The Outlaw's Revenge
Chapter I A Score to Settle
Black Jack Slocum shoved the shapely blonde from behind, sending her
lurching out of the front door of the farmhouse. It was over ninety degrees in
the shade outside, and the late-summer Texas humidity made the thin print dress
cling to the young curves of her rounded buttocks. God, she had a great ass,
Jack thought. An ass that he was going to get to know better soon. Real soon.
Honey Wilson was tall, and tan, and had more curves than the Rio Grande.
She was built for a man's pleasure, and she knew it, Jack could tell. Her
blonde pigtails stirred in the hot afternoon breeze. As he pushed her roughly
toward their destination, the imposing red barn, brief gusts of wind lifted her
dress a little, giving Jack a nice glimpse of her long tanned legs.
Slocum had taken her by surprise; he'd only escaped from prison a week ago,
and Honey, the girl whose testimony had convicted him, hadn't even been aware
that he was a free man.
Until a few minutes ago, when the tall gunslinger had broken into the
lonely ranchhouse in west Texas. Despite the four years that had elapsed since
she'd sent him up, she'd recognized him at once. He was dressed entirely in his
customary black, his stetson shading sinister dark eyes. Black Jack sported
long sideburns, and he hadn't shaved for days; a dark ugly stubble of beard
covered a face which reminded her of nothing so much as a vulture - a brooding,
angular, pitiless bird of prey.
Honey silently cursed the pair of ancient rust-colored hounds that lay
basking in the midday sun, as she passed them. The useless canines had been too
comfortable to bother to alert her of the approach of the intruder.
Jack opened the barn door and pushed her inside. He was as horny as a
fucking gamecock, and he couldn't wait to get his hands on this full-breasted
teenager. It had been four fucking years since he had had a woman, four years
since he had even SEEN a woman, four years sweating in that malaria-infested
hellhole of a prison to which her testimony had consigned him. Sure he'd raped
that cute little Mexican bitch, and taken his belt to her. But what business
was it of fifteen-year old Honey Wilson's? If it hadn't been for her, he'd of
gotten away clean as a whistle like he had a dozen times before.
Four fucking years! He pushed Honey from behind again, and this time, the
barefoot blonde pitched forward onto the earthen floor of the barn. She landed
hard, crying out in pain as she did so. The pink dress rode halfway up her
shapely thighs, golden from the hot Texas sun. The outlaw kicked her in the
ribs with his heavy boot. "Get up, you clumsy-ass bitch!" he growled in his deep
voice.
One side of the cavernous barn was piled high with hay bales. Jack inhaled
the the fresh sweet scent of the hay, such a pleasant change from the dark dank
cell that he'd lived in for so long.
Pulling one hay bale to the center of the open space, Black Jack took a
seat on it, between Honey and the door, his eyes feasting on the ripe curves
that were plastered against the sweat-dampened fabric of the dress. He
wondered, for a moment whether they called his nineteen-year-old captive Honey
because of the sweetness of her smile, the thickness of her Texas drawl, or her
sexy golden tan. When she had testified against him in court she had been just
another slender teenager with a pretty face. But she was all woman now.
In fact, he thought, as she turned over to face his violent countenance and
tried to scoot backwards away from, her blond hair, beautiful face and
voluptuous figure seemed to combine almost perfectly the freshness and
suppleness of youth with the ripe curves of maturity.
Honey rubbed her side with one hand while she glared angrily at the
stony-faced man who had kicked her. There were sparks in the Norwegian blue eyes
that she'd inherited from her mother, pride in her high cheekbones, and
determination in her chin. Jack could tell that this was a girl with a spirit
to match her beauty.
When Honey had fallen forward, the material of her bodice had gotten
snagged on one of the four wooden columns that supported the barn's roof. Her
bodice had ripped slightly and when she rolled over to face the hulking
criminal, creamy hints of Honey's luscious breasts peeked out through the thin
rent in the pink fabric. There was no mistaking the fact that her generous
melons were naked under the gingham dress.
Black Jack was hardly been able to restrain himself. His massive cock was
pulsing with anticipation.
His voice nearly hoarse with lust, Jack spoke again, "Unbutton the dress,
Honey. Let me see what you've got, now that yer all grown up."
Honey was terrified. Her pa, her boyfriend, Clem, and all of the
ranch-hands had left on a cattle drive toward the Panhandle a couple of weeks
ago; they wouldn't be back for another couple of days. Her mother had passed
away when she was a little girl. She was alone on the ranch. And the nearest
farmhouse, the Dunbar place, was three miles down the dirt road that dead-ended
in front of the Wilson house. She was alone with this brute. She remembered
the look of implacable hatred he had given her in that San Antonio Courtroom
four years ago, after he had been sentenced to fifteen years for raping her
friend, Rosita.
And his face was the same mask of evil now. Rosita had later told the
spellbound Honey how the cruel gunslinger and another man had broken into her
house, blindfolded her, and took turns raping her. After a while the other man
had apparently left and Jack, still horny, forced the pretty senorita to take
his huge knobby cock in her mouth. And then, when the Mexican girl's teeth had
accidentally brushed against his organ, how he had tied her face down on the bed
and whipped her savagely with his big-buckled belt. Honey, who had just
happened to be passing by, had heard Rosita's screams, had seen Black Jack's
face through the window, had summoned help, and then identified him in front of
the jury.
"I said, 'Unbutton the damn dress,', girl!" Black Jack was losing
patience, and he didn't have much to begin with. He'd waited four years for
his revenge, and he was in no mood to wait much longer.
Chapter 2 Honey the Tease
Honey's trembling hands fumbled at the buttons that ran down the length of
her dress. Her eyes searched the barn looking for any possible means of escape,
some way of getting past him and safely out the door. As his eyes followed
hers, he drew his gun, cocked the trigger, and pointed it directly at her,
"Don't even think about it, Honey. You ain't goin' nowhere. Not until I've
settled my score with you. You shoulda done yer thinkin' before you testified
against me. No Texas jury woulda taken that Mexican whore's word against mine
if you hadn't a taken it upon yerself to get involved in something that wasn't
none of yer fuckin' affair."
The foul language was like a slap across Honey's face. No man had ever
spoken like that in her presence. And despite the voluptuousness of her figure,
no man had yet seen her naked body. Notwithstanding the fact that she was the
hottest prick tease between Dallas and El Paso. She liked to tease the ranch
hands, flaunting her spectacular body, driving the lonely farmhands wild with a
lust that they could never satisfy, not as long as her daddy, Henry Wilson, ran
the county.
Honey was Henry Wilson's pet. His "Princess" as he called her, to the
disgust of the ranch hands who knew the real Honey.
Whenever daddy rode into town the cowpokes could count on Honey prowling
around the ranch like a jungle cat looking for prey. Her every step, her every
movement carried the suggestion of sexual tension. And when she knew her father
was going to be away from the ranch all day, Honey would forego any pretense at
subtlety.
She would redo her conservative blouse, tying it up just under her
succulent breasts, baring tempting inches of sun-kissed midriff. Then she'd
unbutton a few buttons at the top, displaying plenty of mouth-watering cleavage.
She'd often make it a point to ride around the ranch, with her skirt pulled
shamelessly high on her endless thighs, slowing down when she approached a group
of two or three hands to give them a good look at the body they didn't dare
touch. And her sparkling blue eyes would give them a look that asked each of
them, "What wouldn't you give to see it all? Don't you wish, don't you just
wish you dared to touch me?"
Daddy's little Princess liked to hang around the bunkhouse, too, when her
pa was gone, taking every opportunity to tease the men with her nubile young
body. She especially enjoyed getting a drink from the well in front of the
bunkhouse while the men were watching. She'd pump that handle up and down, up
and down, careless of the water she'd splash down her front. By the time she'd
finished her drink -- or her act, as Red, the bunk house chief called it -- her
blouse would be soaked and clinging to her breasts, outlining her bullet-hard
nipples. When old man Wilson wasn't around, the ranchhands could even count on
Honey's walk being different -- a simple crossing from the house to the corral
turned into a butt-twitching, boob-bouncing promenade.
When Honey had turned eighteen, the boys had thrown her a surprise birthday
party in front of the bunkhouse. Slim had baked a none-too-round cake, but it
didn't taste half bad. Henry Wilson had gone to El Paso to meet with his banker
that day, and so the party became a little merrier than it would have if the
stern old man had been around. Lester, the old Negro, played his harmonica, and
Red, the ranch foreman, joined him on the banjo. Casey, the Irishman, produced
a bottle from his mysteriously endless supply of whiskey, and over Red's
objections, Honey begged to try it.
"I don't think that's such a good idea, Honey. Yer daddy wouldn't like
it."
"Oh, Red, you're such an old party-pooper." Honey gave the weather-beaten
boss a dazzling smile, as she held up her finger and thumb, an inch or two
apart. " I just want a little sip."
Honey was wearing a yellow party dress, and her blonde hair was tied up in
a ribbon to match. It was a stifling June night, and the loose-fitting dress
was open at the neck, and Honey wore only the thinnest of chemises under it.
Red was seated on a bale of hay, as Honey stood above him and bent down over
him, giving him a good look at the tops of her mouth-watering breasts. "C''mon,
Red" she pleaded as she swayed gently in front of him, "just one drink. I'm not
a baby, you know."
The rest of the men around the campfire were enjoying the show, too. When
Honey bent over to plead with Red, the short yellow dress rode up in back,
giving the boys an eyeful of her long tanned legs.
"Aw, shit, Red, she's eighteen now. Let her have a damn drink!" Buck
Williams, like most of the other men, was anxious to see how Honey might carry
on with a couple of drinks in her.
Red finally relented, and Michael Casey offered her the bottle. Honey
lifted it to her lips and took a long pull, before she lowered the bottle,
sputtering and choking. But laughing, too. "You didn't tell me it was gonna burn
like that, Casey! But it's good, though, ain't it?"
Honey stood in the center of the men, her back to the campfire still
holding the bottle. "Lester, play something lively. I feel like dancing."
"Geesus!" Buck whispered to Casey. "I gotta see this."
Old Lester put his harmonica to his lips, and began "Camptown Ladies".
Honey's hips began swaying to the beat as she took another long swig of the
whiskey.
"Honey, go easy on that stuff," Red warned.
"Leave her alone, Red." Buck's thin-slitted eyes were locked on Honey's
breasts, as they moved under the thin yellow dress. "She ain't hurtin' nothin.
Are you Honey?"
"Yeah, shut up, Red. It's her birthday," chimed in Stoney Jackson. "Let
her have some fun."
What Stoney really meant, of course, was "Let us have some fun!" The eyes
of every ranch hand were glued to Honey's figure, as she swayd sinuously in the
firelight. She took another swig from the bottle every now and then, and with
every sip of the alcohol, her movements became more abandoned. Honey danced
gracefully around the perimeter of the campfire, pausing briefly in front of
every man, now shimmying slowly into and out of a crouch, as Lester played a
slow tune, and then spinning quickly, skirt riding high on her thighs, when the
grizzled Negro played a quicker one.
Honey gave Lester a big smile when she moved in front of him, posing
sensuously, and he nervously smiled back as she did a dip in front of him, that
gave him a clear look down the front of her dress. Lester almost choked on his
harmonica when he peered deep into her glorious, perspiring cleavage. Lester
could see Honey's rivet-hard nipples pressing against her undergarment no more
than eighteen inches from his face.
She saved Buck for last, gyrating her hips wildly, her hands running up and
down over the cotton dress, as if she were making love to herself. Buck seemed
to be hypnotized by the blonde houri writhing in front of him. Honey turned her
back on him then, and moved her rounded derriere in slow, widening circles,
mere inches from his face.
Finally Buck couldn't take it any more, and he reached for her with a
growl.
"Hey!" Honey sobered up fast as she pulled away, angrily. Lester put his
harmonica down. "Don't touch me! Don't you ever touch me, Buck Williams!"
"All right, that's enough!" Red's voice was authoritative. "Honey you'd
best get back in the house before there's trouble. Boys, put out this fire, and
let's turn in. We've got us a peck of work to do in the morning."
No question about it, there wasn't a man on the ranch who wouldn't have
given a month's pay for a few hours with Princess Honey. Who didn't lie awake
during those long Texas nights, unable to sleep, restless with unfulfilled lust.
Who didn't dream lurid fantasies of how he would use and abuse her glorious
body.
*******************************
Clem, her boyfriend, never saw that side of Honey. He was the son of a
rich rancher that lived on the other side of the county. Clem was a bit on the
shy side, and only came courting on weekends, but Henry Wilson encouraged Honey
to be nice to the mild-mannered boy, because Clem's daddy's ranch was the second
biggest property in the county. And what the hell, Honey thought, he was the
only boy her own age anywhere around. The cowpokes on the ranch were all at
least ten years older than she.
She and Clem had fooled around a little, but it was only on the night
before he left on the cattle drive that the timorous teenager had finally gotten
aggressive enough to try to see and touch the magnificent goblets of flesh that
were slowly becoming visible to Black Jack as she undid the buttons of the pale
pink bodice.
Her pa had gone into town to get some last minute supplies, and figured to
be gone for a few hours. Being shy, it had taken Clem months to get up the
nerve to progress from a little harmless necking to the stage at which he would
undo Honey's blouse and free her voluptuous breasts; but that night he finally
did, and when he did, he couldn't get enough of them. He marveled at their soft
perfection, touching them in timid wonder at first, then slowly growing bolder,
teasing and stroking the warm mounds of pink-tipped flesh. It wasn't long before
his strong hands were cupping the big globes, kneading them roughly, and
squashing them together in his hands. Honey remembered how Clem's mouth had
left her lips, then, and descended downward to kiss her glorious boobs.
Honey had played with her breasts from time to time herself, of course, but
it had taken Clem's manly hands and hungry lips to teach her how sensitive they
truly were. She had gone wild, feeding her breasts to him in turn, intoxicated
by the erotic thrills going through her. Clem had paid special attention to the
pink nipples, torturing them gently into throbbing, saliva-coated nuggets of
desire.
But just as one of Clem's hands reached under her dress and groped toward
the damp cavern of her pussy, they heard the back door open. Her pa was home!
And she and Clem had had to quickly adjust their clothing and pull apart. Pa
was a churchgoing man. And Honey Wilson, sex goddess, was still a virgin.
Chapter 3 Strung Up and Helpless
Black Jack Slocum's eyes were on Honey like white on rice, as her dress
fell open down the front. Christ! he thought. It was almost worth it to go four
years without pussy, if this was the reward!
Honey, frightened by the menacing stranger with the gun, decided that her
best chance was to try to please him. To give him a good show, get him excited,
and then maybe she could catch him off guard. Despite her nervousness, she did
her best to smile warmly, her pink tongue moistening her full lips, her white
teeth sparkling in the sunlight. She had unbuttoned the dress down to her waist
now, but she held it together at her throat with her left hand.
Honey was standing between two of the supporting pillars of the barn.
Sunlight from a lone window high on the wall to Jack's left seemed to bathe
Honey's flesh in a soft warm glow, accenting her skin tones perfectly.
Jack could see the inner slopes of her close-set melons pressing firmly
against the gap in the fabric. Honey felt that her strategy was working. "You
don't have to hurt me, Mister," she said breathily, feeling his burning eyes on
her body. As his eyes met hers she licked her lips, and let her right hand
reach inside her bodice to cup her left breast, while her left hand reached for
the hem of the thin pink dress, and slowly lifted it, baring, inch by inch,
lovely expanses of lissome thighs.
Honey formed her lips into an 'O' as she let the fabric of the bodice fall
away a little, so that Jack could get a better look as her hand moved in slow
sensuous circles over the tempting curve of her breast.
"Do you like it when I do this, Mister?" she asked, as her feminine nails
closed on a beautiful nipple, tugging it gently, pulling it toward him.
"Yeah, baby, I like it a lot!"
Honey's other hand released its grip on the hem of the dress, and then,
using both hands, she gracefully shrugged the top of the dress back off of her
shoulders.
Honey paused then, posing her him. Jack drank in the sight almost
unbelievingly -- it was as if Honey's body had been sculpted by a god of lust.
Honey's breasts, pushed slightly together by the position of her arms, were
truly mouthwatering - large and round, ripe and juicy, topped by a pair of
prominent pink nipples. Jack could tell that Honey must have spent a lot of
time at a nearby swimmin' hole - her big jugs were tanned nearly the same shade
of golden brown as her legs, a sure sign that Honey had done a lot of nude
sunbathing. And those nips - up-tilted pinky-brown tips - half-stiffened now.
Pointing pountingly out at him from the center of perfect coral aureoles.
Black Jack's voice was thick with lust, "Don't stop!"
Trembling, Honey slowly let the dress slip from her shoulders, to fall in a
pink puddle at her feet. Only a pair of skimpy white panties adorned her
hourglass figure. Her tummy was as flat as her breasts were rounded; her waist
as slender as her hips were full. Honey turned slightly sideways, and lifted
one lovely leg up so that her pretty foot rested on a bale of hay. Jack watched
her hands come together on the top of that soft shapely thigh, and then slide
ever so slowly down its length. She bent forward as she did so, her lovely
hanging breastfruits slowly descending until her nipples, flinty hard now,
kissed her thigh.
But if Honey thought her seductive posing was going to assuage Jack's lust
for revenge, she was mistaken. Painfully mistaken.
Black Jack stood up then, stepped to his left and removed a coil of rope
from a hook on the wall of the barn. Honey could see a huge erection bulging in
his pants. But what scared her even more was the look in his eyes. Her posing
had succeeded brilliantly in arousing him. But it had failed utterly in
assuaging his pitiless black-hearted rage.
"Honey, about now, I bet you're startin' to wish to God you never turned me
in. Am I right?"
Honey searched Jack's dark eyes, hoping desperately to find a trace of
pity. But found nothing but lust and vindictiveness.
"Please, Mister. You don't have to tie me up. I won't tell anyone you were
here. Don't hurt me."
"DON'T HURT YOU!!" Jack was pissed now. "After your big mouth sent me off
to fifteen years in that hell-hole of a jail! DON'T HURT YOU!! I ate rotten
meat and wormy bread for four years, Honey, 'til I busted out of there. And
the only thing that kept me goin', was the thought of gettin' out, and findin'
you."
"Sorry, Honey, but I've got me a score to settle. Nobody rats on Jack
Slocum and gets away with it. Honey, I'm not just gonna hurt you. I'm gonna
enjoy hurtin' you."
"Stick our your hands, Honey. That's a good girl." The blonde's hands were
shaking. Jack, pleased by the obvious terror in her eyes, quickly coiled the
rope roughly around her wrists a few times, and then pulled the rope tight.
Black Jack had carefully positioned Honey halfway between two of the
upright posts that supported the roof of the barn. His next step was to throw
the end of the rope up over a rafter, retrieve it, and then pull it very taut,
lifting Honey's arms high over head, and forcing her to rise up on the toes of
her pretty bare feet. The black-eyed gunslinger then fastened the rope securely
around a hook in one of the posts.
Jack Slocum stepped back to admire the vision of femine vulnerability that
awaited his wrath. The young blonde's long tanned arm and legs were stretched to
a tantalizing tautness by the ropes that lifted her wrists skyward. The sunlight
from the window drenched her body in a golden glow.
Black Jack Slocum was a breast man. Always had been. And the best thing
about Honey's captive posture was that it lifted her remarkable, gravity-defying
melons into a truly tempting position.
But those tits weren't hers any more. They were his. Black Jack Slocum's.
His to caress. The tall gunslinger's fingers stroked, gently at first,
and then more and more roughly, the satiny curves of her succulent breasts.
His to kiss. Jack's mouth bent to encircle a rosy breast tip. As he
inhaled the delightful woman scent of Honey's flesh, his tongue lightly flicked
the tasty bud, and then Jack sucked it into his mouth for long seconds, tugging
gently at the pink crest.
His to squeeze. His hands cupped the big globes from below, his fingers
kneading the creamy flesh. Jack's dirty, jagged thumbnails scraped the pink
points of her breasts into greater prominence, smirking at the way Honey's
hardening nipples betrayed her.
Honey squirmed in shame at the lewd manner in which her female treasures
were being handled. Even so, part of her could not but enjoy the strong hands,
so much more knowing than Clem's, that stroked her flesh. After greedily
groping her tits roughly for a few minutes, Jack reached into her white panties
and felt between her legs; yes, she was damp down there. This flaxen-haired
farmer's daughter was a shameless slut at heart.
But Black Jack Slocum wasn't about to stop with kisses and caresses. The
escaped convict leered menacingly as he fondled her ripe breastfruits,
delighting in their size, their shape, their inviting warmth. They were his,
all right! His to play with. His to hurt. He could slap 'em. He could squeeze
'em in his powerful hands until she begged him to stop, and then crush them
harder still. Jack studied the fine tracery of bluish veins that pulsed just
beneath the surface of her delicious breastflesh, as he continued to consider
the possibilities.
They were alone on the ranch and there was nothing and nobody to stop him.
He could chew on her stiffening dusky-pink nipples 'til he drew blood, if he
wanted to. He could give those creamy mounds of flesh a taste of his black
leather belt and work 'em over until his arm gave out. He could tie her tits up
until they were bulging balls of throbbing pain. Every demented fantasy that
Jack Slocum had harbored in the dark corners of his mind for the last four years
rushed to the forefront of his vengeful consciousness. Yup. This blonde tease
was going to pay. She was going to pay big time. That was for damn sure! And
he was going to start with those generous jugs that pulsed in his hands with her
every apprehensive breath.
He began with a mild right-handed slap to the outside of her left breast.
Just using his fingertips. The slight blow caused her breast to jiggle just a
bit. Then, still with his right hand, he slapped the inside of her right breast,
savoring the sensation of the impact on the naked, resilient flesh.
There was no better feeling in the world than the soft, firm warmth of a
woman's breast.
Except for one. The feeling of power a man had when a nice pair of
breasts was utterly at his mercy.
Jack's hands were rough and horny from years on the rockpile. Still using
only his right hand he back-handed her right breast, a little harder this time,
his knuckles sinking in a little deeper into the juicy globe. And then he
back-handed the other tit, sending it swaying. Each time his big hands made
contact with her soft flesh, he could feel his massive cock swell in its denim
confinement . It took every ounce of his self control to keep from fucking
Honey where she stood; but he knew from long experience that the more he worked
her overr, the more aroused he'd become, and that when he finally did take her,
the deferred pleasure would be all the greater.
He paused for a moment to study the agitated rise and fall of her breasts
as her breathing became more labored. As far as he was concerned, her uptilted
coral nipple tips were an invitation to continue. And continue he did!
Jack's powerful left hand walloped her right breast again with a hellacious
smack . Honey groaned softly for the first time. And her groans were music to
his ears. His blows were harder now and louder, even though he was still using
only the last two inches of his stiffened fingers. And the creamy flesh was
pinking up prettily, he noticed. It would be a lot pinker before he was done.
And now a lefty backhander that just caught her on the edge of a lovely
pink roseate.
Smaacck! "Owwwwww!!"
Again, still harder. Her wobblers were wobbling now for sure, with every
blow. And the delicious blonde was beginning to whimper with pain.
Smacckk! A sharp right to her left breast, sending it jumping inward. And
then, SMACK! "Aaaaahh!!" Honey cried out, as she tossed her pretty head from
side to side.
SMACCKK!! An even harder shot to the right globe. Honey was gasping and
wincing with each blow now, as Jack continued to abuse her sensitive tits.
At first, though no man had ever struck her in anger before, to Honey the
slaps were more of a nuisance than anything else. But the sinister gunslinger
was hitting her harder now, and the pain was cumulative.
"How's that baby? Enjoyin' it? I sure am!"
"Please, Mister..."
But Black Jack Slocum wasn't listening.
Honey did her best to twist away from the punishing slaps, but every
movement, every wriggle of her ripely curved body served only to heighten Jack's
lust, and to whet his determination to impose his fury upon her lovely flesh.
Black Jack was using more of his hands to slap now, the entire length of
his fingers was slapping into the mouthwatering flesh. He decided to
concentrate on just her right breast for a few minutes. He hit her on the
curving inslope right-handed and then, before the bouncing tit had come to rest,
he whacked it sharply with his left, sending the shuddering globe careening
inward again just in time to receive another stiff shot from his right. Honey's
moans followed quickly upon each other now.
Then, adjusting his aim, the leering gunman decided to work on the
protruding, pouting pink points of her breasts, slapping only that inch of flesh
closest to him. Right! Left! Right! Left! Four times in quick succession, his
rigid open hand slashed the crest of her right breast . Honey was yelping in
earnest now.
"Oooh," Honey moaned, as pain coursed through her breast. "You bastard!"
"Shit, Honey, you ain't got no idea yet of what a bastard I can be! But
I'm fixin' to show you."
Jack continued by taking a step to his right, and cupping the outside of
her sweat-slick left breast in his right hand. While holding it in place, his
other arm swung and his open left hand connected crisply; Jack really enjoyed
the smacking sound his big hands made when they made impact with her tits.
Then, before she could recover her breath, he backhanded her viciously across
the center of her breast, crushing the crinkly nipple deep into the yielding
flesh. "AAAGHHH!!" She'd felt that one, that was for damn sure!
Jack had tit-slapped more than a few women in his time, but Honey was
something special. He had those big boobs bouncing, now, as he continued
spanking them. Her blonde pigtails were swinging back and forth, too, as he
whacked her glorious naked breasts --
Right! "AAUGHH!"
Left! "AGHH!! God, stop it, Mister.. Ple.."
Right! "AIEAAHH!! N-no! Please...God.. no..."
"Holler all you want, slut! Ain't nobody gonna hear you."
Left! "AAIIGHHHH!!!"
After another minute or two, though Jack paused. Honey's tits were two
round handfuls of blushing rosiness, now. Surprisingly, her nipples were still
rock hard, pointing brazenly at Jack, as if to say, "Is that all you've got?"
"Honey, I'm gonna go get my gear from my saddlebag, now. Don't run off,
now, you hear?"
Honey, still strung up like a carcass, obviously wasn't going anywhere.
Her breasts were terribly sore from their beating, but she had a sinking feeling
that things weren't going to get better any time soon.
Black Jack Slocum took a last look at his pink-breasted, sweat-streaked
blonde prisoner before he turned on his heel, and strode back outside toward
Cyclone, his black stallion.
Chapter 4 Ernie the Weasel: Bare Knuckles and Bare Breasts
When he reached the black stallion, Jack led Cyclone over to the horse
trough by the corral and let his magnificent mount drink his fill. He had just
lashed the reins to the top rail of the corral and grabbed his thick saddlebag,
when he thought he saw something moving in the distance out on the long lonely
road that dead-ended at the Wilson ranch. Jack quickly drew his gun and
concealed his lanky frame as best he could behind his horse. The tiny speck in
the distance seemed to shimmer in the broiling Texas sun as it approached.
Jack's liberty depended on his caution and he stood silent vigil as the distant
image slowly darkened and grew into the shape of a man on horseback. The horse
was still some fifty yards away when Jack's keen reptilian eye recognized its
rider.
"Ernie!" he called out, when the horse and rider pulled up to him alongside
the corral. "What the hell took you so long! I got here more'n an hour ago."
The man Jack had addressed as Ernie climbed down from the saddle atop his
worn-out-looking appaloosa. He was covered from head to foot in the loose dust
that swirls continually around the flatlands of west Texas. In Ernie's case the
sweltering heat of the day seemed to have baked the dust on him permanently.
Ernie Gibbs was a skinny, shifty-eyed little weasel of a man, almost a foot
shorter than the rangy Slocum. The Mexicans back in San Antone' had called him
"El Raton", the Rat, in tribute to both his ferret-like features, and his sneaky
underhanded ways.
Jack had known Ernie Gibbs since they were both no taller than an Arkansas
razorback. They had grown up in east Texas and bounced around on both sides of
the law for years, sharing little more than a craving for easy money and easier
women. They were a strange pair in some ways -- the tall and taciturn Slocum,
and the diminutive, garrulous Ernie Gibbs. Jack never did much talking,
preferring to let his actions, and often his fists, speak for themselves. But
Ernie was a chatterbox, much given to pissing and moaning and whining when
things didn't go his way. Which they rarely did, since he was lazy and ignorant
and as ill-tempered as a rattlesnake. Ernie could rattle on for hours, about
most anything, but preferably himself -- and most of that was usually lies.
Ernie liked to brag that he had shot and killed six men, but those that
knew him well reckoned that he'd really only killed two, and they knew for a
fact that he'd shot both of them in the back. The way Ernie Gibbs told it, he
was quite a lady-killer, too, but his only real friend, Black Jack Slocum,
couldn't remember ever seeing the sawed-off little bastard with a woman he
hadn't either coerced or paid for. Black Jack had long since developed an
eye-rolling twitch whenever Ernie started in on his legendary prowess with the
ladies, knowing he was going to be treated to another story about as believable
as a campfire yarn about Pecos Bill.
But there was one thing this pair of cold-eyed hombres did have in common
-- they shared a taste for fine-looking women and rough sex. They had teamed up
more than a few times for the purpose of blindfolding and abducting some
unsuspecting Texas belle, carrying her off to a lonely campsite in the woods or
an abandoned cabin and keeping her for a few days of good old Texas tussling.
If the woman played her cards right, and came across with the proper enthusiasm,
sometimes they didn't rough her up too bad; but they almost preferred the ones
that fought like wildcats. Cause when a girl with spirit put up a little
resistance, that gave them an excuse to hang her from a tree limb or tie her to
a fence post and work her over good. And as long as they made sure they were
far enough out of town that her screams couldn't be heard -- and that the
blindfold stayed on -- their occasional abductions had always worked out pretty
well.
Until Ernie had talked Jack into helping him rape that Mexican gal that
had pissed him off; she had lived just outside of town and after all, who'd
ever heard of a white man going to jail in Texas for raping a senorita? If it
had only been Ernie's and Jack's word against that chica's they'd have gotten
off scot free for sure. But that damn Honey Wilson had to come along at the
wrong time...
Besides their shared fondness for rope, leather, and young female flesh,
though, and notwithstanding Ernie's flair for dishonesty of all kinds, Big Jack
owed Ernie plenty. It was Ernie who had smuggled the knife into the prison in
Amarillo a month or so ago. The knife Jack had used to ambush the guard and
make his escape.
