Blackshot Sixshooter Collection

by Kurt Barker

  A wooden door beneath the stairs gave a light creak and a man's face peeked cautiously from its opening. He had a white mustache which stood out against his tanned face, and worry and doubt showed plainly in his eyes. When he saw only Consuela and the tall stranger in the room, he opened the door wider and stepped out into the foyer. Behind him Blackshot saw several other men and women huddled in the shadows of the doorway.

  Consuela put down the bell and addressed the man in a confident voice. “Senor Ragan is dead. So are all the vile devils that followed him. I am now mistress of the house again.”

  Blackshot could tell from the joyous look that spread across the man's face, and the excited whispers from the doorway that the servants of the estate had not been among Dan Ragan's admirers either.

  “Oh, Senora Olivera!” the old man cried. “Can this be true? This is wonderful!”

  The other servants spilled out into the room with many words of congratulations and gratitude. Consuela held up her hand to quiet them.

  “There is much work to be done,” she said. “There are many bodies in the courtyard that must be disposed of. The fire by the fountain will serve well for that, I think, but afterwords it must be put out. There are many other matters which must be attended to as well.” She turned and motioned to Blackshot. “This is Senor Blackshot, who is responsible for the bodies in the courtyard. He will be staying tonight, so supper must be fixed and the master bedroom must be prepared.”

  “I will arrange everything,” the old man said. “Do not give any of these matters another thought. Leave it all to me.”

  He led Consuela and Blackshot to the door leading to the dining room, stopping only to lavish many words of thanks upon Blackshot. The other servants gathered around him, bowing and thanking him until Blackshot was quite red faced with embarrassment. He tipped his hat to them several times with a smile as he extricated himself from the throng and went in to supper.

  And a fine supper it was! About the only good thing one could say about Dan Ragan was that he liked to eat well, and Blackshot enjoyed the fruits of his pantry all the more for knowing that Ragan would not be enjoying them any further. Consuela's company didn't hurt his mood either, of course.

  After supper, Consuela put her arm in his and led him up the stairs to the master bedroom. It was a grand, well-appointed room with a wide carved wood bedstead draped in red silk sheets standing against the wall. Blackshot strolled in, letting his feet sink into the thick carpet.

  “So this is my room, then!” he said, taking it all in.

  “No, it's not,” Consuela replied. He heard the door click shut behind him. He turned and saw Consuela standing naked before him, her clothes in a crumpled pile at her feet. “This is my room.”

  The flickering candlelight sparkled on her smooth caramel skin; she ran her hands slowly across those big, luscious tits with their hard, brown peaks, then down her ribs that stood out against her taut skin to the hollow of her slender stomach, and finally across her thick, firm hips. Her fingers ran through the patch of black hair between her thighs, and into the wet, glistening lips of her entrance.

  “What are you waiting for?” she purred.

  Blackshot wasn't waiting. He reached down and grabbed a handful of her bush and pulled her body against him, crushing his lips to hers in a ferocious and hungry kiss. Consuela's mouth responded, kissing him voraciously, desperately. Her lips moved to his chin, then to his chest, as her little hands pulled furiously at his torn shirtfront, practically ripping it open. Her hot, searching lips continued their descent, pressing again and again to the rippling muscles of his abdomen. Her hands were moving, pulling at his belt, then the front of his jeans.

  Blackshot felt the pressure growing in his loins and he pushed Consuela's hands away and yanked his jeans down to give himself the relief he needed. Consuela let out a gasp as his long, thick cock burst free and thrust out toward her. She reached out and held the rock hard shaft in her hand, then with a wicked gleam in her eye, she lowered her head and drew her tongue slowly down its whole rigid length.

  Blackshot ran his fingers through Consuela's lush black hair, guiding her head downward. She shook her head free and glared up at him, lust burning in her eyes as she lifted her body against his, letting his shaft slide down her chest until it was resting between her breasts. Then she pressed them together with her hands, rubbing the glistening, swollen mounds up and down along the length of his cock, enveloping him in her soft, warm flesh.

