by Kurt Barker
“You know what I want, cowboy,” she purred, “Give it to me!”
Blackshot knew exactly what she wanted; it was threatening to burst right out of his pants if he didn't get them off quick! In no time he had done just that, and he stood over her, his swollen erection inches from her full red lips. Georgia ran her fingers slowly and softly along the length of the hard shaft and guided it to her mouth.
A guttural groan escaped Blackshot's lips as he bowed over her, pushing his girth deeper between her warm, wet lips. Georgia gasped and sucked hungrily as his thick head surged to the back of her throat. Blackshot gripped the back of the bench and began to thrust his hips against her in a slow and steady rhythm. Her plump breasts wobbled and leaped on her chest as the speed and intensity of his thrusts increased.
Blackshot reached a hand to her flat stomach and ran his finger over her navel before trailing it down to the patch of dark blonde hair at the apex of her thighs. Georgia's body stiffened as his fingers caressed her mound and pressed between its wet lips. She let out a muffled gulp, her mouth and throat still full of him. Her hips strained against his fingers, wanting more.
Blackshot also wanted more of what Georgia's lips and tongue were doing, but with each thrust his body came closer to the limits of control. A ball of fire seemed to be roiling in his belly, and soon it would not be denied any longer. He drew his shaft from the heat of her mouth just as he exploded. Georgia squealed as her face and open mouth received a streaky coating of white.
“Oh, baby!” she panted, blinking his juices from her lashes. She sat up, rubbing his pulsing shaft with one hand while her other hand moved between her thighs. “I'm so hot right now, I'm like to start a fire! Tell me you ain't through!”
“You know me better than that,” Blackshot grinned.
Soon Georgia's expert hands had brought his cock as rigid as a steel rod, and she wasted no time in guiding the throbbing head to the wet lips of her pussy. She let out a ragged moan as Blackshot's thick erection plunged into her and stretched her to her limit.
“Oh, shit! Pardon my language,” she cried as he ground his whole length deep into her belly. “Oh, that's what I need!”
Blackshot smiled as he gripped the back of the bench and began to drive his hips into her, hard and fast. Georgia's golden curls bounced across her shoulders, her cum-streaked face flushed with the same aching desire that flared in her eyes as they stared longingly into his, her swollen tits squashed against her creamy thighs as his body bent hers almost in two.
The sweat from their bodies mingled as Blackshot pounded Georgia's mound with a relentless vigor, his balls slapping into her curvaceous ass. Her body convulsed in orgasm and her lips parted in a silent moan as gold ringlets spilled across her face. The intensity of the thrusts did not abate, however, as the long, rock-hard shaft kept hammering into her with a merciless rhythm until it had sent another climax tearing through her quivering body.
Blackshot was gripping the back of the bench so tightly that he thought it might break in two in his hands; the room seemed to spin in intoxicating revolutions. There was no holding back; his hips gave a wild jerk and he filled Georgia with the torrent of his release.
Georgia let out a long, low moan and slumped over onto her side, her hair covering her face. Blackshot fell down onto the bench beside her, and they lay like that for some time, their heavy breaths mixing with the muted clattering of the steel rails beneath the train's wheels. After a while, Georgia rolled onto her back and propped her legs across Blackshot's lap.
“I wish you would move to Charleston,” she said, beaming at him. “I don't know if I could survive much more of this sort of excitement, but I'd sure like to find out.”
“Who knows? I might swing by there if I get the time,” Blackshot said with a smile. “I think I like the new Georgia quite a lot.”
“Time- Oh, the time! Dammit!” Georgia sat up suddenly.
“I'll pardon your language,” Blackshot said, pulling her close with an arm around her shoulder. “What's the matter?”
Georgia sighed. “Cousin Beau is the matter. He wanted us to eat dinner together and 'catch up on old times'.” She threw up her hands angrily. “What's he even doing here anyway?! It's not like him to come around; I haven't seen him in years.”
“Sounds like you're not too happy to see him now.”
