Blackshot Sixshooter Collection

by Kurt Barker

  “Oh, me too,” Conchita agreed. “Do you know what is the only thing that could make this better?”

  “Do tell.”

  “Guess.”

  “I can't guess,” Blackshot replied. “Just tell me.”

  Footsteps came from the bedroom and circled around the room to stop in front of the couch. Blackshot opened his eyes to see Linda and Conchita standing over him side by side, both fully naked.

  “Oh, come on,” Conchita purred. “Guess.”

  Chapter 18

  Blackshot sat up, and the girls climbed onto the couch, one on either side of him. Linda began unbuttoning his shirt while Conchita tugged at his belt.

  “You know, after carefully considering the matter, I think I just might be close to formulating a guess,” Blackshot said.

  “Take your time,” Conchita cooed, running her tongue slowly across the thick muscles of his chest. “We're in no hurry.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Linda hissed, pushing Conchita's hands away from Blackshot's fly so that she could yank it open more quickly.

  Blackshot took a handful of her blonde hair and guided her lips to his, savoring them hard and deep. His other hand was in Conchita's, and she placed it on her breast. He stroked the plump mound firmly, letting the soft caramel flesh bulge between his fingers as her nipple hardened against his palm.

  With a moan, Conchita pressed one hand to the back of Blackshot's fingers, urging them to continue exploring her swollen tit, while her other hand sought one of Linda's full, creamy breasts. Caressing it gently, she then brought the ample melon to her lips and sucked the erect peak into her mouth. Linda gasped and threw her head back, offering her other breast to Blackshot. Not one to refuse such an offer, he took the swollen teat and suckled her hungrily.

  As he did so, Blackshot released Linda's hair and ran his hand down her back and cupped her supple ass in his palm. Then he slipped his fingers between the curvaceous cheeks and brushed their tips lightly across the wet lips of her pussy. She gave a lusty grunt which turned into a moan as his fingers entered her, and she strained against his hand as he explored her body.

  Meanwhile Blackshot let his other hand slide from Conchita's breast and trail down her tight belly until it reached the patch of damp hair between her luscious thighs. He pressed his fingers into the wet warmth of her loins, eliciting a muffled groan from her as she continued tasting Linda's nipple.

  Linda moaned tortuously as Blackshot's strong fingers worked inside her. “I need you!” she panted, and began pulling at Blackshot's jeans with renewed vigor. Conchita joined in with equal gusto, and together they jerked them down to his boot tops, freeing his long, thick cock which was already hard with anticipation.

  Conchita bent her head and pressed her lips to Blackshot's shaft, then took his balls into her mouth, sucking gently. Linda followed suit, and soon their two tongues were working steadily up and down his whole length, like two firebrands searing his flesh. For the first time since this whole messy job had started, Blackshot was glad to be taking Clem Turpin's place!

  The girls' mouths met at the tip of Blackshot's cock, and Linda's lips encircled his head as Conchita kissed her mouth and Blackshot's shaft along with it. Conchita ran her fingers through Linda's golden hair and pushed her head downward, driving Blackshot's girth deeper into Linda's sultry mouth as she continued kissing her face. Linda sucked ravenously, inviting him further into her mouth until her lips were grazing his balls and his whole length was enveloped in her warm throat. The pressure of her lips felt to Blackshot like steel striking a flint, sending fiery sparks through his whole body.

  With a hoarse gasp, Lisa drew his pulsing rod from her throat and pressed it to Conchita's waiting lips. Conchita inhaled Blackshot's cock voraciously, her head bobbing in a quick rhythm. Linda's hands were circling around her partner's head, and she grabbed two fistfuls of chocolate hair and yanked it toward Blackshot's hips, driving his shaft deep into Conchita's throat.

  Before long, the combination of Conchita's expert tongue and Linda's hot breath had stoked the fire churning in Blackshot's belly to an uncontrollable inferno. With a groan, he let go and his release flooded into Conchita's mouth in surging jets.

  As Conchita eased Blackshot's manhood from her mouth, her lips white with cum, Linda pulled her close by her hair and licked the streams that ran down her chin.

