The Outlaw's Lady
Kiko, the man I had devoted my life to loving, was my obsession. He was an outlaw, a gunslinger, and when he came to me, I never knew if I would see him again. Alive.
***
My old dog Prissy led me to the ranch house, and as I passed the barn, I waved my hat to the vaqueros who clustered there, branding cattle. I was tired and hot, and covered in dirt.
Prissy stiffened as we rounded the house, then broke into joyful yelping and ran ahead like a Texas tornado.
Ricardo "Ricko" Romero, reins in hand,atop a tall brown saddle horse, emerged from a dust cloud. He dismounted and Prissy lept at his thighs in adulation. He knelt and put his arms around her and pulled down his bandana so she could lick his face. I let her have a minute before I too ran to him.
"Kiko!" I squealed. Kiko was my pet name for him. He made little salty corn snacks for me and said that in Mexico they were called "kikos" and were sold by the street vendors. I ate them all up. Like I wanted to eat him up. To devour him. To pull him inside me. My pussy was wet just thinking of it.
He met me with arms outstretched and then held me tight. He smelled like horse sweat, his breath redolent with garlic and tobacco, but I inhaled him.
I hadn't seen him in five months, and I had been terrified that I might never see him. Gunslingers like Ricko couldn't promise their women that they would return. My hands ran down his pants, searched inside his shirt, explored his face.
He nestled his face into my hair, his hands working their way across my back and rear as he pressed into me. "Let me get washed up," he said.
I put my fingers to my mouth and whistled, and in a moment, a ranch hand stuck his head around the corner. "Please make sure Mr. Ricko's horse is cared for," I told him.
We walked to the kitchen at the side of my house, our fingers intertwined, our bodies touching. I poured a kettle of water and hung it from the fireplace hook. "You know where the soap and washcloths are, I'm going to fix you something to eat," I said. "The creek is cool, but not bad. I just took a bath there this morning, if you want to walk down there.
"I need to sleep too, my love. I've been riding for days. I wanted to get here ahead of the cattle drive so I can help if you need me."
"I always need you," I said, nearly growling it out. "But not just for the drive."
He pulled back and smiled, his mustache twitching a little.
I thought of that mustache, the way it had tickled me the last time he was here, tickling my sensitive and swollen clit. I smiled back. My finger touched his lips, then my lips found his, my tongue exploring his mouth.
He pulled away, grinned, and started for the creek.
Just as I put out a plate for him, he returned, stripped off his clothes, and wrapped himself in an Indian blanket. After he ate a slice of fresh-made sourdough bread with some beans and bacon, I laid him down on my straw bed, its soft feather comforter around him, and I snuggled up to his bare body, my hands running over his skin, its furrows and scars, each beloved to me. I searched for new ones and was relieved to find none. I took his big cock in my mouth for a moment and ran my mouth up and down the shaft. He grabbed my hair, calling my name. I pushed him back down and used my fingers to cradle his balls as I licked and sucked that cock. Within minutes, I felt his hot cum flood my throat. I licked him clean.
I woke him at dusk with clean clothes and a dinner of fried fruit pies and a stewed rabbit. I laid one of my precious flowers next to his plate.
Prissy had slept at his feet and she tumbled out to run into the dusk of the yard and chase rabbits and mice.
"I have to go to work," I said as he ate, his dark eyes seldom leaving my face.
"I know." He ran a finger down the side of my face. "Wouldn't do if the town's favorite madam isn't there to meet the customers."
"It's true," I said, grinning.
Three saloons in town, and mine is the one every ranch hand and cowboy from Texas to Mexico comes to. My girls are clean and smart and the food's not bad either.
"We've got the best piano player in the West."
We both laughed. Johnny High Pockets, as he was known, had been a classical pianist back East, but the lure of the Wild West brought him to Texas. He could really play, and my girls made good money dancing to his raucous tunes. There was nothing like it in town. Sometimes I swear the cowboys came for the dancing, not the drinks.
"I'll be back as soon as possible. I'd skip a night if I could, but it might raise eyebrows and we don't need word getting out that you're back until we're ready for company."
