by Hondo Jinx
With each twist and turn, accompanying information unbundled in his mind, facts bursting like seed pods, giving rapid rise to a sturdy forest of deep understanding.
By the time he was finished, he could have navigated the place on his own. Without a map. Walking backwards. And wearing a damn blindfold.
Amazing.
Planning followed naturally. He saw what they needed to do. And had a good idea of how to go about it.
Mostly.
One way or the other, they would leave shortly after the wedding. He had the whole trip to double-check his math and fine tune the details.
He teleported back to the ranch and called Jamaal.
The Key West hit had worked like a charm. The fuggle PD remained clueless. The Order was too busy to dedicate resources. And Valdez had launched an immediate counterstrike, killing another of the Coronado brothers.
News of the gang war carpet bombed the Latticework, fueling the all-important fire.
Tammy and the kids woke early, and the girls whisked them off to the main ranch, where Hazel would watch Ty and Hannah, and the girls would fuss over Tammy.
His wives were all wound up, drunk on matrimonial foolishness, and wouldn’t even let him see Tammy as she slipped from the house.
Women, he thought, glad to have some time alone. He needed to gather his thoughts and his gear.
But when he headed back to start grabbing ammo, a triumphant voice shouted “Ha!” and a tiny figure pounced from the shadows.
Brawley peeled the giggling cat girl off his shoulders and threw her onto the couch.
Stark naked and still laughing, the skinny little cat girl grabbed the backs of her thighs and pulled her knees up, opening her pink and glistening sex wide.
“You said you would fuck me,” she said.
“You broken little nymph,” Brawley laughed. “I don’t have time for games.”
“You promised,” Callie said. Her big amber eyes pleaded. One tiny hand dropped between her legs and set to schlick-schlick-schlicking.
Brawley nodded. “A promise is a promise.”
He didn’t even bother undressing, just whipped his zipper down, pulled out his shooting iron, and went to town, hard and fast, no games, no side quests. He smashed her pussy like some halfwit caveman, pounding her through half a dozen orgasms before he pumped her little womb full of hot seed.
He stood over the shattered little Beastie, who moaned, transfixed in the afterglow, leaking a puddle of their mixed juices.
“Clean that up,” Brawley told her.
“Mmhm,” Callie agreed weakly, and struggling onto all fours, she set to lapping the pool.
Such a horny little kitten, Brawley thought, and grabbing a fistful of her calico locks, he twisted her face upward.
Callie gasped, but he didn’t miss the hopeful gleam in her eyes as she stared up at him, her mouth smeared with cum.
“Clean me first,” he commanded.
The insatiable cat girl shuddered with excitement and lifted her pretty face to lick his slick semi-hardness with long, catlike pulls of her tiny pink tongue.
Which led to more, of course.
This time he took her from behind. He put her in a full nelson, skewered her on his erection, and lifted her into the air, pumping away fast and hard as she flopped in the air like a broken marionette, cumming again and again and again until he dropped her to her knees and served the skinny waif a hot meal straight from the source.
Then he gave his depraved, young wife the boot before they could spiral into another wild fuck session.
He sent her out the back door naked as the day she was born, holding her clothes in a rumpled pile. He didn’t trust either one of them not to start something if she hung around long enough to pull on her panties.
Because Callie wasn’t the lone instigator here. Yes, their bonding had put the petite Beastie in a constant state of heat. But it had also changed him. He couldn’t get enough of his cavorting little cat girl.
Callie thanked him and blew him a kiss and staggered outside, leaving him with the image of her juicy ass blossoming like ripe fruit at the union of her tiny trunk and the naked branches of her slender legs.
He growled, growing hard again. He considered kicking the screen door off its hinges, chasing down the oversexed teen, and putting it to her on the front lawn.
But he hauled himself back from the abyss of compulsive sex and got back to business.
Or at least he tried to.
Before he could finish gathering his gear, his wives returned, filling the ranch house with bright laughter, and burned the rest of the morning messing with him.
