Logan O'Dell Rides
Copyright© 2026 by Writer Mick
Chapter 28
Western Sex Story: Chapter 28 - Logan O'Dell was cut loose at a young age in the late 1880's. This is a portion of his story
Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Western Cream Pie First Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Prostitution
He walked towards me and I moved back out of the bat-wing doors. Once outside I looked around and saw that there was a crowd forming. Apparently, someone had gone from the saloon into the hotel and the Sportin’ Club and announced the fight. Or perhaps I should say the impending demise of the new Sheriff.
“Logan!”
I looked over to see Wes standing with his hand hovering over his gun.
“Wes, don’t ask why but I gotta do this,” I explained. “I’ve got some rage in me from what those indians did to Louella and her folks. I need to burn it out of me.”
“Or get it beaten out of you!”
As I backed up into the street and spoke, I was unbuckling my gun belt.
“Or that, here hold these for me,” I said as I held the gunbelt out.
Wes came to get them and returned to the boardwalk.
Mr. Sweet followed me and his face lit up when I took off my guns. I tripped, fell over backwards, and scrambling up looking to see that I’d fallen over Doc and his patient.
“Sorry, Doc.”
“Logan, if you’re dumb enough to fight that man, I don’t know that I’ll want to fix you up afterwards.”
“If you don’t fix him up Doc, you better hope someone in town can fix you up,” Melinda shouted at the doctor from the boardwalk in front of the Sportin’ Club.
“Hi Melinda. So you’re not gonna try to talk him outta this?” Doc asked.
“Nope. As I heard Logan tell someone once, you chose your path. Walk it proudly!”
“Gee thanks,” I said as I reached into my back pockets and took out the leather gloves I usually wore when I rode.
“Are you gonna stop backin’ up and fight or not?” Mr. Sweet yelled.
“I’m stopped. Bring it on.”
And he did.
The right haymaker he threw came from somewhere out on the prairie, but it was kinda slow. I got my head out of the way and took the punch on my shoulder. It felt like I’d been kicked by a bull. I flew sideways a good five or six feet before I was standing steady again.
A more agile opponent would have been on me and had me down, pounding me into the ground like a fence post. I regained my balance and threw a straight left into his chin and followed with a right cross to the big man’s middle. It looked like I only pissed him off and he hit me with a right hook to my left side that blew out half my air.
I stepped back and planted my feet, throwing a left hook that stopped half way to the man’s head as I flinched from the shot of pain I felt in my left side, so I quickly threw a straight right jab into the man’s face. It snapped his head back and caused his nose to start bleeding. I threw another one, hit the same place, and started a lot of blood flowing.
But the fire in his eyes didn’t dim. He came back at me swinging both hands and once hitting the side of my face, and twice hard strikes to my stomach. The second causing me to wretch the contents of my stomach onto the dark brown dirt of the street. I thought I should have puked my guts out on him. I was bent over a bit and when he walked in to finish me off, I took advantage of my position to plant an upper cut in his wind and another quick one under his jaw, causing him to step back a few paces.
Mr. Sweet let out a growl and quickly wrapped both arms around me. I’d managed to get my arms over my head as he grabbed me so when he picked me off the ground and shook me from side to painful side, I looked like an old rag doll with my arms flailing about. There was a stab of pain shooting out of my left side. It got worse when he continued to squeeze and shake me like I was his favorite saloon girl. He shook me so hard my hat flew off.
“I got it, Logan. No worries,” Sid yelled.
He got my hat? I’m being squeezed and shaken to death, I can’t breathe, but Sid’s got my hat?
But with no hat I was able to flex my neck back and plant my forehead firmly on his nose. I hit it once, twice, and on the third time, Mr. Sweet let me go and grabbed his face. I fell backwards, landing on my ass in the street.
I looked up to see his face a mask of blood and his nose was flattened and severely bent sideways. His eyes opened as wide as I think they may have ever been and with another growl he came for me. This time I figured that the nose of the big man was his weakness. I planted by back foot, pushed off, and delivered the hardest straight right I could muster.
I hit him square in the middle of his face, causing his eyes to cross. He raised his hands to cover his face and I hit the only thing I could think of hitting. I kicked him square between his legs. Before he moved his hands from his face, I kicked him there again. He let out a rush of air and dropped to his knees, his hands between his legs.
I took a running start of three steps and hit him in side of the jaw with my right hand. Pain, shot through my left side as I followed through with the punch and Mr. Sweet’s eyes rolled back and he rocked left and right. I pulled back my hand right and slapped the side of the man’s head, fully landing the palm of my hand flat across his ear. Mr. Sweet rocked to the side and fell to the street.
I stepped to stand over him in case I had to do something to finish him off. There was no need. The huge man was down and moaning in pain with one hand on his nose and the other on his ear. I was sure he had a badly broken nose and damage to his now bleeding ear. I grabbed my left side with my right hand and turned to the crowd.
