Belle Starr felt the air leave the room. She looked up from pouring a whiskey to see all the men leaning back a little and her girls literally frozen in place. Then she saw the reason for this sudden, shocked calm.
Oh Shit, she thought. Not him again!
Standing in the saloon door way was the biggest, meanest, most cruel customer she had ever had. He stood six foot six and was as broad as the hind end of a horse. His grizzled red beard and wild red hair framed a sunburned face as he glared about the room, challenging one and all to dare to step out of line. His buckskin clothes reeked of sweat and grime, the long fringe worn ragged. Two big colts were stuck into his thick leather belt. But from the waist down was the surprise. The giant wore a tartan kilt! It was as dirty as his other clothes and hanging to his knees which were thick like tree limbs. Indian moccasins and leg wraps adorned his feet and calves.
Slowly, Big Angus McLoud stepped into the room and moved toward the bar. He spied what seemed to be the largest cowboy in the room and gave him a special threatening eyeful. The man turned and quickly brought his beer glass to his lips. McLoud reached the bar.
“Belle, m’lass.” His accent thick with Scottish burr.
“Angus.”
“I’ll take a pitcher a that swill you call beer,” the big man said, as he leaned on the bar. A heavy groan came from the wood and Belle winced. She drew the beer and slapped it down in front of him.
“McLoud, you behave yourself while your here, this time,” she said. “I don’t want anything broken. Not furniture. Not heads. You mind yourself, you hear. Your not in those goddamn mountains you call home.”
McLoud lifted the pitcher and took a long draught of it before he spoke.
“Don’t worry, lass. I’m in a good mood this time. Had a good year in the hills. Plenty a skins came back with me.”
“Well, just because you only get to town twice a year don’t mean you can tear things up,” Belle replied. “And if you hurt any of my girls again, I’ll see you never hurt another one. I promise you that.”
The big man laughed. “Now speakin’ a that. You got any Mexican lassies on ye payroll, Belle? You know I’m partial to the little senioritas.”
Belle looked down, but then nodded. “Yes, we have a Spanish girl here.”
She was concerned for the girl. Belle herself had been forced to accommodate Angus McLoud once. He hadn’t hurt her but his equipment had left her sore for a week.
McLoud slammed the bar top with a hand like a ham and said, “Well, give me a bottle and send her up. My room empty?”
“Yes, it’s empty.”
McLoud drained the pitcher of beer and accepted the bottle of whiskey Belle offered him. “That beer is piss. Wish you had a good Scottish ale in this dump.”
Belle replied, “Mind your manners, Angus.”
McLoud laughed again and headed for the stairs. “Send the Mex up.”
“Aren’t you going to at least bathe first?” Belle asked his back.
He kept walking but called back to her, “Maybe for the next one. Got six months built up. Gotta let Hubert loose some. No time for a bath now. Send her up.”
He climbed the stairs and paused at the top. Every eye in the room was on him as he turned to his audience. “You can all breath now. I ain’t hurt none of ye. Yet.”
McLoud gave the crowd a slow wink and moved down the hall.
And indeed, a collective sigh of relief entered the room.
Belle muttered, “Shit.”
She looked over to where her girls had been froze and spied the dark girl in the back.
“Lupe.”
The girl stepped forward, having heard the entire exchange between Belle and the mountain man. “Miss Belle, por favor, do I have to? Do I have to go with that horrible man?”
“That’s the business, Lupe. We can’t always pick and choose,” the madam replied. “If he evens tries to hurt you, you scream as loud as you can.”
She reached under the bar and lifted a sawed-off double-barrelled shotgun which she laid across the mahogany top.
“He won’t get away with it.”
The girl trembled, her soft rich lips quivered. She started toward the stairway.
“And, Lupe. Do whatever he wants. You don’t want to make him mad.”
Lupe nodded at her boss’s advice. Slowly, she ascended the steps to her fate.
Once at the closed door, she tapped lightly on it. So lightly she hoped he wouldn’t hear it. But a reply came: “About fookin’ time. Get in here, lass.”
Lupe opened the door and slipped into the room. She gasped as she saw Angus McLoud standing before her. He had removed every bit of clothing save his kilt. Red hair covered his entire torso, his massive broad chest and big belly, his arms and legs. Had he turned around, she was sure his back was full of hair as well.
But he didn’t turn around. He lifted his bottle to his mouth and before he drank said, “Ready to earn ye money, puta?”
As he drank he lifted his kilt and exposed his member. For the first time in her life as a whore, Lupe Valez was frightened. She had never seen a cock so long nor so thick. A week before a handsome black man had loved her lush lips with his own ebony dick. But his was nothing compared to this dangerous looking thing.
McLoud set the bottle down and grasped his cock at its base. It bobbed in the man’s hand like a rattlesnake waiting to strike. She couldn’t tell if the man was manipulating it or if the cock had a life of it’s own. Huge veins seemed to rip through the red flesh. Lupe’s greatest fear was--it wasn’t even hard yet!
“Come on, lassie,” McLoud said. “Get over her and down on your knees. Give auld Hubert here a little kiss.”
Lupe obediently walked to him but before she knelt he caught her chin in his big smelly hand. He rubbed her mouth with his thumb eventually parting her lips and inserting it.
“My, you do have some pretty lips. Nice and thick. And brown. I think I’m gonna like this. Go on, lovely. Get on down there and wrap those pretty lips around Hubert’s bald head.”
Lupe got to her knees and tentatively touched the massive penis before her. McLoud released his monster to her grasp and said, “That’s it, lovely. But you better use two hands. Don’t want any accidents, do we?”