Nina called him to the table, where she poured him a cup of bitter, black coffee and set out a big breakfast of eggs and bacon and home fries with onions and peppers cooked in, the whole glorious mess slathered with hot sauce.
Then Brawley’s wives led him into the shower, scrubbed him clean, and toweled him dry. They teased him until his erection was rock hard, purple as a bruise, and leaking precum.
Callie opened her mouth wide and dove for this glistening strand, but Remi grabbed the horny cat girl by the ear and dragged her away. Callie yowled, but Brawley’s other wives were insistent.
“That’s Tammy’s cum, not yours,” Remi told Callie, tossing the tiny cat girl onto the bed. “If you’re so horny, lay there and rub one out.”
A second later, Callie was mewling loudly as she fingered her battered sex.
Meanwhile, Brawley’s wives denied him release. They didn’t even let him wipe away the swaying rope of precum that had driven Callie over the edge.
Sage’s slender fingers scooped up the crystalline fluid, and slid her hand up and down, lubing his shaft. Then the mischievous Seeker stepped back, abandoning his throbbing hardness.
His mischievous wives giggled, having a little fun in the name of charging him up for Tammy.
That was all right. He would avenge himself on all five of their fine asses soon enough.
Then they set to dressing him.
“I’m not some damn kid,” Brawley protested. “I can dress myself.”
But the girls insisted.
Brawley endured.
Remi and Frankie pulled on his jockeys, each woman pausing to kiss his hardness almost chastely before tucking as much of him as they could inside his shorts and snapping the elastic band across his hips.
Nina and Sage dressed him in his good shirt, a white button-down so stiff with starch it felt like birch bark.
Nina had pressed his jeans, too, and the girls pulled these on, then sat him down on the old cane chair opposite the bed, careful not to obstruct his view of Callie, who was wincing ever closer to climax.
They pulled on his white socks then his boots, which Remi had cleaned and polished while he was in Red Haven.
The girls pulled down his pant legs and stood him back up and snaked his leather belt through the loops.
They had also buffed his gold buckle to a high shine. As they drew his belt tight, Callie cried out with release.
The skinny cat girl clutched herself between the legs, squeezed her thighs together, and hunched into the orgasm, eyes shut, tiny mouth wide open, moaning as convulsions of climax rocked her.
Because of his Seeker and Carnal energies and his eternal bond with Callie, Brawley could not only see and hear her orgasm but also smell her sweet essence, taste the ghost of her juices faintly upon his lips, and feel the hot waves of her pleasure lapping warmly over his aroused body.
He growled, hauling back hard on the reins of his excitement to avoid popping off in his pressed pants.
“Y’all are plain wicked,” he said.
Greatly amused, the girls led him downstairs, where they sat him once more at the head of the long farmhouse table, the kitchen spotless and aromatic around him.
“Unless it’s lunchtime already, I don’t have time to sit,” he told them.
The girls gathered close with an air of seriousness.
“I’m s
o, so happy you chose Tammy,” Nina said, kissing his cheek.
“Me, too,” Callie said, and nipped his ear. “She’s really nice.”
“Tammy was a wise choice, husband,” Sage remarked, planting a kiss on his forehead. “As an experienced telepath and mother, she will make significant contributions to your harem.”
“Tammy’s awesome,” Frankie chimed in, bending to suck briefly at his neck. “She already feels like part of the family.”
Remi, who was completely wired in anticipation of rescuing Winnie, now stood before Brawley, smirking down at him with hands on hips. “Personally, I would’ve fucked Arabella weeks ago. It would’ve been fun breaking her. But Tammy’s the right choice. She always has been. And I always hoped you’d choose her.”
Looking around at her sister-wives, Remi said, “None of us ever got a wedding, so this is a special day for us, too.”
The other girls nodded excitedly.
“So don’t fuck it up!” Remi laughed. She climbed into his lap and planted a passionate kiss on his mouth, grinding against him until the girls pulled her off, worrying aloud that she’d drive Brawley over the edge.
