Shootout in the BadlandsChapter 10
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The preacher's wife was making cookies in the kitchen when he returned to his quarters. Most of the other boarders at the old residence were already down at the saloon trying their luck with the wheel and hoping one of the fancy girls was in a mood for a discounted poke for a local. Brett knew for a fact the wheel was crooked because he saw the levers under the table and as far as the painted females were concerned, they were all none too interested in cheap fucks with local yahoos. They were after the cowboy and gunman money because it was all "cash on the barrel-head". Those girls were a rough bunch but he had to admit there were a couple of them who made his pecker twitch.
He settled down with a bottle of rot-gut and some rolled-up smokes on top of the big double bed. He was thinking that he sure could use some company right at that moment. Then, he heard a low scratching at his door and he knew right away it was Rachel who had slipped away for more loving while her husband was practicing his "hell and brim fire" routine for the Sunday morning crowd. She was smelling all squeaky clean and shaking with excitement when she whisked inside his door. Before he could even say "Good evening, Ma'am" she had taken off all her clothes from the waist down and stretched herself across the mattress with her backside up high in the air. It was an invitation he was not inclined to turn down.
He started her off nice and slow because she was a lady and all but by the time he was getting ready to accelerate and give it to her real good and hard, she was already going through a convulsive orgasm and crying out nasty dirty words like a cavalry trooper. Her pretty pucker hole was staring up at him with infinite temptation but he reasoned it was a mite early on to be shoving his business up there without some preparatory ground work.
Rachel was resting now with her legs splayed out and face down buried in one of the pretty soft pillows that must have been made by some forgotten female. He figured this was as good a time as any to start her down the pucker hole stretching trail and told her that he had an urge to kiss her behind just because it looked so pretty. He knew from experience that most female of a nubile category were enthusiastic about getting their bottoms kissed and licked and he was certain Rachel was no exception.
He used his tongue cautiously and made loud smacking noises with his lips on her buttocks that forced the preacher's wife to burst out in nervous giggles wiggling her backside like one of the girls down at the Long Branch saloon. Brett could see she was getting comfortable with the touch of his tongue and his fingers all over her bottom and he started to move his lips closer to her gyrating pucker hole. He started to rim her lightly not letting her become aware of the fact that he was close to sticking his nasty tongue right up inside her most private place.
The scent of her core made him a mite bit passionate and he moved into high gear taking possession of her bottom with his demanding mouth. She started to whimper but not in protest rather in a childish pleading tone for him to go deeper and make her take it "all the way up". It was a familiar process for Brett; he had seen almost the same attitude from a mixture of females, schoolmarms, painted saloon girls, even preacher's wives. He was able to judge just the right moment for him to remove his tongue and press his rampant cock right on her quivering sphincter.
She gasped just like most other females and then accepted her fate with surprising submissiveness. He swept inside her ring of defense and sank deep inside her very gut. He had her pinned to the mattress now and she only managed to pant trying to get air inside her lungs. All motivation to talk or even make pathetic moaning sounds had disappeared. She humped her ass up to get him in deeper and took a final despairing look over her shoulder at him before sinking into her very first anal orgasm.
Rachel was a different person after he used her for anal satisfaction. She kissed his face like some crazed schoolgirl and told him,
"I love you so much, Brett. Promise me you will do that to me again. I feel like a woman again and I want to make you happy. I have to get back to the church or my husband will think I am doing something sordid. If he knew what you did to me, it would make him very angry only he would take it out on me and not on you."
With the satisfied housewife departed, Brett finished off what was left in the bottle of whiskey and sank into a deep sleep dreaming about the rancher's daughter bent over a hitching rail with a line of gunmen waiting their turn. That girl had a personality that made him suspect she would be entirely happy with just such a turn of affairs providing her father didn't find out. He had a deep-seated gut instinct that Rhonda needed to spend some time over a strong man's knee to learn the value of ladylike behavior.
There was a fight at the Long Branch after midnight.
Brett heard the gunfire but he was so tired after several days of intense stress and feeling the effects of the poisonous rotgut, he decided to pull the blanket back up over his head and fell right back off to sleep.
The next morning, Rachel was all lovey-dovey in the kitchen and he hoped none of the other boarders or her psalm-spewing husband took notice. The drover from upstate took great delight in announcing that the sheriff was killed with a shot in the back before he was even able to get into the Long Branch to break up the fight. He never he had a chance to pull his iron before the bushwhacker put his lights out.
Brett stopped by the barber shop and took a look at the bullet-riddled sheriff and shook his head at the sheer waste of the idiotic range war. The poor sheriff was trying his best to be unbiased and took basically a "hands off" attitude about the range war hoping it would all just go away and now he was lying in a wooden coffin being gawked at by anyone who happened to walk past the window. They were already digging his grave up on boot hill but it was slow work because of the rocky terrain. It was a safe bet he would be in the ground before sundown because bodies got too ripe in the humid prairie air.
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