And it was Ernie who had tracked Honey Wilson down after her parents had
left San Antone' after Jack's trial and moved further west. And so, for all his
infuriating ways, Jack kind of looked out for Ernie as an older brother might a
younger. And Ernie had always looked up to Jack because he was good-looking in
a rugged sort of way, and thus a magnet for a certain class of womenfolk. Ernie
trailed along after Jack like a coyote behind a wolf, often taking his pleasure
from what was left of the women after Jack got done with 'em. There was one
other thing about Jack that Ernie liked -- Jack didn't talk all the time like
some damn fools. Ernie didn't like bein' interrupted much.
As Ernie ambled toward him, Jack noticed that his face was all puffy and
swollen and his left eye sported a large shiner. "Geesus, what happened to you,
Ern? You look like you tried to stop a runaway stagecoach with your face."
"Howdy, Jack. Where is she? Did you get her?" the scrawny little man asked
impatiently, wiping a greasy strand of his long scraggly brown hair back from
his face. Ernie's eyes were a queasy shade of grayish-green, and they
constantly darted around furtively, suspiciously. Ernie was as volatile as an
Oklahoma twister and he had the sort of disposition that could get pissed off at
the sight of a jackrabbit or a change in the wind's direction. As usual, he had
a huge plug of chewing tobacco in his mouth.
"Yeah. She's here. Christ, she's a looker now, ain't she? Just like you
said."
Ernie spat a stream of brown juice in the direction of the corral gate and
looked up at the taller man slyly. "Would I lie to you, Jackson?"
"Not unless there was a nickel in it for you," Jack laughed in his gruff
voice. "I got her in the barn over yonder, now. She wasn't exactly pleased to
see me," he smirked. "Can't imagine why. We was just gettin' acquainted-like,"
Jack gave Ernie a lecherous leer, "when I come out to get my saddlebag. But
what happened to your face, partner? 'Did you get put in charge of leadin' a
cattle stampede and fall down?"
Jack turned away with a hearty chuckle, until he saw out of the corner of
his that Ernie had pulled out his gun and was pointing it directly at him.
"Geesus, Ern! Put that goddamn thing down!"
"I've shot bigger sons-a-bitches than you, Jack Slocum; nobody fucks with
Ernie Gibbs."
"You ain't shot shit, and you know it! Come on, I was just funnin' ya.
Tell you what," Jack continued, anxious to cool his hot-headed partner down,
"I'll let you have first crack at her. Now put that damn gun away. And tell me
who fucked up your face."
Ernie wrinkled his brow. "First crack at that juicy blonde in there? Now
yer talkin', Big Jack," and he slid the gun back into its holster as if nothing
had happened. "Well, it was like this, big fella. I come on down here to keep
an eye on her, just like you tole me, to make sure she didn't run off or
nothin'. "
Ernie had turned in the direction of the barn where Honey awaited them.
"Shit, Jack, that long-legged little brat grew up into one hell of a
fine-lookin' filly! She's still got that pretty blonde hair, but now she's got
a body that won't quit, too! She's the biggest fuckin' tease I ever seen, too,
Jack, I swear to God. And it was her teasin' that got me beat up. By her
daddy's goddamn cowpokes."
Ernie was striding impatiently toward the barn, now, as Jack loped along
behind, his saddlebag over his shoulder. When the Rat opened the door, and saw
the shapely half-naked young blonde hanging by a rope from the rafter he stopped
dead in his tracks. "Hot damn, Jack! You sure didn't waste any time, didja?"
And when Honey saw Ernie she recognized the creepy little Peeping Tom that
had hired on a few months back. A few nights after he'd signed on, she thought
she had seen someone lurking outside her bedroom window while she undressed one
night. She had mentioned the prowler to her pa, but she hadn't really gotten a
good look at him.
But one night, not long before Jack busted out of jail, Honey somehow
sensed the eyes of a stranger on her body while she stood admiring her nude
young figure in the full length mirror that graced her bedroom. Unluckily for
Ernie, just as she turned toward the window, a nearly full moon passed from
behind a cloud, and this time she got a brief but unmistakable look at the
ferret faced features of the skinny peeper who had been taking clandestine
pleasure from ogling her luscious body through her bedroom window for weeks.
She recognized Ernie at a glance as he stood behind some bushes, his tongue
sliding crudely back and forth across his lips, while his hand rubbed feverishly
at his swollen crotch.
Honey didn't let on that she had seen anything; she calmly threw a thin
wrapper over her delicious body and sat down and brushed her lustrous blonde
hair.
But Ernie'd seen plenty; the same moonlight that had illumined him had
given him his best look ever at Honey's creamy body -- her provocatively
pink-nippled breasts, her flat belly, the delicate fringe of a golden triangle
that seemed to point invitingly downward at her femininity. And those long,
perfect legs, tanned a rich golden brown; it was a memory he was to carry with
him in the dark days ahead.
********
The dark days began the next morning when Honey rose early and went down to
the bunkhouse with her pa, who had spent the night in town. When the ranch
hands were all assembled Honey identified Ernie as the perverted peeper in front
of the cowhands. Needless to say, when Henry Wilson ordered them to, Red and
a few of the boys had taken Ernie out back behind the bunkhouse and beaten him
to a pulp, loosening a couple of teeth in the process, before running him off
the Wilson property. Ernie would never forget how Honey had egged them on,
cheering their every punch, every kick. It wasn't like he'd raped her or
anything, Ernie rationalized; he was just trying to get a free look at that
curvaceous young body. What man wouldn't?
"Hi, sweetie." Ernie spat, as he swaggered up to the strung-up blonde. "You
did a good job ropin' this cock-teasing bitch, Jack."
"Don't touch me you filthy little bastard! I should have known you were
behind this somehow." Honey's blue eyes were bright with hatred and disgust.
Ernie, like a lot of short men, carried a chip on his shoulder about tall
women. Especially tall women, like the 5' 9" Honey Wilson, who called him a
filthy little bastard.
Black Jack Slocum just watched, amused. He had a feeling that Ernie was
gonna cut this full-breasted spitfire down to size. Ernie was a little shit,
but he was one mean son-of-a-bitch. Maybe even meaner than me, Jack thought with
a smile.
Ernie stood in front of a defiant Honey Wilson. He gave her golden body a
long slow once-over, lingering longest on the freshly-slapped breasts that were
still rosy from Jack's abuse. "Yer talkin' big, Honey, mighty big. Considerin'
that all of yer ranch hand buddies is off on that cattle drive. I seen 'em
leave, and it was me that told Jack, here, that the coast was clear. That we'd
have your sweet blonde ass all to ourselves for a few days. Seems to me you
might try bein' a little more respectful." And Ernie let fly a long disgusting
stream of tobacco juice, that splashed on the nicely curved upslope of Honey's
left breast. Amused, he watched the ugly brown liquid discolor her creamy
flesh.
"Respectful? Of a scrawny little perv..."
Honey never finished the sentence. Ernie's left fist, still encased in a
heavy black riding glove, punched her squarely in the midsection, just to the
right of her belly button, not too hard, but enough to draw a painful
"Unnggh!!" from Honey as she struggled to catch her breath.
The little rat-faced man smirked at her. "So you think I'm a pervert, do
you, Honey? Well let me tell you something, little lady. There ain't a man
workin' on this ranch that wouldn't give a month's pay to trade places with me
and Jack right now. To give your cock-teasin' ass what you been askin' for. And
after that, to give you what you got comin'. I seen it in their eyes, Honey."
Then the Weasel spoke again. "The tables is turned now, Honey; this time I
got the upper hand. Me and Jack that is. There ain't gonna be no tease and run
today, baby. Before I'm done with you, you're gonna beg for it."
"I wouldn't touch you if..."
Ernie buried his gloved right fist deep in her vulnerable gut, knocking the
wind clean out of her. A long, agonized "Oooowwwwhhh", escaped her lips.
Honey groaned in pain as she watched Ernie strut around like a bantam
rooster. As if he'd landed a knockout punch on an opponent who could defend
himself.
Jack was enjoying the show, watching Honey squirm around on tiptoe trying
to avoid Ernie but without success. He'd seen his partner use his fists on a
woman before; at least the crazy little bastard had the sense to pull his
punches enough so that he didn't break any bones. And the gloves cushioned the
blows too, a bit. Even so, Jack was damn glad it was Honey Wilson's midsection
and not his own that was taking Ernie's shots. From past experience he also
knew that Ernie Gibbs wasn't very likely to confine his attentions to Honey's
tanned, well-toned midriff for long. Not when there was those two other big
juicy targets just beggin' for attention...
Honey felt Ernie Gibbs' gray-green eyes crawling slug-like over the
volupuous curves of her body, slithering upward along her tawny thighs, her
panty-clad pussy, and her heaving pink-tipped breasts.
"Geesus, Jack, she's got some mighty fine knockers, don't she? Didn't I
tell ya? Didn't I?" Ernie stepped closer to the blonde beauty. "I watched you
more times than you know, Honey. Every fuckin' chance I got. Cause I just
couldn't get enough of these babies." Ernie's gloved hands cupped Honey's ripe
breasts, hefting them, bouncing them gently, smiling salaciously when she
wriggled to avoid his lecherous caresses.
But when she tried to wiggle away, Ernie tightened his iron grip on her
tit-globes and Honey gave a soft gasp of pain. "But I ain't never seen 'em up
close like this." Ernie the Weasel dug his leather-gloved thumbs into her coral
nipple-nuggets, until Honey moaned again, and then his fingers closed tightly on
her nubbins as he ground them between thumb and forefinger.
"I think Blondie likes it rough, Big Jack -- get a load of the way her nips
are getting stiff." Honey was mortified that her body was shaming her so before
these despicable low-lifes. Ernie lifted his gaze from Honey's nicely tanned
lust-globes to meet the eyes of the blue-eyed beauty. " And baby yer gonna get
it rough, less'n you decide to be real nice to Uncle Ernie."
"How about it, Honey? I might go easy on you if you was to tell me how
anxious you was to please me. I've been savin' it up for you baby. I've been
dreaming of having those pretty pink lips of yers wrapped around my cock since
that night I seen you dance. That was your birthday, wasn't it? Well tonight
it's me and Jack's turn for a present. Too bad he unwrapped you before I got
here, though. I wouldn't 'a minded unwrappin' you all by my lonesome."
Ernie stepped away from her and then slowly began circling back and forth
in front of her, like the boxer he had wanted to be as a young man. Until he'd
found out the hard way that an opponent sometimes punches back.
But Honey, with her hands tied high overhead, was hardly in any position
to fight back. And Ernie was fixing to even the score for the beating he had
taken from the ranch hands.
"Don't hit her face, Ern," Black Jack cautioned. "At least not now. You
know I like 'em pretty."
"Aw shit, Jack!" Ernie ripped a solid right into Honey's unprotected
ribcage, as she groaned and grimaced in pain again. "Can't I even slap her
around a little. Like this?" And, giggling, Ernie backhanded Honey across the
cheek, cracking her lip slightly as he did so. A thin trail of blood trickled
down the corner of her pretty mouth.
"Geesus, Ern, Goddammit! What'd I just say? I told you I don't want her
face all messed up."
"Aw, shit, Jack. That was just a love tap. Wasn't it, Honey?"
But when he saw that Black Jack was still scowling, Ernie changed his tune.
"Oh, all right," Ernie sulked for a moment. And then he turned back toward his
voluptuous captive. "Well, baby -- you ready to swallow Ernie's six-gun yet,
Honeychile?"
When Honey didn't respond, Ernie threw a punishing left hook that landed
just above her kidney. "Unnnnghhhhhh!!" Honey groaned in gutwrenching pain. Only
the up-rising wrist-ropes that kept her standing awkwardly on her toes prevented
her from falling to her knees.
"How does it feel, babe? How do You like gettin' worked over, Honey?
Getting an idea of how it was for me when yer old man's goons were kickin' my
ass?"
"Still not talkin'? OK by me. It's been a while since I had me a work-out
anyway."
Ernie paused as if he had come to some momentous conclusion. The little
bantam rooster took a deep breath that swelled up his chest, and tugged
self-importantly at his belt with his gloved hands. "I think I'm gonna practice
me some body shots on those big titties, Jack."
Honey tried desperately to turn away from him, but her bondage
restricted her movements considerably, and whichever way she turned, Ernie was
right there. both fists cocked. And then, noticing that Honey's heaving
pleasure-globes were still a rich blushing pink from the spanking Jack had given
'em, he added for Jack's benefit, "Although it looks like you beat me to the
punch." Then, before Honey could shift position or brace herself, Ernie fired a
short right hook that landed flush on the outer curve of Honey's left breast,
splattering the tobacco juice he had deposited there earlier. "Get it, Jack?
You beat me to the punch! Haw!"
"Geesus, Honey!" Ernie marveled. "Anybody ever tell you, you got some nice
firm punchin' bags? Big, but not too big. Just right for a little sparrin'
practice. And not an inch of sag in 'em, is there, Jack? Lotta tits that size
are soft as a goddamn pillow. Floppy soft. A man's fist just squishes in."
Ernie danced back and forth on his toes lightly watching Honey's pathetic
attempts to evade him, before seeing an opening and delivering a right cross
that slammed into the fullness of Honey's left breast with the resounding thud
of hard knuckles on bare flesh. "But these beauties are damn near perfect.
What's the word, Jack? Resilient? Yeah, resilient. And they got more jiggle in
'em than a buckboard ride."
"Remember that red-headed whore in Amarillo that time, Jack? That bitch
that tried to lift my wallet when she thought I was asleep?" After addressing
his partner, Ernie transferred his gaze back to the blonde beauty who dangled
from the rafter. "Honey, I stripped that big-titted whore naked and I tied her
to the biggest fuckin' chandelier in the Panhandle. And then I went three
rounds with her. Didn't I, Jack? And after that, she didn't hardly give us no
trouble at all, did she, big fella?
"Nope," Jack smiled in rembrance. "She sure didn't."
" And we had our cocks in her sweet ass up to our elbows. But that bitch
was was so scared I was gonna start in on her tits again she pretended to like
takin' it up the ass. Didn't she, Big Jack?"
"Yep. We put it to her good that night, Ern. 'Til we had to clear out just
before sun-up."
Honey's body was shaking uncontrollably with fear as she looked from the
sadistic little weasel to the the chiseled features of the rawboned gunslinger
and back. Her eyes nervously shifted to Jack's crotch; his black denims looked
like they were packin' a hammer handle.
Jack watched the blonde's eyes, bemused. "Like what you see, Honey? It's
all for you, baby. Every fuckin' inch of it!" Black Jack was as hard as a
blacksmith's anvil. And no wonder. The warm Texas sun streaming in through the
barn window bathed Honey's golden body in a warm glow. Honey's brow was damp
with perspiration, and beads of sweat were rolling untrammeled down her lovely
face, on to her neck, and then further down, until they clung to her
mouthwatering melons like dew on a spring morning.
"How many rounds you think you can go, Honey?" Ernie asked. Then, noticing
that her eyes were on Jack, he ripped a solid left uppercut into the soft
undercurve of the young blonde's right breast, sending it bouncing upwards. It
was just coming to rest when his right fist shot in at an angle and landed
squarely on the rounded inner curve of that same golden globe.
"Aaaunngghhhhh!! Stop...Please..." The blows had worn her down to the
point where she barely had the strength to make an attempt to avoid them. She
was a sitting duck. And Ernie was poised to capitalize on her lack of mobility.
Ernie spat another stream of tobacco juice down on Honey's feet and then
paused to wipe his sleeve across his own sweating face. "Know what that was,
Honey? That was the old Ernie Gibbs one-two! Like it? Wanna see it again?" And
Ernie repeated the maneuver, BAM! BAMM! drilling her other boob with two similar
punishing shots.
"Unnghhhh!!" Honey's groan at the first blow was cut short by the
gut-wrenching pain of the second, which drew from her an even deeper, longer
"Ummmnnnnnghhhhhh!!" of agony,
"Mmmmm, nice. They got just the right amount of "give", Jack. We sure did
luck out with Honey, here, didn't we?"
Honey's proud breasts were ablaze with pain from Ernie's punishing blows,
but there seemed to be no sign of any slackening of his malicious intent.
"Shit, Jack, don't ya just love the way her nips stick out? Lotta girls,
their nips disappear when they get scared. But Honey, here? Kee-rist! Look at
'em, Jack! They're sitting there, big and hard as a couple of cherry pits. Bet
they taste as sweet as cherry pits, too!"
Ernie stepped forward, and using the back of his gloved fist, lifted one
proud handful of breast-flesh to his eager lips. "Mmmmm-mmmm!
De-fuckin'-licious, Jack. I could suck on these babies all day." He sucked
hungrily at first one nipple then the other. "Shit, Jack, look at 'em all swole
up. Damn if they ain't askin' for it, ain't they?
"N-n-no... for God's sake..."
"And, Honey," Ernie continued, "I'm just the man to oblige." And Ernie,
as good as his word, stepped back, took aim, and timing her evasive movement
perfectly, launched a straight jab that caught her left breast flush on its
swollen nipple-crest.
"AAAAIIIAAAAHHH!!" Honey groaned in agony. It felt like he had driven her
breast all the way back to her chest wall.
And then, quickly,
Right! "Aaaaaahhh"
Left! "Eeaaaghh!!
Right! "AAUUGGHHHHH!!!" Ernie the Rat peppered each swollen bud in turn
with three more jabs, and Honey, at last surrendered.
"No... m-more," she panted, "For God's sake... stop... I'll do it."
"You'll do what, Honey? I want to hear you tell me and Jack here exactly
what you want to do."
"Whatever you want. Please... God... whatever you want"
"It's not what we want, Blondie. It's what you want to do. We wouldn't
ever want you to do nothin' you didn't wanna do. Cause we're a coupla Texas
gentlemen, ain't we, Jack?" Ernie cackled. "So tell me, Honey, what do you want
to do?"
"I'll...I'll suck your ..."
"You don't hear so good, Honey, do you?" Ernie hooked her squarely in the
right breast again. "Ouuuwwwww!! S-stop...please..."
"Say the words, Honey. 'I want to suck your cock, Ernie.' "
Honey, her breasts throbbing with pain, was crushed into submission.
Weakly, she whispered, "I want to suck your cock, Ernie."
"Well, that's just fine, Honey. Looks like we're finally makin' some
progress, Jack. But I think you want to suck my balls first, Honey, don't you?
Tell me you want to suck my hairy fuckin' balls, Honey-girl."
Honey hesitated again. Bad move. Ernie the Weasel drove his fist brutally
into her ribcage again.
"Agggghhhh!! Please, Ernie, I want to suck your balls. And your cock.
Now, Ernie ... please... Please."
"Jack, did you hear what this slut whore wants? She wants a taste of ol'
Ernesto. I reckon I oughta oblige her."
"OK, Ern'. You go ahead. I'm gonna go into the house and have me a look
around." And with that Jack turned on his heel and stalked out the barn door,
closing it behind him. Watching Ernie make love wasn't exactly a prepossessing
experience for him. There was usually a lot more talk than action and it rarely
lasted very long.
Oblivious to Jack's contempt, Ernie enthusiastically stacked a couple of
hay bales up and climbed atop them, bringing his crotch level with Honey's
mouth. Then he dropped his pants. Honey was repulsed by the days-old trail-scent
of the malevolent little man.
Honey's arms were still stretched high over her head. Since she could do
nothing to resist, Ernie grabbed a long blonde pig-tail in each hand, and pulled
her pretty face into his crotch. "OK, blue eyes! Wrap those pretty pink lips
around my hairy cojones. And suck 'em nice, if you know what's good for you!
Yeah...That's it... Suck 'em 'til I til you to stop, slut."
Trying desperately to overcome her revulsion, the virgin tease had leaned
forward and taken his scrawny, stinky little testicles into her mouth. She had
no idea of what was expected her, so she simply exerted a little suction.
"Roll 'em around in your mouth, baby. Just like they was the sweetest
fuckin' lemon drops in Texas....Ummmmm, nice...That's a girl."
Honey swirled his hairy balls around in her mouth slavishly, her nose
pressed firmly against Ernie's upright cock by the hands on her pigtails. Even
the little weasel's cock was rat-like -- scrawny, dirty, and ugly.
Ernie tired of her ball-worship a minute or two later and move slightly so
that his ugly veinous erection was pushing against Honey's lips. "Open up, baby
-- I gotcher dinner right here."
Suppressing the urge to retch, Honey opened her mouth slightly. And that
was all the opening Ernie needed. He jammed his dick into her mouth firmly,
muttering "Take it, Blondie. All the way in. That's a girl."
Then, tightening his grip on her blonde pigtails, Ernie, began to thrust
his pelvis forward, deeper and deeper into Honey's mouth, nearly choking her.
"Suck it, baby!" Her lips closed on his disgusting prick, and she began,
inexpertly, to suck on his fleshy spear.
"Mmmm, baby, that's nice. Real nice..." Ernie pulled back so that his
weasel-cock was at Honey's lips again. "Now let's see you put that pink tongue
'a yers to use, Honey girl. Lick that cock! That's it... up and down.. nice
and slow... Polish it... That's it...lick it all over, baby. Do it like you
liked it, you prick-teasing slut!" Ernie pulled her pigtails hard, and stared
menacingly into her tear-stained face. "Or do you want me to go another round
or two with those juicy jugs of yours?"
Terrified of a renewed assault on her brutalized breasts, Honey bent anew
to her task, using her mouth as best she could to satisfy her hateful tormentor.
Mercifully for Honey, Ernie's stamina was no greater than his stature and
he lasted only another couple of minutes before he pulled out of her mouth just
in time to spit gobs of Gibbs' sperm into her face, besmearing her eyes, nose,
and cheekbones.
Honey breathed a sigh of relief. She had taken a nasty beating from the
rangy gunslinger and she had pleasured his malicious little crony. Maybe now
they would go...
But just then Black Jack Slocum strode back in the barn door, with a
menacing scowl on his face...
Chapter 5 Stalked and Whipped
Jack glanced around, taking in the scene in the barn, and took a long pull
from a bottle of liquor that he had apparently looted from the Wilson house. He
took a look at Honey's cum-splashed face - he'd only been gone a few minutes,
and Ernie the Weasel had shot his wad already. A grin creased his dark
features. "Christ, Ern', it aint' a race!"
Ernie wiped his fast-shriveling dick off on Honey's left cheek, pulled up
his filthy trousers and climbed down from his perch atop the hay bales. Seeing
Slocum's mocking expression the shifty-eyed little weasel shifted shamefacedly
from one foot to the other, his eyes down, pretending to build a tiny pile out
of stray wisps of straw with his left foot. "I told the little tease to go slow,
Jack, but blondie latched on to my cock like a weevil on a Mexican cotton boll.
Didn't you, Honey?"
When Honey gave the ferret-faced cowpoke a look of utter contempt, Ernie's
hands shot out toward her proud, sweat-soaked breasts with lightning rapidity.
He seized her moist pink nipple-buds between his leather-clad thumbs and
forefingers and squeezed them until he brought tears to Honey's beautiful blue
eyes. 'Uncle Ernie's talkin' to you, girl. I said, 'Didn't you, Honey'?"
"Aaah!... Stop ... it hurts....Aaarrghh! .....Y-yes," Honey moaned in
self-abasement. To confess, even under coercion, to enjoying the disgusting sex
act that she had performed on Ernie was the most humiliating thing she had ever
had to do.
"Yeah, Jack," Ernie grunted, as he gave Honey's tender lust-nuggets a final
vicious twist, "Blondie here could suck the nails outa yer boots, pardner."
Jack studied the look of abject misery on Honey Wilson's beautiful face.
"Well, she'd better like fuckin' as much as she likes suckin'! I'm 'specting you
to show me a real good time, Honey."
Then turning to his sidekick, the rangy gunslinger proffered the bottle he
had brought into the Wilson barn. "Here, Ern, have a slug 'a this -- Honey's
daddy's got some fine Kentucky bourbon in there! Not like that white lightnin'
mule-piss yer always drinkin' ."
Ernie the Weasel accepted the bottle, noticing that the seal was freshly
broken, and that the bottle was already nearly half empty. Jack hadn't wasted
any time downing enough liquor to knock most men on their ass. Ernie removed
his thick chaw of tobacco and tilted the bottle to his own lips, enjoying the
slow burn of the bourbon in his throat. Ernie idly wondered whether Jack still
got as mean after drinkin' as he had in the old days. It wouldn't be too long
before he found out.
The ferret-faced little man took another pull at the rich sweet corn
whiskey and watched with heightened interest as Jack stepped closer to the
semi-nude blonde. Honey's breasts were still encrimsoned from their stint as
sparring targets for Ernie's punches, but they still stood firm and high and
proud on her chest. Slocum lifted the rancher's daughter's left breast slightly
with one hand while he lowered his mouth to her inflamed globe, enjoying the
succulent taste of young breastflesh marinating in its salty sweat-sauce.
Black Jack mouthed each of Honey's superb lust-mounds for a minute or two
before proceeding to undo the rope that stretched Honey's arms up to the
overhead rafter. While he fiddled with the rope, Honey also noticed that the
bottle Jack had passed to his ornery little sidekick was half empty. Not only
that, but the alcohol seemed to have affected Jack a little already; Honey
noticed that he fumbled a little bit with it. Which was hardly surprising
really -- almost half a fifth of liquor in fifteen minutes on a scorching hot
day was enough to affect any man, much less a man who probably hadn't done any
drinking in four years.
Just as Black Jack undid the rope from the rafter overhead the explosive
sound of a gunshot went off behind him, startling him and causing him to release
the rope altogether.
"Geesus! What in the hell?!!?" Jack bellowed as he turned in the direction
the gunshot had come from. Ernie was standing near the doorway, the bottle of
bourbon in one hand, a smoking six-gun in the other and a sheepish smile on his
face.
"Oh, sorry, Jackson. I saw a rat over there by the wall. I think I
plugged the ugly little son-of-a-bitch, too."
"Are you plumb loco, Ernie? All's we need is for them people down the road
to hear a gunshot and come up here to see what's goin' on." The Dunbar ranch,
Honey knew, was the nearest habitation. The Dunbar house itself was about three
miles back down the road, but the property line was less than a mile away.
"Ah, lighten up, Jack. If it wasn't for me, you'd still be poundin' rocks
in Amarillo."
"Maybe so, Ern, but I ain't too anxious to go back there, so cut out the
goddam shootin' OK? You ain't got the sense of a jackrabbit." Jack fumed.
Ernie glared back at him.
Honey, meanwhile was thankful that Jack had taken the rope down from the
rafter. For she had finally been able to bring her hands, though still tied in
front of her with the long rope, down to their normal position, giving her
aching arms and shoulders a break after her long suspension. Then when Jack had
been startled, he had dropped the rope altogether and she had picked up the
loose end so he couldn't grab it. While Jack was chewing Ernie out she began to
struggle with the knot.
After she managed to undo the knot and slip the rope off of her slender
wrists, Honey considered the import of what Jack had said. It struck her that
it was very unlikely, after his remarks, that the two desperadoes would risk
using their firearms. Honey swabbed at the nauseating trails of Ernie's semen
on her cheeks and lips and then wiped her hands on the lacy fringe on her white
panties while she calculated her chances. If she could just make it past Jack
somehow and out the barn door and over to the bunkhouse... Red, the bunkhouse
boss, kept a loaded Winchester next to his bed, and when the hands had saddled
up she had noticed that he hadn't taken it with him.
Still shaking his head in disgust at his side-kick's ill-advised stunt,
Jack turned back toward Honey, and was a little surprised to see that she had
slipped out of the rope. But a wide, lecherous grin crossed the swarthy
outlaw's stubble-bearded face. Now he was gonna have to round up this pretty
blonde filly again -- but Jack always got a kick out of a little indoor rodeo.
Specially when the dogie to be roped was a frisky long-legged blonde with
lip-smackingly beautiful udders.
The voluptuous blonde backed slowly away from the rangy gunslinger, her
knees slightly bent in an alert defensive posture, conscious of how her
throbbing full-nippled breasts swayed ever so slightly with her every movement.
Her blue eyes were bright with both intelligence and fear, as they darted around
the barn sizing up her situation.
There were bales of hay strewn randomly around the Wilson barn, in stacks
of various heights, each of which offered the possibility of providing an
obstacle to his pursuit. She forced herself not to keep glancing over Jack's
shoulder at the silver-bladed hatchet hanging on the wall behind Jack not far
from the door. Earlier, when Jack had been spanking her close-set breasts, she
had also noticed a pitchfork leaning against a stack of hay bales in a shadowy
corner of the barn off to her left. If she could only manage to lay her hands
on one of those weapons, she just might have a chance...
Jack moved closer, a look of steely-eyed determination on his face, and
Honey took another step backward.
"What're you runnin' away for, Honeychile? Big Jack's fixin' to show you a
good time. Ain't you, Jack?" Ernie the Weasel giggled, as he took another long
slug from the bottle. He had plopped himself down comfortably on a couple of
haybales, to watch the action. He had seen Jack stalk women before. And if he
knew Jack, the big stud was gonna make Honey Wilson regret making him go
through the trouble of chasing her down on such a God-awful hot day.
"That's right, Honey," Jack drawled. "I'm fixin' to give you some lovin'
like you ain't never got before. If you just relax you just might enjoy it.
Lots 'a women kinda like a little Texas rough stuff, don't they, Ern?"
"Maybe so, big fella. But I reckon there ain't too damn many who like it
as rough as Honey's gonna get it!" Ernie chuckled gleefully.
Honey felt the lump of fear in her throat thicken a bit more and she
retreated a little, shamefully conscious of her near nudity, and how her
tormentors were looking at her as if they were starving bloodhounds and she was
a thick juicy Kansas City porterhouse. Honey's beautiful blue eyes swept the
barn nervously looking for somewhere to run, somewhere to hide, as the
foreboding figure of the black-clad outlaw edged a little closer.
"Looks like Honey wants to play a little hide and go seek," Jack grinned
as Honey continued to back away. "That's OK, girl, me and Ernie like to play
games. Don't we, Ern?" While Jack inched closer, always staying between Honey
and the barn door, he caught a glimpse of what looked to be an unfinished
stirrup-strap -- a two-foot long strip of tough mud-colored rawhide,
half-covered by the loose strands of hay that littered the barn floor.
