Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Consensual, NonConsensual, Slavery, Historical, Western, Violent, Prostitution, .
Desc: Western Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is the story of a man who starts out as a bounty hunter, but winds up on a holy crusade! His new career is one of finding kidnappers of young girls to be sold as sex slaves. This is his fight against that most despicable of crimes.
Some people seem to think that bounty hunting is one grand adventure. At least, the dime novels make it seem that way. Well, let me tell you, it's dull, dirty, and dangerous work. Yeah, I'm a bounty hunter, Sam Jackson by name, and I do make a living at it, but I expect that I would be happier if I had a regular job. The trouble is, there ain't many of them around right now.
Since the last financial panic, it seems like there's more fellers out of a job than those working. A course, that's what keeps me in business—if there was more jobs, I probably wouldn't have as many outlaws to chase. Oh, well, I got to make a living, so I keep after it, like it or not.
Anyway, my job is why I'm standing in this here saloon, nursing a beer, and trying not to attract too much attention. I got word that Jeb Hurly was due in here about now, and he's worth $75 if I can catch him. A course, I'll probably have to kill him, cause nobody wants to spend 10 years in the pen. The trick is to be lucky, at least luckier than the man you're chasing.
By dogies, there he is! He's just now bellying up to the bar. God damn it, where did that galoot come from? I ain't got enough freedom of movement with a man between me and my target. Well, I don't want to go off half cocked, so I'll just have to see what develops.
Jeb Hurly and I nursed our beers for another 20 minutes or so, before he turns to walk out of the saloon. Well, I can't have him getting away, so I swallow the last of my beer and follow him out of the saloon. I don't even get one step out of the saloon before a bullet comes whizzing past me and cuts a little hole in my shirt, about belly high.
Now, I ain't normally all that nimble, but I do loosen up when a bullet comes that close to my gut. I was back inside the saloon before Jeb Hurly could get off another shot at me. I drew one of my Starr DA (Double Action) .44 caliber cap and ball pistols before squinting around the edge of the door, exposing as little of my skin as I could manage. I guess I exposed a mite too much, because another ball came crashing by, burying itself in the door frame.
I seen enough. I caught sight of the powder smoke, so I knew where to watch out for Jeb Hurly when I made my move. I slipped back away from the door a mite and breathed deeply to settle my nerves, what was still a little shaken from that first unexpected shot.
The sidewalk was raised from the street about three feet, and Jeb Hurly was hunkered down just beyond the edge of the of the sidewalk, kind of squatting in the street. He must of thought that I was a damn fool if he expected me to come out that door while he was waiting for me.
I ran out the door to the saloon jakes and ran through the alley to get behind Jeb Hurly. He must of been kind of foolish, himself, since he was still squatting down waiting for me to come out that front door. I came out to the street and called out, "JEB HURLY, YOU BETTER SURRENDER, BECAUSE I GOT YOU COVERED!" I was a mite louder than I had to be because I wanted to make sure he heard and understood me.
That's when I knew he wasn't a fool—he was a damned fool! He still had his gun in his hand, so I suppose he thought that he could get off the first shot. Well, let me tell you, he was DEAD wrong! I had my pistol pointed right at his gut from a range of no more than 20 feet, so I squeezed off a shot before he could get one off and plugged him in the balls. He'd jumped up a mite faster than I had expected, so the lead ball caught him just a bit lower than I had aimed.
Well, he screamed like you wouldn't believe and grabbed his crotch with both hands. I ain't no fool, rumor to the contrary, so I shot him again, but this time in the chest before he fell to the ground. Hell, he was a dead man, anyway, because he would of died of the gangrene he'd of soon caught; there wasn't no doctor in the world what could of treated that kind of wound.
I went over and kicked his dropped gun out of reach. I was still searching him for hideout guns and knives when the marshal came up and wanted to know what was going on. I gave him my side of the story while we went into the saloon to look for witnesses. A couple of witnesses backed up my story, including that bozo what had stepped between us when Jeb Hurly first come into the saloon.
The marshal had the swamper fetch the undertaker while I finished looting Jeb Hurly's body. I picked up a .44 Colt, a .51 Derringer, and three knives, as well as $12.23 from his pocket. This was pretty good—I was going to net over $100 by the time I sold everything I got from Jeb Hurly, plus the reward. I did decide to keep the Derringer, since it fit right well in my boot.
