The Taming of Bad Bart

It was a big house with peeling paint and sagging shutters, but Emily smiled at the sight of it and sighed with relief. It had been a long walk and her shoulders ached from the weight of her two valises. How far, she wondered from that fork in the road? No matter. The house ahead meant she was near her destination - Rock Ridge, Colorado. She set her bags down just long enough to wipe her palms on the skirt of her dress, then with a resolute step she trudged on.

As Emily drew near the house, the front door swung open on squeaky hinges and a woman stepped out onto the porch. She was tall, with an enormous bosom that threatened to bounce out of her dress as she strode out to meet Emily in the road. The woman's hair was a fiery orange and her lips were painted bright red.

"Looks like you walked a fair piece, honey," said the woman. She touched her finger to a drop of sweat that streaked the dust on Emily's pretty face.

"I got off the stagecoach at a cross-roads," Emily told her. "The driver said they don't stop in Rock Ridge anymore."

"That's right. They don't. Nobody goes to Rock Ridge anymore."

"But I am," Emily said cheerily. "I'm going to be the new school teacher."

"Schoolmarm, eh?" The woman walked slowly around Emily, lookin her up and down ands from every angle.

"Yes. My name is Emily Rush."

"Why would a pretty young thin like you want to teach school?"

"Well, I..."

"Spinster?"

"No, I'm a widow" said Emily. "My husband was killed in a streetcar accident."

"Sorry to hear that," the woman said without a trace of sympathy. "But you've come a long way for nothing, Missy. There ain't no school in Rock Ridge."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there ain't."

"There is."

"There ain't."

"But..."

"There's not even a town there anymore, honey," said the red haired woman. "Nothin' left but a few old scratchers, one saloon and a store with mostly empty shelves. When the silver played out, most everybody skedaddled."

"Skedaddled?"

"In a cloud of dust."

"So there's no school?"

"Nope."

"No children?"

"Nary a one."

"And no job. Oh my!"

"Like I said," said the bosomy woman. "You've come a long way for nothing."

"But you're still here," said Emily. "Why didn't you skedaddle?"

"I had a little put by...enough to see me through for awhile." The woman leaned close and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "And I've got in on good authority that the railroad will be coming through here soon. Maybe next summer. That'll perk things up again."

"I see," said Emily, who saw nothing but her own misfortune.

"Who knows? Maybe in a couple years there'll be a school fulla kids, too."

"But what will I do until then?" Emily plunked down her bags and fought back tears.

"Well, you could come to work for me."

"Doing what?"

The woman tilted her head toward her house. "What the hell do you suppose?"

Unnoticed by Emily, a half-dozen women in various stages of undress had lined the porch railing. Two were bare breasted and one was naked but for a pair of long red stockings and a matching hair ribbon.

"My goodness," said Emily. "Is this a house of ill-fame?"

"This is a whorehouse, plain and simple, dearie. A damn good one, too." The redhead extend a pudgy hand. "My name's Dorothy Nixon."

"It's nice to meet you Dorothy. And thank you for the offer but..."

"But what?"

"Well I...um...I simple couldn't accept."

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't think I'm qualified."

"Really." Dorothy Nixon put her hands on her generous hips and cocked an eyebrow. "You got a slit between your legs, Emily?"

"Yes, I suppose I do, but..."

"That's all the qualifications you need, sugar. Come on. I'll introduce you to the rest of my girls."

So Emily Rush, unemployed school teacher became the newest attraction at Dorothy's pleasure Palace. It wasn't always a smooth transition and the new whore clashed often and loudly with the madam of the house.

Emily had standards that towered above those of the other girls, most regarding hygiene. The schoolmarm whore, as she came to be called insisted on having a private bathtub installed in her room and adamantly refused to share her charms with any customer she found unsavory or otherwise offensive. To her credit, Emily was unfailingly polite and cheerful and tried to be helpful in other ways. She did much of the cooking and cleaning and even gave reading lessons to her fellow doves. She was considered to be a bit eccentric, even somewhat exotic, but after a few weeks she was welcomed to the region's collective bosom.

***

"Oh-oh. Dorothy, look who's coming."

"What is it, Lou?" Dorothy Nixon leaned past the girl called Lou to see a dark figure on horseback approaching the house. "Oh, shit," she said. "It's Bad Bart."

"Now I had him last time, Dot," said Lou. Make somebody else do him this time. It's only fair."

"All right, all right. Hide somewhere. I'll tell him you got the curse."

"I don't think that would matter much to the likes of him."