Slocum made a quick feint in Honey's direction, causing her to move to her
left a step or two, giving him time to swoop down like a vulture and retrieve
the inch-wide strap.
"Well, blondie, are you gonna lay your sweet ass down on them haybales over
there?" Jack pointed toward where Ernie was relaxing on a pair of bales that had
been positioned end-to-end; not a bed exactly, but Jack never had much use for
screwing a woman nice and proper on sheets and pillowcases anyway. He liked to
take his pleasures down and dirty. "Or am I gonna have to come and getcha?"
And he slammed the leather strap with a resounding THWACCKKK!!! against one of
the bales of hay that were scattered around the barn, letting Honey hear the
speed with which the leather cut through the air, and the dreadful pop it made
when it snapped into the sweet-smelling hay. And letting her imagine how that
strip of rawhide was going to feel when it bit into her tempting girl-flesh.
Honey, shivering but watchful, slithered cautiously to her right, trying
always to keep at least one stack of bales between herself and her indefatigable
pursuer. Now and then she pushed a bale off of a two-or-three high stack, to put
another obstacle between them.
Ernie leaned forward and upended the liquor bottle again, feeling another
rush of warmth through his innards, as he watched the erotic game of cat and
mouse unfold. Honey moved like a tawny wildcat, darting nimbly through the maze
of fallen hay bales cleverly, her tawny thighs flashing, as Jack sought to
corner her. "Girl, you shoulda laid down and taken your fuckin' when you had
the chance," Ernie chirped gleefully. " I think you got Big Jack riled now. And
when he's riled, he's as ornery as a wolverine with prickly heat!"
And indeed Black Jack's swarthy features were contorted into a visage of
unmistakable menace, as if Honey's frustrating attempts at evasion had refreshed
his memory of his fifteen hundred nights in prison. The fifteen hundred nights
that he had curled up on a dirt floor with repulsive long-tailed rats and
scurrying cockroaches for company instead of a warm-bodied woman.
But today there was a warm-bodied woman, just out of arms reach, a
golden-haired, full-breasted, long-legged blonde that he blamed for every last
one of those vermin-ridden nights.
Honey's gaze was fixed on Jack's face as he edged closer. His unblinking
beady black eyes were as cold and lifeless as those of a rattlesnake. For a man
his size, Jack was as quick as a rattlesnake, too, feinting first this way and
then that as he pursued the nearly nude blonde through the maze of overturned
bales.
Their eyes remained locked as Jack and Honey danced their desperate pas de
deux among the straw-colored bales. Until Jack got close enough to make his
move. He bluffed a quick move to his right as if he were going to come
charging around the right side of a tall stack of baled alfalfa, but then
quickly stepped back to his left just in time to intercept Honey when she fell
for his fake. He lashed out viciously with the strap, catching her high across
the fronts of her bare thighs with an unerring backhand.
"Aaaahhhh!" Honey yelped, and she tried to turn away and retreat behind the
bales again but the rattlesnake was quicker than the bunny. Black Jack swung
the leather again and cracked her sharply across the tanned flesh of her back,
leaving a livid red mark.
"Aaiiiarhh!! Honey cried out in pain again, and turned back to face the
black-eyed villain as she tried to retreat. But when Jack charged quickly
forward again she backed into a bale of hay and tripped and fell backward and
then the tall sinister stalking-wolf was standing directly above her brandishing
the thick leather strap.
Grinning demonically, Jack lashed downward viciously, catching the side of
Honey's blushing left breast with the stinging tip of the strap just before her
hand could deflect the blow. Lifting her hands up to protect her treasures,
though, opened her legs up to Jack's attack again and he slashed at her supple
thighs, branding them again and again as she tried to scuttle backwards on her
heels.
"Aaaghh!! ... " THWACKKK!!
"N-no.... Aaaiieeeahh!!! No.... please..." THWACKKK!!!
"You can run, baby, but you can't hide," Jack leered, his teeth bared in a
wolfish grin. When Honey rolled over on to her hands and knees, he slashed at
her ripe rounded buttocks ripping a long gash in her panties as she tried to
scramble away. He followed that stroke up with a blow that landed diagonally
across her back, leaving a livid mark.
"Aaaaaaahh!!" Honey moaned again.
"Way to go, Black Jack! Lay that leather on her!" Ernie cheered excitedly.
The next best thing to flogging the firm flesh of a half-naked beauty was
watching Black Jack Slocum do it. Cause nobody did it better.
While Jack recoiled the strap after the last blow, Honey struggled
painfully back to her feet, her luscious thighs burning from the blazing fury of
the stirrup strap. But by now Honey's desperate attempts at flight were
governed more by an animalistic fear of the lash than by any particular plan,
and Jack capitalized on her pain-induced confusion.
The lanky outlaw pursued her with the remorselessness of an avenging fate,
his jaw set with relentless determination. He cursed the fleeing beauty as
Honey staggered frantically from hay bale to hay bale. The delicious blonde
moved quickly but Black Jack Slocum's reach was long and his aim was true. He
aimed mostly for her sleek golden thighs, dewy with perspiration, the part of
her body most difficult to protect with her hands. In and out of the maze of
oblong bundles of alfalfa, he chased her, lashing at her legs and the ripe
half-moons of her panty-clad buttocks which peeked through two rents in her
white undergarment.
Honey kept moving though, never quite escaping the bite of the stinging
leather, but never really letting Black Jack get his feet planted firmly enough
to strike her with his full strength. But then, as she dodged around yet
another stack of haybales, she realized that she had made a grievous error. She
had stumbled into a corner of the barn -- a right-angled cul-de-sac. And the
grim menacing figure of Black Jack Slocum was no more than six feet away from
her, whip-strap in hand, and there were no more haybales to dodge behind.
"Where you gonna run to, now, Honey," Jack gloated, his dark eyes gleaming
with sadistic desire, as he took a step closer. His stallion cock was a
petrified log of flesh in his black dungarees; somehow it seemed to know that
the plunder of this ripe-breasted young blonde was imminent, that it would soon
be forcing its way brutally between the honey-gold thighs of this West Texan
goddess. 'Easy does it, Big Fella,' he silently advised his throbbing organ, as
his reptilian eyes drank in Honey's heaving, ripe-nippled breasts, her flat
tanned belly, and the sleek curves of her splendid thighs. 'I ain't quite done
workin' her over yet.'
"Please..." Honey begged. She was drenched in sweat from her exertions,
and sported nearly a dozen dark striations on the fronts of her supple thighs
alone.
"Please what, you teasing slut? You think 'please' got me anywhere with
them bastard guards at Amarillo? I got your 'please' right here, baby."
And Jack tightened his grip on the strap and after faking a high blow, let
Honey have it right across the tops of her tanned thighs yet again. Then when
her hands reflexively went down to guard against another leg-warmer, Jack saw
his opening and lashed out at Honey's pink-crested tit-melons.
The flesh-burning strap beat her defending hands by a split-second,
catching her squarely across both of her crinkled coral roseates a millimeter
below her distended love nuggets. "AAAGHHHH!!"
"Attaboy, Jackson! Whip those juicy tits!" Ernie chortled with delight.
"How's it feel, Honeychile, now that you're the one takin' the beatin?" Ernie
called out spitefully from his perch on the other side of the barn.
Honey Wilson had fresh tears in her blue eyes as she cupped her burning
mounds in her pretty hands, trying to protect and soothe them. But that gave
Jack the opening to go downstairs again, and he whipped the soft flesh of her
thigh-tops with another swift forehand before launching a vicious backhand that
found the front of Honey's frilly white panties.
"AAAIEAAAHHH!!" the pig-tailed blonde screamed and backed up again, but her
retreat was halted when she bumped into the back wall of the barn.
And then Jack was on her with the ferocity of a Rocky Mountain grizzly, his
big body pinning her to the wall. He deftly wrapped the leather strap around
her wrists, cinching them and then lifted them high over her head with his left
hand. Pressed against the worn wooden planks that comprised the side of the
barn, Honey felt jagged wooden splinters stab deep into the rounded flesh of
her buttocks as Jack forced his powerful body against hers.
While he held both of her hands in his left, Jack's hairy right hand
groped Honey's sweat-slick lust-melons, still blushingly red from his solid
slaps and Ernie's punishing punches. Although her hands were pinned helplessly
over her head, Honey resisted with spirit, twisting and turning, trying
desperately to avoid his mauling caresses. But her frantic squirming was of
little avail against Slocum's overpowering strength. In fact, her attempts to
avoid his grasp seemed only to inflame his ardor even more. He pressed his
long, angular body hard against her nakedness, and Honey felt the long thick
shape of his granite-hard organ through his thick trousers, even as she was
enveloped in the smell of bourbon from his hot breath.
Jack grabbed her left breast firmly in his big hand, and closed his
fingers so tightly around her succulent lust-globe that Honey cried out in pain.
"Ooooohhhhh....God...you're hurting me..." Honey moaned.
"Damn, she's got some knockers, don't she Ern? Honey, I lay awake nights
in that hellhole you sent me to thinkin' about what I was gonna do to you when
I caught up to yer sweet blonde ass. But never in my wildest dreams did I think
you was gonna grow you a bodacious set of titties like these."
Black Jack lowered his hungry mouth to Honey's succulent right breast and
attacked it with his lips, teeth and tongue while his right hand crawled freely
around Honey's other lust-mound like a huge hairy tarantula, as she whimpered
with revulsion, and struggled futilely to push her towering assailant off of
her.
"Yeah, baby," Jack growled as he pulled his lupine teeth away from the
inner curves of Honey's close-set pleasure-gourds, leaving the rosy melons slick
with his slobber. "A pair 'a big round tits like these deserves some real
special handling. Any red-blooded Texan who tells you different, is a goddam
liar! And Honey, I'm just the man to see that they get it!"
Jack's cold reptilian eyes ensnared Honey's in his frosty glance. "Yeah,
Honey, we're gonna have a good time together, you 'n me. A real good time."
Then Slocum released his vise-lip grip on her left breast and slid his paw into
Honey's snow-white panties. His hairy hand slid downward through her golden
bush, and then his long fingers probed insistently into her love nook, as she
squirmed at his obscene touch. He slid his middle finger inside her, as she
tensed in shock, and worked it back and forth and around for a moment. Geesus,
Ern, she's nice and tight, too. I gotta get me some of that!"
Then Jack pulled the strap free from her wrists and spun Honey around and
pushed her violently backward in the direction of the bales on which Ernie was
sitting. Honey landed on her ass again, and then Jack was towering over her
fallen figure swinging his ferocious strap, catching her first on her
golden-tanned thighs and then again just to the left of her deep-etched navel.
Honey scrambled awkwardly to her feet yet again, as she tried to weather the
hail of blows, as Jack drove her across the barn with lash after lash of the
heavy strap. Screaming, crying, Honey strove desperately to protect her
hyper-sensitive breasts, but the strap found her soft-fleshed flanks and her
golden thighs again and again.
Ernie, suddenly realizing that Jack was stampeding Honey in his direction,
bounced up off the platform of haybales just before Jack caught up to the
blue-eyed blonde and shoved her again so that she landed flat on her back atop
the end-to-end pair of bales on which Ernie had been lounging.
"Get that rope again, Ern," Jack growled as he whipped Honey's well-tanned
thigh-flesh again.
"Aiiiiiiiee!!" she screamed as she curled up on one side protectively, a
tactic which Jack countered by giving her a couple of solid shots across the
rounded cheeks of her sweet ass. "Get her hands," the big man barked to his
diminutive partner
Honey was trapped. Ernie was now standing on one side of her, leering down
at her nudity, while Jack stood on the other brandishing the dreadful leather
strap.
"Wait a minute, Jack. I got me an idea. Before we tie her hands up, how
about we let her play with herself some? I used to watch her go at it through
her window, and it was somethin' to see, let me tell you."
Jack shrugged his shoulders, and Ernie continued, "How about it Honey.
Let's see you play with them big tits, rub 'em up nice for us, just like I seen
you do when you was undressin' for bed."
Honey blushed with shame that this little cockroach of a man had observed
her in her most private moments. But it was true -- it was not at all uncommon
for her to spend long minutes standing in front of her mirror narcissistically
caressing her lovely body.
"You better do like Ernie said," Jack admonished her, as he slapped the
strap across her thigh-flesh sharply again.
"Aahhhh! ... All right...all right...just don't hit me any more...please.."
Jack's reptilian eyes quickly returned to rake Honey's mouthwatering mounds
with his intense unblinking stare. Honey's breasts were truly outstanding, in
every sense of the word. Even lying flat on her back they thrust proudly
upward, young and firm and as whip-worthy as any pair of lust-melons he'd ever
seen. And Jack figured he had probably put the leather to more breast-flesh
than any man between Texarkana and Tombstone.
"Yer wastin' time, girl," Jack growled, his fingers closing and unclosing
on the leather strap.
Honey slid her slender fingers up across her tanned midriff to cup the
tender breasts that Jack and Ernie had slapped, slugged and strapped.
Ernie's face was feverish with lust. "Work those tits, baby! Me and Jack
wanta see them nips stickin' out like a coupla pink bullets, just like I seen
'em before."
Shuddering with revulsion at Ernie the Weasel's licentious cravings, Honey
closed her blue eyes, and let her long slender fingers glide gently over the
tender flesh of her luscious breast-globes, as she desperately tried to pretend
that she was alone in her bedroom with moonlight streaming in, bathing her pale
body in its soft glow -- rather than lying flat on her back on a month-old
haybale, caressing herself for the pleasure of these perverted desperadoes.
Honey stroked and teased her sore breasts expertly, knowing just how they
loved to be touched, cupping them, squeezing them gently, pushing them slightly
together so that the inner curves of her breasts kissed each other lovingly, and
then pulling them back apart. All the while her well-manicured thumbnails
strummed her pleasure-nuggets, flicking them, tweaking them, teasing them. Her
eyes still closed, she raised a slender index finger to her lips, tongued it,
and then used it to moisten her thrusting nipples, as she continued to make love
to her delicious love mounds. The dampness seemed to make her lust-buds blossom
even further, as if they were spring flowers responding to a gentle rainfall.
"Didn't I tell ya, Jack? If she ain't the biggest tease in West Texas, I'm
Wyatt Earp. Hell, she even teases her own damn self. Kee-rist! Look at them
slut-nipples -- they're a half-inch long or my name ain't Ernie Fucking Gibbs!"
********
Jack and Ernie had taken to calling unusually distended nipples
'slut-nipples' years ago after an exciting session with a ripe-breasted young
Creole barmaid in Corpus Christi in the back room of a saloon one night after
closing. Cerise's French-African ancestry had provided her with the most
sensitive nipples Jack had ever seen. Her hot-blooded lust-nubbins had swelled
to more than half an inch in length after he'd nibbled and sucked on 'em roughly
for a spell. And they'd gotten even longer a little later after Jack got up off
the bed and unlocked the door to let his partner join him and his surprised
paramour on the bed ....
After gagging her to keep her from crying out for help now that she was
confronted by the leering unsavory twosome, Ernie had tied a pair of thin
rawhide bootlaces chokingly tight around Cerise's long mahogany-colored
love-tips while Jack wedged his Texas truncheon into her tight rectal canal.
Jack had forced Cerise onto her hands and knees on the bed facing Ernie who had
taken a position with his back braced against the sturdy headboard. Then, while
Jack stretched her too-small rectum with his powerful cock, Ernie the Weasel had
planted his boots against her soft shoulders, taken hold of the bootlaces and
stretched her taut nipples. Ernie had tugged on the tit-laces attached to her
pendulous breasts until the veins had stood out in his arms, every nerve-ending
in her sensitive breasts was screaming in pain, and tears of agony were flowing
down her dusky cheeks.
No doubt about it. Cerise had had some slut-nipples that night ...
*******
Jack was leering down at Honey too, equally absorbed in her stimulating
auto-eroticism. "Lose the panties, Honey; I want to see you pleasure your
pussy just like yer teasin' those juicy titties."
Honey's blue eyes opened when Jack addressed her, breaking the spell she
had talked herself into.
"Please... don't make me ...."
CRACCKKK!! "Aaaiiiieahhhh" Jack had slammed the strap across Honey's bare
belly, half an inch above her golden hair line.
"Do like I said, girl. Ain't you figgered out yet that me and Ern don't
like to be kept waitin'? You make me give you a next one, and it's gonna be
three inches lower. Take 'em off. Nice and slow."
Flushed with mortification, Honey reached for the waist band of her panties
and began lowering them.
"Slower, Honeychile. Give us a good show and maybe me and Ern'll go easy
on you," Jack lied.
Blushing crimson down to her nude breasts, Honey sat up and slowly began to
roll her brief panties down her rounded hips, revealing first her golden
triangle and then the enticing folds of girlflesh which framed her pink gash.
Then slowly, down her long, luscious, scarlet-streaked thighs. Honey's loins
were creamy, in stark contrast to the warm golden tones of the rest of her
sun-tanned body. The contrast in skin tone reminded Jack that he hadn't run
into too many women who made a practice of sunning themselves while topless;
Honey's stiff-nippled breasts were only slightly less tanned than her arms and
legs.
Jack reached down to pull the panties down over Honey's lower legs and
ankles and then stood up again, towering over the beautiful blonde, who was now
wearing nothing more than the angry marks Jack's make-shift whip had left on her
glorious body.
"Spread 'em, girl! Let's see that hot little cunt of yours."
Trembling noticeably, Honey parted her thighs ever so slightly.
"I said, 'Spread em', blondie. Let's see that pretty pink pussy! You're
gonna get the next one on those blonde cunt hairs, Honey-girl, less'n you spread
those nice long legs of yours."
Honey, slowly inched her legs apart.
Jack lifted the belt again. "Honey, when I say 'Spread 'em' I ain't talkin'
about a coupla goddam inches. I want your fucking knees hanging over the edge
of this haybale. You got it?"
Seeing the strap being readied for action, Honey did as she was told,
gradually widening her golden thighs into a gaping inverted V until her lower
legs extended over each side of the oblong bale.
"That's better. And you'd better keep 'em spread, girl, just like that.
'Til I tell you different."
Jack felt his Texas-sized cock swell to even greater erection as his beady
black eyes raped Honey's blushing genitalia. For such a tall well-built young
woman, damned if it didn't look like she had a tight little pussy.
Ernie had crouched down in front of her to enjoy the view. "Geesus, Jack,
look at those tonsils!" Then, his eyes never leaving her gaping vagina, he
added, "Play with yourself, Honey. Get that sweet pussy nice and wet for us."
Blushing with shame, Honey lay back on the bales again and slid her right
hand between her legs and begin gently stroking herself.
"Mmm-mmm, is that nice or what, Jackson"
"Yeah, baby. Lick your fingers, girl. Nice. Now slide 'em up and down
your slit. Now the other hand on your jugs...Beautiful --you'd better keep
those nips stiff, if you know what's good for you!"
"Stroke that sweet blonde pussy... Oh, yeah, that's pretty. Now the clit.
Get it nice and wet. Now tease it... just with your fingertips.... work it,
baby....beautiful...back and forth... mmmm, that's good. Now slide a finger
inside. Deeper... work it around real good, baby. Get those fuckin' juices
flowin'..."
Honey realized with disgust that Ernie the Weasel was rubbing himself, just
as he no doubt had on the many nights he had peeped through her bedroom window.
Honey stroked herself until her firm little clit was tingling. She had almost
begun to think that her tormentors had relented, until she heard Jack bark, "You
were right, Ern. She put on a real nice show for us. But the fun and games are
over, Honey. Get the rope, Ern!"
coming in Chapter Six -- Black Jack's Slocum's 'Big fella' stretches
Honey's, um, endurance, while Ernie the Weasel enjoys a cigar -- but Honey
doesn't .
Chapter 6 The Burning Lust of Black Jack Slocum
Ernie retrieved the rope they had used earlier, and encircled Honey's
slender wrists expertly a few times before pulling them back over her head and
wrapping the rope around a nearby post twice before tying it off.
While she felt her arms jerked back roughly behind her, Honey saw Black
Jack's arm start to go up, leather in hand.
She quickly closed her legs, protecting one vulnerable one target, and then
turned a quarter turn, hoping to protect her tender melons. This left Honey
lying on her right side, with her arms pulled high over her head. This posture
left her left breast exposed to attack and Black Jack Slocum wasn't the kind of
hombre to waste an opportunity like that. He swept the rawhide lash down
savagely and drilled Honey flush on the outer edge of her puckering pink nipple.
"Aaiiiiiiiiieaaaahhh!" she screamed, as she tried to roll over on her
stomach, but Jack's size thirteen boot was expecting that move and two short
kicks to her unprotected ribs forced Honey to roll back on her right side again.
But the long-armed rattlesnake was ready for that too and the brown leather bit
deeply into the yielding flesh of Honey's left breast once again.
"Eeeeeaaaaaahhhh!!" The blue-eyed beauty cried out as fresh waves of pain
shot through her tender love-globe.
"Geesus!! You got her good with that one, Black Jack," Ernie exhorted him
from his vantage point a few feet away.
"Flat on your back, girl! Or I swear I'll whip you from now to sun-up,"
Jack growled.
Honey, her entire body shaking with fear, rolled over on to her back.
Her breasts, pummeled to a lovely pinkness earlier, and now wearing three
dark streaks, stood as firmly and proudly atop her chest as ever. Jack left her
legs free; he was going to enjoy feeling those long tanned limbs thrashing away
beneath him.
"Spread 'em, baby, and don't let me have to tell you again."
The trembling blonde spread her legs once more.
Ernie, his work with the rope done, crept forward and approached the
outstretched blonde, his eyes riveted to Honey's glistening pussy. So
mesmerized was Ernie by the inviting vision, that when he moved forward to get
an even closer look, Honey surprised him by drawing a tawny leg back and then
shooting it forward, kicking him squarely in his unprotected groin.
Honey hadn't thought about it; it wasn't a smart thing to do, being
outnumbered and with her hands tied and all. It had been almost an involuntary
reaction by the tall, athletic blonde. But it sure felt good, to send the
cowardly little weasel groaning to his knees, cupping his tender balls in
agonized disbelief that she would have attempted anything so risky.
But it only felt good for a second. The sawed-off low-life was moaning on
the barn floor. But he still had the strength to croak, "You fucking cunt!!"
he screamed. "You're gonna wish you hadn't a done that, girl, before I'm through
with you."
Meanwhile Jack had unbuttoned his fly and drew out his big knobby, gnarly
dick. Honey shuddered with fear. Jack's cock was nearly twice the length and
twice the circumference of Ernie's puny little weapon. She had never dreamed
that a man could be so large.
Now Honey lay flat on her back, her legs pulled up and back and out in a
wide "V". Every inch of her twitching, vulnerable flesh was defenseless. Jack
pulled her body slightly forward on the haybale so that her cunt was more
accessible.
Honey made one last try. "Please ... don't rape me ... my father has money
... he can pay you if you ..."
Jack continued to stroke his Texas-sized cock-shaft. "Darlin', to tell you
the God's honest truth, right now I don't give a shit about your daddy's money.
I'm thinkin' about fuckin' the daylights outa your little honeypot. Hell, I'm
so goddam hard, I reckon I might split you in half, girl." Then Jack gave her a
wolfish grin. "But maybe we can talk about the money later, right, Ern?"
Ernie was just beginning to climb to his feet. "Yeah, big guy. I wouldn't
mind walkin' away with some of old man Wilson's dough. The tight old bastard
never even gave me my last pay!"
"Yeah, Darlin," Jack gloated as he stroked his swollen ten-inch horse-cock.
"It's all for you, baby. And it's achin' to get into that fine lookin' pussy,
Honey. All spread out like that. Blonde and pink and moist. Geesus, Ern!
Damned if it wasn't almost worth waiting four years to get me a piece of that!"
"Please..." Honey pulled frantically at her bonds, but her wrists were
well secured. She was defenseless before the outlaw's onslaught.
Jack stroked his thick veiny staff a few more times, letting Honey get a
good close-up look at his rock-hard weapon. "Yeah, baby. It's all for you.
Every goddam inch of it," he grunted." Then Jack knelt down between her
tanned, widespread thighs, and stroked her velvety thighs with his big hands,
exploring the welts the leather had left, as he moved his monstrous organ closer
and closer to Honey's pink portals of desire.
Jack held his knobby cock playfully against Honey's young pussy for a
moment, rubbing it up down her pink slit, teasing her quivering clit. Then,
with a sudden motion, he slid his monstrous organ into Honey's hot and humid
quim with an expert thrust, not at all surprised wheh he felt the exquisite grip
of her vaginal muscles on his sensitive phallus almost instantly.
He was quite taken aback, though, to feel the slight resistance of her
virginity. "Fuck, Ernie, this cock-teasin' blonde's still got her cherry!" Jack
was genuinely startled. Who would have guessed that none of the local farm boys
would have sunk his John Deere into Honey's fertile little furrow long before
now?
"I told ya she was a prick tease, Jack. When her daddy ain't around, Honey
don't waste a lot 'a time buttonin' up her blouses, do you girl? She's awful
proud of them bodacious tits and her long legs, ain't you, Honey? But woe
betide the fella that got tired 'a lookin, and tried to lay a hand on her sweet
ass. 'Til today," Ernie chuckled.
Jack nodded. Honey Wilson wasn't the first cock-teasing slut that had
crossed his path. And she probably wouldn't be the last. But he was going to
punish her as if she were standing in for all of the others.
'OK, Big Fella' time for some action', he confided to his stallion-cock
and then he began the plundering of Honey Wilson. After ripping through Honey's
hymen with his second vigorous thrust, he began a series of long, plunging
piston-strokes into Honey's golden-fringed pussy. "Oh, fuck that's good, baby!
So fucking tight," he crooned rapturously.
Black Jack picked up his powerful tempo gradually, grunting noisily as he
worked his manhood deeper and deeper into the blonde teenager, while his greedy
hands roved her body rapaciously, up and down her hips and flanks before coming
to rest on her majestic breasts. He mauled her pink-tipped melons with his
hands and then buried his three-day old beard in her delicious cleavage, licking
the salty perspiration from her succulent mounds while he pinched her taut pink
nipples. Then he slid his hands beneath her, so that his huge hands could cup
Honey's creamy young bottomcheeks, and thus position her pelvis more perfectly
for his prodigious lunges, while his lips and tongue and teeth mouthed her
swollen breasts.
Meanwhile, Ernie had just about fully recovered from Honey's solid kick to
his groin. Ernie Gibbs wasn't too far from a foul mood on Christmas morning,
and this pig-tailed blonde had really pissed him off today. The way he figured
it, she had embarassed him by making him come too quickly, and then she had
brought him to his knees by nailing him in the balls. As he watched Jack rape
the wriggling blonde beauty, he was more determined than ever to exact
retribution on the soft yielding flesh of the blonde who squirmed helplessly
underneath his rutting partner.
"That's it, Jack! Ram in into her!" the little man cheered. "Honey, kickin'
me was the biggest mistake you ever made. A dumb-ass armadillo's got more sense
than that. No blonde slut's gonna kick Ernie Gibbs in the balls and get away
with it!"
Honey hardly heard Ernie's words. The brief sharp pain of her lost
virginity soon was replaced by the steady punishing pounding of Jack's
sledgehammer cock. Jack had pulled her hips down into the edge of the haybale,
which allowed him to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground, giving him
tremendous leverage for his violent thrusts.
Honey whimpered in pain as Black Jack Slocum drilled her with everything he
had, with all the fury of four years of pent-up passion, his big cock pistoning
with violent rapidity in and out of her blonde-fringed quim. A rivulet of blood,
the last vestige of Honey's lost 'innocence', trickled down the end of the hay
bale.
As Jack fucked in and out of her with long powerful strokes and her big
boobs bobbled beautifully in time to his rape-rhythm, Ernie the Weasel pondered
how to take an appropriate revenge on the rebellious blonde. He picked up
Jack's discarded strap and considered whether he should use it to warm her tits
up again, but there was too much chance of hitting Jack, who was continually
shifting position. And Jack, he knew, would break him in two if the belt hit
him by mistake.
Ernie Gibbs took another long slug from the bourbon bottle while he
considered the possibilities. And then he saw two slender cheroots protruding
out of Jack's shirt pocket. Jack must have found them in the house.
Ernie the Weasel brightened, and reached for one of the slender cigars and
deftly withdrew it, to Jack's annoyance. Sweat was pouring off of Jack's
beet-red face down on to Honey's upthrust globes making them even more slippery
than they had been. "Goddammit, Ernie, can't you see I'm fucking busy here?"
"Looks to me like you're busy fucking, Jack! Haw!" Ernie was convulsed by
his own joke. "I was just thinkin' that Honey ain't respondin' with as much
enthusiasm as she should to a guy who's been lookin' forward to this joyful
reunion for four years," he sneered.
Ernie inserted the stem of the small cigar into his mouth and then
scratched a wooden match against the side of the barn, and then painstakingly
lit the cheroot. He puffed it on a couple of times, so that the tip was burning
evenly, and a wisply trail of smoke curled upwads. The little cigar wasn't bad;
her pa had good taste.
"Time to teach you a lesson, Honey-girl," Ernie snarled. He had taken his
leather gloves off at some point, and Honey felt him run his dirty hands along
the soft thigh-flesh of the leg that had kicked him, while his partner Jack
continued to pound his throbbing cock-shaft balls-deep into her over-stuffed
vagina.
Ernie the Weasel crouched down so that his ugly face was only inches from
Honey's. She turned her head away to escape his foul breath, while Ernie drew
on the cheroot, and then blew a smoke ring at Honey's face.
"You need to learn some manners, girl. Beginnin' with this leg that kicked
me." Honey shuddered at his obscene caress; she would have preferred to have
rodents crawling over her, than to feel Ernie's hand on her bare thigh. "It's a
damn pretty leg, too, so long and smooth. It's a shame I'm gonna have to to
hurt it..."
Ernie's rough right hand was stroking the smooth, but well-muscled thigh.
His left hand lifted the cheroot to his mouth, and he puffed on it until its
tip was aglow. Then he held it up meaningfully before Honey's face, making it
clear what he had in mind.