It was a legit worry. Brawley’s beast roared within him as he watched Remi twist and writhe, her incredible body rocking and knocking as her sister-wives dragged her from his throbbing erection.
Frankie stepped forward, drawing a little rosewood box from behind her back. “We got something for you,” she said, beaming beautifully as she handed him the box.
“And for us!” Nina added.
“They were Nina’s idea,” Frankie said.
“Yeah, but you made them,” Callie chimed in.
Frankie shrugged. “I tried to finish before you returned from Red Haven but couldn’t, so when the girls took Tammy over to the trailer, I sneaked into the barn and kept working. I was worried you would come out and see me, but—”
“Please proceed, husband,” Sage interrupted, gesturing to the box. “It’s almost time to leave.”
Brawley opened the lid. Within, eight golden rings glittered against black velvet.
One was large, clearly meant for Brawley’s thick finger. The band was heavy and plain save for the row of tiny stones set across its face.
Six little gems twinkled up at him: red, yellow, pink, green, silver, and blue. Beyond the blue stone a tiny depression awaited one final addition.
A purple gem, Brawley reckoned.
The remaining rings were of an even simpler design. Each slender golden band boasted a single stone no larger than a sesame seed.
Sage’s long fingers brushed lightly over the rings and settled upon the largest, which she plucked away from the velvet and handed to Nina.
Brawley’s first wife coaxed Brawley to his feet and smiled up at him, beaming love. She took his hand in hers. “Babe, we all love you so much. These rings are a symbol of that love and our eternal, unbreakable bond. So… with this ring, we thee wed.”
Nina slid the ring onto his finger.
Brawley grinned down at it. “Thanks, darlin. It’s perfect—and a perfect fit.”
He turned to Frankie. “You really made this?”
“I did,” Frankie said, “but like I started to tell you, it really was a group effort. Nina had the idea, Remi got the stones, and Sage Seekered your ring size.”
“Thirteen,” Sage announced, grinning as she squinched her glasses higher up her nose.
“And I bought Frankie time by keeping you busy this morning,” Callie confessed.
Remi hip bumped the little cat girl, almost bowling her over. “Way to take one for the team, Nympho Kitty.”
“Thanks, all of you,” Brawley said. “This means the world to me. Really.”
“Now you give us ours!” Callie blurted, and Brawley realized with a twinge of intuition that his cat girl bride, having lived a sheltered and poverty-stricken life on the road with her uncle, had never before owned jewelry.
“Sounds good,” Brawley said, and one by one he gave away the rings, lingering on each woman, letting her know how much she meant to him.
Nina pocketed the final ring with a grin, and they set off for his parents’ place, where the small ceremony would be followed by beer and burgers with friends and family.
Brawley and Tammy would have a short time together.
Then he would set off in the RV with Remi, Callie, Frankie, and a few of the new girls to rendezvous with the Scars. Thanks to the modified RV, they could hit the Chop Shop before sunup.
He pushed the mission from his mind. He was fixing to forget all about it until after he’d bonded with Tammy.
That’s the only way to take life: one bull at a time.
18
Mama met them in the driveway, looking radiant in her church dress, and embraced Brawley and each of his wives in turn. “I’m so glad you put on a nice shirt,” she whispered in Brawley’s ear.
Brawley kissed her cheek and gave her a cockeyed grin. Good old Mama. He could ride ten thousand bulls and marry ten thousand women, and a part of her would still see him as a kid.
The front door opened, and Brawley was surprised to see Pa come striding out in a black Western shirt with white piping and pearl snaps and a new-looking white stockman’s hat atop his head. Pa tipped the hat at the girls and shook Brawley’s hand.
The man’s presence and appearance plucked a string of deep emotion in Brawley’s heart.
“I reckoned you’d be working, sir,” Brawley said.
“Well, I ain’t,” Pa said, holding the handshake and staring into Brawley’s eyes. “You think I’d miss my son’s wedding, you don’t know me half so well as you think you do.”
Brawley nodded at that.