I showed the wanted poster with Jeb Hurly's picture on it to the marshal, and he gave me a receipt for the body, so I had what I needed to claim my reward at the county court house. I spent the night in the hotel and left the next morning to claim my reward.
I think that Texas is a nice place, but it is kinda far between towns, sometimes. I did manage to find a crossroads with a combination saloon-hotel-restaurant-livery stable where my horse and I could spend the night. I swear, I think my horse had better accommodations, though; I know he ate better!
The next day, I claimed my reward and picked up some new wanted posters. The nearest big city was Laredo, so I headed in that direction. There wasn't no special reason, I just had a hankering for a little city life.
The trip was uneventful, so I was pretty bored by the time I pulled into town. The first thing I did was find a decent livery stable for my horse and a decent hotel for me. Since I had some money, I figured to visit as many saloons as I could find. Lordy! I don't know how many saloons Laredo had, but there must of been at least one saloon in every block, most of them on the corners.
I waltzed into the saloon what was part of the hotel I had registered in and looked around. It was kind of puny as saloons go, but it had beer and a poker game, both of which I was looking for. Now, I consider myself a pretty good poker player, but it wasn't long before I was sure that my luck wasn't all that bad, and I was a whole lot better player than my winnings showed. I kept a close eye on the dealer and caught sight of him palming cards.
I ain't no hothead, but I do take exception to being cheated at poker. I saw the dealer palm a Queen of Hearts what should of been dealt to me to fill out my full house. I moved faster than the dealer and nailed his hand to the table with my Arkansas Frog Sticker (eight-inch stiletto). The knife passed through his hand and the card and stuck in the table top. He let out a scream and tried to pull his hand back, but, a course, he couldn't.
The next thing he tried was to pull a Derringer on me. Well, I had one of my pistols out and pointing at his nose before he had half drawn his Derringer. I said, "you put that there pistol back where it came from before I put a big hole in your face!"
He did, then he said, "Pull that damned frog sticker out of my hand. It hurts like hell."
"I expect it do hurt. Just be happy that I didn't use my bowie knife, because if I did, you'd be short one hand by now. I want to see what you got in your hand, so you be real nice when I pull out the frog sticker."
I worked the knife out of the table without pulling it out of his hand. I turned his hand over by twisting the knife, and there was the Queen of Hearts stabbed through the middle. The other fellers at the table got right peeved when they seen this, and I had to calm them down a mite. The card sharp looked like he was about to cry, so I pulled the frog sticker from his hand, but I kept him covered with my gun.
The other men at the table were all for me pulling the trigger of my gun, but I calmed them down again and had one of them empty the sharks pockets. He had over $300 on him, plus what might be in his money belt, so I could see that all of us were going to get all our money back, then some. He also had two packs of marked cards in his pockets—he was a real naughty boy!
I was kinda pissed at them marked cards. I looked a mite closer and saw that we had been playing with marked cards. That's when I really got mad. I ordered the card shark to strip to the skin so we could see what else he was hiding. He had a money belt just chock full of double eagles, and more guns and knives than you could shake a stick at.
I figured that we had to teach this galoot a lesson that he would remember. I gave the swamper a double eagle out of the shark's cash, and had him go buy us a live pig. While he was gone, we divided up the shark's cash. There was five of us to divvy among, and we came up with nearly $700 each. While we was waiting, I picked up a strip of leather and tied the card sharp's hands behind his back. Somebody found some red paint and painted on the shark's back and chest: "POKER CHEAT." When the swamper returned, I told him to keep the change, and he damned near fainted on me.
I got a five-foot length of cord from the bartender and tied one end to the pig's tail. I tied the other end snugly around the shark's ball sack so it couldn't pull off over his balls. The shark was still buck naked, and I had the swamper carry the pig out the front door. The shark had no choice but to follow.
By this time, the pig was scared to death, so, when I had the swamper put the pig down in the middle of the street, it took off like it had a burr up its ass. The shark screamed, and took off running behind the pig, yelling for help and begging the pig to stop running. The naked card sharp disappeared down the street behind that pig, what was running as fast as he could drag the shark behind him. The last we saw of them, they was both running hard.
The rest of the evening was spent congratulating ourselves on a great joke. With all that money, we was the target of every whore in the saloon, and I have to admit to indulging myself with one before I went to sleep.