“He's always so mean to me; even when we were kids he would bully me and play nasty tricks, and now that we've grown up he's still just an overgrown bully,” Georgia said bitterly. She was silent a moment, then said suddenly, “I know it's a terrible thing to say about one's own family, but honestly I wish I never had to see him again!”
“You know, wishes can sometimes come true,” Blackshot said.
The Hellcat Hunters
Chapter 1
After a hard winter, spring had come to the valley country, and outside the back window of the little room above the Silverline Saloon, the trees were adorned with white and pink blossoms that fluttered across the pane as the gentle breeze bore them toward the sun-warmed grass below. It was a sight that would bring cheer to even the coldest heart.
Tom Blackshot had not noticed, however, for the sight that was bringing him cheer at present was the jiggling and bouncing of the plump bare breasts belonging to the pretty blonde barmaid on his lap. The bath water sloshed about her slender waist as she rose and fell atop Blackshot's long, rigid cock, and she let out a soft gasping moan each time he plunged into her.
Blackshot had spent two grueling weeks riding after some escaped outlaws for a bounty, and after he had collected the money he had decided to treat himself to a little rest and relaxation, starting by soaking away the trail dust in a nice hot bath. He had to pay for the bath, but the barmaid had offered herself to the tall, well-muscled gunfighter as a free bonus; Blackshot never turned down a free bonus!
The girl threw back her head and groaned as a climax shook her body. Blackshot took the wet, swollen breasts in his big hands and felt the nipples hard against his palms as his fingers massaged the supple flesh. Her hips ground against his as she began to undulate atop him again.
Just then a light knock sounded from the door at Blackshot's back. “Hey, Mister!” a muffled female voice called.
Blackshot was about to answer but the blonde beat him to it. “Daisy, go away!” she snapped.
“Lilly, are you in there?” the voice answered quizzically. The door swung open and, to Blackshot's surprise, a girl entered the room that was the exact image of the girl astride him. She wore a loose white tunic, a flowered skirt, and a wide grin. “Daisy! What are you doing?”
“Can't you tell, dummy?” Daisy retorted, hands on hips. “Now get outta here!”
“Mister Baxter sent me up to tell the gentleman not to splash the water so much, on account of it dripping through the floorboards,” Lilly said, still smiling. “I guess I can see why it was splashing!”
“Tell him the gentleman paid for his water and he can do what he wants with it!” Lilly's twin shot back at her.
“You tell him. He wanted me to find you, too, and tell you sweep up the floor in the barroom.”
“I'll do it later! I'm busy now!”
“He wants it done now.”
“You do it!”
“It ain't my turn to do it!”
“So what?!”
“I ain't doing it if it ain't my turn!”
Blackshot said nothing, as he was finding this exchange amusing.
Daisy was not. “I ain't finished here! I can't just leave the gentleman in the middle of things like this!” she said sharply, throwing up her hands in anger.
“Oh, that's no matter,” Lilly smirked. In a flash she had pulled her tunic over her head, stepped out of her skirt, and stood before them naked. “I'll make sure the gentleman gets all finished up!”
She held her clothes out to Daisy, who shrugged and turned to Blackshot. “Oh well, I guess if the gentleman doesn't mind?...”
Blackshot assured them
that the gentleman didn't mind. Daisy got out of the big tin tub and started dressing in her sister's clothes while Lilly stepped into the water and lowered herself atop Blackshot's hips, scooping some of the bath water onto her breasts and stomach as she did so. She let out a little cry as his thick manhood pressed between the lips of her pussy and stretched her with its girth.
“Go easy at first! It's a big one!” Daisy called to her as she left the room.
Lilly giggled as she slid down onto Blackshot's lap, letting him push slowly deeper into her hot, wet core. Blackshot put his hands around her slim waist and ground her buxom ass against his hips, driving his whole length into her belly. A moan caught in her throat as her body strained against his, and then she began to bounce atop him in a quick rhythm, flecks of water shaking from her ample tits as she moved.
