Blackshot Sixshooter Collection

by Kurt Barker

  Soon a new sheriff had been appointed who had brought the excitement under control, and after a few days Jacksonburg had returned to a state of relative normalcy. By now Blackshot was tired of the place, and was feeling the itch to move on. In the morning he made his way to the stables behind the boarding house to retrieve his horse and get back on the trail.

  While the furor over the bank heist had been coursing through the city, the cattlemen had been concluding their business, and by the time the hubbub had dissipated they too had left, returning to their southern pastures. As such, when Blackshot entered the stables he found them almost abandoned, with his horse the only one in residence.

  As he cinched the saddle onto the roan's back, he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the sawdust floor. He turned to see Emily Boone approaching; she wore a neat blouse and skirt and her bolero jacket was folded carefully over the leather rifle case she was carrying. She carried her hat in her other hand and her hair was pulled behind her head as it had been when they first met.

  “Good morning, Mr. Blackshot,” she said in her typically emotionless tone. “I was hoping to see you before you left.”

  “Good to see you, Agent Boone,” Blackshot replied. “You're looking well.”

  Boone sighed. “Sorry, I'm still being formal even though I'm off duty. You can call me Emily. May I call you Tom?”

  “Please do.”

  “Tom, I want to thank you. You saved my life-- you saved it twice, really. They were planning to ambush me in that hideout in the alley. I didn't have it all figured out right.”

  “I didn't have it figured out much better at that point,” Blackshot admitted. “That bastard Watkins was a pretty clever schemer, I'll give him that. We just do the best we can.”

  “I misjudged you and I didn't trust you,” Emily said. “That was a mistake.”

  “I don't blame you,” Blackshot replied with a laugh. “In most circumstances I wouldn't trust me either!”

  “I pride myself of never making the same mistakes twice,” Emily said, and suddenly her arms were around Blackshot's neck and her lips were pressed to his. He held her close to him, feeling the warmth of her body against his. After what seemed like an eternity, their lips parted. “Now that the misunderstanding has been cleared up, I know that we can work much better together.”

  Blackshot grinned. “Is that an order, Agent Boone?”

  “I'm a natural leader,” she replied, as her hands pulled open the buttons on Blackshot's shirt. “When a job needs done, I take charge and get it done.” Her breath was hot against his skin as her lips moved across the hard muscles of his chest and down his stomach. “It's what I do...” Emily's eyes flickered with a mischievous light as she slid down onto her knees, pulling her hair free and shaking it loose in silky chocolate waves that spilled across her shoulders, “...and I'm the best at what I do!”

  Emily's fingers tugged at Blackshot's belt until she had pulled it free and moved quickly to his jeans. The pressure had been building in Blackshot's jeans from the moment they had kissed, and it was a relief when they were finally torn away and his long, hard manhood swung out toward Emily.

  Now Blackshot felt Emily's sultry breath again as her tongue ran the length of his shaft. She let her lips close around his head as her hands worked at the buttons of her blouse until it fell open, letting her luscious breasts bulge free. Then the voluptuous mounds were enveloping his cock, as Emily drew his rod into the hollow between her ample tits. Blackshot groaned as the warm, soft flesh rubbed luridly along his rigid length, and the hard brown nipples brushed his stomach.

  Emily's eyes held his as she lifted a breast to her mouth and ran her tongue along its glistening peak, then moved it to the straining head of his cock, teasing it gently. Her lips enveloped it again, and this time she slid Blackshot's shaft into her mouth. Back and forth her head moved, bringing him in deeper each time. Her throat was like a sweet burning cauldron as his cock plunged down it; the suction from her lips drew him in again and again undeterred by his immense girth.

  Blackshot felt Emily's hands clutch his buttocks and pull him against her face, driving him deeper into her throat as her lips sought the base of his thick shaft. Now the pressure of her lips was too much and Blackshot felt his body reach its limit. Emily felt it too, and as the fiery wave of desire washed over him, she drew his cock from her mouth with a smile on her lips. An instant later the smile was covered in thick white streams as he spent his load all across her face.