  “Come on, share with your wife-in-law,” Linda smiled. She thrust her tongue into Conchita's mouth as their lips met in a fervent embrace. Repeatedly their mouths joined and parted until Blackshot's juices glistened from both of their lips and cheeks.

  Conchita turned to Blackshot, her eyes twinkling mischievously from between the unkempt locks of brown hair that fell across her face. She took his shaft in her hand and stroked it steadily, coaxing it slowly back to a stiff erection.

  “You're going to fuck me,” she purred, “but first you have to fuck Linda.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, that's the way our husband did it, and now it's a family tradition.”

  Linda laughed as Conchita pushed her onto the couch beside Blackshot, and she lay back, spreading her legs wide.

  “Okay, it's a deal,” she giggled. “From now on any man that wants to get to you has to come through me first!”

  “See, I knew you girls could get along if you tried,” Blackshot said. His fingers ran through Linda bush, rubbing her gently, then traveled across the hollow of her stomach to the swell of her taut breasts. As he caressed the juicy mounds, he slid the head of his cock along the hollow of her thigh until it was pressed to the lips of her entrance.

  “Now!” she cried. “No more teasing! I need you now!”

  However, Blackshot needed no telling; gripping her thick hips, he pushed his head into her and then plunged deep into her hot core. Linda cried out and wrapped her legs around his thighs, exhorting him into her. Her swollen tits jumped and bounced on her chest as he rammed into her with an intense rhythm, his balls slapping into her luscious ass with each powerful thrust.

  As he pounded Linda, Blackshot could feel Conchita's lips moving across the hard muscles of his abdomen and up to his broad chest. Her hair caressed his skin and her fat breasts bulged against his hips as he moved, driving him to further heights of desire.

  Linda's mouth was open wide, as if in a silent cry, as Blackshot's girth hammered into her again and again. Sweat glistened on her chest and streamed down her ribs, and he could feel her hips becoming slick in his hands. Her body convulsed sharply and her heels dug into his buttocks as a rushing orgasm tore through her.

  Without easing the pace of his thrusts into Linda, Blackshot looped an arm around Conchita's waist and hoisted her up onto the sofa atop the other girl. As they lay like that, breasts crushed together and faces inches apart, Blackshot pulled out of Linda and drove his rigid shaft into Conchita's pussy.

  Conchita moaned in passionate anguish as Blackshot plowed deep into the torrid heat of her body. Her voluptuous ass jiggled and shook with each impact as he gripped her hips and ground into her with vigorous thrusts. Linda's mouth was moving along Conhita's face, planting kisses on her cheeks and lips before moving down to her throat and breasts.

  Sweat was dripping off Blackshot's nose onto Conchita's glistening back as he pounded her pussy, and the fire that had burned in his belly before was back and hotter than ever. When he felt Conchita's body tighten around his as she climaxed violently, he knew that he was at his limit, too. With a rumbling groan, he drew his shaft from her wet sheath, and as she turned over to lie beside Linda, he exploded onto their breasts and stomachs in long white streaks.

  Blackshot dropped onto the sofa beside the girls, and three of them lay silent for a while, breathing heavily.

  After a few minutes, Linda said, “That sure took the fight out of me! You should have done that in the first place instead of spanking us!”

  It was almost noon the next day when Blackshot pulled his horse to the post in front of the Battler's Falls sal
oon. Linda had not been entirely honest about having no fight left in her, and between her and Conchita, Blackshot had gotten very little sleep. It was well after dawn by the time the girls had finally drifted off, and after a night like that he needed a drink.

  When he opened the door to the saloon he found himself face to face with another man who was just leaving. “Oh, excuse me!” the man said pleasantly. He was middle aged and copper-skinned with long black hair pulled into two braids that fell on either shoulder of his buckskin shirt. “Hey, maybe you can help me, sir.”

  “I'll try,” Blackshot said. “What's the problem?”

  “I'm looking for a Mr. Blackshot,” the man said. “You see, I've come here with my cousin Fawn,” he motioned to a pretty young woman standing behind him who smiled shyly at Blackshot, “to find her husband, a Mister Clem Turpin, who hasn't come home in a while.”

  If he noticed Blackshot stagger backward in shock, he didn't make a point of it, for he continued, “The sheriff said a man named Blackshot was here that might know where Turpin has got himself to. Do you know this Blackshot fellow?”

