*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft spell check; you have been forewarned.
In 2017, Blackrandl1958 had an invitational, '
Writers Go West
.' There were some wonderful stories in that series, which inspired me to try my hand at the genre.
*.*.*.*.
The stagecoach came to a stop in front of the Mayor's office, which was also the post office and the telegraph office. After the dust from the path had settled, the stagecoach driver got down and opened the door to the coach.
A small, wiry figure got out of the dark interior and stretched. Then the stagecoach driver handed down a fairly heavy trunk.
"Thanks; happen know where the sheriff's office is?" Sam McCleary asked.
"Next building down," the stagecoach driver said, nodding with his head.
"Thanks again," Sam said, trunk perched on a narrow shoulder.
Sheriff Boyd glanced up when the door opened. Earl Travers, his deputy also looked at the door.
A small, wiry figure entered, trunk on shoulder.
"Hey there, name's Sam," the stranger said. "Sam McCleary. I'm a bounty hunter."
Earl sat up a little taller in his chair. The chair groaned under the man's bulk.
"Say that's McCleary?" Earl asked. "Think I heard of you."
"And what can I do for you, Sam?" Sheriff Boyd asked guardedly.
"Looking for the Knothole Gang," Sam said easily.
Sheriff Boyd looked past Sam. Then he looked at Sam again and frowned.
"Uh, Sam, they's seven of them," Sheriff Boyd said. "You planning on taking all them in? Going need more'n just you do it."
"They wanted, dead or alive," Sam shrugged. "Figure they be pretty easy handle they dead."
"Like I said, they seven of them," Sheriff Boyd said.
"Know that," Sam said and shifted the trunk to the other shoulder. "Stopped in tell you I'm here take them in. I'm a bounty hunter, but I'm not here step on no toes."
"Your funeral, Sam," Sheriff Boyd shrugged. "Where you want me send your carcass?"
Deputy Travers snickered. Sheriff Boyd grinned.
"St. Louis, Missouri," Sam smiled easily.
Six of the seven members of the Knothole Gang were presently at the Knothole Saloon. They'd taken their name from their hideout. It was a small squat building made of knotty pine boards. It stood among other small, squat buildings in the town of Benhurst, Colorado. Other bank robbers and train robbers and stagecoach robbers occupied other saloons in the small town that sweltering July of 1880. But it was the Knothole Gang that had killed three US Marshalls in their last heist.
Sam McCleary looked at the small building. Sam looked around at the other buildings. Gangs were known to be territorial. The Main Street Saloon wouldn't take too kindly to the members of the Knothole Gang showing up in their saloon. Same with the Nugget, and the Sweet Oak Saloon.
The only building across from the saloon that would be considered open to all was the stable. Sam ambled to the stable.
"Help you?" the stable master asked genially.
"Needing hire a buggy and four horses," Sam said.
"Where taking it?" the man asked, looking at a barely serviceable buggy.
"Denver; nearest train station," Sam said.
After securing the buggy and approving of the four horses, Sam walked to the Knothole Saloon. The man behind the counter perked up; strangers weren't that common entering his raucous establishment.
"Whiskey, neat," Sam ordered, putting the heavy trunk on the floor.
Five dancing girls bounced and gyrated to a poorly played piano. Sam cast an appreciative eye at one of the girls. She was a round figure, round, with a head full of copper colored curls and a pleasing face sprinkled liberally with freckles.
"Girls for hire?" Sam asked, nodding toward the dancers.
"Course," the man nodded.
"Hmm, needing a room for the night and I can get a hot bath?" Sam asked.
"Course," the bartender agreed. "Two for the room, um, one for the bath, and which one them girls you thinking?"
"Big Red at the end there," Sam nodded. "Whole night be how much?"
"Five," the bartender said quickly.
"How much?" Sam asked, surprised.
"Fine, fine, three," the bartender grumbled.
Sam nodded, put a five dollar coin and to dollar coins onto the bar.
"Wanting some vittles; stew smells good," Sam said.
"Hey, Clara!" the bartender called out.
Clara stopped bouncing to the jangly music. She looked over at Frank, then opened her green eyes wide as Frank pointed to the wiry looking stranger.