  “You see,” Emily panted, as cum dripped from her brow and ran down her flushed cheeks, “I may seem a little bossy, but I have a very impressive success rate.”

  A raspy chuckled rumbled in Blackshot's throat. “A little bossy?”

  Emily laughed. “So I like doing things my way! You think you can do better?”

  “I've got a pretty fine success rate myself, as it happens.”

  “Is that so?” Emily reached an arm behind her back and drew out the pair of iron handcuffs from the belt of her skirt. She closed one cuff around her wrist and then looped her arm around the wooden post at the edge of the stall behind her back, and snapped the second cuff shut around her other wrist. “Then let's see what you've got. Show me who's boss!”

  Blackshot stepped close to Emily and ran his hand across the swell of her firm breast. “I have to warn you, I'm a hard boss to work for,” he hissed into her ear as his grip closed around the plump tit and squeezed until the flesh bulged from between his fingers.

  “Show me how hard! I want to feel it!” she whispered huskily as his mouth explored her throat through strands of chestnut hair.

  Blackshot gave Emily's skirt a swift jerk and it fell to her ankles. His strong hand pressed along her taut belly and ran through the strip of brown hair between her broad, milky hips. Her breath caught as his fingers pressed the lips of her pussy, and her lissom body strained against the pole at her back. She was wet with desire and panting hard, her swollen breasts heaving on her chest.

  Blackshot spread Emily's tensed thighs and let the tip of his erection slide the length of her wet bush. “Can you feel this?” he said. “I'll show you how hard a boss I can be.”

  With that he plunged into her, driving his cock deep into her hot core. Emily let out a stifled gasp as Blackshot's full girth stretched her; his strong hands pulled her hips against his thrust, grinding deep into her belly. As her body rose against his, he began driving into her with a steady rhythm.

  Blackshot gripped the wooden post behind Emily's back with both hands and pulled against it as he continued punching into her pussy, pinning her body against his. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, letting out a whimpering moan with each thrust as her sweat-streaked tits were crushed against his steely chest and her round ass dug into the wood post.

  Emily's body writhed in climax on Blackshot's cock as an anguished cry tore from her lips. Blackshot wasn't finished, however; he continued plowing into the wet warmth of her loins with all the strength his powerful hips could muster until another orgasm sent her juices gushing down her quivering thighs.

  Soon the sultry heat of Emily's body and her breathless moans mixing with the rhythmic slapping of his balls against her ass was too much for Blackshot, and he knew he could hold on no longer. He pulled out of Emily and she collapsed on her knees, drained and gasping. Blackshot steadied himself against the post and let his release fire out in jerking streaks onto her face and breasts.

  As he stood over her drawing in air in ragged gulps, letting his swimming head regain its bearings, he felt Emily's steamy breath once more as her lips sucked the last drops from his cock.

  She smiled up at Blackshot, blinking his cum from her long lashes. “I should have let you give the orders from the start, boss,” she said with a smirk.

  An hour later Blackshot stood on the platform as Emily boarded the waiting train. She looked as prim and professional as ever in her neat skirt and jacket, and he smiled as the men on the train car stood up respectfully and dof
fed their hats to her, thinking of the very unprofessional side of her that only he knew.

  When she reached her seat Emily leaned out the window and held out her hand to Blackshot. As he shook it she said, “I am counting on your discretion in regards to our.... discussion of our relative management abilities.”

  “You may do so safely,” Blackshot said, grinning.

  “Also, I do not consider the matter settled,” Emily continued. “The next time we cross paths I intend to revisit the terms of our discussion very thoroughly.”

  “You're the boss,” Blackshot said.

  The Devil's Dancer

  Chapter 1

  “I need a man killed, Mr. Blackshot,” the blonde said in a lilting southern drawl, “and I understand you are the man to see about such matters.”