Lilly's hands ran down the broad expanse of Blackshot's chest to where the water lapped at his chiseled midsection. He pulled her body close to him and brought the peak of one of her luscious breasts to his lips. Lilly gasped as it hardened against his searching tongue and urged her flesh further into his mouth. Before long he felt her hips shudder against his, and her body convulsed in a torrid orgasm.
Blackshot continued thrusting vigorously into her writhing body, but by now he was fighting a losing battle with the inferno raging inside him. Soon he could hold it back no further, and his release exploded into her in long, hot jets. Lilly let out a low moan and gripped the sides of the tub to steady herself, her glistening breasts heaving on her chest.
Just then, another knock sounded on the door, and a woman's voice called, “Mister Blackshot?”
Blackshot wiped his brow. He liked women as well as the next man, but this was getting ridiculous! He was about to answer when suddenly the muffled but unmistakable crack of gunfire burst out from the street below.
“Oh hurry, Mister Blackshot!” the voice screamed. “They're killing him!”
Chapter 2
Blackshot swore under his breath as he leaped from the bath, practically throwing Lilly off of him as he got to his feet. As he slid into his jeans and stamped on his boots he panted a quick apology to her, then scooped up his belt from which hung a pair of well-worn black Colt revolvers, and was out the door.
The woman outside was short and round-faced, and Blackshot could tell from her thick makeup and bright red satin dress just what profession she was in. She grasped his hand and pulled him after her as she ran down the stairs.
“You've got to stop them!” she cried. “They're after Mr. Turpin!”
“Who are they?”
“I dunno! But you gotta stop them! They're gonna kill Mr. Turpin!”
Blackshot could see there was no point in asking who Mr. Turpin was right now; more gunfire sounded from outside and he lunged past the woman and ran for the front door of the saloon.
Across the wide, rutted main street stood a weathered two story building with a broad false front. Two horses danced skittishly at the hitching post near the door, and two others had broken free and fled down the street from the sound of the gunfire. Screams rang out from the upstairs window and suddenly the front door flew open and two men emerged, both with revolvers in hand.
The woman behind Blackshot shrieked at the sight of the men, causing them to turn sharply to face the tall, broad-shouldered man that stood in the center of the street with two black Colts slung low from his narrow waist and his powerful arms and chest bare and still wet from the bath water.
The men said nothing, but one of them, a short, barrel-chested man with a bristling mustache, swung his revolver up toward Blackshot's head. Before he could level the barrel, one of the black Colts flew like a flash into Blackshot's streaking hand and in almost the same instant was spitting flame. The first bullet slammed into the man's chest, sending him staggering backward as his gun fired into the sky. A moment later another slug was ripping through his throat, pitching him sideways over the hitching post with blood spurting onto the horses' flanks.
The second man, a long-haired halfbreed, had raised his gun as soon as the first shot was fired, but that was too late; Blackshot's second Colt sent two slugs punching through his stomach, painting the wall behind him red. He stumbled forward into the street and fell at Blackshot's feet, his guts hitting the ground before he did.
As the echoes of the gunfire died away, the only remaining sound was the frantic screaming of the stocky little whore, who was huddled on the ground in fetal position with her hands over her eyes.
“With a voice like that you could have had a career in opera,” Blackshot said.
She took her hands from her ashen face. “Did you get them? Are they dead?”
“As dead as I can make them.”
A gruff voice hailed them from down the street: “Hey! What the hell's going on here!” A red-faced man with a great jiggling pot belly that hung over his belt was advancing toward them at a sort of limping trot. A silver sheriff's badge hung from the breast pocket of his plaid shirt and a handkerchief was tucked into his collar as a bib.
“Nice of you to show up now that the shooting is all over,” Blackshot said. “I hope it didn't interrupt your lunch.”
The sheriff's face turned even redder as he snatched the bib away and stuffed it into his back pocket. “Watch your mouth, sonny!” he barked. “I don't allow gun fighting in my town! If you don't want to see the inside of a jail cell, you'd better-”
“Oh, there's no time for that!” the girl shouted, scrambling to her feet. “We gotta see what's happened to Mr. Turpin!”