  Blackshot gaped at the man and then at the woman, words failing to come to his lips. The pair exchanged awkward glances, then the man spoke again, “Er, as I say, Blackshot's the name. Do you know where we can find him?”

  “Sorry, I've never heard of him,” Blackshot said, and made a run for his horse.

  The Horsethief and the Harem

  Chapter 1

  Blackshot's hard gray eyes narrowed beneath the flat brim of his black hat as they scanned the squat, weatherbeaten little house, its faded walls lent a ruddy hue by the red dust that seemed to cover every surface on the hot plain. No sound or hint of movement came from the lone window, or from the dilapidated shed that sat just beyond the house, but he could feel an uneasy energy emanating from them, as if something inside was coiled tight like a spring and ready to burst out at him at any moment. There was no doubt in his mind that he was walking into a trap.

  Blackshot swore under his breath and let his hands fall beside the butts of the black Colt revolvers that hung low from his lean waist. He should have turned the job down. No one knew better than he that there's no such thing in this world as easy money.

  Early that morning a man had come to Blackshot as he ate breakfast in the saloon of the small town where he had stayed the night before. He was a curious little man, clad in a finely-embroidered jacket the like Blackshot had never seen, with a bright blue fez atop his curly black hair. He had bowed and offered Blackshot a large envelope, and when asked what his business was he gave no answer other than a few words in a foreign tongue, and only stared blankly at further questions.

  The envelope had contained a letter that read thus:

  “Mr. Blackshot – Fair greetings from the honorable Mehmet Ali Pasha.

  “I have been told of your considerable skills as a mercenary, and I wish to employ you in a small matter which has confronted me. I breed fine horses, which have been ridden by the Sultans and noble princes of the great Ottoman Empire. In my sojourn in this country I contracted to sell one of my excellent horses to a gentleman farmer named Rodney Carson. To my chagrin, Mr. Carson has taken my horse but has rendered me no payment. I wish to bring Mr. Carson before a judge to recover my money or my horse, but the man has proved elusive and neither I nor the sheriff of the town where you reside has been able to find him to redress the matter. I have sent my servant Abdul to you with this letter and a small advance against any expenses you might incur, so that I might put the matter in your capable hands.”

  The situation might have seemed like some sort of joke to Blackshot, except the envelope also contained enough money to pay for his services twice over! Still, he had visited the sheriff before leaving town (with the dutiful Abdul in tow) and inquired about the Pasha's letter. The sheriff confirmed what he had read; he had tried to run down the horse thief for the better part of a week but with no luck.

  And so it was that Blackshot found himself at the ramshackle dirt farm that was the last known address of Rodney Carson, alleged gentleman farmer and horse thief. He had not thought that he would find Carson here, but that he might find a clue to where he had gone. Still, every instinct he possessed told him that the farm was anything but empty.

  The setting sun cast Blackshot's shadow long across the door of the house as he approached it, exaggerating his already impressively powerful shoulders and long legs. He rapped on the flimsy door and called out, “Hello! Rodney Carson!” then stepped back a few paces, watching the shed from the corner of his eye.

  Suddenly the sun's light flashed on the barrel of a rifle as it protruded from the half-open door of the shed. Blackshot darted aside as the rifle exploded into life, sending a slug whizzing past his hip and kicking up a plume of red dust as it bit into the parched turf behind him. With lightning speed, Blackshot's hand flashed to his side and an instant later the black Colt was barking a reply. He sent two bullets winging through the shed door; he heard the first strike wood, but not the second. A hoarse voice cried out and then a long-haired man in a flannel shirt burst from the shed, stumbling to his knees and clutching at his neck with a red-stained hand as blood gushed from his mouth and soaked his shirtfront.

  Blackshot had no time to consider his handiwork, though, for now he could hear definite movement from inside the house. He lunged for the corner of the house as a volley of gunfire tore through the door and the front wall, sending a cloud of splinters and dust cascading across the yard. A quick glance at the shed told him that it was now empty, so he ran straight for it, palming his second Colt as he ducked behind the shabby little building.