"Go on now." The madam shooed the girl from the room and walked out onto her big front porch.

The man called Bad Bart stopped his horse just short of the porch steps and silently scowled at Dorothy Nixon. He was dressed all in black, though a thick layer of trail dust made him seem gray as a ghost. He wore a brace of Colt revolvers on his hips and a black, flat-brimmed sombrero on his head. His dark eyes flashed beneath bushy brows. A drooping mustache his mouth from view and week-long stubble, the color of coal sprouted from his face.

He drew a wooden matchstick from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. "Hello Dorothy."

"Hello Bart. What can I do for you?"

"You mean besides findin' me somethin' warm to stick my dick into?"

I don't want any trouble from you, Bart. You hear me?"

"There won't be any trouble long's I get what I came for," he said. "Do you hear me?"

"I'll see who's available."

"I hear you got a new gal. I want her."

"Naw, you don't want her," said the madam. "Polly's more to your liking. Or Lou."

"I've already had Polly and Lou and every other piece of tail you got." He spat in the dust. "I want the one they call the schoolmarm."

"You won't like her, Bart. Now Polly on the other hand..."

Bad Bart slid off his horse wand with a couple quick steps, mounted the porch and grabbed Dorothy by the arm. "Now you listen to me you old cow," he hissed. "I come for the new girl and you damn well better serve her up. Savvy?"

Dorothy jerked her arm from his grasp and glared up at the desperado. "Wait in the parlor. I'll tell her you're coming up."

"Be quick about it."

The madam found Emily in her room pouring a bucket of hot water into the copper tub she was so fond of. "Honey? Bad Bart's here to see you."

"I don't know anyone by that name," said Emily. "Besides, I was just about to have a bath."

"Forget the bath. In fact," Dorothy drew Emily's folding screen in front of the tub. "Better he don't see that tub. Hot water and soap would probably just piss him off."

"I don't understand."

"You will." Dorothy patted the girl's cheek. "Take it easy with this one, honey. He can be rough. Just lie back and close your eyes and it will be over before you know it."

"But..."

"I'll send him right up," said Dorothy as she hurried away.

Emily listened to her employers steps tapping down the stairs, and then heavier, slower steps ascending. The door swung open with a bang. Bad Bart Burgoyne stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind him.

"You the one they call schoolmarm?"

"My name is Emily Rush." She extended a delicate hand which he ignored. "And you are?"

He took the chewed matchstick from his lips and frowned at her. "Bart Burgoyne."

"How do you do, Mr. Burgoyne," said Emily. "Is Bart short for Bartholomew?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it...Hey! What the hell's that got to do with the price of poontang?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that Bartholomew is such a lovely, lyrical name and..."

"Enough!" Bad Bart pointed a grimy finger at her face. "If you feel obliged to call me anything, Bart will do."

"Very well. Bart is shall be."

"Good," he said. "Now let's fuck. Help me off with these boots, schoolteacher."

"You're not taking those nasty boots off in here, Bart Burgoyne."

The sharp edge in Emily's voice brought another scowl from Bad Bart. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," she said. "Those boots are filthy. And what's that on your heel? Horse poop?"

"So what? Ain't you never stepped in horseshit?"

"Certainly not, "said Emily. "And if I did track it indoors like an ill bred..."

"One more word outta you, woman," said Bart, raising a big fist," and I'll knock them nice white teeth down yore purty throat!"

"Emily ignored the threat. She seized Bart by the arm, spun him around and pushed him toward the door. "Now you march downstairs this instant and leave those dirty, poopy boots out on the porch where they belong. Go on...march."

Bad Bart Burgoyne trembled with rage. His hands inched down toward the twin six-shooters on his hips and an ominous growl rumbled in his throat.

"Are you going to shoot me, Bart?" said Emily. "Really now you're just being silly."

She moved close and pressed her breasts to his back. "Indulge me, Bart," she cooed. "Do this one little thing for me and I'll make it worth your while."

Burgoyne's shoulders slumped a bit as the heat of his anger cooled a few degrees. His hands rested on the butts of his revolvers while he took several deep breaths of air.

"Lady," he said finally, "I've rid near fifty miles to get here today. Most of them miles I had a big hard-on rubbing against my saddle horn."

"That sounds terribly uncomfortable," Emily allowed.

"It was quite painful," Bart told her, still facing the door. "My point being...now that I'm here I mean to get what I came for." He adjusted his hat and then wiped his palms on his trousers. "Now I'm gonna go outside and take these boots off like you asked. When I get back, you best be nekkid and spread-eagle on that damned bed."