"N-n-no... God.... please... no..." she begged desperately.
But in vain. Ernie had a maniacal grin on his face. He met Honey's
blue-eyed gaze for a moment, and then he glanced down at his target, a point on
Honey's leg about six inches above her bent knee. Then, moving in slow motion,
he, lowered the glowing tip of the cheroot until it was about half an inch from
the inside of Honey's sweat-sheened thigh.
Even while experiencing Jack's pussy-pounding rape, Honey could feel the
hot warmth of the cheroot.
"No...for god's sake... I'm sorry I kicked you..."
"Too late now, Honey." His rheumy gray-green eyes bright with intensity,
Ernie pressed the end of the cheroot to the firm flesh of Honey's right thigh.
Tsss! "Aaaagghh!!" Honey's body jumped at the touch of the ash, as he
knew it would.
"How about it, Jack? Feel good when she jumps like that?"
"Damn straight, Ern! She's a wildcat, ain't she? Felt like she was gonna
squeeze my dick off there for a sec!"
"Jack, I don't know about you, but I'm gonna gag blondie, here. Don't want
her to wear her pretty little lungs out." Ernie proceeded to stuff Honey's mouth
with a trail-dusty red bandanna.
Honey was positively bathed in sweat now. She shook her head from side to
side, desperately imploring Ernie not to continue.
"God ... please ... don't...."
"How about here, Honey? Would you jump as much if I touched you here?"
"Nnnnnnnnghh" Honey protested a split second before shouting a strangled
"UMMMMPHHHGHHH!!" into her gag when the cigar touched her thigh, a little higher
up this time.
"Hmm. About the same, I think. How about here?"
Tsssss! "MMMGGPPPPPHHHH!!" The gagged blonde's body shuddered in
another violent paroxysm of pain.
"Ohhh, fuck, Ernie! Geesus, that's good! She is squeezin' me so tight!
Get her again!" Black Jack Slocum was cramming his massive monster-cock into
Honey good now, stretching her sensitive inner passage with every punishing
thrust. Jack tried to time his lunges with Ernie's applications of the lit
cigar to Honey's long golden thigh. Ernie loved teasing her with the hot-tipped
cigar, holding it a centimeter away from her tawny flesh, and making quick
flinching feints which caused her to shimmy sexily almost as much as the times
he pressed the glowing tip against here golden skin.
As El Raton worked his way up her thigh, kissing it briefly here and there
with the hot cheroot, the blonde's beautiful body bucked more and more
furiously, causing her cunt to contract exquisitely around Jack's ramrodding
cock.
"Four fucking years, Honey!" Jack whispered his mantra gruffly every now
and then as he continued to pump his cock into her for minute after unending
minute, his big hairy horse-balls smacking against her ass with every plunge.
"Four fucking years!" He was intent on drawing out every last ounce of sadistic
pleasure from his initial conquest of Honey Wilson. As he felt himself
approaching climax, he slid his big hands out from under Honey's rounded
buttcheeks and moved them toward Honey's succulent breasts.
It was a good thing Black Jack had huge hands with long fingers, because a
smaller-handed man couldn't have gotten the same kind of grip on the bases of
Honey's proud melons. Slocum crushed her lust-mounds together hard, using his
thick, jagged-nailed thumbs to press upward against her hooters, making her fat
nipples sit up on her tits like a pair of pink berries on top of a two-scoop
sundae of flesh.
"Yeah, that's it, Jackson! Squeeze the juice out of those jugs!" Ernie
encouraged him, as the little man pressed his fiery cigar against the soft
creamy flesh at the juncture of Honey's thigh and hip.
As Black Jack Slocum's cock thrust deeper and deeper into Honey's warm,
clenching cavern, he voiced the words that Holly had been dreading to hear, "Get
her tits, Ernie; get 'em while I cum!"
"NNNggghhhhh....Gmph....nnnggggnnnnhhhh!!" Honey tried her best to
dissuade him, but her voice was swallowed up in the bandanna gag. Not that Ernie
would have paid her any never-mind, anyway.
"You got it, Big Jack!" Slocum had been screwing Honey for so long that
rat-faced Ernie had finished the first cigar and started in on the second one.
Honey's long right thigh had paid a terrible price for kicking Ernie Gibbs. It
was dotted with some two dozen small irregular circles, some black, some red,
the evidence of Ernie's retribution.
Ernie the Weasel had been enjoying himself. These were the moments he
lived for, the reason he played jackal to Black Jack Slocum's lion. Being
Jack's parasitic partner had given him a crack at any number of beauties over
the years. But none of 'em, in Ernie's honest opinion, had a body to match
Honey Wilson's.
Ernie bent over the prostrate Honey, and took a long slow drag at the
cheroot, letting its bright end get red hot. And then, heedless of Honey's
half-crazed expressions of terror, he began to lower the cigar toward her
upthrusting love-globes, made even more tempting by Jack Slocum's iron grip.
Her nipples stood up like pink bullets.
"Now, Ernie," Jack groaned as he thrust his hips violently forward. "Get
ready to buck, Honey!!"
"NNNUUMPPH....NUNNGGGHH" Honey screamed soundlessly into the stifling
bandanna.
The grinning ferret-faced little man obliged his partner, touching the
burning cheroot to the lovely undercurve of Honey's left breast giving it a
fiery kiss as her body convulsed in agony.
"Yeahh!! Geesusss!! That's it, partner! Do it again!" Jack tightened his
iron grip on the base of Honey's golden globes, forcing her rosy globes into
even greater prominence.
Ernie puffed on the cheroot, and then lowered it to Honey's ripe-nippled
right breast, circling it gently, letting the fiery cheroot dance around her
delicious mound like a malevolent honeybee, lighting, stinging, and then
hovering half an inch above the lovely target and then gliding gently down to
light and sting the yielding breastflesh again.
Tss! "MGMMPH!"
And again.
Tsss! "NNGHMMPHH!!"
And again.
Tssss! "MMMMGGNNNPHHH!!!"
"Geesus, make her dance! Both of them, now back and forth. Quick like! Oh,
fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!!"
Ernie, his face just inches above Honey Wilson's, leered down at her, happy
to do Jack's bidding. He moved the glowing cigar closer, closer, closer to the
inner curve of the blonde's honey-gold left breast and then pressed it down
again. Tsssss!! A little harder this time, and a little longer.
Once again the pain shot through Honey's luscious body like the jolt of an
electric current.
"Mmmmm... Get 'em both, Ern. Yeah! That's it!"
"Still think you can kick me in the balls and get away with it, Darlin'?"
Ernie whispered as he let the smoking honeybee dance all around Honey's
mouthwatering melons, never staying long in one place, moving swiftly back and
forth from one quivering breast to the other, applying the demonic cheroot to
each delectable lust-globe. Only for a fraction of a second at a time, but it
was plenty long enough.
Honey thought she would go mad - Black Jack held her breasts in a death
grip so tight she thought they'd explode, and Ernie the Rat kept re-lighting the
fuse on each swollen love-melon. And each time he did, the soft supple flesh of
Honey's suntanned pleasure-mounds vibrated as if Western Union had run a
telegraph line through her pink-tipped nipples and were transmitting the
election returns. One vote at a time.
And every movement, every shudder of pain, every convulsion of agony,
increased the pleasure of the half-crazed rapist whose cock-tip was buried nine
inches inside her.
"Fuck, Ern, I'm almost there. Four fucking years, Baby! Oh,
Geeessussssss, that's good! Four Mother-fucking years! And I been savin' it
all for you, Honey. Waitin' for this moment! Get her, Ern!! Right on those
fucking slut-nipples!!
Ernie lowered the glowing cigar toward the tempting pinkness of Honey
Wilson's right lust-bud, and then kissed it with the cheroot until she bucked in
agony. And then the smoking honeybee leisurely danced a tight fiery circle
around the base of Honey's distended lust-nugget. Lighting, stinging, hovering
briefly before descending to light and sting again.
"MMMMMPHHHHGGGG!!!!!!!" Honey screamed into her gag as her body writhed in
pain.
"Geeesus fucking Shit!! That's it, Ern! The other one, now. Harder!!
Right on that pretty pink nipple!!! Tsssss! "MMMMPHHHHH!!"
"Mmm! That's it! Again... Geesus... Yeah! Shit, I'm gonna cum!! Now put
the son-of-a-bitch out on her!!!
Tssssss! Tssssssss!! Tsssssssssssss!!!
"MMMPHHGGHHHHH!!!! MMPPPHHHHHHGHH!!!"
" Ohhhh, YEAAHHH! " Jack's voice was an animalistic growl, so contorted by
sadistic lust as to be almost unrecognizable. But Ernie continued to grind the
red-hot cigar tip into the areole of Honey's left breast for one long last
second, shooting bits of fiery ash all over the surface of her luscious breast.
A couple of them came to rest against Jack's hairy hand, causing him to jerk his
hand away in pain while he exploded deep inside of her velvety love-passage,
shooting four years worth of hot Texas man-juice deep into Honey's
cock-clenching cunt. But jerk though she might Honey was forced to endure the
sting of those embers on her mouth-watering breasts for a more few seconds until
they burnt themselves out .
Jack relaxed his grip on Honey's other breast and withdrew from her
gleaming pussy, breathing like a steam locomotive from his pleasant labors. He
wiped his dripping dark-veined stallion-cock on the blonde hair that covered her
snatch. "Kee-rist, Ernie, you were right. This is one hot dolly. I ain't
never had a piece of ass like that in my en-tire life."
Honey was exhausted. Her right leg bore the tell-tale marks of some twenty
tiny burns. Her pussy felt as if it had been run over by a stagecoach. And her
glorious breasts, which not two hours before had never felt a moment's
discomfort, had now been slapped and punched, whipped, squeezed and singed.
Fortunately for her, as Jack and Ernie knew from past experience, the moist
film of sweat that had covered her body would insure that the cigar did no
lasting damage.*** Aside from some small, albeit painful discolorations,
Honey's luscious knockers would be as good as new by sun-up.
It had been little more than an hour since Black Jack Slocum had forced
his way inside the Wilson farmhouse. Would the two ruthless desperados leave
now that they had had their way with her? Or had her woes only just begun? ...
"Hey, Darlin', howsabout rustlin' us up some grub? After a work-out like
that, I could eat a horse. How about you, Ern?"
After Jack had withdrawn from Honey's body, Ernie had begun running his
filthy hands over her tortured breasts.
Ernie the Weasel grinned up at his partner, "Yeah, Jack, I guess I could
go for a bite. Hee-hee." And then he bared his yellowish fangs and bit into the
resilient firmness of Honey's left breast before pulling away and climbing to
his feet.
"Didn't we tell you, Honey? We're fixin' to stay the night..."
***This is NOT to be construed as medical advice -- I reckon it's best to do
your smoking AFTER sex, folks
Coming Next -- The Blonde and the Pitchfork
**************************************************************
Author's note:
Dear Reader,
Thank you kindly for reading my little western, pardner. I hope yer enjoyin'
it so far.
If you do like 'westerns' like this, with cold-blooded villains, hot-blooded
women and heart-pounding scenes of sexual violence, may I suggest that you try
my 'eastern' , "The Jade Pavilion Book II: The Rise of Li Chang", which is also
posted on this site? It's a long, long story, still very much in progress,
with a "thrill scene" in nearly every chapter. There are refined and elegant
villains who concoct torments of remarkable originality; and there are plenty of
low-class thugs who more than make up for their lack of creativity with vicious
enthusiasm, just like Black Jack Slocum and Ernie Gibbs. And there are more
than enough beautiful women to keep them all occupied.
But the story is, I hope, much more than a collection of "thrill scenes".
There is also romance and passion, adventure and suspense. It already has a
small but very loyal following.
The saga is set in nineteenth century Shanghai, and tells of a bitter struggle
between the Brothers Chan on one side-- Richard, the Lord of the Black
Scorpions, a ruthless criminal gang, and George, his equally sadistic brother --
and Li Chang, a young man who has been raised by the venerable Wen-chi to
oppose the Chans so that one day, perhaps, he can liberate the people of
Shanghai from the Chans' Reign of Terror. During Li's difficult and dangerous
struggle he and the Chans cross paths with any number of beautiful young women,
some good and virtuous, some arrogant and predatory. Each of these lovely
creatures will become a pawn in their no-holds-barred struggle for dominance of
Shanghai, and each, at some point(s), will be subjected to the wrath of the
Chans and/or their cruel underlings, among them the dreaded Feng the Butcher,
the Dungeon-Master of the Black Scorpions.
Among the 'heroines' of the Jade Pavilion are:
Cherry Wu -- a nubile young shopkeeper's daughter; As the story opens the
beautiful Miss Wu is hanging naked from a rafter in the dungeons of the Black
Pagoda, the imposing palace/fortress of Richard Chan. Her father has refused to
submit to the Chans' extortion. But Richard Chan will see to it that the
shopkeeper's daughter pays in quite another way...
Liu - an exquisite young woman of noble spirit and boundless courage who is
in love with Li Chang.
Ming-tsu -- the stunningly sensual and sexually insatiable Chinese beauty who
seduces Li Chang and initiates him into the delights of various forbidden
pleasures. To the chagrin of many of the young women named below ... "The
Night of the Forty Lashes" is one of the pivotal moments in Li's life.
Erika Weiss -- a ravishing blonde goddess. After the death of her missionary
parents, the luscious young Erika becomes a prisoner of the sadistic George
Chan. When we first meet her she is undergoing a rigorous training regimen;
later she undergoes a series of dreadful ordeals, as George Chan forces her to
submit to a succession of cruel masters.
Mila de la Vega -- a Eurasian pleasure girl at the House of Madame Wong, a
brothel controlled by the Chans. Mila is short for 'Milagros' (Miracle) and
her full-nippled breasts are indeed miraculous -- for their size, their
shapeliness -- and their stamina...
Peony -- slender, shapely, and sad-eyed -- and she is given much to be sad
about. Peony is another of Madame Wong's pleasure girls; in her case she has
been forced into a life of sexual slavery to support her orphaned siblings
Ci-ci -- Peony's innocent but beautiful sixteen year-old-sister; Peony begs her
soft-skinned sister not to become a servant at the Black Pagoda, Richard Chan's
forbidding castle; but they are very poor and Ci-ci is brave... she will need
to be very brave indeed, because jealousy is second nature to Mai-Lee, Richard
Chan's Number One concubine
Mai-Lee -- the beautiful and arrogant concubine whose skills at love-making
would daunt an Aphrodite. She is perhaps the finest fellatrix in the far east.
But it will be her endurance that is sorely tested, when her luck takes a turn
for the worse.
Princess Dena -- the voluptuous amazon princess of a primitive region in
Central Asia. Her tyrranical father and his soldiers have killed most of the
men and enslaved, raped and tortured the young women of a neighboring clan while
she looked on with amusement. But one fateful morning the beautiful princess
is seized and dragged off to a remote mountain encampment by the few surviving
husbands and brothers of those women . You will not soon forget the tale of
the Barbarian Princess.
Or the tale of the hot splints... Or the tale of the Nipple-Gag of Genghis Khan.
Or the exciting encounter between the hunchbacked professor and Erika Weiss. Or
...
But you get the idea...
These are just some of the beauties who fall into the hands of the Chans, their
followers and their rivals. There are many other male characters, too --
brutish Black Scorpions, like Gaptooth, the Ox and the Drooler; cruel and
corrupt Chinese functionaries like the sadistic General Wang; the brilliant but
tormented hunchback, Professor Leung; Li Chang's loyal friend Luk Yee; and,
still to come, a number of German and British diplomats and businessmen, all of
whom have an eye for fine female flesh and most of whom have a yen for dark
pleasures...
Thanks for taking the time to read this, and if you haven't already done so,
check out the "Jade Pavilion Book II: The Rise of Li Chang". You'll be glad
you did.
And if you 've already read it on another site, I invite you to read the version
posted here. It is already more than twice as long as the original, with a
great many exciting new characters and encounters.
Boccaccio (Big Jake)
Chapter 7 Warm Flesh and Hot Grease
As Jack was pulling his grungy black pants back on, Ernie spoke, "Hungry,
Jack? I'll bet blondie here is a good little cook. Ain't you Honey?"
Ernie took the dusty bandanna out of her mouth, so that she could speak.
But she just lay there, her ripe breasts heaving gently, as she tried to regain
her strength. When Honey remained silent, Ernie grabbed a handful of sticky
blonde pubic hair.
"I asked you a question, Honey!!"
"I, I guess so."
"Well c'mon then, sweetie; I'm hungry enough to eat a horse. And put your
panties back on - we don't want to singe those cute little blonde curls of yours
down there." Jack took another long swallow from the bottle of whiskey, and
handed it to Ernie, who did likewise.
They released Honey from her bondage, and watched her pull her white
panties back on; but when she reached for the pink dress, Ernie said, "You won't
be needing that, Honey - them tits of yours are too pretty to cover up."
Blushing, but thankful that she'd at least be able to partly cover herself,
she thought she'd press her luck. "Can I have something to drink? Please?"
"Thirsty, Honey?" Jack asked, as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "I can
see how you might be. Hell, it must be 95 in the shade today. But it ain't
nowhere near as hot as that hell-hole you put me in, slut. Do you think those
fuckin' guards brought me a drink whenever I wanted? Tell you what, Honey, how
about you rustle us up some grub. Do a good job and maybe we'll find you
something to drink."
As she walked back toward the house, her nakedness interrupted only by the
skimpy panties, she could feel the broiling heat of the Texas sun. It was very
uncomfortable on the two dozen or so tiny painful burns that dotted her right
leg. Her splendid breasts and especially the areoles and nipples thatt Ernie
had paid special attention to, were even more sensitive to the oppressive heat.
She passed the trough of water in the corral that the horses drank from --
even that murky water looked pretty good to her right then.
The meal Honey fixed for Slocum and Gibbs was unlike any other she had
prepared. Ernie tied each ankle to a leg of the old wood stove, with a short
tether so that try as she might she couldn't move more than a foot or so away
from the stove. And then Ernie handed her a pound of slab bacon he'd found in
the smokehouse on the far side of the corral. "Fry us up some bacon and eggs,
Honey. But we're kind of in a hurry. If you don't have bacon and eggs on the
table in ten minutes, we're gonna whip your lazy ass. Ain't we, Jack?"
Black Jack nodded darkly, and added, "I like my bacon crisp, Honey," as he
gave Ernie Gibbs a sly smile. And then Jack turned over an egg-timer, one that
Honey didn't recognize.
And now Honey could see why Ernie had winked at Jack when he'd proposed
dinner.
As quickly as she could, she lit the stove and threw the bacon in a pan.
But it didn't take longer than a few seconds for her to realize that she was
going to have to build a hot fire very quickly to have a chance of finishing the
bacon in time.
"Remember, Honey, ten minutes. Or we're gonna beat your fine young ass!"
But as Honey built the fire by adding more wood, and stirring the wood
desperately, the bacon started popping, spitting hot grease at her naked chest
and torso. The tall gunslinger and his short sidekick were elbowing each other,
smirking, as Honey, whose ankles remained tied to the stove, tried to protect
herself with her arms in front of her body.
But try as she might, she still had to turn the bacon, and eventually,
start the eggs. And when she did so, the fiendishly hot specks of grease got
through, spattering her sweaty breasts and belly. With one eye on the
egg-timer, though, Honey gutted it out, trying to concentrate on her cooking,
and biting her lip against the pain of the random spurts of molten grease that
were anointing her breasts with a slippery patina of pain.
At one point, Ernie Gibbs got up from the nearby kitchen table, and reached
for a pitcher of water he'd fetched from the well. He and Jack had pretty well
finished off the bottle of whiskey they'd found. He poured Jack and himself a
tall glass each, which they drank with pleasure while they watched the
dehydrated Honey slave over the hot stove. And then Ernie, smiling walked toward
her, carrying the pitcher.
"At last, something to drink," Honey thought. She reached for the pitcher
with one hand, while stirring the bacon with the other.
But Ernie, giggling softly, with a crazed look in his eyes, merely dipped
his hand into the water to wet it thoroughly, and then shook his hand out over
the hot bacon grease. When the water hit the skillet, the hot grease exploded
into a crackling frenzy. Honey hastily retracted her hands to protect her
breasts, but it was too late - they were quickly peppered by the exploding
bubbles of grease. Ernie was cackling hysterically, and Jack smiled with
sinister amusement, as the grease continued to flare up violently for another
thirty seconds.
Having no other option, Honey tried to ignore the dozens of painful grease
burns on her chest and torso and concentrate on finishing the meal in time.
Finally, just moments before the the last few grains of sand in the timer ran
out, she called out, "Done!" and put tasty looking platters of bacon and eggs on
the adjacent wooden counter for both Slocum and Gibbs.
Her two tormentors left her tied to the hot stove, sweat streaming down her
tall frame, while they ate the bacon and eggs, grudgingly admitting that they
weren't bad. Their eyes rarely left her, feeding on her flesh even as they
feasted on the bacon and eggs. When Jack told her to make some coffee she did
so, but was a little puzzled, when after it was brewed, he decided he didn't
want any. "Later," was his terse comment.
Finally, they were done, and thankfully they looked happy, Honey thought.
"Please, God," she said to herself, "Maybe the worst is over." They'd been
fucked and fed; maybe they'd leave now.
But then Jack rose slowly from the table, stretching his 6' 4" frame and
spoke, "C'mon Ern, it's time to whip her ass for taking so long cookin' dinner."
"Taking so long?" Honey asked imploringly. "I handed you the plates just
before the sands ran out of the timer. Just like you said."
Black Jack grinned evilly at her. "Well, Honey, I guess that makes two
lessons you learned today. The first one is 'Don't never rat on Black Jack
Slocum. The second is 'It's best not to jump to conclusions, when you're
dealin' with Jack Slocum. That there is a twelve-minute timer. Strap her down,
Ern!"
Chapter 8 Black Betsy
Five minutes later Honey found herself standing with her ankles and knees
lashed tightly to the legs of the sturdy kitchen table with strips of rawhide.
Meanwhile her torso was bent forward over the table, with her wrists tied to the
legs at the other end of the table. Her tender, grease-spattered breasts kissed
the rough wooden table top. Ernie Gibbs had sprinkled a little rock salt on the
table, with a two-fold purpose. First, he took enjoyment simply from adding
salt to her wounds; secondly it gave the table top a gritty texture that made
her position all the more uncomfortable.
From the side, Honey's body was bent into an L-shape; from the rear, her
long tanned legs formed an inverted V. From any angle, she was a defenseless
vision of female loveliness, her lithe, well-muscled thighs spread wide, her
pendulous breasts resting gently on the table.
"Pull her drawers down, Ern; let's have us a good look at Blondie's ass.
The way you got her tied, she ain't gonna kick you this time," Jack smirked.
"Fuck you, Jack!" Ernie retorted, but he obliged by rolling Honey's pants
down as far as he could, given her spread-eagled position, until they were a
horizontal splash of white fabric at the base of her rounded butt that framed a
bottom that was almost as enticing as her juicy breastmelons. Honey's butt was
more rounded than wide, more compact than expansive. And Black Jack Slocum was
fixin' to tear into it.
Ernie squeezed the curves of Honey's ripe buttcheeks, and then felt between
her legs, inserting first one finger, then two, then three, into her warm slit.
They came out sticky with Jack's cum, the residue of her rape in the barn.
"Here, Honey, clean me off," he smirked as pushed his fingers toward her mouth.
Honey turned her head, which was about all she could move, away in disgust.
"Oh, I thought you said you were thirsty, before. You know what, Honey? You'd
better develop a taste for cum, girl; it might be all you get to drink for a
while, girl!"
"Ernie, don't be so goddamn mean! Pour Honey, here, some of that coffee.
It should be piping hot now."
Puzzled at Jack's intervention, Ernie poured the cup of steaming java and
handed it to Slocum, who was standing facing her now. Slocum crouched down to
table level so that his face was even with the blue-eyed blonde's. Honey could
see the vapor rising from the hot coffee. Jack took a tentative sip, but it was
still much too hot to drink.
"Now, Honey, Ernie here asked you nice to clean him off. Let's try it
again." Once again, Gibbs stuck his slimy fingers in front of Honey's mouth.
But this time when she demurred, Slocum carefully tipped the cup of coffee, so
that a few drops of the near-boiling brew dripped slowly on one naked
shoulderblade.
"Aaaaggghhh!!" The blonde bucked in her ropes.
Ernie profferred his vile hand once again. When Honey was still slow to
take his fingers in to her mouth, Slocum upended the cup slightly again, sending
more of the scalding liquid down, this time on her other shoulderblade.
"Aaaaagghh!!" Honey screamed again, squirming as the half ounce or so of
hot coffee trickled down her sensitive back. "I'll do it, I'll do it."
And this time when Ernie put her fingers to her lips, she opened her mouth
and took them in greedily, sucking every last drop of Black Jack's cum from
Gibbs' filthy hand.
"That's better, Honey. You're learning." Jack was still standing in front
of Honey. He slowly unbuckled "Black Betsy", his black leather belt with the
bold brass J on the buckle. Until Honey had taken him out of circulation four
years earlier, he guessed that he'd whipped as many sexy female asses as any man
in Texas. But he couldn't remember too many as sweet as Honey's. And not even
one that he would take more enjoyment from whipping, given his grudge against
her.
He stood before her, as he undid the belt from the belt loops, letting her
get a good look at the principal actor in her next ordeal. "This is Black
Betsy, Honey. Well actually it's Black Betsy #4; I wore the first three out. I
only used this one once before, on that senorita in San Antone. So she should be
almost as good as new."
"Black Betsy ain't no ordinary belt, Honey. I heard about this injun who
makes belts, and when I tracked him down, he told me about a secret tanning
process that he uses to make the leather even tougher and harder than usual.
But maybe I should let you be the judge of that." Slocum was holding Betsy,
doubled up, in his powerful hands, inches from her face. With a sudden motion
of his hands, he snapped the belt with such force that it seemed as if a rifle
shot had been fired in the ranchhouse kitchen.
Honey shuddered at the thought of this hellish strip of black leather being
used on her tender flesh.
Then Slocum walked around behind her. He paused as he did so, enjoying
Honey's bowstring-taut position; the skin across her ribcage was stretched as
tight as a drum. He felt under her for a breast, and cupped its
grease-spattered fullness for a moment, crushing it briefly in a hairy-knuckled
hand, before moving behind Honey. For a moment he studied the blonde's long
golden-tanned legs; her rounded buttcheeks quivered with apprehension.
"Ernie, bring me that mirror from Honey's bedroom." As Ernie ran off to
get the mirror, Jack let Betsy drape across the small of Honey's back, while he
grabbed her firm right buttock. "Gotta hand it to you, Honey, you are one fine
piece of ass!" Jack took another swig from the whiskey bottle
Ernie returned a minute or so later, carrying the large mirror that he'd
seen Honey admiring herself in, the night he'd been peeping.
"Put it over there, Ern, right where she can see it. I want Honey to watch
me whip her. You got that, Honey?" Jack jerked on her blonde pigtails. "You're
gonna watch me beat your sweet ass! If she closes her eyes, or looks away,
Ernie, give her another little dose of that coffee."
"Right, Jack," Ernie giggled. "C'mon, let's get started, big guy. I wanna
see them buttcheeks dance!"
Jack stood slightly behind Honey and to her left. He deliberately uncoiled
Betsy then, and slashed Honey across her lower left leg, leaving a fierce mark.
The other advantage of the mirror, to Jack's way of thinking, was that he could
see the fear in Honey's eyes as the belt went up. And how her fear was
transmitted, almost instantaneously, to his target area - her long legs were
twitching in anticipation of the coming flogging.
CRAACCKK!! "Mmppfff" Jack blasted her across a soft thigh, just above her
knee, drawing a low groan from Honey; she was trying not to give Jack the
satisfaction of hearing her cry out. That was OK by Black Jack Slocum; he liked
a challenge.
CRAACCKK!! Back to the meaty calf of her left leg. Honey grimaced in pain.
Jack tightened his grip and then delivered another CRAACCKK!!
"Mmmmmmff!!!" A real bun-burner, that one, low on her rounded buttcheeks.
Jack loved the shadowy groove between her buttocks; it promised untold
pleasures.
CRAACCKK!! Another sidearm shot across the tender hollow at the back of
her knee. In the mirror, Jack could tears beginning to form in Honey's pretty
blue eyes.
CRAACCKK!! He whipped the base of her spine, an inch above her buttock
cleft.
Jack moved forward a little; he'd been using a side-arm motion on her legs
and bottom, but this time, he lifted Betsy high overhead, and brought the
fiendish strip of black leather CRAACKK-ing down, across the tender valley in
Honey's back, just below the shoulder-blades.
CRAACCKK!! Honey felt the belt burn a line across the base of her yielding
buttcheeks. "Aaaaggghhh!!"
"Good one, Jack," encouraged his rat-faced sidekick, "she really felt that
one!"
CRAACCKK!! Back to her long legs, this time bisecting her soft thighflesh
with an angry stripe. Honey's groans were louder now, Jack noted with grim
satisfaction.
CRAACCKK!! A wicked horizontal slash that scorched the tops of her thighs;
just below the white wad of her partially pulled down panties. Honey's
spread-eagled position more or less mandated that he could only whip one leg at
a time, except near the juncture of the inverted V, where the gap between her
legs narrowed.
Jack crossed behind his blonde victim at this point, and took up a new
position, this time behind her and to her right. In the mirror, he could see
that tears were leaking down Honey's cheeks now.
CRAACCKK!! A brutal back-handed slash across the roundest curves of her
ass! Her butt was twitching now, spasmodically, between each stroke.
Honey could only watch in the tall mirror, as the black leather whizzed
through the air before burying itself in the compact curves of her bottom.
CRAACCKK!! "Aagghhh!" Another vicious backhander, high on her right
thigh.
"Please... no.... n-..."
CRAACCKK!! "AAAGGHHH!!!" A high-pitched yelp was Honey's reaction to a
blistering shot that burned into her ripe derriere.
"Oooh, you caught her a good one, there, Jack!" Ernie Gibbs chipped in.
He loved seeing Jack break snotty sluts down into whimpering bundles of flesh.