Penny also looked over at the stranger and pursed her lips in distaste. She was a buxom blonde with finely shaped legs. She was used to men choosing her, even fighting over here. Clara being chosen before her? It had never happened before.
"Fixing eat some stew; you eat?" Sam asked as Clara approached.
Clara looked at Frank. Frank shrugged and fixed a second plate of the hearty venison stew.
"Got a bath coming," Sam said as they ate their meal.
Clara smiled a saucy smile.
"Needing me scrub your back, stranger?" she cooed.
"Scrub yours too," Sam agreed.
"Ooh, both us going take a bath?" Clara giggled flirtatiously.
"Bath's ready, partner," Frank said a few moments later. "Got you in Room Three."
"Key?" Sam asked, holding out a small hand.
Frank hesitated a moment, then fished a skeleton key from his vest pocket. He then offered to have the stranger's trunk brought up.
"I'll handle it; thanks," Sam said.
"Want more?" Frank asked, nodding toward the two empty plates.
"No, thanks. Belly's full, now, Clara, let's you and me have us a little fun, huh?" Sam smiled.
At the foot of the stairs, Sam let Clara go up first. Then Sam turned to Frank.
"Listen, know how get a message to the knothole Gang?" Sam asked in a strong clear voice.
"Uh, might," Frank said, shooting a nervous glance at three men playing poker.
"Tell them fixing bring them in," Sam said. "Up to them how they want come in. They wanting be alive, tell them be out front of here at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Uh, yeah, sure, eleven o'clock," Frank said, swallowing.
Sam carried the heavy trunk up the stairs, located room 3 and entered.
Clara was already disrobing. She'd loosed her dress and it had puddled around her plump legs. Her petticoat and corset were unlaced and she smiled as Sam closed and locked the door. Sam shoved the heavy trunk against the bottom of the door, barring anyone from peeking underneath the door.
This also made it more difficult for anyone to force the door open. Sam figured the little announcement downstairs would cause one or two to attempt entry into the room.
Sam nodded approvingly as Clara's corset fluttered to the floor, revealing two large freckled breasts capped with two large pink nipples. Her belly had a pleasant plumpness to it, and her navel was a dimple in her soft paunch.
Clara then wiggled and giggled and pushed her petticoat down her pale legs. Her womanhood was capped with an orange tuft of curls that did not fully conceal her cleft. Her pale pink lips peeked out from the slit, plump and moist.
Sam pulled the Stetson off, letting a floor length curtain of blonde hair fall. Clara stared at the stranger's long blonde hair. Sam then hung the hat on the doorknob, blocking the keyhole.
Without the hat on, the stranger had a handsome face. Slightly oblong, with high cheekbones, warm brown eyes and a small nose. Sam's lips were pale, full and when Sam smiled, the smile revealed some straight white teeth, with one tooth that was slightly twisted.
Sam worked the buttons of the dusty shirt, one by one. Then Sam pulled the shirt open, revealing two small, well-formed breasts, capped with light brown nipples and a flat belly. Sam kicked off the dusty boots and slithered out of the dusty denim trousers. This revealed a pair of womanly hips, and a small thatch of blonde hair that barely covered a plump cleft.
"That's a, you're a..." Clara sputtered, looking at Sam.
"Shh," Sam smiled and approached the nude Clara.
Sam wrapped her arms around the chubby whore. Then Sam gave the red headed woman a soft kiss directly on her full, pouting lips.
"I've never, I ain't never..." Clara protested.
"Shh," Sam said again and pulled Clara toward the large washtub.
She kissed Clara again, then assisted the skittish woman into the tub of steaming water.
"Scoot up," Sam ordered and climbed into the tub, facing Clara's back.
Sam grabbed the linen scrap from the small table and dunked it into the hot water. She then gently ran the rag over Clara's freckled shoulders.
"Really, I ain't never been with no woman," Clara whispered nervously.
She did giggle as Sam's small hands came around and rubbed the scrap of cloth over her heavy breasts. Sam then playfully pinched one of Clara's hard nipples. Again, Clara gave a giggle.