Cowgirl's Rough Ride
By
Julianne Reyer
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Copyright 2012 Julianne Reyer
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This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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The Western Erotic Tales continue with:
Cowgirl's Rough Ride: Bad Moon Rising
Cowgirl’s Rough Ride: Double Down & Dirty
~~~
“I don’t make love like something you read in one of them papers. It’s gonna be rough and it’s gonna hurt.”
His words rang in her ears. But she didn’t care what he did to her. This was her guardian angel. The one who would free her from this harsh and hopeless life. And she would go with him to the ends of the earth; riding by day, camping around a fire at night, riding into a hail of bullets.
Brutal Bill was a legend in these parts but he was so much more to her.
Most of her years had been spent on the farm, trapped, like an herb ground between pestle and mortar. In the twenty summers she’d seen, the last few had been the worst. With only herself to tend to things, the farm was falling apart. He was her ticket out.
“Do what you will, good sir. Just take me with you.” She pleaded while kneeling on the hard, degraded wood floor.
He shifted his weight from one gun holster to the other, the dry grit scuffing under his boot.
“And what would I do with some farm girl? I kill for a livin’ and the road is my home. That ain’t no place for a girl.” He fixed her with a hard look, his gray eyes red from the dust.
The elements had taken its toll on his features; the skin on his cheeks was stained and sunburned. Crow’s feet spread from the corners of his eyes. A scratchy shadow ran along his strong jaw, though she could tell he normally shaved. Although his full lips were cracked, she still wanted to kiss him.
She looked at the floor, searching for something to say to convince him.
That morning she’d gone out to get a pail of water when she noticed dust up the road. Even if she had anything of value, the outlaws weren’t interested in robbing her. They were on the run and they only wanted a place to hide. If her father were alive, she was sure they would have shot him. The only reason they kept her around was for their own personal entertainment.
She thought she was done for. All these years spent working her hands raw, just to be used and thrown away like a dirty rag. As she faced death, she realized she didn’t want to go out as a farmer’s daughter.
So the three men had held her down, ripping her dress, when one of them went flying across the room, shot through the window. The boom of the rifle was deafening. The other two let go to reach for their guns, but it was too late. The quick pistol shots sounded like a single bang and the outlaws both jerked and spun.
Then she looked up and Bill stood in the doorway, pistol in one hand, rifle over his shoulder. Hell nor brimstone could keep her from going with this man. She’d asked him to marry her on the spot. He might have been convinced if she had defended herself. I wish I still had Pa’s gun.
“I can shoot,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t laugh. “My Pa taught me to keep the wolves away. And I can cook.”
“Can you, now?” He squatted down in front of her, his gun belt and spurs jingling as he moved. “Well here, I wanna see how you handle a real gun.”
He pulled one of his handguns and turned it, handle first, for her. Fearing a trick, she hesitated. But he nodded his head, urging her to take it. “Go on.”
She reached up and slipped the palm of her hand along the smooth, pearl handle. It was an expensive looking gun, much more ornate than her father’s simple weapon. Taking it in her grip, she hefted the weight. It was heavier, too, but felt natural in her hand.
A shadow passed in front of the doorway. Even with the sun in her eyes, she could make out a man with a dust cloth wrapped around his face, a gun in his hand; death was in his eyes. She’d missed one of the outlaws in the chaos.
Before she could scream, her arm flew up and her gun fired.
Heart pounding, she opened her eyes and saw Bill halfway to standing, his other gun in his hand. The doorway was empty except for dust and gun smoke swirling in the rays of light.
“Well, now,” Bill said bemused, holstering his gun. “The little girl can shoot. I just might have to keep ya.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. The room swayed, the adrenaline and excitement making her feel drunk.
He retrieved his gun from her and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. She desperately held the tattered remnants of her dress to her chest, trying to be modest.
“What do they call you?” He asked as he rifled through the belongings of the dead men.
“Jane,” she replied meekly.
Bill’s gravelly laugh sounded like years of tobacco and whiskey. “Tricky Jane’s what I’m gonna call you. I don’t think this sonofabitch ever thought you’d kill him.”
He turned and shoved the outlaw’s gun holster into her arms. “Here.” Not waiting for her to grab it, he walked over to examine each of the bodies.
The leather and gunmetal were heavy and she held tight to keep them from dropping. With her hands full, her dress slipped out of her fingers and fell open, exposing her breasts. She grit her teeth, hoping the tangle of thick leather was enough to cover her.
Bill leaned down to remove a boot from the smaller of the four men. “This’ll do.” Turning to her, he stopped, his eyes wandering down her exposed skin. His smile had a hint of malevolence. She blushed but kept her chin up.
Shaking his head, he reached down to lift her leg up. He held her foot against the sole of the boot and she felt like she was a horse getting shoed.
“What’re you doing?” She asked, feeling foolish while wobbling on one foot.
“You need somethin’ to wear. If’n you want to ride nude, it’d be fine by me.” He released her leg and gripped her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh. She winced but held his stare.
“Listen good now. I’m not taking you for a wife. I’m taking you because you’re useful.” He gave her a little shake and leaned close. The brim of his coal gray hat brushed her forehead and she felt his hot breath on her lips. “You hear me?”