“Now then, enough of this bullshit tonight! I’m not in the mood. I had to kill seven Arapaho today and witness the murder and rape of Louella Bolt. Can we please have a nice, peaceful evening of drinking, gambling, and fucking?”
The stunned crowd looked at me as if they had no idea what to do.
“DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?” I shouted, holding my left side. “DRINKING, GAMBLING AND FUCKING! Now! Go!”
I walked towards Sid as the crowd quickly went back into the saloon, the hotel, and the Sportin’ Club. He held out my hat and I took it from him. Or, I should say I snatched it from him.
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically.
“You’re more than welcome. Come on in for a drink.”
I put the flat brimmed black hat on my head and painfully stepped up onto the boardwalk. I went into the saloon, all the talking came to a stop, and every eye was trained onto me. I walked over to the poker and faro tables and greeted the men playing cards and the girls playing the men.
I walked over to the man sitting at the piano. “Why aren’t you playing a catchy tune?”
“Do you wanna dance Sheriff?”
I laughed and grabbed my side as it disagreed with the laughter.
“No, I don’t think I’ll be shaking a leg after getting shook out there like a rag doll.”
The piano player laughed and began playing a lively tune. The saloon girls not sitting in a man’s lap got up to dance and show off their wares. I saw Harmon Stark standing at the end of the bar. I tipped my hat and he nodded. I’m guessing that his opinion of me was a bit different than it was when we first met.
I walked out the bat-wing doors. Several of the girls and customers said, “Good Night, Sheriff” as I passed them. I nodded and returned the greeting. Outside I turned for the Sportin’ Club and as soon as I walked in I was in Melinda’s arms and letting out a bit of a gasp in pain.
“Oh, Logan! Are you OK?” She asked as she released the pressure on my side.
“No. I think I’ve got a broken rib or six.”
“Where’s the Doc?” She asked looking round frantically.
“He’s probably running away from your threats. Or he’s seeing to Mr. Sweet.”
“Mr. Sweet? Who’s that?” She asked gently.
“The man I just fought.”
“That big man was named Sweet?” She asked incredulously.
“Yeah, didn’t he look that way?”
“No! He was huge!”
“And strong and angry and mean and so on and so forth.”
I pried myself loose from Melinda and went to the bar. Sid came to me as soon as he was done serving a couple of men at the other end of the bar.
“What do you need, Sheriff?”
“Tequila.”
“WHAT!?” Sid exclaimed loudly.
“Don’t yell, Sid. May I please have two glasses of tequila?”
“Two?”
“Yes ... Please ... Two ... Please.”
“Yes, sir. The clear or the dark?”
“The dark please,” I asked remembering my horrible reaction to the clear drink.
“Yes, sir.”
He turned and grabbed two glasses and a shaker of salt. He poured tequila into each glass and then reached under the bar and took out two wedges of lemon. I licked my hand and shook salt on the wet spot. Then I licked the salt, drank the first glass, and bit the lemon. I made my usual face and set the glass down.
“Logan, are you sure you’re alright?”
“Melinda, I’m perfect. Why would you think not?”
“Logan, you’re drinking glasses of tequila, not shots. Each of those glasses have to be three or four shots!”
“Yup. And I’m wondering...,” I paused to drink the second glass of tequila and make a horrible face. “How many of these it will take to make my side stop hurting.”
“If you want a professional opinion, the answer is always ‘More’.” Sid replied with a chuckle.
“And if you want a second opinion, the answer is, ‘It won’t matter’ cause you got at least one broken rib.” The Doc said as he walked into the Sportin’ Club.
“Hi Doc!” I said. “How is Mr. Sweet?”
“He’s fine and he’s looking for you.”
“Oh, he is huh? OK,” I took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “SID! Two more tequila!”
“Oh no!” Melinda said, taking a hold of my arm. “You’re coming to my room. Doc you’re following me.”
Melinda took a firm hold of my arm and led me to the dining room and the stairs. As we walked up the stairs, my head was floating from the tequila on a stomach that had been emptied of it’s contents when I puked in the street.
“Where is he!?” The voice asked loudly from behind me.
I turned on the third step and saw a very large man with bloody clothes and a face covered in a bandage just outside the dining room door. It was Mr. Sweet.
“What do you want, Sweet? Need another beating?”
He turned dead in his tracks, came into the dining room, and looked up at me. Melinda moved into a defensive position in front of me on a lower step. Doc hadn’t taken a step up yet and he moved off to the side; I suppose to wait for the most injured combatant.
“Sheriff, would you please come off that staircase and speak with me?” He asked almost gently.
That took me aback as I hadn’t expected such a moderate tone from the huge man. I looked down at Melinda and she furrowed her brow in concern. I looked at Doc and he shrugged his shoulders like it didn’t matter to him how broken I was or was going to be. I pushed past Melinda and stepped down onto the floor. I walked over to Mr. Sweet in as confident a manner as I could, holding my fists ready for a fight.
“What do you want, Sweet?”