  The house descended into silence again for a minute and then another. Then Blackshot detected a faint sound above the whispering of the breeze across the arid lot. A man had slipped out the front door and Blackshot could just see the brim of his hat around the corner of the house as he slid quietly along the wall towards him.

  From behind the house came the sudden startled whinny of a horse; Blackshot sprang to the back of the shed and stole a look around the corner. A bald-headed man with a bushy beard was creeping toward him from the back of the house, a double barreled shotgun poised in his hands. The man's eyes widened as Blackshot sprang suddenly from behind the shed, guns hammering. The shotgun emptied both barrels into the air as a trio of slugs punched through the bald man's stomach and hip, turning him sideways as he fell, blood and guts spewing from his back.

  The man at the front wall abandoned the stealthy approach at the sound of the shots, and rushed around the side of the house, flame spitting from the revolvers in his hands. Bullets ripped through the walls of the aged shed as if they weren't there, but Blackshot was already on the move, diving out into the open and rolling onto one knee just across from the other man. The gunman spun around and squeezed off a wild panicked shot in Blackshot's direction, but there was nothing wild or panicked about Blackshot's return fire. The first bullet tore one of the pistols from the man's hand as it bit into his shoulder, and the second plowed through his skull, knocking his hat to the dusty ground, half full of brains.

  As the echoes of the gunfire died out across the flats, Blackshot trained his guns on the house again, but the only sound was the fretful stamping of horse's hooves from the rear of the low-roofed building.

  “Effendi!” Blackshot turned at the sound of the cry to see Abdul shuffling toward him, pulling Blackshot's horse and his own mule behind him as he emerged from the stand of brush about fifty yards from the house where Blackshot had left them.

  “Blackshot Effendi!” Abdul panted again as he reached Blackshot, and pointed toward the rear of the house.

  “Careful, there might be more gentleman farmers lurking about.”

  Adbul pointed to the body of the bald man. “Carson, effendi,” he said.

  “How nice of you to introduce us,” Blackshot muttered.

  His words went unheeded as Abdul continued past him toward the back of the house. Wit
h a sigh Blackshot followed the strange little man around the corner, and there he beheld one of the most magnificent horses he had ever seen. It was a great jet black Arabian stallion, tall and lean and built for speed; powerful muscles rippled along its thick shoulders and flanks as it strained against the rope that secured it to the house, an imperious fire blazing in its dark eyes.

  “I can see why your boss was so eager to get this monster back!” Blackshot remarked.

  “Khamsin, effendi!” Abdul said, indicating the horse.

  “Same to you, I'm sure,” Blackshot replied dryly.

  Abdul's slender brown hands loosed the knot on Khamsin's rope, and he led the raven beast back to the other horses. “Pasha, effendi!” he said, waving a hand toward the trail.

  “Yes, let's do pay the Pasha a visit,” Blackshot agreed. “He and I have a lot to talk about!”

  Chapter 2

  The gloom of dusk was settling over the plain when the tents of the Pasha's camp came into view. The brightly colored pavilions looked as out of place as could be on the prairie, reminding Blackshot of a traveling circus he had seen once. They were arranged in a circle which formed a sort of courtyard in the center, and it was here that Abdul guided his mule with Khamsin in tow.

  From the door of the largest and most ostentatious of the tents appeared a tall, powerfully built man with a shaved head and golden rings in his ears. He took the reins for the black stallion from Abdul and led it away without a word. Blackshot swung down from his horse and made for the door of the tent, which he assumed would be where Mehmet Ali Pasha resided.

  “Effendi!” Adbul cried, and waved his hands, indicating not to enter.

  “What, is he not decent?” Blackshot brushed Abdul aside and continued inside. “I'll introduce myself anyway. I'm sure he'll want to meet the man that solved his gentleman farmer problem.”

  The inside of the tent did not let down the promise of the luxurious outside; a Persian rug lay on the floor and the couch that sat at the rear of the tent was draped in silk and embroidered pillows. The couch was occupied by a man in a sumptuous robe and turban. He was younger than Blackshot had expected; not more than thirty five, if he was any judge, though there were flecks of gray in his neat black beard, and he exuded a calm confidence which was unshaken by the sudden appearance of the tall, black-clad gunfighter in front of him.