Slocum 420

by Jake Logan

  “Nah, that ain’t it.” After a few moments of deliberation, Darryl snapped his fingers. “I know! You’re the one that’s been puttin’ it to that whore across the street on a regular basis! Nellie, I believe her name is.”

  Slocum shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it’s worth gossiping about, but I’ve been paying her a visit from time to time.”

  “Well, you know how the hens like to gossip. A few of the girls around here were talking about you. Of course,” Darryl added, “that was when Lester Quint was coming in here trying to pass himself off as someone else.”

  “You knew it was Lester?” Slocum asked. “Why the hell would you let him get away with that?”

  Darryl merely shrugged. “His money spends just as well one way or another. He can call himself Abraham Lincoln just so long as he keeps spendin’. Personally, I thought it was a hoot to watch him strut about the way he was.”

  “He’s not strutting anymore,” Slocum said.

  Darryl slapped him on the shoulder. “And it would have been a hoot to watch someone slap Lester down. Considering what a cold-blooded killer you are, I suppose ol’ Lester should be glad he’s still walkin’ and talkin’.”

  Slocum didn’t care for the familiar way Darryl treated him and he liked the accusation even less. Looking down at the dirty hand that was still on his shoulder, he asked, “Cold-blooded killer? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean what you did to the fat man over there. You walked up and shotgunned him into next week without so much as a tip of yer damn hat!”

  Looking over at the spot where the fat man in question had wound up, Slocum watched as the rotund fellow pulled himself upright, groaned, and pressed both hands flat against his chest. The man’s blubbery face contorted in pain when he touched the little bloody spots that had formed on his shirt, but was able to make his way over to a chair and sit down. Slocum then looked back to Darryl and said, “That shotgun was loaded with rock salt.”

  “Rock salt?” Darryl then looked over at the fat man. The glee that had been etched onto his face a moment ago was replaced by confusion and a hint of disappointment. “Huh. I suppose it was. How the hell did you know that?”

  “That barkeep fired one barrel into the ceiling and barely did any damage,” Slocum replied. “I figured the other barrel was loaded with the same kind of shot and put it to use.”

  “And what if it hadn’t been loaded the same?”

  “Then that fat man over there would’ve had a very bad night.”

  Darryl found his gleeful expression again and marked its reappearance with another slap to Slocum’s back. “He sure would have! And I would’ve had to clean the damn mess! Ha!” Looking at Merle, he said, “Where the hell did you find this one, little brother?”

  “The three of us were offered a job,” Merle said.

  “What kind of job?”

  “Huntin’ out in the woods outside of town.”

  “Sounds better than working in this rat trap,” Darryl replied. “Huntin’ usually don’t pay as well as what I’m makin’ here or you’re makin’ at the mill.”

  “Depends on what we’re huntin’.”

  Finally, Darryl shifted his aggressive attentions to someone other than Slocum. Making Merle seem even skinnier by comparison, Darryl wrapped a thick arm around his neck and shook him while saying, “This one always did like dragging things out. What’s the damn job, Merle?”

  Although Merle tried to speak, he couldn’t get much out due to the arm around his neck and the way he was being tossed back and forth. While the brothers wrestled, Rolf and a few of the other saloon workers emerged from where they’d been hiding to clean up the mess that had been made.

  Before long, Merle disentangled himself and sent a few quick jabs to Darryl’s ribs. The older of the two grunted, held his hands palms out, and encouraged his brother to keep fighting. “What are we gonna kill, Merle? Tell me before I get rough.”

  “We’re goin’ after the beast.”

  “Which beast?”

  Slapping away his brother’s paw-like hands, Merle dropped his voice to a grating whisper and said, “The Beast of Fall Pass. Didn’t you hear about the two men that were mauled?”

  “I ain’t heard much,” Darryl said. “I been workin’ here or drunk. Or both. You serious about this?”

  “Mr. Womack at the mill is serious and he’s the one payin’ us to bring back that thing’s hide.”

  “Well, all right, then!” Darryl hollered.

  Slocum shook his head and made his way to the front door. “Christ,” he grumbled under his breath. “What the hell have I signed up for?”

  12

  Slocum made his way to the Morrison House and nearly collapsed when he got there. All was quiet inside the place. Helga was in her room, asleep or otherwise. All Slocum really cared about was that the old woman didn’t pounce on him the moment he stepped through the front door. There was one lantern giving off a bit of light. It was turned down so only a barely glowing flame was burning, and Slocum twisted the knob to put it all the way out before finding his way to the stairs. Instead of going to his room once he’d climbed to the second floor, he shuffled down the hall to the last door on the left and knocked.

  Before his knuckles had finished tapping, the door was pulled open and Greta peeked out through the crack. Almost immediately, she opened the door the rest of the way. She wore a long white nightgown with a lace collar and flowing sleeves. Even though the garment was loose on her, the material was thin enough to show her pert breasts behind the fabric.

  “There you are, John,” she whispered. “I was starting to worry.”