  A groan escaped Blackshot's lips as he felt his body throbbing against hers. Then Consuela brought her head down again, running her tongue across the head of his cock, then her lips. Blackshot fed his length into Consuela's mouth as her head bobbed back and forth, her lips sucking firmly. She reached around him and gripped his firm buttocks and pulled him to her, driving his shaft down her throat until her chin pressed to his balls. Blackshot felt as if a fire the size of the one in the courtyard was blazing inside him. He buried both hands into her thick black mane and held her head against his body as he thrust his hips into her.

  Just when Blackshot knew he could take no more, Consuela pulled back her head and drew his pulsing shaft from her lips. Both her hands closed around the his length and rubbed vigorously. She turned her big brown eyes up to his as she waited, lips parted, until his load exploded in hot waves across her face and into her mouth, streaming down her chin and falling in big white drops across her plump, quivering breasts.

  Consuela's hands kept up their work. She raised her cum-streaked face to him with desire still burning in her eyes. “I want you to fuck me,” she whispered, his juices running from her mouth as she spoke. “I want you to fuck me harder than I've ever been fucked.”

  “It's like you read my mind,” Blackshot growled. Her took a handful of Consuela's hair and brought her to her feet. He pulled her to the bed and laid her down on the red silk sheets.

  Consuela's hands did not release Blackshot's cock for a second. She was panting and her breasts rose and fell on her chest. “At the campfire-- you pulled me by my hair there, too,” she whispered hoarsely. “I wondered then if you were going to fuck me.”

  Blackshot leaned his head close to hers. “I wondered if you wanted me to,” he hissed into her ear.

  “No, you knew the answer,” she gasped, “I wanted you then, and I want you even more now. I want so much to feel you inside me.”

  Blackshot lifted Consuela's legs across his knee and ran his hands down her soft thighs to the strip of black hair at their apex. He parted her legs and moved between them, letting his cock tease the lips of her pussy. He ran his fingers up her sides to her glistening breasts, crushing the big soft mounds in his hands until he felt them swell hard against his palms. Consuela let out an anguished moan and arched her back, inviting him in.

  Blackshot pressed the head of his shaft into her wet warmth, then plunged deeper into her, stretching her with his girth. His hands fastened on her hips and pulled them toward him as he strained against her, until his whole length was filling her hot core. From the expression of shock and ecstasy on Consuela's face, Blackshot could tell that no man had ever been this deep inside her before.

  “Now! Take me now!” she cried, her hand pressed to her stomach.

  Blackshot thrust hard into her, strong and fast, his powerful arms grinding her thick hips into the impact of each drive. Her bulging tits rolled and bounced on her chest as he hammered into her repeatedly, his balls slapping against her voluptuous ass cheeks with each thrust. Consuela let out a guttural cry as a powerful orgasm rocked her body. Her back arched and her heels dug into the back of Blackshot's straining thighs, and then relaxed.

  Blackshot wasn't stopping, however. Still punching his cock steadily into Consuela's mound, he swung her leg across his body, rolling her onto her stomach. He took a handful of her raven hair and wrapped it around his hand with a deft swing of the wrist, giving him a firm grip. He gave a yank, pulling Consuela's head back and arching her back, allowing him to penet
rate her deeper. Digging the fingers of his other hand into her sweaty hips, he went to work, pounding her pussy like a jackhammer.

  Consuela gave a whimpering moan as another orgasm washed over her; her hands clutching the red silk so tight her fingers were white, her legs writhing. Blackshot could feel that he was reaching his limit as well. He slid his rigid length from her wet sheath and released his grip on her hair. She buried her face in the sheets as he stood over her, letting his shaft rest between her thick, glistening ass cheeks. His hips bucked against her, and he sent hot jets of cum crisscrossing the whole of her back and ass.

  Blackshot collapsed onto the bed beside Consuela's wet body, and they lay together without moving for what seemed like an eternity, the heavy panting of their breaths the only sound, as the room spun around them.