  She stood in the doorway smiling sweetly, and looked almost angelic with her golden blonde curls falling across her delicate shoulders and her white, lace-trimmed dress and hat unsullied by the amber dirt that seemed to cling to every surface of the dusty little border town. However, the deep plunge of the neckline which revealed abundant cleavage, and the cool potency of the big blue eyes told a different tale.

  “You understand wrong,” Blackshot replied. “I'm no assassin.” His tall, broad-shouldered frame filled the door and covered the girl with its shadow. One look in his steel gray eyes told that he meant what he said, although one look at the pair of black Colt revolvers that hung from his narrow waist told that they had seen plenty of use.

  The sweet smile did not leave the blonde's face. “It's not that I particularly want this man to die,” she drawled pleasantly, “it's just that he stole something from me which I want returned, and he's not the sort of man to give it back without being sufficiently killed first.”

  “You'd better come inside,” Blackshot said. He stood back from the door and motioned the woman in.

  The room was small and furnished with only an old well-worn bed against one wall and a weathered wooden chair in the opposite corner. The low murmur of voices from the cantina below drifted up through the floorboards, and the ragged curtains hung limp across the lone window.

  Blackshot had taken the room for the night because it was the only one available in town, and it had seemed (barely) better than spending another night in one cold desert gulch or another, which he had been doing a lot recently. He had finished a hard job dealing with bandits in a different dusty little town south of the border, and had finished a long trip back to the States not an hour before the girl's little white-gloved hand had knocked at his door.

  If the blonde was put off by the shabbiness of the room, it did not show on her face, and she thanked Blackshot graciously when he offered her the chair. She removed her hat and sat it upturned on her lap and carefully pulled off her gloves, placing them neatly inside the hat.

  “Gracious, I have been rude,” she said. “I never introduced myself; My name is Georgia Lee Motherwell, originally from Charleston, lately from more westerly locations, which is in part the cause of my troubles. Tell me, Mr. Blackshot, have you heard the name Jefferson Donner?”

  “Donner....” Blackshot considered. “Yes, I think I know the name. Isn't he some sort of land baron? Very rich old man that owns a lot of land west of the Mississippi?”

  “'The richest man in the west', they called him,” Georgia affirmed. “But that was before he was dead.”

  “When did he die?”

  “A year ago, but that's not as interesting as how he died. He was gunned down in cold blood outside the chapel where he had gone to marry one Georgia Lee Motherwell, originally of Charleston.”

  “Which I assume is what leads Georgia Lee Motherwell to Tom Blackshot.” The image in Blackshot's mind of the aged tycoon romancing the curvy young southern belle might have brought a smile to his lips any other time, but murder was no laughing matter.

  “Why Mr. Blackshot, we mustn't skip ahead in the story!” Georgia purred with mock reproach. “We are leaving out the most important part. Now tell me, have you heard the name Jean-Jacque Martine Demarque?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps you would know him by his nom de guerre Mad Devil Jack?”

  “I would definitely know Mad Devil Jack,” Blackshot answered grimly. The story of Mad Devil Jack well known to Blackshot, and it was a strange one; the dapper French Canadian salesman who had traveled to Mexico to peddle needles, thread and scissors to the senoras and had somehow ended up as the ruthless ringleader of one of the most feared bandit gangs along the Rio, earning his nickname with his bloodthirsty exploits.

  “It was he who did the gunning down of my dear little Jeff,” Georgia said, “he and his bloody gang. They killed the best man and the groomsmen and even the preacher for good measure. They stole everything they could, too, right off the bodies, which brings me to the reason for my call.”

  “You want me to get you the valuables that Mad Devil Jack stole?”

  Georgia smiled broadly. “Why that would be the natural thing to assume that a gold digger like myself would want,” she said.

  “I didn't call you that.”

  “No, but I am aware of what appearances are; the young vixen getting her claws into the rich old fool for a big payday,” Georgia continued, “but be that as it may, I am interested in only one piece of gold; the wedding ring. It belonged to my dear departed mother, and I want it back.”

