke its impressive length. “Whereas for me, making sure our guests are well taken care of is my only concern.”

  Chapter 5

  Blackshot was not inclined to argue with anything Ingrid had said, especially since her lips were closing around the tip of his manhood and sliding languidly down his pulsing shaft, and arguing with someone who can't argue back is simply unfair. All he managed was a deep groan as the sweet heat of the blonde's mouth enveloped him, sending sparks racing through his body. Her head began bobbing up and down, slowly but surely taking his length deeper into her as her tongue seared his flesh like a firebrand.

  As he felt his head slide down to the back of her throat, Blackshot ran his fingers through Ingrid's wet hair, coaxing her onward. Still her head continued its steady up and down rhythm as her voracious lips reached the base of his shaft and her chin pressed to his balls. The sparks he had felt earlier had kindled into a wildfire that coursed freshly through his veins with each advance of her silky tongue. The gentle lapping of her plump tits against his legs with each undulation of her head was doing nothing to cool his senses, either!

  All too soon the pressure welling up inside Blackshot had reached uncontrollable intensity, and with a groan of passion he clasped Ingrid's head against his body as his release exploded into her throat in wrenching waves. As the last aftershocks subsided, she drew his girth from her mouth was a gasp, letting his juices spill from her whitened lips and drip onto her heaving breasts.

  “You do have good manners,” Blackshot said. His hand was still cupping the back of Ingrid's head and now he took hold of the long braid that fell down between her shoulder blades and used it to bring her to her feet. “Now me, on the other hand, the only manners I've got are bad ones.”

  He bent her over the table and spread her legs far apart with his foot. Ingrid's body shivered as his hands caressed the lissome flesh of her thighs and ass and closed around her hips. When she spoke her voice was husky with desire. “Are they very bad ones?”

  She gasped suddenly as she felt the tip of his shaft graze the moist lips of her pussy. “Oh, they're the worst,” Blackshot growled.

  He plunged into her, grinding his length deep into her hot, wet core. Ingrid let out an anguished shriek and her body twisted in his hands as he pounded into her hard and fast. Her thick ass bounced and shook with each impact of his hips against her, and he felt her legs flail against his. The tablecloth wrinkled as she gathered it into her clenched fists, her back arching to take Blackshot into her as deeply as she could.

  Blackshot scooped up the braid of Ingrid's golden hair and drew her head back, pulling her up off the table as he rammed into her pussy with vigorous strokes. Beads of sweat were standing out on the muscles that strained in her back and her breath was coming in short bursts. When her climax came, she cried out as her body convulsed on his surging cock.

  The sensual movements of the girl's body only whipped Blackshot's lust into a higher frenzy; again and again their bodies collided with furious intensity. The torrid heat of her loins surrounding him and her whimpering moans as he drilled deep into her intoxicated him and made the room seem to spin around him. Another potent orgasm tore through Ingrid's body, contorting her in torturous ecstasy, and that was the last straw for Blackshot. As he lost control, he drew his turgid shaft from her loins and came hard across her ass and back in long white streaks.

  Ingrid let out a low, keening whine as she turned gingerly onto her back. Blackshot leaned over her, bracing himself on the table. Drops of sweat fell from his nose and mixed with the gleaming perspiration that ran across the hollow of her belly.

  “Good night, Mister Blackshot,” she said. “That's about all the sitting up with you I can handle for one night.”

  Chapter 6

  The morning came hot and clear across the barren valley, bringing up shimmering waves on the distant rocks. Blackshot stepped out into the sunlight, pulling the brim of his hat low over his eyes, and started toward the stable. Outside stood the horses of the dead toughs, each with its master's body slung over the saddle, as Blackshot had arranged them before dawn.

  The remains of the buckboard, little more than a burned out husk at this point, sat still beside the well, and he stopped as he passed and looked it over, musing on the events of the previous evening. He supposed that the attack on the widows' farm could have been nothing more than a case of plain old bad luck, a chance encounter that escalated into a grudge, but it seemed like something more than that to him.

  It was hard for Blackshot to put his finger on what is was that bothered him about the situation, but his mind kept coming back to the man with the hook. He remembered the reactions of Ingrid and Molly when he had mentioned the man over dinner. They knew him, which meant that he surely knew them too, and wasn't there by accident. But what had he come for? He didn't join
in the fight alongside the gang, but he didn't try to stop them, either. If the girls were afraid of him, why didn't they say something so Blackshot could help them? Then again, as he thought of it, that hadn't seemed to be afraid of the man; surprised to hear that he was there, but not scared.

  Blackshot shook his head and reminded himself that this was none of his affair, and when he rode out of here for Jubilation he would probably never see any of them again. He turned and started for the stable; he had his own business to attend to, and it was time he saw to it.

  When he reached the little building, the door was standing open and he could hear the sound of hay brushing against the wooden wall. Inside he found Molly standing amid a pile of straw, pushing it into the corner of the room with a pitchfork. There were no stalls and only a wooden rail on the back wall where the horses were tethered. Beside Khamsin, who stamped impatiently at the sight of his master, there was only one other horse in residence, an old bay nag who stood in the corner nibbling placidly on bits of hay.

  Molly turned and smiled at Blackshot, leaning on her pitchfork. She wore the same jeans as yesterday and a plaid shirt tied off below her bosom, leaving her taut stomach bare.

  “Why, Mister Blackshot,” she called, “don't tell me you're leaving our beautiful little hell hole in the middle of nowhere so soon!” She motioned to another pitchfork by the door. “Give me a hand with this if you ain't in too big of a hurry!”

  Blackshot grinned as he retrieved the pitchfork and joined her by the stack of hay. “It sounds like you'd be pretty happy to leave, too,” he said.

  “Oh, I guess. Maybe working in this damn heat got me in a bad mood.”