  The first purple streaks of dawn were mixing with the hues of the night sky when Blackshot arose from the bed, sliding gently to the floor so as not to wake Consuela. He gathered his clothes from where they had been strewn in the haste of the night's action, and tiptoed toward the door.

  “Where do you think you're going?” demanded Consuela's sultry voice from behind him.

  She jumped up from the bed and ran to the door and blocked it with her naked body, holding the brass handle behind her back.

  “You forget, I am the mistress of this house now!” Consuela said with a mischievous smile. “And if you want to leave this room,” she turned to the door and placed her hands against it, bending slowly forward and spreading her supple brown legs wide, “you'll have to get through me!”

  It was the second time that night that Blackshot had been held captive, but this time he did not mind at all.

  Blood Money

  Chapter 1

  The light from the little camp fire glistened on the muscular copper arms of the Comanche raider as one of them was raised to take the cigarette from between his thin grinning lips, while the other stayed poised above a short-barreled shotgun that lay on the ground beside where he knelt.

  “Mister Blackshot,” he said in a low, menacing voice.

  “Mister Butcher,” returned the deep voice of the man that stood on the other side of the fire. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his steel gray eyes met the other man's malicious stare from beneath the brim of a flat-crowned black hat. His large hands hung casually at his sides, but very close to the butts of two black Colt revolvers holstered on his hips.

  Pea'hochso “The Butcher of the Badlands” flicked his cigarette into the fire. “So that old Tonkawa bastard sent you to do his dirty work, eh?” he growled. “The drunken coward ought to know better than to cross me.”

  “Oh, the old chief isn't such a bad guy,” Blackshot replied. “Maybe if you stopped killing his kinfolk and stealing his horses he would be friendlier to you.”

  A mirthless laugh rumbled in the Butcher's broad chest. “Next time I pay him a visit I'll leave his shit hole tribe alone and deal with the old bastard personally,” he snarled.

  “There won't be a next time.”

  “Hey, if you want to die for that piss ant, that's your business,” the big raider laughed. He knew Blackshot was a dangerous man, but he also saw the two men stealing up behind him, moving silently in the dusky shadows with their long knives drawn. The man closest to him, a short, wiry killer with a crooked nose, leaped forward to drive his blade into the tall gunfighter's back.

  With a speed that seemed beyond what was humanly possible, Blackshot's hands flashed to the butts of the Colts. Without turning his eyes from the Butcher, one hand swept under his opposite arm and pulled the trigger. The first bullet caught the wiry man in the hip, sending him spinning to the ground. Before he could scramble to his feet the next bullet smashed through the raider's temple, dropping him into a smear of his own brains and blood.

  The other Comanche lunged forward and drove his knife toward Blackshot's broad back. Blackshot spun quickly and swung one hand upward, sliding under the flashing blade of the knife and catching the killer's wrist with his own. The Colt in his other hand roared into action, sending a slug slamming into the raider's stomach and bursting from his back with a spray of blood that spurted onto the rocks at the edge of the clearing.

  The instant that Blackshot turned to face the other man, the Butcher sprang to the shotgun that lay in front of him and brought it level with the black-clad gunfighter's belt buckle. As the sawed-off barrels belched out a fiery fusillade of steel, Blackshot darted aside behind a rock, letting the other Comanche absorb the blast. It tore into the man's stomach, almost cutting him in half and sending him reeling limply to the ground with his guts spilling onto the dirt around him.

  As the man fell, the Butcher saw the knife that he had wielded flash in Blackshot's hand. With a snap of his powerful arm, Blackshot slung the knife at the big Comanche, making the flames of the campfire dance as the blade whistled over it. Before the Butcher could react, the steel blade plunged into his throat, sending him staggering backward with blood spurting from his jugular. As he reeled against the rocky outcropping that bordered the clearing, Blackshot vaulted lightly over the fire and drove his body into the other man. Gripping the handle of the knife, Blackshot drove it downward with a twisting motion until he felt the tip of the blade hit rock. Then with all his might he jerked the blade forward, separating the notorious killer's head from his body. The Butcher slid to the ground, leaving a thick red streak on the face of the rock. The severed head tumbled from the rocks and fell face-down in the dirt.