The rest of my time in Laredo never lived up to that first night, and I got tired of nothing but beer and poker after a week of it. I heard there was a rash of bank robberies up to the north, so I figured to take a look. I still made it a habit to stop off at every saloon I came to. I asked who might have come through town and stuff like that there, looking for the odd chance to pick up on a good lead.
I had so much money that I didn't press hard, but still tried to keep my hand in. you never know what might turn up, so it was good to stay alert. It was well that I did, because one morning I ran across a stagecoach robbery in progress. In fact, it was more than that, the gang was raping three women passengers. I could see that the driver and guard was both dead, lying on the ground near the front of the stage.
Two women was naked and being held by a couple of men to one side, while two other men was busy raping a naked woman lying on a blanket on the ground. All the men was fully dressed, but they had their cocks hanging out of their pants. All the women was crying, but that was to be expected, and didn't signify a whole lot.
I couldn't tell how long the raping had been going on, but that didn't make no nevermind to me. I was boiling mad to see this treatment of the women, and I figured to do something about it. I had a .45 caliber Henry Yellow Boy what I put great store by, and I was a damn good shot with it. I pulled that there rifle from its scabbard and hitched my horse where he would be handy if I ran into trouble.
I found a good place to shoot from and lined up my first shot. I was lying down in the prone position to be as steady as possible. My first shot was at the man actually doing the raping. I was in a location where I was just a little above my target, so I had to be aware of the possibility of shooting high. I was only about 40 yards away from the target, so I was pretty well dead certain of hitting him. Just to be on the safe side, I aimed between his shoulder blades and squeezed off that shot. As I thought might happen, the bullet caught him where his neck joined his shoulders and square in his backbone. The galoot just kinda folded up and fell off the woman he was fucking.
The man what was helping hold the woman in place was so surprised that he didn't move as I took my second shot. I aimed just a hair lower because of where the first bullet hit, and it knocked him tail over teakettle onto his back. He didn't move when he stopped flopping from the impact of the bullet, so I knew that he was out of the game.
The men holding the women was kind of froze in shock, so I was able to knock the first one off with one shot to his head. I couldn't shoot at the other one because of the possibility of hitting the woman he was holding. Luckily, he panicked and pushed her aside. I guess he was gonna run for his horse, but he never had a chance to do that. As soon as he pushed the woman to one side, I fired at his chest and put the bullet through his breast bone.
I thought that was pretty damned good shooting—four bullets for four dead men.
The women stayed where they was, kinda like they was afraid that I would shoot them if they moved. I could recognize shock when I saw it from my experiences in the War. I got my horse and walked down to where the women was standing or lying. I said, "Ladies, y'all are safe now. Wouldn't y'all be more comfortable with some clothes on?"
That resulted in waking the women from their trance and produced three squeals of embarrassment. They tried to cover themselves with their arms and hands, but it didn't do a hell of a lot of good. I turned my back and asked, "Where are your clothes? I really think that y'all should get dressed before somebody comes along."
I guess that was the right thing to say, because one of the women said, "Our clothes were ruined when those galoots cut them from us with knives. We do have other clothes in our luggage. Could you get it from the stage boot for us?"
"Yes, Ma'am. It'll just take a moment." I went to the boot and pulled out the three carpetbags that was there. "Here y'all are. I'll let y'all get dressed while I see what I should do for the stage crew."
The women opened the carpetbags and pulled out some clothes. They was dressed in just a few minutes, about the time I had put the two crewmen in the boot and closed it up. The team seemed to be in good shape; all I needed to do was to pull the tree limb barricade from across the road and the stage would be free to leave.
I brought the bandits' horses in and tied each one to a saddle. I hitched the horses to the back of the stage, and we was about ready to go.
I went to help the women get into the coach, and I said, "Ladies, I won't say what happened here if y'all don't. Far as I can see, it ain't nobody's business what happened to y'all ladies. Talking about it would just mess up your reputations, so I'm willing to let it drop. Let's just say that I came up on a robbery and was able to shoot the bandits before they could get away. Does that suit y'all?"
They were all suitably grateful for my discretion, and we let it go at that. I was able to drive the team to the next relay station where I got a receipt for the four dead bandits and was able to sell their horses and other possessions to the station agent. I expected to get a reward when I turned in the receipt at the stage line office.