My Kiko's services were in high demand. Once the town realized he was here, we'd have a parade of people wanting to hire him to enact vengeance on an enemy or giving him tips about banks and trains and rich merchants, all for a cut of the profit and no risk on their part, of course.
"Button me up?" I asked him. I gasped as he tightened my corset until I could barely breathe and buttoned me in. I slid into my blouse and tight skirt while he stroked me.
"I want you bound for me," he said. "I want your body tight in that corset so all you can think of is me unbuttoning you later." Then he lifted my skirts, pulled the slit in my bloomers apart, and knelt before me.
I put my hands on his head and guided him to my clit. He wrapped his arms around my bottom and began to lick and tickle me. I could barely breathe in my tight corset, but I managed to gasp and squeal and squirm under his tongue. I threw my head back and moaned as I pulled his hair and gushed on his face.
He was back in, drinking me like a man in the desert all day. Just as I came again, he pulled away and tucked me back into the bloomers.
He laughed. "Now go entice other men," he said. "They'll smell sex on you and open their pockets." He grinned. "But remember who you're coming home to."
My dancehall, the Outlaw, was packed that night with fur trappers who were on their way to San Antone for market. Barney, who kept peace in the place, was sitting on a stool by the door, encouraging everyone to come in and enjoy the show. I walked through, keeping my eye on my new barman, looking over the games, and making sure the girls looked their best. I would wrap my arms around special customers, those who'd been here before, or those who were big spenders, and give them a peek of my cleavage.
Most of my girls lived in a boarding house in town, but a few lived upstairs. None of my current crop were prostitutes. A bordello had opened last year outside town and those who wanted sex work had gone there. It was a blow to my profits to lose them, but worse, it was humiliating. I'd called out the madam there, a woman known as Izzy the Indian, but after a short brawl, enjoyed by all of our customers, we decided on an arrangement. I'd refer any men wanted sex services to her place, and she would promote my dancehall so her customers didn't spend too much time taking up space and her girls' time.
"It's good for both of us," she said when we shook on it. "We women got to stick together, the menfolk will put us under the yoke if'n we don't," she added.
I had to admit, business had been good for both of us since then. She sent her customers to us for the dancing and drinking and gambling.
That night, I sent about five of the trappers, flush with money, down to Izzy's. We closed late, and all of us were exhausted.
"I can't dance another step," Mollie said as she sipped a cup of hot coffee and ate some cornbread and beans before leaving. "I might have to sleep on the floor."
It was a routine we all enjoyed on big nights. We would lay out a spread of beans, bacon, and biscuits, and our barman would brew up a pot of coffee. We'd count our earnings and everyone would get their share. Barney would make sure none of the customers were around to harass the girls as they headed down the street for home.
One of my ranch hands always arrived at the Outlaw around midnight, so I never had to worry about riding home alone. Unlike the other saloons, I tried to close at midnight to give the girls a chance to rest and take care of their business. Yes, it cut down on profits. I could stay open all night and still have customers, but unless there was enough business to justify longer hours, I preferred that we all arrive rested the next day. I didn't like keeping the Outlaw open so four or five drunks could play poker all night.
Tonight Kiko, an old soft hat pulled low over his face, was waiting around the side of the saloon. He helped me onto my horse and we rode through the darkness, a hint of rain in the air. The moon was waning, and its bitter light begrudgingly lit the road ahead.
When we reached the boundaries of the town, he spoke. "I made a good haul this time, baby girl. I'd like to settle down, but you know how hard that is when your face is on a wanted poster in every sheriff's office."
My shock kept me from responding immediately. "Kiko. What if you just holed up on my ranch for a while? You know I would be ecstatic to have you here, and the vaqueros love you. Hell, you speak their language. Literally. And we don't have a sheriff in town. The mayor might even want to hire you."
"The thought crossed my mind. To have you every night, to lick you clean when you come back from the Outlaw, to sink myself into your sweet sweet body any time of day, to listen to you singing when you cook, to watch you dance just for me...it's tempting."
"This ranch is half yours," I said. "You financed it and forced that assay man to put it in my name."