His ash gray eyes searched her for any hint of hesitation. “There’s a reason cowboys don’t get old. It’s dangerous and you’ll probably get hurt. Maybe even die.”
Refusing to blink, she looked defiantly at him. She wasn’t going to let him change his mind.
“My Pa’s dead, my crops are dust, and I’m broke. I almost died a lonely farm girl. I ain’t afraid to die with a gun in my hands.” She was surprised by her boldness. He’s going to say I’m a stupid girl, she thought cursing herself.
“Okay.” He nodded and turned back to the body on the floor, where he set to stripping it of clothing. The shirt had only a little blood on it; the shot had gone through the outlaw’s eye. Bill shook it out and tossed it over a chair, along with pants and a hat.
Brushing his hands off, he faced her, his eyes taking one last glance at her naked chest.
“I’ll be outside tending to the horses.” He tilted his hat at her and left.
Staring at the door, she stood still, eyes wide and arms straining to hold her gun belt. The courtesy stunned her even more than her near death experience. For a moment he’d forgotten he was Brutal Bill, the meanest bounty hunter in the west.
***
Bill’s pale eyes glistened from the orange light of the lapping flames. She watched him from across the pit, wondering what he was thinking as he stared into the fire.
He had been silent through th
e day. She only had the sound of the jingling tack and grunting horses to keep her company. She’d glanced at him periodically, on the verge of breaking the quiet. But she reconsidered and kept her mouth shut.
She was glad to have the hat, to keep the harsh sun out of her eyes. But even with the tie pulled tight against her chin, it was too big. It needed constant re-adjusting as it slid forward over her face.
Looking at Bill, she rubbed her backside. She was sore; the saddle and her loose pants had rubbed against her rear, badly. But she refused to complain.
Instead she got up and moved around the fire to sit on the log next to him. He sat stone-still and didn’t say a word, like she didn’t exist. Feeling self conscious, desperately wanting a reaction, any reaction, she scooted closer and gently placed her hand on his arm.
He remained still. “You don’t want to do that,” he growled.
“Why not?” She asked, hurt and confused.
“Like I told you before, it’ll be rough and it’ll hurt. You don’t want me fucking you in the bunghole, so let it go. I’m not the kind of man you’re looking for.” He didn’t look at her and it drove her crazy. She wanted to see his eyes, to get a glance into his thoughts. His hat hung low over his face, only giving her the profile of his rough jaw and hawk nose.
“You must have known me a long time to be judgin’ exactly what I want.” Frustrated, she crossed her arms and turned her back to him. “What kinda man are you, then?”
“The man who kills people for money,” he said flatly.
“Have you always killed for money?” She asked, turning to see his reaction, her eyebrows raised.
He shifted in his seat and looked down at his boots. “No,” he finally said.
“I think you used to be a good man,” she said, and regretted it as soon the words left her lips.
He turned to her, his gray eyes wide with rage.
“Do you now? And what does a farm girl think about a man,” he shouted, grabbing her arm and throwing her to the ground. “--who doesn’t care what you think?”
He snatched one of her wrists and twisted it behind her, turning her over, forcing her face against the dirt. He was rough, painfully pinning her hand against her back, his fingers digging into her skin.
His anger scared her, but it was exciting. She never wanted a boring husband who was only interested in making babies. Her desire was to be fucked without reserve by a real man.
She felt wetness between her legs as he held her to the ground. With one hand, he yanked her pants down to her knees, exposing her naked ass to the night air. She blushed, closing her eyes. The rough, dry soil scratched her cheek but she panted with anticipation.
“So, girl, you think you want this?” He asked, kneeling behind her. She could feel his heat, as he pressed his body against her rear.
“Yeah,” she mumbled into the dirt.
“Do ya?” He raised his voice, jerking her arm and sending a shock of fire burning up her shoulder.
“Yes!” Jane shrieked, her exhalation scattering a plume of dust in front of her face.
“Dumb girl doesn’t know what she wants. But I’ll learn ya.” His hand came down with unbelievable power. The slap shocked her, stinging like a burning brand sizzling on her skin. She squealed and twisted against his restraint. But he held her in an iron grip. His hand came down again on the same spot, making her tremble in agony.
As his hand mercilessly hammered down, a fire burning on her rear, she felt a warmth of pleasure spread from her crotch.
“This ain’t some girl’s dream of roses and kisses. The road’s hard. The wild’s unforgiving.”
He hit her with an even and constant rhythm. She whimpered and squirmed, conflicted between the urge to escape and the desire that wetted her pussy lips. The tender skin of her ass was raw. And each slap renewed the shockwave of pain with increased intensity.
“When you face a man with a gun, you don’t flinch. You don’t think about it.” He said, his breathing heavy. “You just shoot!” He shouted, each word emphasized by slap.
He stopped suddenly and she let out her breath, whimpering. A light breeze cooled her naked, burning skin. Sweat stuck hair and dirt against her face but she ignored it, relishing the cool relief.
“You saw,” she said, her voice sounded winded. “I shot a man.”