“I’d like to say I’m sorry for fighting you. I was acting badly in the saloon and I deserved the beating I got.”
Well you could have knocked me over with a feather. You could have anyway from the way I felt, but maybe an even smaller feather. I walked up to the huge man and held out my right hand. He took it and shook it slowly.
“Mr. Sweet, I’m sorry that I took out my anger over some things that happened today on you. I’m sure on a normal day you would have beaten me easily. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Oh no sir. I don’t drink.”
“Really? Well then, can I buy you a meal?”
“A meal?”
“I happen to know that they make a fine elk stew here. And if you’re not up to it tonight, I’ll be happy to take care of you tomorrow.”
“I’d enjoy having you join us here for lunch,” Melinda said invitingly.
“That sounds nice but I ain’t got no fancy clothes to wear to a place like this,” Mr. Sweet said sadly.
“Mr. Sweet, you’d be my guest so don’t worry about the quality of your clothing,” Melinda added. “We’ll also have several fresh made pies.”
At the sound of pies, Mr. Sweet’s eyebrows shot up and he smiled a broad toothy smile.
“Pies?”
“Yes. Apple and blackberry.”
“I guess I can probably, kind of...”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, just say yes so I can get this man’s ribs taken care of,” Doc demanded as he stepped closer to me.
“OK. Yes, I’ll come for lunch. Ribs? Did I hurt your ribs?”
“Yeah, just a little,” I answered.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Sweet, it was a fight. People who fight should expect to have an injury or two.”
He brought his hand up to lightly touch his bandaged nose and said, “Yeah, I guess they should.”
“Good, I’m gonna go upstairs with the Doc and I’ll see you here tomorrow at ... What time, Melinda?”
“Noon, Mr. Sweet. But if you’re a little late I’ll have the cooks wait.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Good night, Sheriff. Sorry about the ribs.”
“It’s OK. Good night, Mr. Sweet.”
The huge man left and I noticed he had to turn just a little sideways to fit out the tall bat-wing doors. I returned to my walk up the stairs, with Melinda holding my right arm and Doc following. In her room, the Doc helped me take off my gunbelt and shirt. He had me sit on the straight wooden chair before he moved his hands around the front and sides of my left rib cage.
“This is going to hurt. Raise your arms over your head,” the old man commanded.
He seemed to get a sense of happiness about that. I raised my arms and he stopped along each rib and felt, before pressing. Nothing felt bad until he hit one particular spot. At that point I tried to fly through the ceiling, screaming like a catamount.
“There’s one,” he said proud of his discovery.
He felt around some more on both sides and then declared, “Well you have one broken rib and several bruised ones. The broken rib is not displaced so I can wrap it tight and in five to six weeks you should be fully back to normal.”
“Five to six weeks? I’ve got work to do out at the ranch.”
“And no doubt it will still be there in five to six weeks,” Doc said firmly.
“Doc, what do I need to do for him?” Melinda asked.
“Well first and foremost, no sexual relations for at least two weeks. Second, you’ll need to wrap his ribs with a fresh bandage each day. He’ll need lots of water and nothing that will make him cough. Or laugh!”
“OK. He hasn’t had a whole lot to laugh about lately. Any special food?” Melinda asked.
“Nope, just nothing that will make him cough,” Doc replied.
“Sorry, Logan,” Melinda said turning to stand next to me. “No tequila for you.”
I laughed at that and then grabbed my side and glared at Melinda.
“Not funny, my dear!”
“I thought it was funny,” she said innocently.
“It was kinda funny,” Doc added.
I looked at the two and shook my head. Doc wrapped my chest really tight and tapped on the bandage a couple of times.
“Can you feel that?”
“A little.”
“Good. If the wrap is tight enough, you should feel a light tap like I did but no pain when you breath or move around. Got that, Melinda?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need to do my last turn around the town before I go to bed. I don’t want anyone to think that the Sheriff is laid up.”
“Let me get Wes or Sid to walk with you,” Melinda offered.
“Get Sid, Wes is going to be occupied with his new family.”
“Good idea,” Melinda said and she took off out the door.
“Doc, I’ve never been laid up before. How long before I feel good enough to do some physical labor? I have a ranch I have to get up and running.”
“Logan, the normal advice I give is if it hurts don’t do it or stop doing it. It’s gonna take a couple months for the rib to heal completely. Nothing I can do to change that.”
“OK. I guess I gotta hope that no one braces me in the meantime.”
“Right. Well you go and do your turn around town with Sid. If anyone gets rowdy, let Sid handle it. He’s a tough man when he needs to be.”
“Thanks Doc. Send your bill to the jail.”
We shook hands and I stood. I tried to reach for my shirt and that didn’t work. It was on my left side and bending that way didn’t work but bending to the right stretched out the left side and that didn’t work either. I turned to the shirt and slightly bent forward while I reached with my right hand. I was able to pick up the shirt and was struggling to get my arms into it wen Melinda returned to the room.
“Logan, please let me help you with that.”
“Sure, dear.”
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