Shootout in the Badlands
Chapter 1

Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Rape, Heterosexual, Fiction, Western, Spanking, Rough, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Violent,

Desc: Western Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Badlands and Indian Territory were a dangerous combination. The bounty hunter had no other choice. Not if he wanted to take in a dangerous pair of escaped convicts. There is no turning back until the job is done.

Brett Hollister was not too happy about going through the badlands in order to reach the wagon train, but the only other route would take far too long to catch the Anderson party before it departed for free land in the West. He had not been able to catch up to them in Oklahoma territory and now he needed to make up for lost time by crossing the dreaded badlands and risk run-ins with both outlaws and Indians on the war-path.

He turned over his short string of two back-up mounts to the widow lady that had offered him a place to stay while he was mending up from a bullet in the backside sent his way by a drunken Calvary trooper with no ability to see anything at all in his stupor. Brett was sorely tempted to shoot the yahoo in just retribution but the fellow was sprawled out on the barroom floor snoring like a baby. The sheriff had rewarded his sense of restraint by turning him over to the voluptuous widow Carmichael who had become close to a recluse in her new status of "recently widowed".

The lawman turned bounty hunter had been tracking a pair of escapees from Yuma prison that had already left a swath of death and destruction across three States that made them "Wanted Men". The eldest was Graham Collins who managed to charm the females who came into his sphere of influence with sure-fire success. He was the least dangerous of the two convicts but by far the most intelligent. The other target of his current search was an ugly-looking half-breed called Apache Bill. Bill was reputed to have caused the "Massacre at Miller's Crossing" by taking serious liberties with a young girl whose only crime was to work for Wells Fargo in the dispatcher's office and knew the combination to the money vault.

Young Molly Muldoon was not what one would call a pretty girl but she was young and had a nice laugh. The sad part was she never laughed much after Apache Bill was finished with her. It seemed unlikely that her spoken husband-to-be Wallis Stetson would be inclined to go through with the nuptials now that she was ruined at the hands of an escaped convict.

Brett had interviewed the girl extensively after the incident and discovered that she had a wonderful sense of acceptance for her situation and was already ready to move on to greener pastures. She gave him detailed descriptions of both men right down to minute observations triggered by her desperate circumstances.

The Massacre itself was not much of a massacre in terms of sheer horror but there were four bodies up at the barber shop sitting in wooden coffins ready for the last trip to Boot Hill.

Thankfully, Apache Bill did not use his knife on poor Molly as he was inclined to do with most of his crime scene victims. He seemed to have been more interested in scaring her into cooperation in the primary mission of getting the money vault open before a posse could be formed to chase them out of town. His use of the female for depraved purposes was almost an automatic celebration of seeing so much cash money to fill their saddlebags.

The older and less emotional Mister Collins watched his partner make the female Wells Fargo clerk take "it" from behind with disinterested eye because he was an individual with strong instincts for survival. Those same instincts for survival outweighed his need for female flesh because in all honesty he never lacked for companionship with his genetic good looks and generally dashing appearance. They had already shot down the stagecoach guard who had the uncommon bad sense to attempt to draw on an already unholstered firearm.

The episode rose to "Massacre" level with the unexpected entrance of three Calvary dragoons fresh from the field after unsuccessfully tracking a band of Sioux who had jumped the reservation with intent to collecting as many scalps as possible. They were none too steady after spending most of the afternoon in the Palace Emporium drenching their innards with cheap rotgut of dubious origins.

Apace Bill was so incensed at the interruption right at the special moment when he was just ready to anoint the Wells Fargo female clerk with his half-breed spunk that he started shooting without warning. Of course, Mister Collins joined in because he was always a hair-trigger sort of fellow it the truth be known.

The poor female clerk, who went by the name of Molly, was so impressed by the sudden demise of four men before her violence-hating eyes that she forgot to struggle and seemed to become excessively cooperative while they concluded their business and galloped off to the badlands. It was several days before she was able to adequately describe the two interlopers and relate that they called each other "Bill" and "Grey". Their descriptions matched the wanted posters of the two escapees perfectly and at least the posse and assorted bounty hunters including Brett Hollister were able to draw their own conclusions.

In the course of his debriefing of Molly Muldoon, Brett discerned that she was shaken right down to her very core more by the violence than at the liberties taken by Apache Bill. She confided in him that she had come west on the promise of employment by the combination bank and shipping concern that included steady pay and full room and board the entire length of her contract. He was surprised that she was adamant about continuing in her present position despite the unfortunate course of events in the past week.