Especially when they were tall, curvy, prick-teasers like Honey.
Jack had moved forward again.
CRAACCKK!! Another overhander that landed on the small of Honey's back.
The teardrops on her cheeks were little streams now.
CRAACCKK!! "Aahh!" Jack doubled up Betsy and whacked Honey across her
fully extended right arm, biting deep into her tricep.
CRAACCKK!! And he continued by strapping the fleshy part of her forearm.
Honey could actually watch the her arm slowly redden, as a result of these last
two. And get an idea of how her bottom and legs must look to Jack.
And her shapely rear end looked pretty damn good to Jack, ripe and round
and red.
Even her position, sprawled tautly across the table was becoming
increasingly uncomfortable, stretched as she was to her full length and beyond.
Jack sneered with sadistic pleasure. He was enjoying every second of
Honey's ass-whipping.
CRAACCKK!! "AAAAGGGHHHH!!!" Jack was back behind her again; ripping at
the deliciously rounded curves of her resilient buttcheeks. Honey was
whimpering louder now in between lashes.
CRAACCKK!! Another shot, right across the top of her firm buttocks. Jack
was hitting her with such force that the belt's loud impact against her flesh
seemed to echo through the house.
CRAACCKK!! "Aaagghh!!" Jack had launched an overhand smash that left a
dark stripe down the length of her left bottom oval.
CRAACCKK!! "Ohh!! God!" Followed by a similar scalding slash to her rosy
right buttock.
CRAACCKK!! "Aagghhh!" A savage sidewinder that blazed across her upper
left thigh.
And then, CRACKK! CRACKK! CRACKK! CRACKK Four more fiery flashes of
lightning exploded across her rump, burning into her bottomcurves. "AAGHH!
AGHHHH!! "AIEEAHII!" "AAGHHHHH!!!"
Honey was bawling now. "No more, for God's sake! Stop! Please!!" Her body
shook convulsively, as far as her rawhide bindings permitted.
"Had enough, Honey? Ernie, Honey says she's had enough. What do you
think?" Jack was sweating from his exertions. Honey, naturally, was bathed in
sweat, her golden skin gleaming damply, her buttocks palpitating uncontrollably.
"Look at her shakin', Jack. Her ass is jigglin' like a bowl of jelly!"
"Sure is, Ern. Maybe I'll let Betsy have a rest and let John Henry, here,
have some fun!" Jack unbuttoned his fly; in the mirror Honey could see that the
whipping had excited him prodigiously. His huge horse-cock jutted out of a
forest of swarthy pubic hair.
Ernie watched, puzzled, as Jack put the pan of bacon grease back over the
low fire, and added another log. "What the fuck is he doin'?" Ernie wondered.
"It's hot as hell in here already."
Black Jack cupped his heavy, hairy testicle sac in one hand, while his
other stroked his penis. "Oh, yeah! John Henry's ready for more action, Honey.
And he's taken a liking to your ass!"
Jack stepped and grabbed the firm reddened buttocks in his big hands.
"Christ, Betsy warmed her up good, Ern. Real good." Honey's butt was soft and
round. And thanks to Betsy, it was as warm to his touch as a hot water bottle.
And then Honey felt his hairy hands probing roughly at her cunt. "God," she
thought, "he's going to rape me again."
But after Jack had let his big cock toy with her open quim for a while, he
gripped her ass-cheeks tightly and spread them even wider, revealing Honey's
puckering asshole.
"Looks like a tight 'un, Ern. Guess I'll have to ream her out some." Jack
continued to stroke his dick with one hand.
Ernie came around behind Jack then, anxious to get a good look at the
proceedings.
Honey was petrified. He couldn't be thinking of putting his monstrous cock
in there? Could he? It couldn't possibly fit. He'd tear her to shreds!
"No, Jack! Not there!" she begged. "Please, not there!"
"What's the matter, Honey? Ain't you never been fucked in the ass? I guess
not, since your pussy was virgin. Well it don't matter none, Honey, cause
you're butt is too fine to waste, and you're gonna take it in that sweet ass
now. All ten fuckin' inches of it!"
Jack had been rubbing his cock against her clitoris, trying to stimulate
the little bud, but now Honey could feel his humongous organ sliding upward
toward her anus.
And then she felt the slow grinding pressure, as Jack tied to grind his
hard male-meat into her. But her rosebud was tight and dry and fought the huge
invader.
"Honey, I'm warnin' you. Relax and enjoy it. Lots of broads like a good
ass-fuckin', don't they Ern?"
"That's right, big Jack. They love it." The weasel was rubbing his crotch
surreptitiously, excited by the prospect of fucking Honey later himself.
"Loosen up, Honey, or you'll be sorry you didn't," Jack warned her.
But Honey's rectal muscles still clenched in opposition to the intruder,
who held her buttocks wide apart, as he tried to force his way into the little
sphincter.
"All right, Honey, I warned you. I got a sure way to loosen her up inside,
Ernie. Watch this."
And horrified, Honey watched in the mirror as Jack reached back and picked
up the heavy frying pan, filled with the bubbling bacon grease that he'd put
back on the fire a few minutes earlier.
"Spread her cheeks open for me, Ern, I'm fixin' to oil up her asshole a
little."
And to Honey's dismay, with Ernie Gibbs spreading her buttocks wide, Jack
Slocum let drop after drop of the hot grease drip onto her puckering rosebud;
some of the drops misfired and spilled into her cunt.
"Aaaaaaagggggghhhhhh! Honey's scream lasted for several seconds, until
Jack relented. He'd probably only spilled a few teaspoons, but they had served
the purpose. The grease lined the outside of her asshole, and slowly seeped
inside, too.
"Look at 'er Jack! She's bucking like a fuckin' bronco!
Ernie was right. When the scalding grease had hit her asshole, Honey
jerked so much that she moved the heavy wooden table.
"OK, Honey, let's try it again." The grease cooled rather quickly, and by
dint of its lubrication, this time Jack was able to wedge his manhood into the
tiny aperture. Once he'd got it inside, Jack set about working his meat deeper
into her. He began grinding away at her, sinking his mammoth prick further
into her cock-choking anus with every punishing thrust.
"Aungh! Aunghh! Ungggghhh!! Honey grunted. She felt like she was being
skewered by a rolling pin; Jack's cock pistoned back and forth relentlessly,
stretching her rectal muscles more than she would have believed possible
"Fuck, but she's tight! She's squeezin' my dick like she was wringing out
a mop, Ernie. Mmmm, that feels good. That's it, Honey. Take my big fucking
dick in your sweet ass!"
"Ride her, cowboy!" Ernie exhorted.
Jack was fucking her harder, now, his prick burrowing deeper inside of her
with every stroke. His big hands held the ripe curves of her scarlet-striped
buttocks in an iron grip as he continued his anal assault, his huge hairy
ball-sac rhythmically slapping her butt.
"Hey, Ernie! Work on her tits while I'm fucking her up the ass!"
"You got it, Jack," the weasel answered, and Ernie proceeded to walk around
in front of their naked captive, and, slid his hands under her, cupping a
luscious nude Honey-breast in each of his dirty hands. "Shit, Jack, they're
still all greasy!"
"That's OK. Wait! Lift that mirror up and over some, so I can get a good
look." Jack continued to work his prodigious jackhammer deeper and deeper into
her muscular chute. Every lunge drew a plaintive "Unnnngghh" from the victim of
his atrocious ass-fucking.
After Ernie repositioned the mirror, Jack gave him a wink. "Perfect. Now
get them titties."
And Ernie grabbed for her boobs again. "That's it, Ern. Now twist 'em
good. That's it! Work those big juicy tits! Mmmm, Kee-rist, her sweet ass is
tight! Twist 'em, dammit! Harder! Now in the other direction. Attaboy! Now
get a good grip on her nips. That's it. Grab 'em and dig your nails in, nice
and tight!" Ernie, his eyes feverish with sadistic lust, tightened his
yellowish talons on Honey's tasty pink nuggests, still dreadfully sore from the
cheroot burns earlier. "Got 'em? Now pull those pretty little sonsabitches
toward you. Harder!! Like you was gonna rip 'em off her tits!"
As Ernie tugged on the gorgeous' blonde's taut breast-tips, Jack,
deep-fucking Honey's rounded ass a mile a minute, exhorted him. "Aww, c'mon
Ernie-boy! You can do better 'n that! Tug 'em harder, fer chrissake! Pull
those little pink bastards! Twist 'em! Stretch 'em out as far they'll go!"
Honey could only writhe in agony and watch in disbelief as the horrid little man
extended her man-pleasing nipple-crests a good inch from her tender coral
aureoles.
"That's better, Ern! Oh, shit!! Geesus, that's good baby!! Twist those
fuckin' tits!! Harder, goddamn it! Oh, fuck!! I'm gonna come. I'm gonna
fuckin' come. Twist 'em!! Oh, Geesus, that's good! YEAHHHHHH!!!!"
Jack had been pumping his dominating derrick into Honey's tiny sphincter
for seemingly endless minutes, but now the erotic thrill of watching his partner
tormenting Honey's big, juicy lust-globes, combined with the delicious
involuntary clenching of her rectal muscles on his manhood finally took him over
the top. "Yeah, Honey, YEAH!! he grunted with ecstatic lust as he erupted
inside her, drenching her insides with his man-juice.
Jack pulled his dripping cock out of Honey, buttoned himself up, and said,
"Ernie, I rode fifty miles and one hot, long-legged blonde today, and I'm plum
tuckered out. I'm fixin' to get me some shuteye. Don't let our little friend
wander off, now, ya hear?"
"Don't worry about that, Big Jack. Me and Honey here is just fixin' to get
better acquainted. Ain't we, Honey?"
Honey, on the brink of exhaustion, didn't hear him. Angered by her lack of
response, Ernie grapped her by both blonde pigtails, and jerked hard, "I said
we're fixin' to get better acquainted. Ain't we, darlin'?"
"Yes," Honey whimpered weakly, as she wondered what the hateful little man
had in store ...
Chapter 9 Warm Flesh and Hot Metal
Jack was gone. And once again his ferret-faced sidekick had the juicy
young body of Honey Wilson all to himself. One thing was for sure, Ernie thought
-- despite all she'd been through, the blonde nineteen-year-old still looked
damned good. Her face was a little tear-streaked, her hair a little mussed, but
her voluptuous body still looked mighty fine, and mighty vulnerable strapped as
it was to the sturdy kitchen table. A lewd grin crossed the homely little man's
face as he scratched his chin. This was going to be fun.
He strolled around Honey to get a better look at his tempting prisoner.
Jack Slocum's wicked belt, Black Betsy, had left any number of livid red streaks
that criss-crossed Honey's creamy buttocks and golden thighs. Ernie slid up
behind his blonde captive and explored her well-flogged bottom with his grimy
hands. Honey's ass-cheeks were whippably firm, but her skin was soft and warm.
And as far as Ernie Gibbs was concerned, the lurid belt-marks Jack had left,
made her look better than ever, at least to him.
Ernie'd been thinking about what he might do once he had the tall blonde
all to himself, and now was his chance! There were two heavy serving spoons
hanging on the wall above the stove, each with an eighteen inch handle, and a
four or five inch long oval metal bowl at the end. One was solid, and one had
holes, so that liquid could filter through.
Ernie took the spoons and set them so that the ladle end rested in the fire
that Honey had started on the hot stove when she cooked dinner. Then he donned
a thick knitted potholder. "Did you make this, Honey? Nice work. I wouldn't
wanna burn my hand."
After a minute or two, Ernie picked up one long spoon with his "gloved"
hand and gingerly touched the other end with his bare hand.
"Yup, she's hot. What do you think, Honey?"
And the Weasel whipped the back of the hot spoon across Honey's naked left
buttock.
WHACKK!! "Aaaghhhh!" Honey cried out in pain.
The pain was doubly intense - the impact of the spoon by itself would have
been bad enough. But Ernie made it all the worse for Honey, by letting the hot
metal rest against her buttcheek for a split second. Then he slashed her across
the back of first one thigh, and then the other.
WHACKK! WHACKK!! The sturdy spoons left their stinging imprint on Honey's
soft thighflesh, as she writhed in pain.
Wiping away the thin trickle of lust-spittle that had formed at the corner
of his mouth, Ernie the Weasel began to work Honey over with the sturdy spoons.
He liked the way the one with the holes left an odd grid-like imprint on her
suntanned skin. He circled her slowly, and with short compact strokes began
bashing her legs and her back and her flanks, leaving a painful indentation in
Honey's tender flesh with every robust swing.
Every minute or so, Ernie switched spoons, so that one was always heating
on the stove. After the fourth exchange, Ernie ran the hot spoon right up along
the inside of Honey's right thigh, and then ever so briefly, let the hot metal
touch her tender pussy lips. Ernie chuckled as the naked blonde squirmed
futilely in her bonds, hopelessly trying to escape the inescapable implements.
The spoons were really only really hot on the first swing - they cooled
quickly after having been swung through the air -- but the impact of the first
swing in each rotation was devilish, kissing Honey's tormented flesh with its
scalding touch.
The ferret-faced sadist saved the curved contours of Honey's buttcheeks for
last. They were so fucking round and firm! He switched to the newly heated
spoon and blasted her bottom with it. And then he turned the hot spoon
sideways, so that it fit into the lovely crack of her ass.
"Aaagghh!" Honey screamed, as the hot metal scalded her."Take it out! For
God's sake, take it out!"
"I'll make ya a deal, Honey", Ernie offered, as he slipped the edge of the
hot spoon into her buttock crevice. "I'll stop heating the spoon if you wiggle
your backside for me real nice. How about it baby?" Ernie asked as he slashed
her rounded buttocks again. "I want you to wiggle your sweet ass like there's no
tomorrow. Got it?"
WHAPP!! Ernie struck her again, searing her buns. "Aaaoooow!!"
"And keep wigglin' it 'til I tell you to stop."
WHAPP!! Another vicious smack to the the ripest curves of her ass.
"Yes, anything, please." Honey entreated him. "Just don't burn me there
again." Honey, defenseless, had no choice but to nod her head and wriggle her
bottom as if she were deep in the throes of sexual abandon.
WHAPP!! "Aaaghhhh! N-no... For God's sake ... no ... Please ... not the
hot one... ag..."
Ernie had switched spoons yet again and the one with the holes had been
heating longer than usual. He eyed her deep-cleft bottom for a fraction of a
section and then he blistered the center of Honey's rounded right buttock with
the devilish weapon and then held the hot implement against her
WHAPP!!! "AUGGHHHH!!
"That's good, baby - work it around!" Ernie reveled in every circular
motion of her enticing undulating bottom. He pulled his cock out of his pants
and stroked his hairy member with one hand, while he whipped Honey's ass with
the other.
WHAPP!! "Side to side, for me! Keep it going, Blondie! Or I'll heat up
your crack again!"
In response to that terrible threat, Honey wriggled her butt as
lasciviously as she knew how.
WHAPP!! "Yeah, that's nice, Honey!" Ernie fondled his erection lovingly.
He couldn't get enough of the way Honey's tempting buttcurves clenched up
tightly just before each blow fell.
WHAPP!! He walloped her again right, across the top of her cheeks. "So
nice! Keep wiggling that sweet ass for me, Honey. Just for me."
Honey's taut buttocks gyrated in sensuous circles.
"Oh, yeah, Baby! WHAPP!! "Ouwwwwww!!"
"Just like that." WHAPP!! "Please ... it hurts..."
Honey felt as if the horrible little man had blasted every inch of her
bottom with the spoon, and she wasn't far wrong; her buttcheeks were rosy. It
was hard to concentrate on being sexy, when she was in so much pain. But she
did her best to keep her butt moving in slow sinuous circles, as if her ugly
tormentor were the most desirable lover in the world.
WHAPP!! "Aaiiiahhh!!" Ernie blistered her smooth bottom again. "Jiggle
those hips, Honey! Good girl! That's nice. Just like that."
WHAPP!! "Aagghhhh!! "Keep it moving!"
As Ernie continued to work on her rounded buttocks, it occurred to him that
the harder he hit 'em, the springier they became. Ernie's swollen dick was
throbbing with lust, now, as he thrashed Honey's meaty bottom-ovals. Their
cheeky resilience seemed to beckon to him to continue.
And continue he did, ripping into their soft firmness again and again.
Twice, when Honey slowed in her tantalizing wriggling, Ernie had to give her
another taste of the hot metal at the juncture of her thighs. When he did, it
didn't take her long to begin grinding her bottom in feigned sexual ecstasy once
again.
He must have given her fifty whacks, when Ernie paused. Both of them were
dripping with perspiration. Ernie's hands moved in circles over her burning
buttcheeks as he asked, "I sure could go for a drink about now, Honey. How
about you?"
"Yes. P- p-please." Honey's throat was parched. It had been hours since
she'd had anything at all to drink
"OK, darlin'. We'll have us a little drink together. Be right back."
Ernie was gone for only a minute, and then he returned, carrying a fresh
bottle of Henry Wilson's bourbon. He quickly broke the seal, and tilted the
bottle to his lips, and took a good long swig. "Ah, that's good stuff, Honey.
You want some?"
Honey, parched beyond words, whispered, "Please."
"OK, blondie, here you go. And Ernie splashed an ounce or so of the 100
proof bourbon on Honey's raw bottom. The fiery alcohol quickly seeped into
every tiny fissure, every microscopic break in the skin on Honey's rosy red ass.
"Aghhhh! It burns, you bastard!"
"Now you're not exactly in any position to be calling anyone names, Miss
High and Mighty!" Honey could feel Ernie's mouth on her buttocks, licking the
bourbon off her body.
"Mighty tasty, Honey." WHAPP!! "Aaggghhh!!"
Ernie had hit her again, right across the center of her left buttock.
"Lots of folk like bonded bourbon, Honey. But I'm kinda partial to bondage
bourbon myself. Hee, hee," he giggled, delighted with his own joke.
WHAPP!! The heavy spoon tore into her bottom again.
"How about another drink, Honey?" and Ernie doused her sensitive
ass-cheeks again, letting the alcohol burn into every exposed nerve ending on
her reddened buttcurves. And once again, his ugly face bent to her buttocks,
his tongue probing deep in her buttock cleft, searching for any stray drops of
liquor.
"Hey! You stopped wigglin'! I warned you not to do that, now, didn't I?"
"No, please. Aggghhhh!!" Ernie had switched spoons again, and jammed the
scalding end of the fresh spoon right up against her asshole. "I'm waiting!!"
Honey finally got the message, and once again began rotating her hips in
slow sinuous circles. "That's better, girl. " WHAPP!! "Aaagghhh!!!"
"Much better." WHAPP!! "Man, I love it when you move your sweet ass like
that, girl!" WHAPP!! "Aaggghhhh!!"
"That's good. I can tell you want it, Honey, don't you? You want it up
yer sweet ass, ain't that right, Honey, girl? Well, that's just where yer gonna
get it!"
Ernie let the spoon fall from his hands, stepped up behind her, and
spread the full moons of Honey's lovely scarlet buttocks wide, revealing her
vulnerable rosebud. And without further ceremony, he rammed his cock into the
tiny orifice, slapping his man-balls against her warm derriere with every
sadistic thrust.
Honey's nether channel fought him every inch of the way, but the more
she fought him, the tighter her anal muscles gripped his excited organ and the
more violently he drove his rock-hard fuck-pole into tight-clenching chute.
"URGHHH!" Ernie grunted. "Oooohh, shit, that's good, Honey-girl. Take
it deep, baby. AURHHH! ARGHHH! ARGGHHHH!!" he bellowed as he thrust his skinny
prick-tip still deeper into her cock-choking channel, as Honey emitted murmurs
of pain and revulsion.
Ernie continued drilling into Honey's spasming buttock-cleft until
Honey, exhausted by her long sexual ordeal, slumped forward unconscious. But
even that didn't stop her sadistic assailant. Ernie the Weasel continued to
pound away at her rectal channel for several more minutes until his sadistic
lust was satisfied and he spurted a slimy load of goo deep into Honey's bowels.
Chapter 10 Escape
Honey slowly returned to the land of the living some hours later. She was
still lashed to the kitchen table, and her body felt as if she'd been run over
by a herd of cattle. Her grease-spattered breasts were still lightly stuck to
the table's surface.
She could see throught the kitchen window that it was pitch dark outside,
and she could hear crickets chirping, but she had no way of telling whether it
was ten o'clock at night or four o'clock in the morning. There didn't appear to
be anyone in the kitchen with her; she could see no one in front of her and
there was no one visible in the mirror which would have shown anyone behind her.
Nor could she hear anyone breathing.
When she pulled at the ropes which held her, she sensed that her bindings
had loosened a little during her prolonged ordeal. Her right wrist, in
particular, seemed to have a little more freedom of movement. She remembered
that her bacon-turning wrist had probably been on the receiving end of more
grease than any other part of her body. And slowly she began to work that
well-greased hand against the confining leather strips.
She was desperately thirsty - it must have been twelve hours since she'd
last had anything to drink. The tepid pitcher of water on the counter near the
stove looked like the elixir of the gods to her at this point.
Little by little, the blonde captive worked her wrist back and forth in the
rawhide until... at last! She could feel her wrist sliding out of its leather
binding. Silently she used her freed right hand to help loosen the knots that
encircled her other wrist, and then, moment later, the bindings on her
belt-lashed legs.
But what now? she pondered as she pulled up the partially-ripped white
panties that had been rolled down to the tops of her thighs. First she grabbed
the pitcher of water and lifted it to her mouth, gulping the tepid water
voraciously, heedless of the the water that spilled out of the corners of the
mouth of the pitcher and dripped down onto her peerless pink-nippled breasts.
Were the gunmen gone? Perhaps they had had their fun and left. But they
had said nothing about leaving tonight, so it was best to be on her guard.
When she had finished drinking she armed herself with a carving knife, and
considered whether she should try to find some clothes, or whether she should
just flee as she was, in her half-shredded panties. In west Texas at this time
of year the peak daytime temperatures frequently exceeded ninety degrees, but
the nights were were cool, in the fifties. Clothes would be nice. A gun from
daddy's gun rack would be even better. If Jack and Ernie hadn't already hidden
them away.
As she eased the door that led from the kitchen to the parlor open, it
creaked loudly. She could hear someone snoring loudly but unevenly not far away
in the pitch-dark house. Unhappily, she gave up the idea of looking for clothes
for her escape - it was just too risky. There were no candles in the kitchen,
and looking for one in the parlor in the darkness was too dangerous. If she
stumbled into something, she would probably wake whoever was sleeping out there.
She decided she would have to go out the back door, and make her escape as
she was - wearing only the white, rather the worse for wear, panties.
She considered possible escape routes. The Wilson house was the last one
on the dirt road; treacherous rocky hills rose above the house on three sides.
The only way out, for any of them, was along the dirt road that led back toward
town. The cattle grazing land extended for acres and acres back from each side
of the road. The nearest farmhouse, the Dunbar ranch, was about three miles
down the road, and the town perhaps five miles beyond that.
All she had to do was get to the corral, get a horse, and ride the three
short miles down the road and she would be safe.
Still carrying the carving knife in her right hand, she carefully opened
the back door of the kitchen, and inched her way outside into the blackness of
the night. She paused momentarily, as the cold night air enveloped her nearly
nude body. The night was dark save for a few patches of stars in the cloudy
night-time sky. It was a full moon tonight, Honey remembered from the almanac,
but the moon was apparently hidden behind the clouds.
She paused, shivering, conscious of her tender nipples hardening in
response to the chill in the air, while she waited for her eyes to become
accustomed to the darkness. As they did so, she began edging her way carefully,
silently, across the short distance between the house and the horse corral. But
then she rememembered - Casey's horse had snapped a leg right before the hands
had left on the cattle drive, and he had borrowed her own palomino. The only
horses in the corral, with the men all gone, were Ernie's and Jack's. So she
would have to try to make a getaway on one of them. And hope that the pair of
lazy hounds that made their home in the barnyard would keep their peace.
As she approached the corral though, she made out the sleeping figure of
Ernie, leaning against the corral gate, an empty whiskey bottle lying alongside
him. Apparently he'd staggered out to the corral to feed or water the horses
and passed out at the gate. To get a horse out of the corral she'd have to get
past the little weasel. Her grip tightened on the knife. Should she flee on
foot? Or try to mount one of the intruders' horses? Wouldn't that be bound to
wake Ernie, who almost certainly wore his gun? Should she try to stab the little
ferret-faced man and then escape?
As she frantically considered the possibilities the bright moon momentarily
peaked out from behind a patch of clouds; she could see the gleaming handle of
Ernie's gun protruding from its holster at his waist. If she could stab him,
and take the gun... Surely that was her best chance.
Stealthily she tiptoed forward toward him, gripping the knife tighter,
ready to strike. But just as she was about to plunge the butcher knife into his
chest, she was startled by the barking of one of the barnyard dogs. They had
been sleeping nearby, and had gotten a whiff of the bacon grease that had clung
to her chest and congealed between her legs, and began barking.
The barking woke Ernie Gibbs from his inebriated stupor just in time to see
Honey standing over him, brandishing the big knife. "What the fu...?" he began
groggily, and then quickly tried to turn sideways and reach for his gun all at
once. Honey stabbed wildly with the knife, and buried it deep in his upper left
arm, but his right hand continued to fumble for his gun, as he attempted to
scramble to his feet. The half-naked blonde slashed at his right hand with the
knife, but only landed a glancing blow.
As Gibbs' bleeding hand tightened on the gun, beginning to draw it from the
holster, Honey threw herself at the gun hand, hoping to disarm him. As she
landed on him, she clawed and wrestled with him for control of the gun, twisting
his wrist back and forth. Hampered by the stab wound in his left arm, Ernie was
no match for the athletic blonde. With a supreme effort the desperate
bare-breasted blonde turned his gun wrist so that it pointed away from her, and
then she jerked back suddenly as the gun exploded with a deafening BANG!! Ernie
fell forward on his face in the dirt, motionless. In the moonlight, Honey could
just make out the scarlet stream that issued from his bleeding head.
Her heart pounding furiously, Honey forced herself to think. The gunshot
was bound to wake Jack. There was no time to lose. She reached down, grabbed
the gun out of Ernie's unmoving hand, opened the corral gate and ran toward
Jack's horse, Cyclone. As she did so, though, Ernie's horse, startled by the
gunshot, shot out of the gate and headed down the dirt road, leaving Cyclone as
the lone horse in the corral.
The barefoot blonde approached to try to mount him, but the black stallion
would have no part of it. He reared up into the dark night, high on two legs,
and then, just as the moon dipped behind the clouds once again, the horse came
down hard on her wrist, sending Ernie's gun spinning somewhere into the darkness
of the corral.
Honey peered into the inky blackness of the night, but it was useless. She
couldn't see the gun.
And there was no time to look for it, because she could see the faint
glimmer of a candle through a window in the house. Black Jack had probably been
roused by the gunshot - it would only be a matter of a couple of minutes, at
most, until he came outside looking for Ernie.
Desperately, Honey chased Cyclone out of the corral, so that Jack would
have to follow her on foot.
And then she began to run. For her life.
Because Black Jack Slocum wasn't going to be in a pleasant frame of mind
when he found his partner lying face down in the corral.
Chapter 11 Pursuit
When Jack Slocum first heard the gunshot, he had been dreaming of his
boyhood in east Texas and his first conquest, Daisy Thompson. Daisy was the
round-bottomed sixteen year old daughter of a neighboring black sharecropper.
Jack had just turned fourteen then, and he had pleasured the obliging Daisy out
behind Pappy Gibbs' wood-shed. He had enjoyed her tasty young body so much
that, when he set up his next rendezvous with the comely wench, he had invited
Ernie and three of their redneck pals to watch through the woodshed window.
It had been a typically sultry Texas afternoon, and excited by the thought
of his buddies watching, Jack had hid slid Daisy's homespun dress up her dark
thighs and fondled and teased the hot-blooded teen until she was squirming with
girl-lust. When she was good and hot, he called out to his concealed buddies
and told 'em to come on out if they were looking for a piece of the action.
When Daisy realized what was happening she smoothed her dress down and
tried to struggle to her feet and get away, but she never had a chance against
the five adolescent white boys. They quickly threw her to the ground, and five
pairs of eager hands quickly made short work of her thin dress. Soon there were
ten hands pawing at her gleaming thighs, her dark chocolate breasts, and groping
her sopping cunt.
"Geesus, she's wet down there! She really wants it!" Ernie called out.
"No, fellas, please ..."
"You'd better shut up, girlie, if you know what's good for you!" Ernie
hissed.
"Well if'n she want's it, let's give it to her, then!" said Fatty Johnson.
Fatty weighed over 200 lbs and he was only thirteen.
And then with four strong boys available to hold the sobbing girl down, all
five of the boys quickly took a turn slamming their stiff young dicks into
Daisy's frizzy-fringed quim. The boys, being inexperienced, all came quickly.
When each had raped the pretty black teenager, Ernie said, as he pinched
the perky nipples that capped her sweaty breasts, "I hear nigger bitches love to
suck cock. Ever suck any white boys' cocks, Daisy?"
"No, I never done nuthin' like that. That's nasty. Please ... I want to
go home."
Ernie was pissed. "Whaddya mean, 'no'?! And you better call me sir, when
you speak to me, you black slut! Let's try it again, Daisy. How about you suck
our cocks real nice, like you do them black boys?"
"No, suh. I never did nuthin like that, I swear. Let me go on home. I won't
tell no one. I promise."
"Who does she think she is?" chimed in gangly pimply-faced Bubba Whittaker.
"I'll be goddamned if the lyin' bitch is gonna suck black cock and not ours!"
"Right, Bubba! This little darkie slut needs a lesson. And I know just
how to give it to her!"
And with that, Ernie dashed back into the woodshed, and emerged seconds
later with a heavy yard-long leather strap. "My pappy's used this on me plenty;
don't you worry, Bubba. She'll be beggin' to suck you off right quick or my
name ain't Ernie Gibbs. Put her across that stump over yonder."
Moments later, the four boys held their squirming ebony captive face down
over the round remnant of a decapited elm tree. Jack, twisting her right arm,
noticed for the first time, something that would intrigue him for years -- why
is it that black women have such beautifully concave butts?