  Slocum was about to speak, but was pulled inside so the door could be shut. Greta pressed herself against him and kissed him hard on the mouth. It didn’t take long at all for Slocum to respond by reaching around to feel her tight little ass. He tasted her lips and his cock grew hard as cast iron to strain against his jeans.

  Grinding her hips against him, Greta said, “I see you’ve been just as anxious as I have.”

  “This is gonna be my last night here for a while. Figured I’d make the best of it.”

  Greta pulled her face back so she could get a better look at him. “Are you being serious?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be riding out in the morning,” Slocum told her. “Going hunting in the woods for a spell.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “As long as it takes,” he replied while moving his hands around to feel the slope of her lower back and the upper swell of her buttocks.

  “When were you going to tell me?” she pouted.

  Slocum licked the base of her neck and chewed on her earlobe before saying, “I’m telling you right now. I only just found out myself.”

  Stepping away from him, Greta backed toward the bed. Her room was a bit smaller than the one Slocum had been renting, which meant there was just enough room for the two of them, a good-sized bed, a dresser, and a wardrobe. “So, you only came knocking on my door to have a warm bed to sleep in before you have only your horse to keep you company?”

  “I’ve got a warm bed in my room,” Slocum replied as he stalked after her. “I came looking for something . . . warmer.”

  “Maybe I do not like being how you pass the time before you leave.”

  If not for the mischievous smirk on her face, which was barely visible in the dim light of her lantern, Slocum might have believed she was serious. Even if she hadn’t been teasing him, he still would have stepped right up to her and grabbed her around the waist to draw her in. “You’ve been after me since I got here,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t have been after you if you did not come after me first.”

  “Well, here I am again.”

  “And maybe I would rather sleep on my own tonig
ht.”

  “We’ll just see about that.” Having already backed Greta against the edge of her bed, Slocum gave her a gentle push, which sent her straight down to the mattress. She landed with a surprised yelp, which she quickly suppressed.

  “You’ll wake my mother,” she hissed.

  Slocum unbuckled his gun belt and set it on the dresser. “Then you’d best not make any noise.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked as Slocum unbuttoned his shirt and gazed down at her.

  His only response was a devilish grin. Next, he reached down for her legs and slid his hands up to push her nightgown up toward her waist.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she giggled. “I should be cross at you.”

  “Maybe you should,” Slocum admitted. “That’s why I intend on making it up to you.”

  “How could you do that?”

  Instead of telling her, Slocum pushed her nightgown up past her hips to expose Greta’s milky thighs and the curly patch of hair between them. After tossing his hat away, he spread her legs open wide and pressed his mouth against her pussy. The suddenness of his move took her breath away and she arched her back while grabbing the back of his head with both hands. As Slocum’s tongue ran along the lips of her pussy, she lifted her backside off the bed to rub herself against his face.

  Slocum cupped her ass in both hands and probed her with his tongue. She was already damp when he started, and after only a few seconds, she was dripping. Greta’s straining breaths filled the room and she fought to keep from crying out when his mouth found her clit. Lingering on the sensitive nub of flesh, he teased her until he felt her body tense. Then he flicked the tip of his tongue on her with renewed intensity.

  Greta’s entire body started to shake. Her fingers clamped around Slocum’s head, holding him in place as her heels dug into his back just below his shoulders. She turned her head to one side and spread her legs open as wide as they could go, savoring every second of the climax that hit her like a storm. Even after she’d stopped trembling, she held Slocum’s head in place. He licked her a bit more, moving his tongue along the inside of her thighs, up her flat stomach, and between her heaving breasts. Her skin was warm and sweaty beneath the nightgown, and she was more than happy to wriggle out of the loose-fitting garment.

  “So,” Slocum said as he straightened up to rise above her. “You still angry with me coming in here this way?”

  “You . . .” she gasped while tugging at the front of his jeans to try and pull them off him. “You’re forgiven.”

  Slocum stood and removed his shirt as she tore his jeans off and knelt in front of him so she could suck his rigid pole. Her head bobbed back and forth, devouring every inch of his erection as her hands wandered up his bare chest and down along his sides. Slocum had hoped he could get her going, but even he was taken aback by how eagerly she attacked him. He wasn’t about to complain, however, and closed his eyes while her lips and tongue slid along his shaft.

  Reaching down to hold her face in his hands, Slocum eased her back. She looked up at him, licked her lips, and asked, “You don’t like what I do?”

  For some reason, Greta’s European accent grew thicker when she was aroused. Whether it was genuine or some way to purposely entice him, it worked like a charm.

  “I like it just fine,” he assured her. “But I want more.”

  “More?” she asked while coyly batting her eyelashes. “What could be more than that?” She was definitely playing with him now, but was doing a good enough job that he didn’t mind one bit.

  He picked her up and threw her naked on the bed in front of him. Rolling onto her side, Greta writhed on the blanket as if her orgasm was still tickling different parts of her body. By the time Slocum had stripped bare, she was on all fours with her chest rubbing against the bed and her backside lifted in the air toward him to create a beautiful slope that ran all the way down her back to the nape of her neck.