Before departing the scene of the Massacre for the badlands, Brett did his best to take the young girl's mind off the incident and soon had her laughing and flirting again with a sparkle in her pretty eyes. The night before he saddled up, they returned from the steakhouse to her empty quarters and joined their joyful flesh together with little thought to rhyme or reason except for pure and simple pleasure in excited release. They repeated the merging of their bodies several times that night in variations that expanded Molly's wealth of sexual experience. She was like a fine instrument played by a skilled cock-master taken down a mutually satisfying lust-driven road of sheer delight. All thoughts of her previous degradation at the hands of the evil half-breed Apache Bill were banished from her mind and she soon returned to her normal happy self after Brett's departure and his continued determined pursuit of the troublesome pair of escaped convicts.

Brett was not into the badlands but four days ride when he ran into the trouble near the border with a pair of rustlers who saw him as a threat even though he wasn't particularly looking for either of them. It was relatively easy for him to send both to the happy hunting ground but the silly drunken cavalryman out of his line of sight with an itchy trigger finger managed to tag him with a slug grazing the edge of his backside in the ruckus that saw everyone one else hitting the sawdust covered floor in fear for their lives.

His subsequent sojourn with the widow Carmichael at the sheriff's benevolent hand's intruded on his pursuit of the escaped convicts. He accepted the fact that he needed to let the wound heal before sitting in a saddle but it bothered him to give them such a sizable lead.

Ellen Carmichael was an attractive female with a pleasant attitude and giving nature. Her recently departed spouse Homer was not a very talkative person and was not really missed any of the other citizens of Tribulation and when he made his last journey up to boot hill hardly anyone made an effort to listen to the preacher's words. He was not overly missed by his much younger spouse either because he had seldom spared the belt in teaching her the joys of spousal obedience. However, to his credit, he did make frequent trips to her female garden on almost a daily basis and the poor widow was beside herself trying to figure out how to remedy the loss of his over-active cock.

Unfortunately, most of the males in the vicinity assumed she was the prude she pretended to be and kept well away from her web of female availability. It was much easier to poke one of the new girls down at the local pleasure house for four bits and a shot of whiskey.

The first night in the Carmichael house, she gave Brett a full body wash and showed no reluctance in handling his equipment with studious attention. He was a bit embarrassed because he was in the presence of a lady and not one of the whores he generally conversed with from time to time. His traitorous cock stiffened under her gentle ministrations and she acted like it was both normal and appropriate given the circumstances. He was not aware that when she went to bed that night she rode her fingers to a sweaty climax picturing his long eight inches inside her.

On the third night, Ellen changed the bandage on Brett's hindquarter and massaged his leg muscles with her oil-covered hands. It was during this operation that she somehow got hold of his shaft and slowly pulled him until he had no choice but to let his cream shoot up into the chandelier just above them. They both watched the stuff dribble down back onto the clean sheet and Ellen caught some in her palm to see how sticky it was. When she touched the goo with her tongue, Brett got the message that the widow was in need of some personal attention that only a horny male could deliver.

Brett learned a little bit about the needs of a long-deprived female that night and he was certain his backside had opened up under the forming scab but there was no sign of blood when he looked in the mirror. Just to be on the safe side, he elected to remain stationary and urged Ellen to "ride" him with her tight little pussy. She proceeded to bounce on him with total abandon shouting out words never intended to leave the lips of a well-brought-up lady.

When Ellen brought her husband's thick black leather belt to him, he thought she was giving him a present but she told him,

"Please give it to me good back there Brett. I have been very naughty and need to suffer the consequences. After you finish with me, I shouldn't mind if you decide to do me in my blow-hole. My Homer liked to do that after a session with the belt and it is kind of a habit with me now. You can hit me as hard as you like, I am a lot stronger than I look and it makes me feel real good."

He did exactly what she requested and watched in amazement as she rolled and jumped with her heart-felt orgasm. It was something he seldom witnessed with the type of female he usually poked because they were much too pressed for time to give a performance. That was just fine with him because he was only concerned with ridding himself of the urge to flood their willing holes with his hot burning load.

The widow took real good care of him and he was ready to ride after one full week. The escaped pair of criminals had a hell of a good lead but he was certain he would be able to catch up with them before they hit the other side of the desolate badlands.

Ellen was sad to see him ride off but she immediately went down to the sheriff's office at the jailhouse and told him,

"You got anyone else you need me to tend, just send them on over. I enjoy the company and it makes my day go a whole lot faster. In fact, if your wife doesn't need you to home at mid-day, feel free to visit me for a bite to eat and give me all the gossip. The bounty hunter told me I loosened him up a lot with my massage sessions and I can tell you need some loosening up after dealing with these prisoners in the jail."

The sheriff looked up into her thoughtful eyes and figured he would be heading over to the Carmichael house real soon.

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