  “After a year? Even if I did run down Jack and his gang, the ring is surely long gone,” Blackshot said.

  “He'll have it,” Georgia snapped back firmly, the smile leaving her face for the first time. “It's worth nothing; nothing to anyone but me. He took if for pure meanness. He'll have it, I'm sure he will.”

  Blackshot sighed inwardly. He could see there was much more to Georgia and the matter of Mad Devil Jack than met the eye, and it spelled trouble in bold letters. Still, he was between clients and she was offering him a job, and she was in need of help, and very pretty....

  “Okay, I'll track him down and if he still has it, I'll get it back,” Blackshot said. His weakness for women would be the death of him yet!

  Georgia stood up, beaming widely. “Oh Mr. Blackshot, that's wonderful! You don't know how much this means to me!” she cried. Then the expression on her face turned serious. “There is just one little ol' problem which we must discuss.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You see, I brought what I thought was enough money to come out here and find you, and well, you can be a hard man to find, Mr. Blackshot!” Georgia said, playing nervously with her hat. “Now that I've finally found you, I have no money left to pay you.”

  Blackshot was about to respond, but she held up her hand.

  “I've sent back home for more, and as soon as it arrives I will pay you every penny you require, don't you worry!” Georgia said. “However, until then,” her hand moved behind her back, then with a shake of her hips the white dress fell to the floor and she stood before him naked, “I would like to propose a barter arrangement.”

  Chapter 2

  Georgia stepped out of her dress and sauntered across the room to Blackshot with a sexy twinkle in her eye; her plump, rosy breasts swaying above her slender waist and thick, taut hips as she walked.

  “This would just be considered a down payment, of course,” she drawled, running her small hand down his broad, muscular chest, “I won't quibble over percentages.”

  Blackshot put his hand on her shoulder and held her back from him. “That's not necessary, ma'am,” he said. “I don't do business like that. You can owe me for now.”

  “Why Mr. Blackshot, I have heard many stories about you, all to your credit, but they left out mentioning that you are a true gentleman!” Georgia exclaimed, flashing her dazzling smile at him again. “However, I would simply feel too beastly asking you to undertake such dangerous work without pay, so I really must insist!” She slid down to her knees in front of him and began pulling open his belt. Blackshot did not try to stop her a second time; he wa
sn't made of stone!

  Georgia's hands worked fast and within moments Blackshot's jeans had joined her dress on the floor, and his long, thick cock surged out toward her. She gave a low whistle as she ran her finger along the length of his shaft. “Why Mr. Blackshot, those stories left out lots!” she cooed.

  Blackshot groaned as Georgia's tongue played along his head and then traveled slowly and purposefully down his rigid length, sending waves of heat through his body. Her lips pressed to his balls and then parted to take them into her mouth, sucking gently before releasing them again. Then her sultry tongue retraced its meandering path along his pulsing shaft until it returned to the tip.

  Raising herself up against Blackshot's legs, Georgia brought her full, luscious breasts around his rod, enveloping it in soft, warm flesh. She rubbed the big mounds in slow, languorous motions along his turgid cock while she teased the head with her tongue. Her body felt like hot embers against his; he stroked the swollen tits with searching hands, letting his thumbs explore the hard brown peaks. Georgia's lips found his hands and pressed to his fingers before taking her nipple between them and sucking it as Blackshot guided it into her mouth.

  Then he felt her soft little hand take hold of his large, strong one and place it against the silky, golden hair at the back of her head. “Ready when you are,” she said, running her tongue seductively across her parted lips.

  Blackshot was ready; he fed his throbbing cock into Georgia's mouth and she sucked it in hungrily. Her head moved with a vigorous rhythm, taking him deeper into her each time. He pulled her head to his stomach and felt his tip slide down the sweet warmth of her throat as her lips sought the base of his shaft.