"Hold 'er tight, boys! I'm fixin' to whip the shit out of that sweet black
ass!" Ernie yelled. Then he took the strap and gave Daisy five ferocious
slashes across the roundness of her butt cheeks, each stroke punctuated by a
high-pitched yelp from their captive. "You just let us know, Daisy, when you get
a hankerin' to swallowing some dick."
And then Ernie handed the strap to Lenny Morrison, who was only twelve and
was beside himself with juvenile glee, giggling, as he flogged the squirming
brown buttocks of their softly sobbing victim. After five solidly landed blows,
he offered the strap to Jack. "Your turn, Jack! Let her have it!"
Jack, easily the tallest and strongest of the boys, hefted the strap in a
sweaty hand, and almost instantly was aware of new feelings within him. He felt
the sinews in his arms and shoulders tighten with anticipation, as if all the
muscle-building farm work he had done in his young life had been in preparation
for this moment.
Jack stripped off his shirt so that Daisy could see his well-muscled upper
body. From the terror in her eyes he could tell that while she might have though
that Ernie and and Lenny were skinny weaklings, Jack Slocum was gonna whip her
with all the strength and fury of a full-grown man.
"Yeah, baby," he whispered softly. "You're gonna get it good."
Tightening the grip on the punishing strap he brought it down on across the
quivering summits of Daisy's posterior with a thunderous WHAACCKKK!!! leaving
an angry mark across the lovely cleft that divided her buttcheeks.
"AAAAIEEEAAAHHHHHH!!" Daisy screamed. "Please ... God ... Jesus ..."
"Hold her tight, boys!" Jack exclaimed through tightly clenched teeth.
WHACCKKK!!!! The rangy teenager ripped into Daisy's shiny brown bottom
curves again.
"OOOOHHHHHWWWW!!!" Daisy moaned as she writhed in agony.
The feel of the leather in his hands, the anguished cries of the young
girl, sent sensations of mastery coursing through Jack's young body. For the
first time in his young life he felt fully alive, as if he had met his destiny.
He slashed Daisy hard across the backs of her satiny thighs, and then
revisited her nude asscheeks. He'd had many a hard-on before, but today, with
the strap in his hand, and this young naked girl at his mercy, he had an
erection that dwarfed any he had ever had before.
Jack cracked her across the middle of her back, evoking another howl of
agony from young Daisy.
His five strokes were up now. But he wasn't through with Daisy Thompson.
Not by a long shot.
"Flip her over!" Jack directed his buddies, in a voice choked with lust,
"On her back. I'm going to give her a few on those sweet titties!" He was
dying to leave some lurid stripes across her firm young breasts.
" Jesus, no! Please, God, Jack don't hit me there!" Daisy's soft brown eyes
rolled in terror as Jack's henchmen turned the wildly struggling girl over,
eventually managing to pin her spread-eagled wrists and ankles to the ground.
Jack eyeballed her gaping pussy, still coated with adolescent semen. Maybe he'd
give her a few there, too, he thought.
But first he was gonna lay some leather on those coffee-colored tits!
Daisy shook her head 'No! No!' as Jack, his man-cock throbbing, eyed the
swelling curves of Daisy's proud young breasts, topped by a pair of tempting
chocolate chip nipples. What a pair of targets! he thought to himself, as he
lifted the leather strap high over his head...
BANG!!
The gunshot in the corral exploded, waking Jack from his delicious dreamy
remembrance, just before Ernie's daddy's strap had descended for the first of
several vicious lashes he had given the Negro nymph's gleaming adolescent
breasts.
Jack drowsily climbed to his feet, sporting a massive erection, the result
of his erotic dream. He stretched, and peered into the darkness of the room.
Between the alcohol he had consumed, the darkness, and the unfamiliar
surroundings, it took him a few seconds to get his bearings, to remember that he
was in the Wilson farmhouse, and not in prison.
Once his head cleared he swore under his breath. "That damn fool
son-of-a-bitch, Ernie. That sawed-off little bastard is out there shooting at a
coyote. And the damn coyote is smarter'n he is!"
Jack was pissed at having been disturbed, just as his dream was nearing its
climax, but then it occurred to him that now that he was out of jail, he didn't
have to take his pleasure in dreams and memories anymore. He had a real live
girl in the next room strapped to the kitchen table. Little Daisy had been a
pretty young thing; but Hïney Wilson was downright ball-tightening gorgeous.
His huge manhood tingling at the thought of the luscious body of the blonde
in the kitchen, Jack stumbled in the darkness looking for the candle he had seen
on the endtable, and reached for a match in his shirt pocket. He was ready for
another go at Honey, damned ready; he could almost feel her cunt muscles
contracting around his boner.
Jack struck the match, which helped him locate the candle in the darkness.
Having lit the candle, he picked up the candle holder and started toward the
kitchen. "Honey," he said as he pushed open the door that led to the kitchen,
"I hope yer in the mood to swallow some Texas-sized cock! But if yer not, Betsy
here'll be happy to discuss the matter with..."
"What the hell?!?" She was gone! Jack snapped himself awake now. The
leather straps that had held her lay impotently on the floor. The door leading
outside was ajar. The gunshot that had woken him took on new significance.
"Ernie!!" Jack bellowed. But Ernie didn't answer. And Jack realized that
he had no idea of Ernie's whereabouts. Jack had retired first, to the pleasant
music of some solid-sounding implement of pain smacking Honey's firm female
flesh, punctuated regularly by her anguished moans of pain. It was probably
that erotic lullaby that had summoned up the recollections of Daisy in his
sleep.
Had Ernie let her go? Taken her to a bedroom? Or to a new venue for
punishment?
Or had she escaped somehow?
"Ernie!!" he hollered again, into the stillness of the night. And then
Jack stepped through the back door and outside. There was a chill in the Texas
night air, and the candle quickly blew out, leaving him cursing in the darkness.
Jack stopped to listen for a moment, and thought he could hear the rhythm of
horses' hooves in the distance.
Jack whistled a piercing whistle, his old familiar way of calling Cyclone.
He was lucky that Bubba Whittaker, the boyhood buddy with whom he'd left Cyclone
before the trial, had kept the horse for him; he had thought that he'd be out in
six months, never dreaming that it would take him four years to make his escape.
Cyclone had been mighty glad to see him when he'd come back to retrieve the big
stallion just a few days earlier. But would the black stallion remember his
whistled signal after all this time?
For a few minutes, Jack stumbled around in the darkness making his way
blindly toward the corral; that gunshot should have wakened the two horses, but
he could neither hear nor see them. The two harmless old hound dogs barking
nearby were the only sounds that broke the silence of the night.
But just then, the moon peaked out from behind a puffy cloud, and he saw
Ernie lying face down next to the corral, the gate open, and the horses gone.
Obviously Honey had somehow gotten loose, or that fool Ernie had let her loose,
and she had gotten the better of him and escaped. He had to stop her before she
reached that ranch about three miles down the road; there had been a lot of
horses hitched up in front of the Dunbar place when he had passed by on his way
to the Wilson ranch. There were more men on that ranch than he wanted any part
of.
He whistled loudly again, hoping that the black stallion was still within
hearing distance; if he wasn't, Jack was as good as back in prison. He bent
down over his fallen comrade. His partner was bleeding from his left shoulder
and a head wound. Ernie was breathing, but that was about the extent of Jack's
diagnostic capabilities. "You fucking bitch!" he whispered to himself, cursing
Honey. "If I ever get my hands on you!"
Then faintly, he began to hear the rumbling of a horse's hooves. Jack
crouched down behind the corral gate to be on the safe side, but his caution
proved to be unwarranted. It was Cyclone that was hurtling back toward the
Wilson farmhouse in response to his whistle.
"Come here, boy," Jack called to his horse. We've got us a blonde to track
down." And then, looking down at his fallen crony, "Sorry, Ern, ain't much I
can do for you, and if I don't catch up to blondie, nothin' I could do fer you
would do either one of us much good . Hang on partner, if you can, and I'll try
to come back fer you after I hunt down that big-titted blonde."
And Jack mounted the black stallion, called, "Giddy-up" and horse and rider
took off down the dirt road in hot pursuit of Honey Wilson.
Chapter 12 Flight
Honey had a good head start. She stayed on the dirt road at first, where
the footing was good. Three miles was a long run; at her best Honey could
probably have done it in something over twenty minutes - she was young and
strong and had the long, strong legs of a thoroughbred. But the night was cold;
worse, she had been subjected to all kinds of abuse and tied up for hours and
her legs just didn't respond as well as they normally would have.
But she pushed gamely on, covering ground with her long panicky strides.
Ernie's horse was somewhere far down the road in front of her, but she had
caught up to Jack's riderless horse after the first quarter mile. Honey had
tried briefly to mount him again, but Cyclone always eased away, and she decided
to just keep running and forget about the horse.
She was about half a mile away from the Wilson ranch when she heard the
first whistle piercing the night air. She wasn't sure of its meaning but it
could not possibly be good news. She redoubled her efforts, trying to put as
much distance between herself and the Wilson ranch as possible.
The full moon emerged from behind a cloud a minute or two later. Had there
been a watcher in the west Texas night, he would have been treated to the
delicious spectacle of the semi-nude blonde running in the moonlight. A modern
day Diana, a moonlit goddess of the hunt, with breasts bouncing in time to the
beat of her footsteps, her nipples beautifully distended in the crisp night air,
the muscles in her lithe thighs working overtime, the twin orbs of her
panty-covered bottomcheeks jiggling with every stride. But this goddess of the
hunt was the hunted, not the hunter.
Honey still had no idea what time it was - whether it was 10:00 PM or 4:00
AM - all she knew was that she was running for her life.
She was about a mile from the Wilson place when she heard the second shrill
whistle, much fainter this time because of the additional distance. But sound
carried a long way at night out in the open country. Her lungs were burning
now, her legs were tiring, and she was sure that her bare feet were bleeding
from a thousand footfalls on the dirt, sand, and pebbles of the lonely dirt
road. But still she ran.
Honey was nearly two miles from home, and only a mile from the safety of
the Dunbar ranch, when she first heard the patter of horse's hooves in the
distance behind her. She tried to pick up the pace, but she was near
exhaustion. If only she could make it another half mile or so, she could
probably call out so that the neighbors could hear her.
But with each step she took, the pounding of the horse's hooves grew louder
and louder. The moon had been playing peek-a-boo with the clouds all night and
the next time it peeked through she looked back over her shoulder and saw, for
the first time, the ominous figure of Jack Slocum astride Cyclone drawing
closer, perhaps a couple of hundred yards behind now.
She would never make it, unless...just then the moon dipped back behind the
clouds again... unless she left the road and tried to run cross country through
the fields. Her progress would be slowed, but so would Cyclone's. And if the
moon could only stay behind the clouds, perhaps Jack would have difficulty
tracking her in the darkness.
Convinced that this was her best chance, Honey left the road and headed
into the field, still running in the same general direction toward the nearby
ranch, at a slightly oblique angle, some twenty or thirty yards away from the
road.
But as soon as she did so, she began paying a price. The field was one
that cattle hadn't grazed on lately, and was strewn with every kind of weed,
thistle, bramble and bush that grew on the Texas flatlands. In the darkness,
Honey couldn't see the chapparal until it was too late; she hadn't run a hundred
yards before she sensed that her long legs were being shredded by a variety of
prickers and thorns.
But the night remained dark and she sensed that Jack Slocum had stuck to
the safety of the road. And still she ran, blindly, into the night.
Honey couldn't have been much more than a half mile from safety when her
foot slipped and she was thrown headlong into a prickly patch of four-foot high
mesquite. She couldn't help but cry out in pain - her breasts and belly had
been turned into pincushions. Honey could feel the sharp barbs of dozens of
mesquite thorns digging into her. She was able to brush away some of them, but
there was no time to pick out the ones that had sunk deepest into her flesh.
Not only that, but her cry of pain had probably helped Black Jack zero in on her
in the darkness.
Desperately, painfully, Honey climbed to her feet, and tried to run again.
She could see a faint flicker of light, probably from a kerosene lamp, at the
ranch house in the distance. Only two or three minutes from safety!
But then, an unkind fate took over. Jack Slocum had stayed on the road,
fearful of injuring Cyclone in the undergrowth; when Honey cried out in pain
when she fell, he could hear her, a little further up the road, and off to the
side, but he couldn't really see her in the Stygian blackness of the night. But
just as he heard her stumble to her feet and set out again through the fields,
the sun in the east crept up over the horizon.
And in the first light of dawn, Jack could see a blonde and exhausted Honey
Wilson, perhaps fifty yards ahead of him, naked to the waist, desperately
floundering through the brush, some fifteen yards off the road.
Within half a minute Cyclone had made up the fifty yards, and Jack jumped
off and set off into the field after his blonde quarry, twirling a rope overhead
like a rodeo rider.
When he got within a few yards he launched the rope once, and missed, but
moments later he tried again, and this time the lasso fell gently around Honey's
shoulders. Then Jack gave the rope a swift jerk tug, and Honey, arms
imprisoned, fell helplessly to the ground.
Chapter 13 Recapture
Jack exultantly approached the prostrate blonde, who by now was too
exhausted to resist, or even to cry out. Burying his knee in her buttcrease,
Jack warned her in no uncertain terms that if she did cry for help, he would
slit her throat with the Bowie knife he wore at his belt.
But just to be safe, he proceeded to gag Honey with his neckerchief - they
were very nearly within shouting distance of the Dunbar ranch. It took him only
a few seconds to undo the lasso, and then jerk Honey's arms back behind her. He
expertly trussed her up, left wrist to right elbow, right wrist to left elbow.
Black Jack rolled her over roughly, and was not disappointed to see tears
welling up in Honey's bright blue eyes. Jack was also rewarded with a fresh
view of her spectacular breasts in the first faint light of daybreak. The early
morning sun seemed to bathe them in its soft, warm glow as they rose and fell
with her every labored breath.
When she was safely bound he grabbed Honey by her hair and dragged her
across the road behind a thicket, where they were safely out of sight of the
Dunbar ranch, as Cyclone dutifully followed. While he was dragging her, he had
an idea. An idea Ernie would have gotten a kick out of, he knew.
Honey's upper body was streaked with blood from many tiny cuts; a number
of burrs, prickers and thorns of various kinds were embedded in her tanned belly
and her boldly thrusting pleasure-melons. Her coral nipples were rigid and
slightly bluish from the cold; a red droplet leaked from one of them, the result
of a thorn piercing the tender bud. The fronts of her long, luscious thighs
were in even worse shape, criss-crossed as they were by dozens of nicks and
scratches.
But back to Jack's idea. "You put me to a lot of trouble tonight, Honey.
And I don't like being put to no trouble by no woman. Not to mention the fact
that you put a bullet in my sidekick and chased his horse off to God knows
where."
"I would have thought you would have figured out that it's not a good idea
to fuck with Jack Slocum yesterday. But since you didn't learn yesterday, I
reckon I'm gonna have to learn you another lesson today."
During his little speech Jack had taken a long length of fine black rope,
not much thicker than a heavy twine, from his saddlebag and tried to wrap it
around Honey's opulent right breast. But because her breasts were still
sporting a thin film of bacon grease, the rope kept slipping off.
Not to be dissuaded from his goal, Jack Slocum grabbed two handfuls of
wind-blown Texas sand from the ground, and mashed the gritty sand into her
blood-dappled upthrusting breasts. Even as she lay on her back on the ground,
and notwithstanding all the abuse that they had suffered, her succulent
pink-tipped breasts surged skyward, as if they were beckoning to the morning
star. But the only things to return their salute were the powerful hands of
Black Jack Slocum.
Jack worked the coarse sand deep into her rounded breastflesh, completely
unconcerned with her discomfort when the sand found its way into the numerous
tiny lacerations that covered their curved surfaces. Within a few minutes
though, the fine sand had done its job, and removed most of the slickness from
from her boobs. And then Jack wiped most of the surface sand away, leaving just
a few grains here and there on her young flesh.
From Honey's point of view, it felt as if her tender breasts had been
sand-papered. They had been rubbed raw, in places, and worst of all, they were
still utterly at Jack's mercy.
Which was just the way he liked it.
He stood the half-naked blonde up then, ignoring her pleading, voiceless
"No!" through the gag. With her arms pulled taut behind her, her luscious
breasts jutted forward even more provocatively than usual.
"That's better!" Slocum gave her a twisted grin. "This is for Ernie,
Honey."
Jack took a length of the thin black rope again and looped it around the
base of her quivering left breast again, yanking hard on the ends to remove any
hint of slack. This time, there was no grease to prevent the cord from biting
deeply into her titflesh. Honey winced as she watched Black Jack take out his
anger on her poor boob. With the base of her tit constricted, the juicy globe
soon begun to swell considerably.
Jack was in his element. It had been four years since he'd had the
pleasure of tying up a juicy pair of breasts. Four years since he'd seen the
look of utter disbelief in a woman's eyes when she understood what he was about
to do. Cause not two women in a thousand, had any fuckin' idea that a real man
like him loved nothing more than enjoying their looks of fear, surprise, and
ultimately submission when he turned their soft, sensitive melons into bulging
hemispheres of pain.
But Honey was going to learn. She was going to get the message loud and
clear...
Honey Wilson's tits had been big and bold before he started working on
them, but Jack knew just how to make 'em stand out even more. He wrapped the
black cord around her breast again, and once again tugged hard at the ends.
Twice more he wound the rope tightly around the captive melon, squeezing more
and more of her breastflesh toward him as he did so.
When he was done, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Already, in the
dawn's early light, he could see the shadowy blue veins and the pale pink
roseates of her pleasure-mounds becoming much more prominent. Years of
experience had taught him that for best results, you had to take the size and
shape of a woman's breasts into account before settling on the most effective
method of tying 'em up.
"Lookin' good, Honey. Lookin' damn good!!" Satisfied that the technique he
had used on Honey could hardly have been improved upon, Jack carefully proceeded
to imprison her other breast in like fashion.
While he worked he noticed that both of Honey's golden globes still bore
traces of the marks left by his slaps and Ernie's punches from yesterday. And
they were dotted here and there with prickers, thorns, and speckles of blood.
But Jack's eyes, were irrevocably drawn to the four loops of black cord that
had sunk deeply into each creamy orb. Jack wasn't quite sure why, but he always
liked to use black rope when he worked on a blonde's tits. White rope looked
better on dark-skinned girls.
Jack was damn pleased with Honey's tit-popping breast bondage. He'd tied
her throbbing treasures so tight that they seemed to be strangled by the black
cords. They were thrusting and bulging to beat hell. And he could tell that
they had to be throbbing with pain, too. It had only been a minute or two, but
already her swollen jugs had begun to change color slightly; they pointed at
Jack like a pair of twin torpedos. Torpedos that seemed likely to explode at
any minute.
Honey watched in dismay as Jack's big hands reached for her taut globes,
and then encircled them; his lightest touch would be torture, she knew.
"Nnngggmphh! Nnngmmpphh!!" she pleaded incoherently.
"Ya see how purty I made 'em look, Honey? Why, they're settin' up just
like a coupla them grapefruits we used to grow back home." Black Jack's big
hands began to close lightly on Honey's naked breasts.
"Yup, just as big and round as grapefruits." He squeezed a little harder,
now, his moderate pressure forcing blood to trickle through a few of the cuts
she had sustained when she had fallen into the thorny mesquite in the darkness.
"Tasty ruby red grapefruits." He clenched still harder. Honey had never felt
such pain. Her knees gave way, but his unforgiving grip on her nude breasts
kept her from falling to the ground.
"You know what I like to do with grapefruits, Honey?"
Honey was screaming incoherently into her gag.
"I like to squeeze 'em, Honey. I like to squeeze 'em so hard that the
juice runs out." His grip tightened a little more. "Right through the rind."
His grip tightened yet again. "Right through the fucking rind!" A little more
blood was oozing now. "Ya gotta squeeze 'em damn hard to do that, Honey,
especially if the fruit is young and firm." Jack 's teeth were clenched now,
and the tendons in his forearms were rigid from the force he was exerting.
Honey could feel an almost volcanic pressure building inside her tortured
breasts; they were adorned with several thin streams of scarlet now, as if she
were wearing some strange erotic war paint.
Jack's hands relaxed, then, and he let them drop to his sides. But just so
that he could enjoy the deep impressions his talons had left in Honey's bleeding
breastflesh.
"Mmmm-mm. Don't know how they're feelin', Honey, but they sure are lookin'
good. All red and gold and pink and wrapped up in those pretty black ribbons. "
"Yer a tall girl, Honey. What, 5' 9"? How'd ya like to be a little taller?"
And Jack deliberately took her two distended breast tips securely between
thumbnail and forefinger and lifted. Slocum stood more than half a foot taller
than the naked blonde, and as he pulled upward, he seemed to be trying to lift
her in the air by her chilled young nipples. Jack could see her screaming into
her gag. After some seconds he relented and let go, but not before he had
turned her pink nipples into twin pellets of pain.
And then, without warning, "SLAPP!! Jack backhanded her viciously across
one swollen bleeding breast. The force of the blow drove Honey to her knees in
agony in the middle of the road. The tightness of her breast bondage magnified
many times the pain she had endured when he had slapped her tits yesterday.
"Get the fuck up, you snivelling slut! I ain't hardly started with you,
yet!" When the cowering Honey climbed to her feet, Black Jack Slocum's thick
knuckles slammed into her other throbbing globe, the back of his big paw sending
the nearly-naked blonde careening into the dirt again.
"Daylight's comin' on. I reckon I'll have to git you back to the ranch
before we can have any more fun. "
Jack had been careful, when tying Honey's tits, to leave long leads
trailing from each breast. To Honey's horror Jack took the leads and tied them
to his saddle horn. Then he reached into his saddle bag and pulled out a light
whip.
It couldn't be! But sure enough Jack flicked Cyclone on the rump with the
whip and the stallion began to start back toward the Wilson ranch. Pulling the
exhausted young blonde forward by her bound breasts! Her arms being cinched
behind her, high on her back, didn't make the journey any easier, either.
The horse began at a moderate walk, but after a few hundred yards, Jack,
who was following along on foot, playfully snapping the whip every now and then,
caught Honey's eye and with a cruel thin-lipped smile, he flicked Cyclone again.
When the horse moved forward at a brisker pace, the reins jerked tighter on her
swollen boobs, and it was everything Honey could do to keep her balance.
Black Jack was pitiless. He knew that the blonde had to have been
exhausted by her two mile run, not to mention her ordeal of the day before. But
each time, just when she seemed to have adjusted to Cyclone's quickened gait,
Jack would give the horse a flick and the stallion would pick up the pace.
Several times Honey's legs gave out completely, and she fell forward; only the
angle that connected the breast ropes to the saddle kept her from falling on her
face. But each fall took an excruciating toll on her tender boobs. It was a
testament to Jack's artistry with rope that his hempen harness held her
blood-smeared breasts captive throughout the long trek back.
Halfway home, it was clear that Honey could no longer keep up with
Cyclone's accelerating pace and Jack stopped the horse for a few minutes to let
her catch her breath. Jack was no necrophiliac; he wanted a hurtin' Honey, not a
dead one. But when she was ready to continue, her breasts blush-red from their
strict confinement, he added to her misery by taking the whip and giving her two
punishing slashes across the tops of her tortured tits and then applying half a
dozen vicious lashes to the backs of her well-prickered thighs.
The journey back to the ranch was the worst hour of Honey's life. She had
been close, so close to escaping, and now here she was being dragged by her tits
to a fate unknown. And with every tortured step the fiendish black cords seemed
to bury themselves more deeply into her swollen breast-mounds.
Worst of all, every few minutes, as she jogged along behind Cyclone, she
caught Black Jack's eye. Each time he gave her the same enigmatic smile. What
fate lie in store for her back at the ranch?
Chapter 14 Raped in the Shadow of the Hanging Tree
They were almost back to the ranch, when Jack thought he saw the sunlight
reflect off of a faint glimmer of blue in the distance, north of the dirt road.
"Honey, is that your local swimmin' hole?", he asked.
When she nodded, "Yes," Jack said, "Well, let's get you cleaned up then.
You're a little the worse for wear this morning, sweetie."
And so she was. Thin trails of blood led from the numerous scratches on
the front of her body, and her chest and torso were grimy from grease and dirt.
Wild wisps of her golden hair strayed across her sweat-streaked face and brow.
As they turned off the road, heading for the small spring-fed lake that was
almost entirely hidden from the road by a small grove of trees, Slocum began
undoing Honey's breast ropes. Honey's fiendishly tight breast bondage had caused
her full-nippled globes to pass through the successive stages of pinkness,
rosiness, redness, a blue-tinged redness, and were well on their way now to a
dangerous blueness. Big Jack was aimin' to have himself a lot more fun with
those juicy blood-streaked melons, and he didn't want to ruin them now.
As he unwound the black cords, he watched Honey's big blue eyes tear up as
the nerve endings in her breasts came back to life. With a vengeance. With her
arms tied behind her, she could do nothing to soothe the pain that coursed
through them. She just swayed gently from side to side, as if somehow that
might bring them relief. But all it did was give Jack a close-up view of the
gentle jiggle of her cherry-red boobs.
When they made their way through the trees that shielded the pond, Jack
took Honey's gag off, and then gave her a push in the back toward the water.
The grove of oak trees completely encircled the shimmering lake. One
immense, spreading live oak dominated the far side of the lake; the other,
younger oaks seemed to be arranged as acolytes to this ancient giant. As
always, Honey shuddered a bit when she faced that tree, which seemed more dead
than alive. Most of its lower branches were stark, leafless, somehow
threatening. Honey had heard, from some of the older ranch hands, that the tree
was cursed. Once she had heard Red, the bunkhouse chief, call it "The Hanging
Tree."
Jack hitched the black stallion to one of the trees that fronted the pond,
and then looked back over his shoulder, as Honey called out, "How can I wash
myself, with my hands tied behind me?"
"Don't you worry yourself none about that, Honey," Jack said, as he strode
toward her. "I'll take care of that." Jack reached down and tugged Honey's
white panties down to her ankles and let her step out of them.
Jack stripped naked and followed Honey into the crisp cool water of the
pond. It had been days since he'd had a bath and the water felt good. After
he'd washed himself off, he moved closer to Honey.
Honey looked at Jack's naked body, and tried to suppress her disgust, her
loathing. He was the hairiest man she had ever seen. Days-old growth of beard,
hairy chest, hairy arms, hairy legs, and his huge horse-cock and his plum-sized
testicles hung from a veritable forest of tangled black pubic hair.
Jack could sense the revulsion in her glance, and it only made him angry
again. He approached his blonde captive, who by now stood crotch deep in the
clear water, the water line bisecting her blonde triangle of pubic hair. The
ripples from his movements in the water caused her pussy hair to seem to shimmer
in the sunlight.
He splashed a handful of water on to a softly rounded shoulder, and using
her balled-up panties as a washcloth, he washed her all over, face, neck, arms,
legs, front and back, belly, back. He took his time scrubbing her breasts and
torso; he had to rub pretty hard to remove all of the grease and sand and blood.
She tried to turn away when his scrubbing hurt her sore boobs, and Jack had to
slap her to get her to hold still.
Then he had Honey kneel down in the pond while he cleaned out her pussy and
her asshole, using both his fingers and her panties, until he was satisfied that
she had been properly cleansed..
"OK, Honey. I'm gonna untie you so you can wash your hair. But don't try
anything stupid, OK?"
When he had undone the ropes that had imprisoned her, Honey rubbed at her
wrists and forearms, hoping to rub some feeling back into them. But when Jack
told her to hurry up, she began to unbraid her long golden pigtails.
Despite the fact that he'd raped her a couple of times and roughed her up
pretty good, he felt a strange intimacy watching the beautiful blonde teenager,
standing nude, waist-deep in the little pond, as she performed the feminine
bathing rituals that she had done in pristine privacy a hundred times before.
She turned her back on him while her fingers worked at the braids. Jack's
cock began to swell as he studied the beautiful half-moons of her buttocks just
above the water line. He could see the fast-fading marks left by Black Betsy.
The old indian who had fashioned the belt had been right - it hurt like blazes,
but as if by some redskin magic, seemed to leave no lasting marks. There were
also a lot of peculiar oval-shaped marks on her ass and thighs that were kind of
hard to figure. Knowing Ernie, he might have whupped her with everything but
the kitchen sink.
When the braids were undone, Honey lifted her arms to remove a hair pin or
two, and she threw them on the grassy bank. The position gave him a good luck
at her rather broad shoulders, tapering gently to a petite waist, and then
widening again at the round swell of her hips. She must have stood in just such
a position, hip deep in water, fairly often, as her back was tanned a slightly
darker gold than the creamier flesh of her plump round derriere.
Jack's cock was pulsing, now, aching for release. He gave it a couple of
long strokes while he remembered the thrill of fucking her sweet ass the night
before. Man, there was nothing like the feel of being the first man in a pretty
girl's tight squirming rectum.
For four years he'd lain awake in jail at night trying to remember the
ecstasy of that lost pleasure. Spreading a pair of virgin buttocks wide, then
slidin' Big Fella right up to her puckering anus, so that victim of his rape
could feel the warm, pulsing massiveness of his cock-staff even before his
mighty phallus invaded her resisting channel. Specially if he'd had a chance to
use Black Betsy to warm her buttock-cheeks up real good first. Damn! He was
getting hot again just thinkin' about it. His purple-veined cock stood at angry
attention and he slid his hairy paw up and down its length, pleasuring himself.
Jack felt his wet, hairy balls tighten with man-lust as he enjoyed the way the
droplets of spring water on Honey's nude flesh sparkled and shimmered in the
bright morning sunlight.
For a few minutes he lackadaisically washed the trail dirt off of his own
body while he watched the blue-eye beauty attempt to pluck the myriad of
prickers and burrs from her sweet flesh, wincing as she did so.
Then Honey bent at the waist and let her long, blonde hair fall forward
into the water; she slowly began to rinse two days accumulation of grease,
blood, sweat, and tears from her glorious tresses.