He turned to show her a murderous glare. His voice was low and flat. "You don't want to disappoint me, sis."

Bart clumped noisily from the room and down the stairs. He returned in near silence wearing smelly socks worn through at the heels. He slammed Emil's bedroom door and gave her a dark look. "You ain't nekkid," he snarled.

"Not yet," she said. "I was waiting for you, Bart dear."

"Oh. Well, all right then. Let's fuck."

He tossed his hat art the bedpost, hung his gun belt on the door knob and with a few lightening-quick moves. peeled of his shirt and pants and stood before her bare-chested in his long-handled drawers. "Emily had not moved.

"That's it, lady," Bart growled. "I've tried to be polite. Now I'm gonna rip them clothes offa you!"

"But I have a surprise for you," Emily said.

"Huh?"

She skipped around the foot of the bed and pulled back the screen to reveal her copper tub.

"To hell with that," Bart said. "You can take a bath after if you've a mind."

"It's not for me, silly," she said. "This bath is for you."

She smiled brightly but Bart Burgoyne's expression was something quite different. His face took on a dark, ruddy glow and a thick vein throbbed at his temple. His hands balled into hard, white-knuckled fists and his breath huffed like a locomotive.

"All right, schoolteacher," he hissed. "If you wanna do this the hard way, that's fine by me!" He jerked his drawers to his knees and his erection, still red from rubbing on his saddle, pointed its threatening head at Emily.

"Oh, my," she said. "What is that?"

Bart looked down and then back up at her. "It's a cock," he said. "Ain't you never seen one?"

"I've never seen one that big," she said.

"Really?"

"Truly. It's huge, Bart."

"Aw now..." For the first time in many weeks, Bad Bart Burgoyne smiled.

"Oh, it is," said Emily. "I'm going to need more soap to wash that big devil." She seized Bart's hand and led him shuffling toward the tub. "You hop in here and soak while I fetch another soap cake."

"Well, now I don't..."

"Come on now," she coaxed. "Kick off those drawers and get in. When I get back, I'll scrub your back for you."

"The front, too?"

"Yes, the front too," she said. "But only if you behave yourself."

"Well...all right then."

Emily left him to soak in the sudsy water and when she came back to her room she carried a large bar of lye soap, a scissors and a straight razor. She lathered his face and shaved off the black stubble, then trimmed his mustache and bushy eyebrows. She used a sponge to scrub his back, his chest, his arms and legs. She washed the stiff flesh of his manhood with a soapy hand but insisted he clean everything below that himself.

While Bart toweled himself dry, Emily slipped out of her cloths. He turned to find her standing naked beside the bed, one hand on a shapely hip and the other caressing the bedpost.

"Oh, Lordy," he whispered. Emily's breasts were proud and full with dainty pink nipples standing high on her mounds. Her legs were long and perfectly formed, a thatch of light brown curls covered the secrets of her femininity.

"Oh, Lordy," Bart said again. Git on that bed girl, and spread them purty legs."

"But Bart, honey," she said. "Don't you think we might enjoy some...preliminaries?"

"Some what?"

She came to him and nuzzled her face in the thick black hair of his chest. She flicked her tongue over his nipples and let her hand glide down his ribs and over his hips.

"Oh, that is nice," he said. "What did you say your name was, darlin'?"

"Emily," she murmured as her hand found its way between his thighs.

"That's a nice name, Emily." Bart closed his eyes and moaned softly as she stroked the barrel of his favorite weapon.

She kissed a trail down his chest and belly, sank slowly to her knees and touched her tongue to the crown of his cock. Her hand cupped his balls, kneading gently as she followed the length of his shaft with her lips and tongue. Then she took him in her mouth. Her head bobbed back and forth as she allowed him deeper and deeper entrance. A tiny noise escaped him that might best be likened to the mew of a small kitten and his body tensed in anticipation. But Emily rose to her feet and pulled his face down to her breasts.

Bart took a breast in each hand and buried his face between them. "These are nice tits, Emily."

"Thank you, Bart, but you needn't be coarse."

He found a nipple and sucked hungrily. She guided his hand to the delicate, moist flesh between her legs. He stroked her warm lips, delighted in her soft, silkiness, the plunged a finger deep within her folds. Emily sighed happily as she rocked back and forth against his hand.

She backed up slowly, drawing him along until her legs bumped against the bed. Emily sat on the edge of the mattress and with her hands on his shoulders, brought Bart Burgoyne to his knees. She lay back on the bed and opened her legs wide. He gaped in wonder at the glistening pink fissure just inches from his face.