Bill spat. “And you think that makes you a killer,” he growled. “You don’t know your ass from a bucket of water.”
She heard his belt jingle, then felt his bare skin against her ass. His hardness pressed against her asshole and she gasped. She clenched but he was ruthless, bearing down on the tight ring. Her skin stretched and his member forced her open. Her back arched, her jaw locked open, and her breath caught in her throat. Again she was caught between two extremes; the unbearable sensation and the craving for him to fill her.
His relentless cock drilled up her rear, his girth rubbing against her straining hole and sliding along her walls. She choked back tears, whimpering as he slid back and thrust again.
She bit her lip, trying to focus on something else. She snaked her free hand under her body, stretching her fingers to her mound. Pressing hard, just above her clit, she massaged herself. The sensation jerked her body and she moaned, as he pumped his cock into her ass. His body hunched over her and he grunted, his hot breath tickling her neck.
An intensity built inside her, sending tremors through her muscles. He pounded her hard, stretching her. Her ass spasmed as he impaled her. Her whining became urgent and she mashed her knuckles into her pelvic bone. Ecstasy poured into her body, wave after wave of jolting pleasure shooting up her spine and through her limbs. She screamed while riding the storm that threatened to tear her apart.
He pressed down on her and shouted, his full length buried deep inside her trembling hole. His cock throbbed, spraying his seed into her. Bucking a few more times, he pumped the last of his cum. Then he pulled out of her aching ass, leaving her feeling empty but relieved. Releasing her hands, he sat hard on the log, his glistening dick slowly becoming flaccid.
Flexing her numb hand, she brushed the dirt from her face with the other. Bill watched her, his hands limp by his sides, while she pulled up her pants. She gave him a sidelong glance and he raised his eyebrows.
“You sure did learn me good,” she said, smiling.
His eyes went wide, then he laughed. “Damn. There’s no breaking you. I should’a called you Fiery Jane.”
She winced as she sat next to him, shifting on her sore ass. Not wanting to think about tomorrow’s ride, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and gently traced her fingers along his spent cock. He remained silent for a long time. She listened to the snap of the embers and the creatures of the night. She inhaled deeply, relishing the smell of his sweat and warmth of his body.
His breathing became more even and he shifted his weight to put his cock back in his pants. She kept her hand casually on his leg.
As he secured his belt, he exhaled deeply through his nose and spoke. “I used to herd cattle.”
Jane looked at him, surprised. He stared over the fire, at something far beyond her sight.
“Like most folks around here, we fell on hard times.” His face was hard but his eyes were moist. She wanted to ask him who he meant by “we,” but she kept quiet.
“I lost everything. I only had the clothes on my back and my revolver.” He took a deep breath. “I had to make a choice and this is it.”
“The reward’s good but killin’ changes you. Makes your heart black.”
“But killing people makes enemies. And I have more’n enough for twenty men. They all want to see me hanging from the gallows.” He sighed, and she could feel the tension in his body.
“Thing is, I’ve got a price on my head. And every yahoo and blowhard in these parts thinks they’re the one to claim it.” He raised his hand in exasperation.
“I don’t love nobody no more and never will. I’ll probably die out here and that’s fine by me.”
> He turned his head, looking into her eyes. “Now. You have to make your choice, knowing that it’s not a choice for livin’ nor lovin’. I can’t be keeping my eye on you when I got a bull's-eye on my back.”
He was wrong of course. Just getting by on a doomed farm was not a living, nor had it shown Jane any love.
“I can take care of myself.” She gave him a stern look. “I’ve been survivin’ on my own for years. My choice is to ride with you.”
Bill nodded but his face was unreadable. It was maddening for her, not knowing what he was thinking. She sighed and leaned back against him. He’s accepted me for who I am, I’m going to have to return the courtesy.
***
The bullet zinged past Jane’s head like a deadly mosquito. She rode lower in the saddle, her chest close to the horse’s mane.
The men had waited for them in a thicket of trees, just as they rounded a bend in the road. But Bill’s alert eyes had spotted one of them first. They would have shot Bill out of his saddle but he was faster. In a flash, Bill had his rifle in hand. He shot one through the trees, reloaded, and shot again before the men could react.
Then Bill turned his horse and bolted down the road, amid a hail of bullets, with Jane hot on his heels. It took the men time to mount up and gallop after them, but soon they came into view. The ambushers’ horses were fresh and gaining ground. Jane’s horse was tiring from the day’s long ride; foam dripping from his mouth and sweat soaking his coat. They would need to stop soon but she could only see hills, a few strands of trees, and bare brush.
Then as they rounded another bend, she saw an old house out in the middle of barren land. Bill saw it too, and turned his horse out onto the field. As they reached the door, Bill leapt from the saddle, and slapped the horse on the rump sending it off. The wood next to her exploded, showering her with splinters as she followed his lead, leaping through the doorway.
Using the butt of his rifle, Bill broke out a window and took cover next to it. Kneeling, Jane used the pistol to tap out one of the panes. With a quick glance she saw the men riding across the barren earth towards them. She took a shot and saw one of them flinch, clutching his shoulder. They returned fire over the heads of their horses and debris flew all around her.
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