When Honey leaned forward, crotch-deep in the lake, Jack noticed the eerie
reflection of the Hanging Tree in the water. Its dark limbs seemed to be
reaching out hungrily as if to enclose Honey's sleek legs, refracted beneath the
water's surface by the morning sunlight. Somehow that bizarre image seemed to
cast a spell over Jack. When Honey bent over, he got a good view of her tempting
pussy lips from behind. He knew he should be rushing back to the ranch to check
on Ernie, but Damn! In that position, Honey was just too delicious to pass up.
In two strides through the thigh-high water, he was on her. He slammed
into her from behind, knocking her forward into shallower water. He had entered
her while she was standing up bent over, but soon his forceful thrusts drove her
to her knees in the water.
She thrashed around violently in the shallow water, trying to escape the
huge organ that seemed to fill her insides. But Jack, with his superior height
and strength maintained his leverage as he sawed his mighty dick in and out of
her moist cunt. His hands were on her hips now, as he pounded away at her
vagina.
"Take it, whore! Ten inches of hot Texas cock! You know you love it!"
Each time that Honey thought that Jack was in to the hilt, he surprised
her with a lunge that buried his pole a little deeper into her hot, tight
channel. Her vaginal muscles seemed to clutch at him, despite her seeming
attempts to pull away. And through it all, Honey had the notion that the
menacing oak on the far bank seemed to hover over her, taunting her
helplessness.
Jack kept on humping her, grinding his meat all the way into her suctioning
pussy. He couldn't believe a girl as tall and as well-built as Honey could be
so fucking tight. His cock was throbbing with sensation as he worked it in and
out.
"Mmmm, so tight. Grind your ass for me, bitch!"
His big hairy balls slapped against her ass with every concussive thrust.
Finally with a strange, almost animalistic cry, Black Jack emptied a geyser of
ball-juice deep into her spasming vagina. His weight fell forward on her,
flattening her body face down in the shallow water, causing her to choke on the
uninvited water that had entered her nose and mouth.
Honey coughed up water, as she lifted her head. She sensed that Jack was
in a state of post-coital relaxation. She could feel his weight, but no real
pressure; his guard seemed to be down. Should she try to get away and race him
back to Cyclone and the gun that figured to be in his saddlebag? Or should she
just play along, be a good little victim, and hope that Jack wouldn't kill her,
or worse, when they got back to the ranch?
Honey agonized over this for some seconds - if her escape attempt failed
(again), she knew that she would pay dearly. But there was no guarantee that he
wasn't going to kill her, or worse, anyway. The horse was only twenty yards
away -- if only she could break free from his grasp...
If she were going to act, she had to act now, while the big outlaw was off
guard; his alertness was bound to increase with each passing second.
She decided in a flash, scrambling to her knees, and freeing her left leg.
Still facing away from him, she kicked back hard with her well-toned leg and her
bare heel connected squarely with Jack's scruffy-looking face. Her kick caught
him flush on the nose, squashing it back into his face and causing it to spit
forth streams of blood.
"You bitch!" Jack screamed, as he scrambled up to his knees in the shallow
water, trying to maintain his grip on her other slippery leg. Honey struggled
unsteadily to her feet, trying to free the entrapped limb; Jack's face was a
mask of red, as she kicked at his head again, catching him on the side of the
head, while she tried to spin free of his grasp. Honey was able to drag him a
few feet toward she shore, as she desperately strained to get away.
For his part, for the next few seconds, Jack just tried to hang on to the
slick flesh of her right ankle firmly, with both hands, while on his knees, as
Honey stood over him kicking at him. Her instep caught him twice more squarely
in the ribs, before Jack got his timing right and lifted up hard on her right
leg, just as Honey kicked out with her left.
When he did so, Honey lost her balance, and fell backward, as Jack lifted
her imprisoned ankle still higher as he tried to climb to his feet. The naked
blonde landed hard on her back, just at the edge of the pond, with Jack still
holding one ankle firmly in tow. Honey wriggled backward in the grass trying to
scoot away from her angry assailant, kicking out occasionally with her free
leg. Until Jack gave her imprisoned ankle a violent twist, causing her to
scream in pain, and stop moving for just a second.
And that was all it took. Jack released the ankle and jumped on her,
driving his bony knee firmly into her soft gut, knocking the breath out of her.
And in a trice he was kneeling astride her, the weight of his big naked body on
her chest, his wrists pinning hers to the grassy bank. Her legs were free now,
as she struggled still to get away, but he had her under control now.
Blood still spewed from his broken nose, and dripped down on to her face,
neck and chest. "You broke my nose, you fucking cunt!" he raged. "Your ass is
mine, bitch, when I get you back to the ranch. You're gonna regret the day you
kicked Jack Slocum."
"But first," Jack edged a little further forward on her chest, his hand on
her throat, "you're gonna suck some dick! Open your mouth, bitch! And I swear
to God, that if you touch me with those pretty white teeth, I'll hang you by
your tits from that oak tree over yonder."
Honey by now was in a state of abject compliance. She had tried again to
escape and failed miserably. But her blue eyes still issued sparks of hatred as
she relented and opened her mouth, only to have Jack fill it with his huge
semi-tumescent cock.
Blood from Jack's bleeding nose continued to seep down into her face and
her hair and it ran down his chest and abdomen. His prick was covered with his
own blood by the time he crammed it into her mouth.
"Suck the blood off of it, Honey. Suck it clean! Swallow it!"
But as fast as Honey could lick the blood away, Jack's hands would daub at
his own body or hers and then wipe his blood-stained hands on his cock, and give
her another sanguinary helping.
Despite the pain from the broken nose, the scene was definitely hot. He was
forcing his young blonde prisoner to swallow the blood she had spilt. And he
was using his big veiny cock to feed her.
He was fully erect again, Jack was, all ten inches of him. His dick was so
hard, he felt like he could have cut diamonds with it. Holding her wrists in an
iron grip, he face-fucked Honey Wilson with an animalistic frenzy.
Honey looked up at the dreadful, dripping, blood-smeared mask above her,
only to find dark empty eyes, and tobacco-stained teeth clenched in a paroxysm
of sadistic rage. And above him, the dark leafless branches of the ominous oak,
the Hanging Tree, standing guard.
"Take it, bitch, choke on it!" he muttered over and over again, as he
forced his manhood into the warm cavern of her mouth.
Honey, literally in fear for her life, wondered if it were possible to be
suffocated by such a huge, relentless fucking machine. Jack's prick wasn't only
long, it was thick. Honey had watched horses mate on the ranch, and Slocum's
cock rivaled theirs in girth.
Honey gagged, but Jack didn't care, he just pumped harder. Honey choked,
but Jack didn't care, he just rammed his fuck-pole in a little deeper.
"Swallow it! Swallow it! I'll teach you to kick me in the face you fucking
whore!"
Honey could feel his balls bashing her in the chin with his every lunge;
she tried to time her breathing so that she inhaled when he pulled his
prodigious penis back slightly, but there was never time to take in enough air
before his massive member descended again, filling every nook and cranny of her
mouth and throat. She gulped frantically for air almost continuously now, as
Jack found the back of her throat with every violent lunge.
A tiny part of her mind thought back on Rosita, the Mexican maid in San
Antonio. Rosita had told her that Jack Slocum's cock had filled her throat.
Honey had always thought that the pretty brown-skinned girl had been
exaggerating; now she knew that Rosita had spoken nothing but the truth.
But just when she thought there was no more oxygen in west Texas, just when
she seemed to be on the verge of asphyxiation, Jack withdrew from her mouth and
scooted back down her chest. His massive member, blood and saliva-streaked,
lay on her sternum midway between her close-set breasts. The bases of Honey's
suntanned pleasure-gourds were still deeply creased by the cruel breast-ropes
that had bound them so painfully back on the trail.
Honey had no idea what his intentions were until Jack's big hairy hands
found the outer curves of her upthrusting mounds and pressed them inward around
his manhood.
"No... Please... Stop... Agghhh, it hurts!" she moaned as Jack's hands
tightened on her pain-wracked knockers.
"High time you learned what these big beauties are good for, Honeychile,"
Jack growled as he molded Honey's nude pleasure-mounds into a delicious canyon
of flesh.
Honey squirmed frantically, futilely beneath the black-browed desperado,
but to no avail.
"Ah, don't play Miss Virgin with me, Honey," Jack snarled, as Honey
struggled to free herself. "Ernie told me about how you loved to stick your
teasing titties in the face of all yer daddy's lily-livered cowpokes. "If any of
'em was a real man," Jack continued through tightly-clenched teeth as he slid
his thick, dark-veined cock back and forth between Honey's golden-brown
breast-melons. "You'd a learned a long time ago, that there was three things a
juicy set of knockers like yers was good for." Jack paused to press his
thumbnails into the soft curves of Honey's throbbing lust-gourds. "Whippin',
ropin', and fuckin' " Jack announced with incontrovertible finality. "Or my
name ain't Black Jack Slocum."
"Mmmm, nice," Jack muttered as he slid his cock-meat through Honey's
cleavage. "And don't you let no namby-pamby, church-goin' greenhorn tell you
different."
"Yep," Jack grunted lustily, "big round tits like these were just made for
fuckin', baby. Too bad you had to piss me off," Jack snarled as he wiped his
bloody nose with his forearm, "Cause now, I'm gonna haveta work 'em over
special, like."
Honey's heart sank. Could things get any worse?
Then Jack, his blood dripping down on her pink-crested lust-globes,
crushed her tender breasts even tighter around his swollen member as he moved
his swollen sword of flesh back and forth in the velvety breast-tunnel he had
created.
Honey's girlish imagination had never conceived that a man, even a
low-life like Jack Slocum, could take pleasure from abusing a woman's tender
breasts in such a way. Especially after all they had suffered yesterday and her
painful breast bondage this morning.
Jack had been obliged to release her wrists to grab hold of her opulent
love-globes, and perhaps he thought that he had quelled Honey's resistance, but
he was wrong. She lay passively for a little while longer as Black Jack worked
his cock through the deep ravine between her still damp lust-melons. "Oh,
that's good, baby. So fucking good!" Jack's third, ring, and little fingers
pushed her breast-flesh inwards, while the thumb and index finger of each hand
worked her swollen nipples.
Moments later, when she thought Jack was completely distracted by lust,
Honey's nails flew at his face, aiming for his eyes. But she must have
telegraphed her lunge, because he quickly lifted his long arms and fended off
her attack.
Once again he seized her wrists in his, but this time he twisted one of
them viciously, turned her over face down in the damp grass, and pinned one
wrist high on her back in a painful hammerlock. "Give me your other wrist,
honey, before I break this one!" he snarled.
Meekly, Honey surrendered her other wrist, which Jack quickly pinned to her
back as well. Luckily for Slocum, they were lying only a few feet from where he
had undone her bonds when they had first arrived at the pond. He was able to
reach across her, grab one of the lengths of rope, and in no time Honey's wrists
were once again firmly bound behind her back.
Then Jack rolled Honey back over onto her back - a painful position, what
with her wrists tied beneath her. Honey groaned as he did so.
"Ooooh, does that hurt?" he taunted her mockingly. "I'm soooo sorry.
That's what you git, fer trying to scratch my eyes out, blondie!" And once
again Jack's paws crushed Honey's nude breasts together so forcefully that he
almost had to strain to force his humongous prick between the two soft
tit-balls. Blood continued to drip from his face down on to her surging
breasts.
Jack had some good nipple action going now, too. His hairy-knuckled
fingers twisted Honey's pretty pink breast tips first in one direction and then
the other, as he rammed his rod through her smooth, sensitive love-globes. The
erotic sensation was indescribable as Black Jack's massive cock poked her chin
as if to punctuate each long pleasurable plunge through Honey's blood-streaked
breastflesh. Somehow the sight of his own blood on Honey's nakedness excited
him more than he would have thought possible.
"Ahhhh, Honey. That's - so - fucking - good." His staccato grunts
"Fucking - your - big - juicy - tits" accompanied several violent thrusts
between her captive mounds.
Flinty hard nipples trapped between his brutal fingers, silky soft
blood-smeared breasts engulfing his thrusting cock. Pretty hard to beat that
combination, Jack thought to himself, as he continued to punish her man-pleasing
tits, slamming his huge prick into the tender valley of curved flesh.
"Geesus!", Jack moaned. "There ain't nothin' like a good tit-fuckin',
Honey!" He couldn't get enough of crushing the young blonde's pink-nippled
love-globes together, and then ramming his horse-cock between 'em. Jack pulled
her nipples straight up and in, so that they almost touched.and then ground
them between his thumbs and forefingers. This time, Honey could not suppress a
soft scream - her nipples were aflame with pain.
"I thought I told you to be still, Honey," Jack murmured. "Remember what
I said about hangin' you by yer tits? Mmmm... Ohhh, Fuck!" And Jack
continued to thrust his thick meatus between Honey's poor abused breasts until
at last, with a violent shudder he discharged a series of creamy spurts of semen
onto her tits. And then he rubbed the viscous liquid into her breasts as if it
were some strange perverse lotion.
The he flipped Honey over onto her stomach and used his muscular thighs to
part her legs. He slid his flagging, but still impressive member into the soft
valley between her wide-spread thighs. The touch of her satiny girl-flesh, the
sight of the tempting curves of her grass and mud-stained buttocks, and the
sweet dark groove between them, soon had him as hard as the monoliths in
Monument Valley. His hairy hands played over her bottom-cheeks like a pair of
long-legged tarantulas as he squeezed her ass-meat.
"Yeah, baby. That's right! Yer gonna get it right up yer hot little Rio
Grande!" Jack growled, as the droplets of crimson continued to cascade downward
from his bleeding nose. "You didn't seem to like it much, last night; maybe
you'll like it better today!"
Using his own blood and jism and the spring-y dampness of her body as his
only cock-lube, the swarthy gunslinger lunged forward, penetrating Honey's
sensitive rosebud with one sudden vicious thrust, while he pressed her pretty
face hard against the grassy bank to stifle her cries of pain.
"Oh, fuck!! That's good! "UNGH! UMNGHH!! UNNNGGHH!!!" he grunted as he
pounded his fleshy piston deep into Honey's too-small rectum. The heat of the
morning sun peeking through the live oaks felt good on his hairyback, as he
increased the speed of his movements.
Honey felt as she if had been impaled on one of her daddy's pickhandles.
Each of Jack's punishing thrusts sent fiery flames of pain through her pelvic
area, but her muffled cries of anguish went unheard, as Black Jack Slocum
continued his brutal butt-fucking.
"UNNGGHH!!!" the escaped convict groaned with pleasure again, as he pressed
Honey's pretty face and mouth harder into the moist grass with his right hand,
while his left arm curled around under her body. He fingered her clit briefly
with his left hand before sliding his hand up to cup the fullness of her left
breast.
Then his implacable fingers closed on her tender love-melon with the same
grapefruit-crushing grip he had employed on the trail earlier, bringing fresh
tears of pain from her blue eyes, and new moans from her grass and mud-smeared
lips.
"Tits and ass, baby. You got just what a man wants!" Jack snarled as his
fingers tightened on Honey's tortured breast with the tenacity of a ship-wrecked
man clinging to some floating debris. "MMMH! MMHHH! MMMPHHH!!!" he grunted
again, as he continued to pound his Texas-sized man-meat impossibly deep into
Honey's cock-clutching nether passage. Jack's pelvic lunges were so forceful, so
violent, that Honey, in a moment of near hysteria, wondered if he were trying
to drill her nude body into the soft bank of the pond.
Both of his brutal hands were on her throbbing, pink-nippled breasts now.
Black Jack used his punishing grip on her love-gourds as hand-holds to pull
Honey's nude young body back against his thrusting pelvis in time with his every
vicious thrust.
Finally, after a quarter-hour or so of ever-rising excitement, even Jack's
Herculean stamina yielded to the orgiastic waves of sensation that flooded
through his body. He shuddered with virile pleasure as his mighty cock-weapon
fired a few more rounds of Slocum-sperm deep into Honey's tight rectal sheath.
His lust depleted, Jack finally released Honey's firm young love-goblets,
and he slowly pulled his dripping organ out of her tender anus. He grabbed the
blonde teenager by the hair and pulled the still-bound teenager up to a
kneeling position on the spongy grass, and then he presented his huge prick,
dripping with semen and ass-slime, for her to lick clean.
Repulsed by the notion, Honey balked at first. The snake-eyed outlaw had
to drag the nude beauty up to her feet and give her pink-crested breasts a few
hard-knuckled backhands, before the blue-eyed rancher's daughter dropped back to
her knees and slavishly did Jack's bidding. In an attempt to escape further
torment, Honey's blonde head bobbed up and down busily, polishing Jack's
stallion-cock with her pretty lips and pink tongue until it was clean as a
whistle, save for her girlish saliva.
When she was done, Jack realized that his fractured nose still hurt like
hell, but it had finally stopped bleeding. He dragged Honey's exhausted body
back over to the edge of the pond and they bathed all over again. But he didn't
waste any time drying her off. She could drip-dry back at the ranch, while he
searched the house for valuables. It was time to high-tail it for Mexico, where
he was fixin' to lay low for a time.
Too bad about Ernie, Jack mused as he dressed while Honey nursed her nude
and aching body in the secluded pond. The little bastard would have gotten a
kick outa his little adventure with Honey Wilson. Trackin' the naked blonde in
the moonlight. Lassoing her into submission. Tyin' her juicy jugs up so tight
he coulda flipped a silver dollar into the air and watch it bounce off of 'em.
Tit-slapping Honey's bulging boobs a few times and then squeezin' em til the
blood trickled out of the pricker-wounds. Hitchin' her tit-ropes to Cyclone's
saddle, and letting the coal-black stallion drag her by her bound-up knockers
all the way back to the pond had been fun, too.
The grand finale had been giving Honey's dripping young body a hellaciously
hot tit-fucking and a cock-thrilling ass rape underneath the eerie live oak
whose dark shadow seemed to have spread across the near side of the little pond.
Yep, Jack thought as he pulled the clasp of Black Betsy tight around his
waist, it had been a quite a morning. A flock of crows passed overhead as he
squinted up at the morning sun that was rising in the eastern sky. And it was
only about nine o'clock.
{Next chapter -- Back at the Ranch}
Chapter 15 Back at the Ranch - Honey's Painful Homecoming
Once Honey Wilson was done washing the scarlet streams of Black Jack
Slocum's blood and the thick ropes of semen from her body, she staggered, still
dripping, from the swimming hole, and with Jack's grudging consent slipped back
into her ragged panties. The rangy gunslinger then quickly roped her wrists
together and gave her a push in the back, indicating that she was to set off in
the direction of the nearby Wilson ranch.
Jack quickly mounted up and after giving Cyclone a gentle nudge, began
following the blonde nineteen-year old down the dirt road. Despite the fact
that he had raped her with bloodthirsty thoroughness twice in the last hour,
Jack could hardly take his eyes from Honey's glorious peaches-and-cream body,
which still glistened from her most recent immersion in the cool clear waters of
the pond. From his vantage point astride Cyclone, Jack delighted in the way
the morning sun splashed her tawny flesh with its warm light. Following her at
a short distance, he enjoyed the youthful bounce of her blonde pigtails on her
rounded shoulders as she trudged down the trail. Below her shoulders her bare
back tapered to a slender waist, which in turn billowed out into womanly hips.
Half-hidden by her ragged panties, the tempting undercurves of her creamy
buttocks melded into her well-toned golden thighs in a way that sent fresh
frissons of lust through his manly cojones.
Occasionally Jack would urge Cyclone to pull up alongside the fair-haired
teenager just so that he could get a fresh look at the front of Honey's body as
well. Her ripe young breasts not only were marked by the deep indentations of
the coarse hempen rope with which he had bound them; they were also still
covered with numerous tiny pinpricks from the myriad of thorny plants that had
assaulted her during her headlong flight for freedom -- not to mention some
faint marks from her torments in the barn yesterday. Honey was painfully
conscious of how her every step brought pleasure to the sinister horseman, but
despite her best efforts to walk in a steady, deliberate measure, she knew that
each stride of her athletic legs caused her tender pleasure-melons to jiggle
gently, affording Slocum a bobbling banquet of voyeuristic pleasure.
Ten minutes after starting out from the secluded pond, the long-legged
blonde and her mounted tormentor reached the end of the main road and they
turned down the narrower, dustier trail that led toward the Wilson ranch. To
Jack's surprise and Honey's chagrin, they found Ernie Gibbs sitting up against
the corral gate, bare-chested, a blood-stained strip of his dusty shirt tied
around the knife-wound in his upper left arm. Another even bloodier improvised
bandage cut from the cloth of his shirt encircled Ernie's head, protruding out
from the underside of the grimy hat that shielded his eyes from the Texas sun.
Ernie was whittling away furiously at a branch cut from a nearby tree, his cheek
filled with a huge chaw, his beady little eyes aflame with fury. But, aside from
the bloody wrappings, apparently not too much the worse for wear.
"Well, if it ain't my dear old partner, Jack," Ernie began. "Who left me
here to bleed to death. I wouldn't 'a done you like that, Jack."
"Aw, shit, Ern. Is it my goddam fault you can't control yer women any
better than you can hold yer liquor? Blondie, here, was halfway down the road
to the Dunbar place, by the time I come outside. If I hadn't 'a tracked her
down, and brung her back, the ranchers around here woulda been havin' a necktie
party before the week was out. And you and me woulda been the guests of honor."
Ernie squinted up at Jack who was standing in line with the morning sun.
"Aw, shit. They wouldn't 'a lynched us just for havin' a little fun with a
cock-teasin' whore like her, would they? We ain't done nuthin' every cowpoke
from here to El Paso wouldn't 'a liked to do."
"Mebbe so, Ern, but we're the ones that did it. And her daddy's a big shot
in these parts. You told me so yerself."
Ernie threw his hat on the ground in disgust. "All the same, she fuckin'
shot me, Jack! Ain't no way they coulda lynched a man who'd bled to death.
Didn't you hear the goddam gun go off? Geesus, my fuckin' head still hurts like
a son-of-a-bitch!"
"Yeah, I heard it. But how the fuck was I supposed to know that Miss
Big-Tits here had gotten loose AND taken your gun AND shot you with it. At
first I figgered you had gotcher damnfool-self drunk and was takin' pot shots at
a coyote, you dumb-ass redneck!"
"Who you callin' redneck, asshole?" Ernie bellowed as he expectorated a
thick dark stream of tobacco juice in the direction of Jack's boots. "As if you
didn't come from the same shit-ass town that I did. And where the fuck would
you be, if I hadn't smuggled that knife to you when you was in the slammer? If
it wasn't for me, you'd still be sharin' your grub with rats in that stinkin'
cell!" As Jack moved slightly so that Ernie was no longer staring directly into
the intense sunlight, the ferret-faced little man looked up at his taller
partner with a quizzical smirk. "What happened to your nose, smart guy? Cyclone
run you into an overhanging branch in the dark?"
Jack ignored this last sally, a reference to the nose Honey had smashed
with a quick kick. He'd made her pay for that, that was for damn sure. He'd
poked a lot of fillies in his time, but he couldn't remember ever raping a woman
with the savagery he'd raped Honey Wilson.
Despite Ernie's ornery nature, he knew there was some truth to his whining
this time. The little weasel really had saved his ass, by helping him break out
of the joint, there was no doubt about that. He didn't want any hard feelings
with Ernie. The tall gunslinger scratched his grizzled three-day beard for a
moment while he pondered how best to patch things up between them.
"All right. The main thing is you're OK, and I was able to catch up to
Miss Footloose here and bring her on back before she was able to get help. Honey
here feels real bad about stabbin' you, and shootin' you. Don't you, Honey?"
Honey, who had been trying to remain out of Ernie's sight by cowering
behind Cyclone, didn't feel the least bit bad about stabbing the perverted
little bastard, but nodded, 'Yes.' What, she wondered despairingly, was this
going to lead to?
"Speak up, girl! She feels so bad, Ern, that she wants to make it up to
you. She wants to show you a real fine time. Ain't that right, Honey?"
Disconsolate, Honey mumbled a misery-laden, "Yes," again. What else
could she do?
"And if Princess Blondie, here, don't give you the best head you ever had,
I'm gonna encourage her with another taste of Black Betsy." Slocum fingered the
gleaming silver buckle of his black belt menacingly as he motioned to Honey to
approach his pal.
As Honey moved toward him, the self-bandaged little man peered angrily up
at her, studying the angry indentations that encircled her mouth-watering
breasts and the tiny dots of thorn-blood that had begun to form anew on her
sun-kissed lust-melons.. "Kee-rist, Jack, " Ernie whistled appreciatively,
"what did you do to her tits, partner? Tie 'em up and stab 'em? From the look
of those rings around 'em, you must have roped those babies up tighter 'n a bale
of Louisiana cotton. Damn, I wished I'd been there to see that!"
"Yeah, I don't much like being woke up from a sound sleep." Jack grinned.
"Funny thing is," he continued, still trying to smooth things over with Ernie,
"when I heard your gun go off, I was in the middle of a dream about that time we
jumped Daisy Thompson."
Ernie nodded, a lecherous smile crossing his lips. The squirming,
ebony-skinned, share-cropper's daughter had been his first sexual partner, not
counting his oft-employed left hand. He could still remember Daisy's squeals
for mercy when the boys had raped her and her tortured wails of pain when Jack
had lashed her sweet, brown, nearly-ripe breasts with Pappy Gibbs' strap. And
the almost frightening look in young Jack's dark eyes as he had flogged her.
That was the day he had realized that Jack Slocum was no ordinary adolescent.
"Anyway," Jack continued, "I was mighty pissed off havin' to chase after
Honey in the middle of the damn night. I figgered maybe it was time to teach
Little Miss Blue-Eyes not to fuck with Jack Slocum. By the time I caught up to
her I reckoned that lassoin' her big knockers up nice and tight and roughin' 'em
up some, might teach her a good lesson."
Ernie glanced over at Honey to ogle her luscious love-mounds, trying to
imagine what full-nippled treasures would have looked-like encased in Jack's
tight-clinging ropes.
"I ain't a man to brag," Jack went on, "but you shoulda her tits, Ern.
That rope choked her big Texas teasers like a hangman's noose. Ain't that
right, Honey?" Jack leered at their bare-breasted prisoner. Honey, her blue
eyes cast downward, felt her cheeks blush with shame as she remember how
sluttish she had felt when her love-mounds had been inflated by Jack's stringent
and painful breast bondage.
Warming to his subject, the usually laconic Slocum continued. "Those
babies was bulgin' like they was fixin' to burst! It ain't easy for a man to
keep his hands off 'a pair of tits like that, so I had to slap 'em around some
to warm 'em up a little, didn't I Honey?" Jack smirked, his eyes bright with
remembered lust. "Yep, me and Honey had us a real good time while I worked her
tits over. Leastways, I did," Jack winked. "Gave 'em a little of the old
Black Jack Slocum special treatment, didn't I girl?"
When Honey remained silent, Jack continued, "Then I hitched her tit-ropes
to Cyclone here," Jack patted his horse on the rump. "It was a sight for sore
eyes, Ern, I'll tell you that, watchin' Cyclone pullin' Honey down that dirt
road by her big, juicy jugs. Cyc was towin' a booby carriage for a ways today,
wasn't you, boy?"
Jack reached over and patted the black stallion on the flank, and then
turned away from his horse and glowered at his semi-nude prisoner, before
pushing her roughly in Ernie's direction.
"Well, don't just stand there, girl! Put your pretty knees in the dirt and
get busy! Seems to me you owe Ernie one hell of a cock-sucking! Ain't that
right, Ern?
"Damn straight, Jack! Any girl shoots a man in the head, seems to me the
least she could do is give him some head until he shoots," Ernie cackled at his
own bad joke. But he wasn't smiling.
The ferret-faced little man, still holding the whittling branch and the
knife in his right hand, rose to his feet a bit unsteadily, bracing himself
against the railing of the corral with his bandaged left arm.
Honey, still wearing only the shredded white panties, which revealed almost
as much of her nicely-curved buttcheeks as they covered, dropped to her knees in
the wind-blown dust in front of Ernie. "Well, pull him out, Princess!" Ernie
sneered mockingly as he put his hands on his thin hips. "He ain't gonna pop out
of there by hisself!"
Ernie Gibbs liked to wear his pants very tight, and his obvious erection
only made his dingy dungarees fit all the tighter. Honey, hampered by her
still-tied wrists, had difficulty with the button on his fly. Nervously
Honey's fingers worked at the button, but she just couldn't get the little disc
to pull through the tight hole.
Jack could still sense some tension with Ernie; the ornery little fucker
had definitely been plenty pissed at him for leaving him face down in the
corral, while he pursued Honey Wilson. But he was pretty sure he knew how to
win him back over.
"Yer takin' too long, Honey," Jack began. "We can't have you triflin' with
us like that. Stand up!"
'Oh, no.' Honey thought, 'Not again.' She stood up, fearfully.
"Please...I'm trying ... really..."
"Shut up and back yer sweet ass up against that corral gate, darlin', "
Jack growled. "The party ain't over jes' yet."
Shaking visibly, Honey backed up until she felt the jagged splinters of the
weathered wooden gate press against her back.
Gibbs took a few menacing steps in her direction. "Stand up straight, you
cock-teasin' slut! Feet wide apart!" the little man snarled. Then he turned to
address his partner. "Geesus! Look at that body, Jackson! OK, Honey, now lift
your hands up and behind your head, and press 'em flat against those purty
blonde pigtails."
Even though she was standing outside under the warm Texas sun, Honey felt a
cold rush of fear sweep through her body. She glanced over at Jack. Behind his
mashed nose, his cold, reptilian eyes stared back at her, aglint with a mixture
of anger and lust. Trembling, she turned back toward Ernie. He was whittling
at the branch faster than ever, almost without looking. Honey watched fearfully
as the sharp blade of his knife glistened in the bright sunlight. Ernie's
watery green eyes swept across the curves of her near nudity like a Panhandle
duststorm, leaving her feeling both soiled and defenseless.
"Now, dammit!" Jack snarled.
Her throat dry, her knees trembling, the beautiful blonde teenager
hesitantly lifted her bound wrists up and placed them behind her head so that
her forearms were parallel to the ground, and her left and right elbows pointed
at Louisiana and New Mexico respectively. As she did so she silently cursed the
way that movement caused her majestic, pink-tipped breasts to rise upward,
proudly, even arrogantly, as she raised her arms. The almost taunting pose of
her love-goblets led Honey to the dreadful premonition that she would be made to
pay, and pay dearly, for her body's provocative but inviting display of defiance
to the barbaric cruelties of her captors.