  Greta grabbed on to the edge of her mattress and moaned softly into her blanket as Slocum buried his cock between her legs. She was so wet that he glided in and out of her with ease. Grabbing her hips with both hands, he pumped into her vigorously. When he drove every inch of his erection home, Greta tossed her hair back and let out a long, trembling breath.

  Allowing his instincts to dictate his actions, Slocum grabbed some of her hair in his right hand and placed his left upon the small of her back. Sliding out of her, he thrust back in while giving her hair a tug.

  “Oh yes,” she softly moaned. “More. Like that.”

  Slocum pumped into her with a slow, pounding rhythm. When he buried his cock all the way in again, he kept it there and ground his hips against her backside. He pulled her hair a little harder until she leaned back as far as she could while trembling in anticipation. Before he hurt her, Slocum let go of her hair and reached around to cup Greta’s tits in both hands while pumping into her again.

  “I . . . want to ride you,” she breathed. “Right now.”

  Never one to refuse a lady, Slocum eased out of her so he could lie down on her bed and she could straddle his hips. Greta’s body was breathtaking in the flickering light from the room’s single lantern. Her hips were small but rounded, as were her breasts. He reached up to cup them and felt her small nipples stiffen immediately against his palms. For a few moments, she simply sat astride him with her eyes closed, savoring the way he touched her. Slocum moved his hands along the front of her body before reaching down her stomach to rub small circles on her clit with his thumb.

  Greta’s eyes snapped open and her mouth curled into a wide smile. “You’re going to make me—” Before she could finish her sentence, she was overpowered by another climax. Slocum was amazed at how much she trembled at his touch. It was as if she’d been drawn tighter than a bowstring while waiting for him that night, which made Slocum feel foolish for making her wait so long.

  She was still panting breathlessly when she reached down to guide his cock between her legs. The moment she felt his rigid member slip inside her once more, she let out a satisfied grunt. From then on, Greta rode him with reckless abandon. Her fingers raked against Slocum’s chest as she rocked back and forth on top of him. Taking every inch inside, she leaned her head back and pumped her hips in a furious rhythm as sweat rolled down her pert breasts and erect nipples. All Slocum had to do was lie back and enjoy the show. And it was one hell of a fine show.

  When her passion reached yet another peak, she lowered herself so her hands were flat against the bed on either side of Slocum’s head and her face was less than an inch away from his. He wrapped both arms around her, placing one hand on her backside and sliding the fingers of his other hand through her long blond hair. While holding her tightly that way, he pumped up into her.

  Greta’s entire body trembled. He could tell by the way she breathed into his ear that she was awfully close to crying out loud. Slocum wanted to drive her over that edge just to prove he could and just to hear what Greta sounded like when she truly cut loose. So far, every time they’d been together, she’d reined herself in and asked him to do the same so as not to alert her mother. Slocum didn’t feel compelled to appease the old woman, but he did respect Greta’s wishes.

  Suddenly, she straightened her arms to rise slightly above him. Her head turned to one side and her expression reflected the intensity of what she was feeling. Her hips moved with an insistent pace that drove Slocum to his own precipice. Watching her ride him as sweat trickled down the front of her naked body, Slocum was taken to the point of no return and exploded inside her. When his tremors had subsided, Greta opened her eyes and smiled down at him.

  “That was nice,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Slocum replied breathlessly. “It sure was.”

  She climbed off him so she could lie beside him and drape an arm and leg across Slocum’s body. One of his legs hung over the side of the mattress, but he was too exhausted
to do much about it.

  They stayed there for a while, drifting in and out of sleep. Just as Slocum was wondering if she was awake, he heard her voice in the near-darkness.

  “Where are you going tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Hunting.”

  “Hunting for what?”

  “Some animal mauled a couple of workers from the mill,” he told her. “Did you hear anything about that?”

  “I heard about some men getting hurt, but I didn’t think too much of it. Men often get hurt while working around those big saws and machinery.”

  “Those men weren’t hurt by any saws.”

  Greta propped herself up on one elbow so she could look at him while lying on her side. “What happened to them?”

  “They were attacked by something. Or . . . someone. We’re not really sure. Well,” Slocum added, “some think they’re sure.”

  The confusion on Greta’s face was understandable, since it was also somewhat reflected on Slocum’s. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  Rolling onto his side so he could look directly into her eyes, Slocum asked, “Have you ever heard of the Beast of Fall Pass?”

  The confusion left her face, only to be replaced by something else. Something darker. “I have heard people talk about that. My mother would know more of it than I would.”

  “Your mother?”

  She nodded. “When people here started talking about that beast, my mother told me about creatures that roamed the woods where she grew up in Germany.” Greta shuddered. “They were terrible stories.”

  “What were the stories?” When he saw how rattled she was, Slocum gently moved some of the hair from where it had fallen in front of her face and said, “They can’t be that bad. Probably just stories meant to frighten children.”

  “She . . . spoke of men that would turn into wolves. Men who’d been cursed. Women, too. When they . . . changed . . . they would eat children. They would tear people apart limb from limb.”

  Slocum couldn’t help laughing just a little. He didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn’t exactly hide it either.