  Blackshot got to his feet and walked to the fire, leaving bloody footprints behind him. He extinguished the little flame with his heel and was gone.

  Chapter 2

  The dusk had turned to full darkness by the time Blackshot's roan was weaving between the tall teepees of the Tonkawa camp. At the center of the camp was a large, finely decorated tent where Blackshot swung down from his horse and walked inside.

  Candles lit the interior of the tent, illuminating a strange and exotic collection of furniture, animal skins, and oddments that would have looked more at home in a curio shop than a chief's abode. The chief himself, who sat on a carved wooden chair at the center of the tent, gave off a similar impression; He wore a faded blue bowler hat atop his long gray hair, and his beady eyes squinted through the smoke of a long cigar which protruded from his thick lips. His stocky frame was clad in a red silk shirt and fine wool breeches, and his wrinkled fingers toyed with the head of a polished walking stick.

  “Blackshot, old friend! Come in,” the old man called in a raspy voice as Blackshot appeared in the entryway. A broad grin shone on his round, unshaven face as he waved his visitor to a chair. “What's the good word?”

  “You won't be having any more problems with the Butcher,” Blackshot replied.

  “Well, hail the conquering hero, then! That's great news! Tomorrow we shall prepare a great banquet in your honor, and present you with a ceremonial token to commemorate your fortitude and the great service done to the people of the-”

  “I'd rather you presented me with my fee,” Blackshot interjected.

  “Business before pleasure, I see. Fine, that's fine. I respect that quality in a man,” the chief replied, the expression on his face hinting at a feeling other than respect. He drew a small bag from his back pocket and tossed it to Blackshot. “That should settle us up.”

  Coins clinked together inside the bag as Blackshot caught it. He could tell immediately that it was lighter than it should have been. “This isn't what we agreed on,” he growled.

  “I know, I know,” the old man said, tapping out his cigar on the arm of his chair. “I'll have to owe you the rest, Blackshot. I'm a proud man, and it's hard for me to admit it when times are tough, but times are tough and that's all I've got for you right now.”

  Blackshot was about to reply when another voice cut in. It was a woman's voice, smooth and sultry. “Papa, aren't you being forgetful?”

  There was a rustling from a pile of animal skins and furs stacked by t
he back of the tent, and a woman arose and turned toward the two men. She was young and quite pretty, with large, dark eyes that flashed with mischief and a lush mane of black hair pulled into a long braid. She wore a short buckskin jerkin that accentuated her impressive curves, and her taut bronze legs were bare.

  She flashed a sexy smile and a wink at Blackshot. “You remember that fur trader that came by this morning, don't you?” she asked the old man, still watching Blackshot. “He paid you all that cash; remember how he counted it into your hand?”

  If looks could kill, the young woman's life would have ended that moment under the glare that the old chief pierced her with. “But of course that's right,” he said in a strained voice. “Thank you for reminding me, my little prairie flower.”

  He reluctantly fished a wad of crumpled paper money from his pocket and fumbled through it. With a sigh he separated it into two stacks and thrust the larger of the two at Blackshot. “Well, that's a weight off my mind,” he grumbled. “I felt terrible not paying you in full.”

  “I could tell,” Blackshot replied, grinning. “It's lucky your daughter was here.”

  The chief glowered at him. “I count myself a lucky man to have a clever daughter like my little Moonbird. Well, that's our business done. You'll be off, then?”

  “Why, Papa!” Moonbird cried, “Surely a man of such fortitude who has done such a great service to our people shouldn't be turned out into the night!”

  The chief sighed heavily, his face flushed with anger. “You'll be our guest tonight, of course,” he muttered at Blackshot. “Moonbird dear, why don't you show him to his place since you clearly have nothing better to do.”

  “Your wish is my command, Papa.” She bowed dramatically, then sauntered to the door of the tent, brushing up against Blackshot as she passed.