She pushed past the spluttering sheriff and tottered up to the front of the building on her high-heeled boots and pounded on the door. Blackshot followed her with the sheriff close behind, still demanding to know what was going on. The door was opened by a slender young woman with wavy brown hair. She held a cigarette between two trembling fingers, and she was completely nude.
“I got Mister Blackshot!” the stocky girl said. “Mr. Turpin isn't dead, is he?”
“He ain't good!” the naked girl cried. “He ain't good at all! We gotta hurry or it'll be too late!”
“Oh, shit on it all! Why does this have to happen to us?!” the round-faced girl whined. She grabbed Blackshot by the wrist and pulled him toward the door. “Please! Come up quick!”
The sheriff took a step back, trying to avert his eyes from the bare ass of the naked woman running up the stairs of the whorehouse. “Er, I suppose I'd better take care of the situation out here,” he stammered.
“I suppose you'd better,” Blackshot replied and slammed the door in his face. He followed the girls up the narrow stairway, which still smelled of gunpowder, and into a short hallway where two other half-clad women stood nervously outside an open door. The women that had led Blackshot upstairs also hesitated outside the door and looked up at him with pleading eyes. He moved past them and went into the room.
Inside the room a man lay on an unmade bed; a small table beside the bed lay on its side with a glass oil lamp dashed to pieces alongside it. The man was thin and wiry, with flecks of gray dotting his black sideburns and mustache, and the front of his white buttoned shirt was soaked red. A little gold Derringer lay on the bloodstained sheets beside him.
“You Blackshot?” he rasped in a faint voice. “I need to talk to you.”
“You need to talk to a doctor,” Blackshot replied.
“With both know I'm past the helping of any doctor,” the man wheezed. Blood bubbled from his lips with each breath. “I need to hire you. I hear you're a man that won't quit and won't fail once he sets out to do a thing.”
“You heard right.”
“I'll tell you straight, Blackshot; I'm a swindler. I've always been a swindler, and it's finally caught up with me. I crossed the wrong man. Those men that shot me-”
“They're dead.”
“Don't make no difference. There's plenty more of 'em. I don't blame 'em for what they done to me, I cheated 'em good; but they won't stop with finishing me! It's my
wife, Blackshot! They'll kill her!”
Chapter 3
Blackshot's eyes narrowed. “Your wife? Why-”
“She's got their money, Blackshot!” the man winced. “I hid it at the house, all of it; only she don't know it! She don't know nothing about what I've done, but those boys ain't gonna care! They want their money, and they'd tear her to pieces to get at it! You gotta get to her first, Blackshot!”
The man fumbled between the tangled sheets and drew out a small leather pouch. With a grimace he tossed it to Blackshot. “I'm hiring you!” he whispered hoarsely.
Blackshot thumbed open the pouch and saw a thick sheaf of money. “Fine, I'll get to her and keep her safe,” he said. “Where does she live?”
There was no answer, and Blackshot looked up to see that the man's eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. He swore under his breath and went over to the bed and closed the man's eyelids. Turning, he saw the wide-eyed faces of the women peeking around the sides of the door frame. He jerked a thumb toward the man in the bed.
“Who is he? Where did he come from?” he demanded.
The naked girl spoke up in a tremulous voice. “His name is Turpin.”
“Clem Turpin,” interrupted a skinny, hawk-faced woman in a silk gown. Tears gleamed in her eyes. “He was a good feller, was Mr. Turpin; always paid good money and never no rough stuff.” The other girls nodded in assent.
“But where's he from?” Blackshot persisted. “Did he ever say anything about where he lived? Or about his wife?”
“He was from Battler's Falls,” the naked girl replied, trying to light a fresh cigarette with shaking hands. “It's down South a ways.”
“No, that ain't it, dummy,” the skinny woman interjected. “He came from a town 'name of Hammer Creek. I know 'cause he was always telling the story how it was called Hammer Creek on account of some folks found an old stone Indian hammer by the creek when they was first settling there, so-”