“Tammy’s a fine woman and a good mother,” Pa said. “Your Mama and me are real happy you two are tying the knot. And we’re sure gonna love having Ty and Hannah as grandchildren. I just wish Grandma Hayes was here with us. She’d be proud of you.”
Pa delivered these sentiments with the hard-bitten straightforward cadence of a man unused to speaking so many words in a row.
Then Brawley had one hell of a realization.
Pa had spent time at this, had thought through what he wanted to say, framed the words, and rehearsed his little speech, all in private, likely feeling a damn fool but doing it anyway, knowing it was right and proper.
This realization nearly burned Brawley to the ground. To those who had grown up in the household of expressive parents, this might seem a small thing, barely worth noting. But to the son of a strong, silent cowboy, it meant the whole damn world.
But Brawley didn’t set to blubbering or ruin the moment by hauling his dad into a hug or yammering about feelings. Instead, he simply shook his father’s hand and said, “Thank you, sir.”
Pa nodded. And that was that.
Brawley’s wives led him around the house to the backyard, where guests sat in folding chairs to either side of the stone walkway that ran from his parents’ back door to a low wooden stage someone had nailed together in the yard. It was just a simple box, really, a sheet of plywood atop 2x6’s, but they had leveled and whitewashed the structure and heaped the edges with fresh-cut flowers.
The guests turned to grin at Brawley.
How the hell had the girls managed to pull all of this together in so short a time?
He had no idea, but he appreciated it. Personally, he didn’t need any ceremony. He’d already hitched his wagon to five wives, and they had done just fine without the hoopla.
But Tammy wanted a ceremony. Even just a little one. She would love this and would be grateful that her kids would have these memories.
So yeah, Brawley appreciated everyone pulling this together, however the hell they had managed it.
Hazel emerged from the house in one of her bright, tie-dyed gowns. “Take my arm, young man,” she told Brawley. “Make it look like I’m leading you onto the stage.”
Grinning, Brawley obliged, helping Hazel down the aisle and onto the wooden box.
It was a beautiful day, mercifully mild beneath a bright blue sky with a light breeze blowing from the west.
Mama and four of Brawley’s wives sat in the front row.
Sean came down the aisle arm-in-arm with Nina, both of them weeping openly.
They stepped up on the stage. Nina gave Brawley a huge smile and stood apart from him, achingly lovely.
Sean shook Brawley’s hand and congratulated him as best he could through the waterfall of tears cascading over his bearded cheeks.
Brawley clapped his best man on the back. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re all right.”
Tanner grinned up at them, his big arm draped over the shoulders of Carly Jacobs, a nice girl they’d gone to school with.
Beside them sat Sean’s wife, Heather, who smiled prettily up at Sean, apparently moved by her husband’s emotional outburst.
It’s always a strange thing to see familiar people in unfamiliar environments, and it was indeed surreal for Brawley to see Pa’s ranch hands, Juan and Hector, sitting with their women. Brawley had worked alongside these rugged men for years, cowboying it out on the ranch. Seeing them here, scrubbed clean with their white shirts buttoned all the way to the top, was like seeing somebody’s dog dressed up in a Halloween costume.
It kindly jarred the mind.
But what the hell, he thought with a grin. Juan and Hector might could be thinking the same damn thing looking at me right now.
He gave each man a short nod, and they grinned up at him, making him suspect that yes, they thought he looked a damn fool all duded up like this.
Rodrigo was there with his wife and two young children Brawley believed to be their grandchildren.
Dave Kaiser must’ve taken time off from Haboob Hardware, because he was there, too, smiling beside his wife, Ruth, who always had a kind word for everybody.
Behind these guests, the new girls grinned and whispered, all dolled up in the silk gowns Cherry had given them in anticipation of far less festive occasions that had luckily never come to pass.
Jaz the Gearhead gamer girl, who normally slouched in sweats and tank tops, looked nearly as out of place in her silver gown as the ranch hands looked in their bright dress shirts. The difference was that Jaz looked completely gorgeous.