"Jesus, Emily! I never seen one so close up before."

"Don't just look, darling," she crooned. "Taste me, Bart. Lick me."

"Aw now, I don't know about that," he said, plainly nervous. "I never done such a thing before."

Emily sat up. "Then it's time you learned," she said. She grabbed him by the ears and threw herself back on the bed pulling his face into her hot cunny, then clamped his head between her thighs and ground her pelvis against his face.

Bart felt his heart pounding within his ribs, sweat trickling down his face. He took a deep breath to calm himself and caught her scent. Musky, both sweet and tangy, it was a tantalizing aroma. He was powerless to resist the invitation. He pressed his lips to Emily's wet pussy and explored her with his tongue.

"Oh, yes Bart," she whispered.

"Say...this is good," he said.

He lapped eagerly at her blush petals, thrilled by this new intimacy with female charms. Emily moved beneath him, twisting and turning, encouraging and guiding him. When his tongue found the rosy button of flesh nestled high in her crevice, she gasped and thrust her hips up to him. Bart had no clue what this meant but Emily's enthusiasm for the activity was unmistakable. He pressed his lips to the tiny bud. He nibbled and sucked and teased with his tongue.

Emily writhed and bucked. The bed springs creaked and screamed until the schoolmarm's legs shot straight out on either side of Bart Burgoyne's head, rigid and unbending, her toes spread and pointed at the ceiling. She let out a piercing howl that caused the women downstairs to cringe and brought her lover to his feet.

"Jesus, Emily!" Bart said. "Are you all right?"

"Now, Bart!" Emily stretched out her arms to him. "Take me now. I want to feel that big boy of yours inside me!"

"Huh?"

"Oh, for Chrissake, Bart...Let's fuck!"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Bart stepped between her legs and, with one well-aimed lunge, speared into the lush delta of the schoolmarm whore. She wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him to her, until his cock was buried to the hilt.

"Oh, Bart," she said.

"Oh, Emily," he said.

Bart slipped his hands beneath her firm buttocks and impaled her with rapid strokes. Emily wrapped a thump and forefinger around the base of his shaft and hurled herself into each stabbing thrust.

"Harder!" she cried. "Faster!"

They pounded away with animalistic fury, driving the bed sideways across the floor, inch by inch, until it bumped into the heavy copper tub. Bart wondered for a moment where the pretty little schoolteacher learned to fuck like this but dismissed the thought as passion rose within him and demanded release.

Emily too was nearing the pinnacle of ecstasy. "Oh, yes!" she shouted as a mountain-moving orgasm rocker her to her core.

Bart issued a strangled cry as he answered with jets of hot cum before collapsing on top of her.

Emily wiggled beneath him, reveling in the delicious sensations of deep penetration, milking the last of him. She felt his heart pounding against her skin and his hot rapid breath on her breast.

"Bart?"

"Hmm?"

"How about a little cuddle?"

"I think I'd like that."

They stretched out side by side on the corn shuck mattress. Bart curled a strong arm around her as she lay her head on his thick chest.

"So what makes you bad, Bart?"

"Huh?"

"Your reputation. Are you a killer?"

"Naw. But I've broke a few bones, I reckon."

"Are you a bank robber like Jesse James?"

"No, I've never robbed no banks," he said. "I've snitched a few stray calves and naturally, I never put my own beef on the supper table."

"No, of course not." Emily twined her fingers in his chest hair. "Are you a mean drunk? Do you cheat at cards?"

"I don't play cards much and whiskey gives me the trots."

"Well, do you abuse women and little children?"

"Certainly not."

"Then why are you Bad Bart Burgoyne?" Emily wanted to know. "Why is everyone scared of you?"

"'Cause I made 'em scared of me." He showed her a boyish grin." Wasn't very hard to do neither."

"But why would you want..."

"Because I'd rather be called Bad Bart than Fat Boy. That's what they called me when I was a kid."

"Oh, I see." Emily laid a sympathetic hand on his cheek. "Children can be so cruel at times."

"Yeah." Bart closed his eyes and told her of his unhappy childhood. When he finished his story, Emily kissed him softly and said, "I'm so sorry, Bart."

"Don't be. I got my revenge." He smiled and stoked her breast. "One day I wasn't fat no more. I shot up tall and broad in all the right places And I had a fair-sized piece of mean in me. Don't nobody laugh at Bart Burgoyne no more."

"I see."

"But this is just between us. Right darlin'?"

"Oh, absolutely," she said. Your secret is safe with me."