"Now keep those hands up there behind yer head, goddamnit, or you'll wish
you had!" Jack roared, as he slowly undid his sinister belt once again.
Honey, terrified by the menacing tone of fury in Jack's deep voice,
complied. Why, why had she kicked Ernie yesterday? Why had she tried to escape
last night and again this morning? Every action she took seemed only to worsen
her plight.
"You done pissed me off again, Honey, " Jack mumbled gruffly, as he
doubled up Black Betsy in his huge hairy hands as he moved toward her.
When he was little more than a foot from his comely, nearly-nude prisoner,
Jack rasped, "You oughta know better than to get me riled up like that by now,
Honey," as he let the broad, flat surface of the doubled-up belt rest gently on
top of her up-tilted left breast.
Honey's entire body trembled at Jack's threatening words, and her lush
pleasure-globes were no exception. Even the pale coral peaks of her breasts
quivered nervously at the touch of the tough black leather. Honey's thighs and
buttocks had not yet fully recovered from the terrible lashing Black Betsy had
given them while she had been strapped to the kitchen table. The idea that
Jack's dreadful belt might soon be attacking her far more sensitive breasts was
unthinkable.
"First you cheat me out of a good night's sleep..." Jack began, as he slid
the shining leather caressingly across the still-damp smoothness of her
breast-flesh, letting Honey appreciate the feel of the tough cowhide.
Jack lifted the three-inch wide leather strap about ten inches above
Honey's taut-nippled breast ...
"... on account of you shot my partner in the fuckin' head."
... and then he snapped the broad leather belt down sharply against Honey's
yielding lust-melon!
WHACCKK!!! "AAAGGHHH!!" The punishing geometry of solid rectangular
leather whipping into curved flesh caused Honey to cry out in pain as flames of
agony radiated through her breast. The dampness of her flesh seeming to
accentuate the sting of the leather rather than to lessen it. Despite Jack's
orders to keep her hands behind her head, they swung forward involuntarily to
comfort her burning breast-flesh.
"Yer only makin' it worse fer yerself, Honeychile. Get those fuckin' hands
back behind yer head!"
Trembling like a patch of chaparral in the late afternoon breeze, Honey
hesitatingly obeyed, once again leaving her ripe-nippled mounds defenseless.
She was ashamed of the way her opulent breasts jiggled with her every movement,
attracting salacious stares from the two desperados. Their lustful glare felt
far hotter on her skin than the heat of the late-morning sun. Black Jack Slocum
was eye-balling her man-pleasing lust-globes the way a ravenous wolf looks at a
month-old fawn. His jaw clenched and he bared his white teeth as if he were
going to use them to to tear into Honey's mouth-watering melons; Honey
shuddered at the thought of his fangs closing on one of her tempting pink
nipples, and then slowly crushing the delicate bud between two powerful rows of
teeth.
Jack raged on, the thick veins in his neck pulsing angrily. "And now you
fuck around with Ernie's pants, like you was some kind of village idiot ..."
The belt went up again, this time above her succulent right breast.
"P-please ... no ... not again ... not there..."
"... after breaking my fucking nose, back there."
WHAMM!! "AAAIIIIIAAHHHH!!" Honey cried out despairingly as the terrible
belt cracked her other breast sharply, brutalizing her puckering pink nipple,
and giving her pleasure globe a rosy glow. Fresh tears of pain rushed to her
shimmering blue eyes.
Honey couldn't help it; her hands came forward over her head again, as she
tried to soothe the burning pain in her tawny lust-turrets.
"I thought I told you to hold still. You don't listen too good, do you,
Honey?"
"I ... I ..."
The angry gunslinger drew the belt all the way back behind him, and was
just about to tear into her again, when he suddenly appeared to reconsider and
said quietly, "Here, partner. Seems to me you're the one should have the
honors." When Ernie looked up at him with an expression of surprise on his
homely face, Jack repeated, "Go ahead, take it. You gotta score to settle too."
Jack extended his long arm and handed Ernie the doubled-up belt. "But don't
take too long; best we be thinkin' about gettin' the hell outa here. Who knows
who mighta heard that gun go off last night?"
Ernie stared up at his much taller partner disbelievingly. "Gees, thanks,
Big Jack! Never thought I'd get a chance to use Black Betsy." Ernie, set his
knive and branch down and took the belt. He slowly turned the black leather
instrument over in his hands, whistling in admiration at its superior
workmanship. "Yeah, you're right, partner. I do got me a little score to
settle with blondie, here. I'm gonna teach her what happens to a girl who comes
at Ernie Gibbs with a knife. And this here," he muttered as he hefted Jack's
heavy belt, "will do right fine, Jack."
The ugly little man stepped toward Honey and reached between her supple
thighs and foraged inside her threadbare panties, pawing her prominent labia,
and thrusting first one finger, then two, and then three deep into her love-slit
as Honey cringed in disgust.
"Well, Honey? Did you expect you was gonna cut me and waltz on outa here
like it was nuthin' ? I don't know how you got loose last night, but you can be
damn sure you ain't gonna get loose the next time we tie your fine-lookin' ass
up. Will she, Jack?"
"Not likely, Ern. Not fuckin' likely."
"But before we do that, I'm just gonna have to take a little skin off your
pretty hide, just to teach you not to fuck with Ernie Gibbs!"
Ernie worked his cruel fingers around in her pussy, his swollen, mis-shapen
face inches from her own. His soulless, gray-green eyes looking deep into the
teary bright blueness of hers.
"That's right, Honey. I'm fixin' to whip the ever-lovin' tease out of you.
I'm gonna give you a good baker's dozen with Betsy here. And you're gonna take
it, like the cock-teasin' slut you are."
Ernie removed his hand from inside Honey's panties, and began running both
hands up and down Honey's helpless body, while she stood there powerless to stop
him. "Soft skin," he whispered appreciatively as he fondled her shapely thighs.
"I like soft skin, Honey." Ernie the Weasel's grimy fingers slid around to cup
Honey's well-flogged bottom and he pulled her body roughly against his own.
When Honey started to move her hands downward again to fend off his
loathsome caresses, Ernie stepped back and slapped her viciously across the
outer curve of her left breast.
"Oooohhhh," Honey moaned in pain.
"Listen, Honey, cause I ain't gonna tell you again. Yer gonna keep those
hands behind your head or yer gonna get extra! And I don't want to hear a peep
outa you, either, not a fuckin' peep. For every squawk I hear out of you,
you're gonna get an extra one! And yer gonna count 'em for me, all thirteen of
'em. You miss one, and we start over! Got it?"
"Ready? Here we go!" Ernie stepped back a couple of feet, uncoiled Betsy
and drew a bead on Honey's long, tanned legs. Then, his tongue protruding
lecherously from the opposite corner of his chaw-stuffed mouth, Ernie lashed her
savagely across the tops of her supple thighs.
CRAACKK!! Honey bent forward in agony, as the blow sent flames of pain
shooting through her legs, determined to swallow her pain and to keep her hands
in place behind her head.
"Stand up straight, bitch! You brought this whipping on yourself, damn
it, and yer gonna take it! Or my name ain't Ernie fucking Gibbs!"
As Honey uncurled and straightened her luscious body, Ernie sneered,
"Sorry, Honey, you forgot to count that one; you still got thirteen coming!" as
he laid another scalding slash across her soft thigh-flesh, just below the first
one.
CRAACKK!! This time Honey managed to gasp out, a strangled "One." She
could already see and feel her thighs reddening from the blow. She was
grateful, at least, that it was Ernie Gibbs attacking the defenseless front of
her body with the dreadful belt, and not the far stronger Black Jack Slocum.
Ernie the Weasel picked out his next target, the creamy flesh of her gently
tapering belly. He drew Betsy back, and sent her whistling forward to land with
a resounding CRAACKK just above the edge of Honey's frilly white panties.
He could hear the sudden sharp intake of breath as Honey mumbled, "T-two,"
through her pain.
CRACCKK!! Honey had barely recovered from the second blow when Betsy left
angry red marks right across the middle of both of her sun-tanned thighs. Honey
had to bite down hard on her lip to keep from screaming. "Three," she whispered
through pearly white clenched teeth.
Gibbs walked back and forth in front of her, his homely face contorted into
a grimace of sadistic lust. "Betsy sure gives a girl a little color, don't she,
Jack?" Then he took the thick leather belt back over his shoulder and swept it
forward viciously again.
CRACKK!! Honey's navel erupted in flames, as the horrible belt blistered
her mid-section with a horrendous diagonal slash. It was all Honey could do to
hold her hands in position behind her head, leaving the front of her body
utterly vulnerable. "F-f-four," she murmured, half blinded by the pain.
"Stand up straight, I told you!"
"D-d-dont...please ..."
CRACCKK!! Another shot across her silky-smooth thighs, high up this time.
"Five" she whimpered.
Black Jack Slocum watched the flogging unfold with interest. As he had
surmised, the chance to use Black Betsy on Honey's nude body seemed to have
helped Ernie set aside his displeasure with Jack.
Ernie, his gray-green eyes ablaze with lust, stepped into another vicious
blow.
CRACCKK!! the leather resounded, as the vicious little man wrapped Betsy
right around Honey's ribcage, no more than an inch below the underslopes of her
stiff-nippled love-gourds. Honey swallowed the pain again, "Six."
Almost halfway done, Honey thought gratefully. But she was afraid that she
knew where the next one was going to land.
And she was right. Ernie Gibbs paused to wipe the sweat from his brow.
The sun was quite high in the sky now. It was going to be another hot one,
Ernie could tell. His beady little eyes were drawn like magnets to Honey's
proud, heaving breasts, ringed, red-streaked and tender from Jack's abuse. A
few thin welts were beginning to form where Jack had struck her with the whip
while he had stalked her in the nearby barn.
Some of Honey's damp blonde hair had drifted forward across her chest.
Ernie brushed the golden tendrils aside as he said, "I'll bet Betsy here's been
waitin' for a crack at those juicy jugs of yers, Honey. I sure as hell have."
And then the Weasel drew back the doubled-up belt, in preparation for a high,
hard one...
Ernie was just about to slam the belt into Honey's nude breasts when he
suddenly stopped short.
"Tell you what, Honey," the ornery cowpoke said with a twisted sneer. "How
about you make them nips nice and hard for me. It's OK -- you can use yer
hands. But I'm in a hurry - you got one minute to stiffen those babies up, or
yer gonna get three extra! Right across yer tits!"
Desolate with fear, Honey let her pretty, long-nailed hands drop to her
chest. With her wrists tied she was just able to cup her soft, sore breasts in
her hands, and run her thumbnails across her light pink areolae.
"Rub 'em good now, sweetie."
She flicked her love buds somewhat half-heartedly, trying to will them to
erection.
"C'mon, Honey. I want 'em big and stiff! You only got thirty seconds left,
blondie."
Ernie and Jack watched gleefully as Honey's nails practically tore at her
nipples now, tugging and plucking at them, desperately trying to avert any
additional punishment. Finally, though, her efforts bore fruit -- by the time
the minute was up, a lovely coral spike thrust out boldly from each of her firmy
young breasts.
"Geesus H Kee-rist, Jack! Get a load 'a those tits! Round and tan and pink
and pointy! You tell me, Jack -- you ever see a more whippable set of
knockers?"
"Not so's I can remember, Ern. Nice good targets, ain't they?"
"Damn straight! And they come equipped with their very own bulls'-eyes,
too!" Ernie enthused. "Hmmm, I got me an idea, Jack." The little rat-faced man
had an evil look on his face. By now, Honey had come to know that look, and
another shiver passed through her naked young body.
"Please ... no more ..." Honey beseeched her grim captors, as tears of pain
coursed down her beautiful face.
But Black Jack Slocum and Ernie the Weasel hadn't ridden halfway across Texas to
do anybody any favors. Especially a half-naked, nineteen-year-old beauty like
Honey Wilson....
Chapter 16 Corral Torture Part I
Ernie tore his eyes away from the opulent breasts of his captive and looked
down at the buckle on the wide belt. It sported an oversized 'nail', the part
of the buckle that fits into the belt holes when it's fastened. Moving closer
to his blue-eyed prisoner, Ernie positioned the 'frame' of the heavy buckle
directly under Honey's left nipple, gently propping it up. He paused for a
second or two, enjoying Honey's rising agitation, before flipping the "nail"
forward, letting it come gently to rest directly on top of the tender pink bud
that she had so recently teased into excited erection.
"Hands behind your head again, sweetie. And keep yer pretty blue eyes
open. Me and Jack wouldn't want you to miss any of the fun," Ernie sneered
sardonically.
Ernie slowly pushed the nail of the buckle down, pinning Honey's engorged
nipple between the nail and the "frame" of the buckle. Ernie smiled wickedly,
using only a little pressure for the first few seconds. But then he squeezed
his miniature mouse-trap harder, watching the tears well up in her eyes before
rolling down her perfect cheekbones.
"Ohhhhhh, Goddddd, " the blonde teenager moaned, as she tried to pull away
from the excruciating buckle, but Ernie Gibbs hung on with nipple-crushing
doggedness, until at last Honey could bear the dreadful pain no longer and she
lowered her hands and shoved the ugly little man and his horrible buckle away
from her vanquished breast.
When Ernie the Weasel regained his balance he noted with satisfaction the
deep indentation the buckle had left on her nipple. "I thought I told you to
keep your hands up, Honey!" Jack could see that Ernie was really pissed. "Yer
gonna wish you hadn't pushed me like that, you'll see. Just for that you're
gonna get those four extra when we finish our baker's dozen!"
"But ... I ... please, no ... for God's sake, no!" Honey whimpered,
beseeching Black Jack Slocum and Ernie the Weasel in turn. But she found only
the cold hard stares of two twisted men who were consumed with sadistic lust.
Ernie, squinting in the late morning sun, lifted the long black belt up and
held it at arm's length, before draping it casually over the ripe curves of
Honey's luscious breasts for a second or two, letting them get a foretaste of
the punishing belt. The sleek finish of the black leather gleamed in the
sunlight, as Ernie slid it slowly back and forth over Honey's thrusting melons.
Turning the doubled-up belt at a slight angle, he rubbed its thick edge against
the pink nubbins that Honey Wilson had just finished caressing to a tantalizing
erectness. "Y'know, Jackson," Ernie mused as he slid the leather over Honey's
surging breast-mounds, "I swear I could work on these babies all day long.
Tits like these are just made for punishment, ain't they?"
Black Jack Slocum laconically nodded his assent as his tongue moistened his
dry lips. The black-clad outlaw lifted a hand to scratch at the tough stubble
on his determined chin as he watched Honey's pink-tipped man-pleasers quiver at
Ernie's touch. Jack half-regretted delegating the pleasure of punishing Honey's
clumsiness to his ornery little sidekick, but it was too late now. Anyway,
Ernie's mean streak was at least as wide as his own. The ornery little bastard
more than made up in viciousness what he lacked in physical strength. So, there
was sure to be plenty of action. And at least he had a front row seat....
"Remember -- keep those hands up, girl," Ernie warned, as he tapped the
sides of Honey's heaving orbs with the belt, enjoying the way her nude breasts
bobbled appetizingly in response to the gentle smacks. Ernie alertly noticed
that Honey's eyes were darting desperately around the corral area, as if
searching for somewhere to run. Or hide. Anything to escape her two
tormentors.
"Don't even think about it, Honey-chile," he warned her. "You just worry
about diggin' yerself a good foothold right there in that dirt; cause if me and
Jack have to chase you around this here corral, you ain't gonna have enough skin
left on yer back to scratch yer sweet round ass."
Jack watched as their forlorn prisoner ground her bare toes into the dirt
floor outside the corral much the way he'd dug into the batting box when he'd
tried to hit against Albert Spalding during the great pitcher's barnstorming
tour through Texas some years back. He'd been lucky to foul off one ball before
striking out. He smiled to himself as he ran his menacing, reptilian eyes over
the generous curves of Honey's nude body. He'd played a lot of ball when he was
younger, and he'd been damn good. But baseball had never afforded the kind of
thrills that Honey Wilson provided. Despite his prodigious exertions at the
swimming-hole, Jack's hairy horse-cock felt as hard as "Four-bagger", his
favorite bat back in the old days.
Meanwhile Ernie had taken two steps backward. The diminutive,
leather-wielding villain drew Black Betsy back, while his rheumy green eyes
measured the distance to Honey's proud, pink-nippled treasures.
"P-p-please..."
Ernie grunted loudly as he wound up and swung the heavy belt forward,
brutally CRAACCKKing Honey across both of her gorgeous turrets, crushing her
boldly distended nipples into submission.
"Nnggggguuuuhhhhhhhh!" Honey moaned as horrible shock waves of pain coursed
through her bare breasts, almost drawing from her the cry of agony that Ernie
had proscribed under pain of additional blows. The beautiful young blonde stood
there on wobbly knees, visibly trembling, as she tried to regain her composure.
It was all she could to keep her fingers laced behind her blonde pigtails, while
she watched her breasts begin to pinken in response to the atrocious blow. Her
tender globes screamed for the soothing touch of her soft hands, but she dared
not comfort them.
Suddenly Honey remembered that she had forgotten to tally the blow. 'Oh,
God -- what number was I on?' she wondered frantically, before venturing a
hopeful, "Seven?"
Black Jack Slocum couldn't get enough of the way the gleaming black leather
contrasted so deliciously with Honey's sun-tanned flesh. The thrilling SMACK!!
of hard leather on succulent breasts in the fresh clean Texas air had sent a
pleasurable frisson of lust through his hairy balls.
"Not too sure, were you?" taunted her scrawny tormentor. "How's about
another one, Princess. His eyes half-crazed with lust, Ernie shook the dangling
leather weapon for a moment before sweeping the the dreadful belt forward again.
The gleaming black leather came hurtling out of the wind-tossed dust of the
corral floor before slamming into the soft, creamy underslopes of Honey's
defenseless lust-mounds with a resounding CRAACKK!!
"Mmmnnnnghhh!" Honey gasped. Ernie up-shooting breast-buster had been
just as vicious as the proceeding blow, and it drove her backwards into the
corral gate. "Eight," Honey groaned piteously.
"Almost knocked her on her pretty ass with that, one, didn't I, big Jack,"
Ernie gloated, before scowling at Honey again. "Get back to where you were,
slut," Ernie rasped, as he waited for Honey to step forward and plant her feet
firmly again.
Honey's breasts, which had already suffered so much in the preceding twenty
hours, were once again ablaze with pain. Dark-ringed from Jack's skillful
breast-bondage, her tawny melons were reddening as quickly as a late-summer
sunset. Honey took a couple of staggering steps back to her original position
and gingerly planted her feet in preparation for Ernie's next blow.
Ernie surprised her with the next blow, delivering a swift bolt of
lightning that CRACCKK!!ed across her tawny, slim-waisted midriff, leaving a
lurid stripe in its wake. "Nine," she whimpered.
"Here, let's pull those pants down," Ernie muttered as he stepped toward
her. "I been neglectin' that sweet blonde pussy of yours, haven't I Honey?
"N-no...please ... you can't ..."
"Why sure I can, Honeychile," Ernie gloated. Then he leaned down, his
homely, angular face only inches from Honey's blonde bush, and whisked her
increasingly threadbare panties down to her ankles. "Don't you never tell Ernie
Gibbs, he can't do something, Missie," he growled as he seized a handful of pale
blonde pubic hair and wrenched it viciously, almost causing Honey to tumble
forward with pain. "You shoulda thought about the damn consequences before you
came at me with that knife, Miss Big-tits! Step out of 'em, girl! That's right.
Mmmm, nice," Ernie murmured as he thrust two fingers up into Honey's quim, as
she squirmed in revulsion. "Now spread them long legs 'a yers!"
Honey, tears welling up in her big blue eyes, shook her head from side to
side. "No," she moaned, more to herself than to the two desperados, "Oh, please,
God, no!"
"Listen, Honey," Ernie growled. "Are you gonna spread them pretty legs, or
am I gonna have to start over?"
Moving unsteadily on the long, golden legs which were still fatigued from
her abortive late-night escape attempt, Honey hesitantly parted her silky
thighs. Ernie wiped a brownish trickle of tobacco juice from the corner of his
mouth as he ogled the blonde tendrils that made a pretence of covering Honey's
tempting love grotto. As she widened her stance, Honey's puffy, sensuous labia
seemed to blossom into riper prominence. Soft. Pink. Inviting....
"Nice, Honey. Real nice." Ernie the Weasel adjusted the makeshift bandage
that encircled his scalp and then took a couple of underhand practice strokes
with the long belt. "Now hold still for me, Honey, or I'm gonna start the count
over."
Shuddering silently, Honey Wilson did her best to brace herself for the
coming pain while Ernie grooved his swing. Then, once he'd felt he'd mastered
the desired arm motion, the shiny leather strap came whistling upward from
ground level with diabolical accuracy. The stinging tail of the belt ripped
into Honey's most intimate and sensitive flesh with a resounding WHAPPP!!
"MMMNNNNNNNNGGHHHHH!" It was as if a burning ember had been pressed against
her exquisite genitals. The excruciating pain drove Honey to her knees in the
dirt. Somehow she managed to sqeak out a strangled, "Ten".
"Get up, blondie. I ain't done with you yet," Ernie growled. He adjusted
the big chaw of tobacco in the side of his mouth as he watched the long-legged
blonde get up, the late-morning sun bathing her naked body in its warm glow.
No sooner had Honey staggered awkwardly to her feet when the sadistic
cowpoke slashed her violently across the tops of her sweat-sheened thighs, the
violent CRACCKKK!!!! leaving a dark, livid mark on her creamy flesh.
"Ngggghhhhh," Honey groaned, before mumbling "Eleven," in a voice weakened
by suffering. Only two more, she thought, Just hold on for two more. But then
she remembered -- there would be four additional blows because she had pushed
Ernie away when he'd used the buckle on her tender nipple. "Why", she
reproached herself, "had she been so foolish?"
Ernie was eyeballing her thrusting pleasure-globes again . "Brace yourself
for another one across those knockers, Honey. I'm gonna make this one a good
'un. See if I don't."
Ernie stuck the belt in his teeth and spat on his grimy hands. Then he
picked up a handful of dry dirt and rubbed his hands with it. "Makin' sure I
get a good grip, Honey," he winked at her as she stood there before him, naked
and trembling.
Then the Weasel seized the belt in his right hand and licked his
tobacco-stained lips licentiously while he drew a bead on Honey's nipples, which
stood out from her ripe breasts like proud, pink rivets. "Stick those tits out
for me, girlie," Ernie growled with a lecherous smirk. A moment later, disgusted
by her half-hearted attempt to comply with his commands, he cursed, "Damn it,
Honey, if you can't stick 'em out any better than that, yer gonna buy yerself a
few more .... Now take a deep breath for Uncle Ernie ... Good ... Oh, yeah,
baby ... That's it ... nice and slow."
Ernie's eyes were fixated on Honey's stiff-nippled lust-globes as she filled her
lungs with air, thereby lifting her full, close-set breasts higher on her chest.
"Yeah, that's nice, Honey. Real nice. Watch this one, partner," Ernie the
Weasel bragged as he adjusted his grip on the long black belt and then swung it
around his head once and then again, letting it build up momentum as it knifed
through the air. When it came whizzing around the third time, he slammed the
stinging belt squarely into the swollen crests of Honey's succulent breasts with
every ounce of strength at his disposal.
CRACCKKK!!!!
"MMNGNNNNGHHH!!" Honey looked down to see that her poor breasts had been
painted the blushing color of pink roses; they felt as if they were floating in
a sea of fire. She could almost hear her ravaged nipple-tips crying out to her
to touch them, to soothe them, to comfort them. But she knew she dared not.
"T-twelve..."
"Oh, fuck! You caught 'em good that time, Ern! Ain't nothin' like the
feelin a man gets when he gets in a really good lick at a nice pair of tits, is
there?"
"No shit, Jackson," Ernie grinned, as he strutted around with his chest
puffed out for a moment. Then he paused to rub crudely at his swollen crotch as
Honey eyed him with a mingled mixture of fear and disgust. "OK, Honey. How's
about one more from down under. One more for that pretty pink pussy to remember
me by, when me and Jack are long gone."
"Please ... I'm so sore ... it hurts so b..."
"Spread 'em, Honey!" Ernie bellowed roughly.
Tearfully, the blue-eyed Texas belle complied, moving her tawny thighs
slightly farther apart.
"Wider, goddammit!"
Unable to take her eyes off the evil belt, Honey widened her stance a
little more.
And them her clit-hunting captor whipped the fiendish belt upward, cutting
deeply into the delicate tissues of her womanhood yet again, with a thunderous
"WHAPPPP!!
"NNNNGHHHGUHHH!" The unbearable pain drove Honey to her knees once more.
"Th-thir-teen," Honey gasped out as she choked on the small cloud of swirling
dust her collapse had raised.
"Thanks, Big Jack," Ernie winked, as he returned the black belt to his
broken-nosed partner in crime.
"Well, Honey, you took that whuppin' pretty good; too bad you pushed me
that oncet. I'm afraid me and Jack are gonna have to give you them four extra
licks we promised. Back on yer feet, blondie!"
Honey, trying desperately to blot the searing pain between her legs from
her mind, remained on her knees a moment longer, as if hoping that somehow the
healing rays of the summer sun might alleviate her distress. She was perspiring
even more freely now; her face and body were awash with rivulets of summer
sweat.
A few feet away, Black Jack Slocum had doubled up the ends of Black Betsy
and was popping the dreadful belt with sudden movements of his huge, hairy
hands. Meanwhile Ernie Gibbs had retrieved the switch he'd been whittling
earlier.
" 'On yer feet', I said!" Ernie grunted. "You still got four comin',
Princess."
Desperate, desolate, Honey climbed unsteadily to her feet.
"Whaddya think, Big Jack? Four left." Ernie knew that when it came to
thinking up new ways to work over a cutie like Honey Wilson, he was no match for
Jack Slocum.
"Well, Ern, I reckon it'd be a damn shame to waste that corral fence
Honey's daddy built. Let me fetch some rope."
Even standing in the broiling sun Honey Wilson felt herself shiver as the
swarthy gungslinger flipped Black Betsy over his shoulder, and ambled over to
Cyclone, whereupon he opened a saddlebag and retrieved a number of lengths of
three-ply horsehair rope. Having grown up on a ranch, Honey was well aware
that a rope was a cowboy's most important tool, next to his horse. He used it
to restrain his horse, to lasso cattle, to keep his pack steady while on the
trail, to help pull heavy wagons through streams and swamps and for a hundred
other things. After seeing the effortless skill with which Jack had wound the
thin cord so expertly and so tightly around her breasts out on the road, it was
clear that Black Jack Slocum hadn't forgotten any rope tricks during his years
in prison.
A few seconds later Jack walked back in her direction, a look of
concentration on his lean, chiseled face. With every long, loping stride, he
glanced from her nude body over to the corral and back again, as if he were
mapping out the details of a military campaign.
Meanwhile, Ernie had retrieved the slender branch from which he had
stripped the leaves earlier. The switch was as thick as his index finger and
about as long as his arm. Ernie whipped it through the humid Texas air twice,
while Honey flinched at the familiar but frightening sound the switch made as it
cut cleanly through empty space.
"You heard the man, Honey. Up against the fence!"
Nervously, her arms still uplifted behind her head in the shape of a wide
diamond, Honey retreated toward the corral rail until she felt it against her
back.
"Nah, not like that," Black Jack snarled as he grabbed her by the
shoulders, and turned her around roughly so that she faced the sturdy corral
fence and then pushed her up against it. slamming her firm well-striped breasts
hard into the top rail of the corral.
"Owwwwww!"
"Yer about an inch too short for that top rail, Princess," Jack growled as
his big hand squeezed the rounded curves of Honey's bottom. "I reckon yer gonna
haveta stand on yer toes."
Suddenly Honey realized what Jack was up to.
"On yer toes, darlin'. I want that top rail to fit right under those big
juicy tits."
"B-but ..."
Honey heard the yard-long length of coarse rope whizzing through the air a
split-second before it raked across her back, breaking the skin.
"I said, 'On yer toes', dammit!" The big hand was back on her buttocks,
fondling her resilient asscheeks.
"She don't listen so good, does she Jackson?" Ernie smirked.
"Nope. You'da thought she'd a figgered out by now that this ain't no
fuckin' tea party."
By now, Honey was dutifully standing on tiptoe, but had edged backward away
from the corral rail.
Honey's soft, sensual body jerked in pain when Slocum's rope whistled
through the air and blazed a second angry trail across the tender skin of her
back.
"Geesus, girl! I said I wanted that rail right under yer tits. Now
snuggle up to it nice and tight. I want yer belly button right up against that
center rail."
Tears of pain coursing down her face, Honey obeyed, standing high on her
tiptoes, and pressing forward so that the ripe mounds of her nude breasts rested
atop the wooden rail. The effect was wanton, shameless, obscene.
"Yeah!" Jack enthused under his breath, with the satisfaction of a
set-designer who had arranged his props to perfection.
"Now stick yer arms out along the rail. Left one first."
Honey submissively extended her left arm out along the upper rail of the corral.
Within two minutes Jack had lashed her arm to the rail at wrist, elbow, and just
below her shoulder; the ropes were so tight that Honey knew she'd wear their
marks for days.
"Now the other one." Jack groped her bottom cheeks with both big hands
for a moment, before proceeding to tie that arm to the rail with ropes no less
constricting than the ones he'd used on the other.
When he was done Black Jack Slocum took an oblique step backward in order
to take in the result of his labors. The nubile young rancher's daughter was
standing awkwardly on her tiptoes, her nicely-tanned calves and thighs straining
to keep her in the enforced position. Honey's supple arms were pulled taut in a
wide T across the corral rail. The smooth, soft skin of her bare belly was
pressed firmly against the rough mid-rail of the corral and the muscles in her
delicious heart-shaped bottom were tensing and twitching uncontrollably,
prophetically, as if they knew what the future held. Topping off the delicious
banquet of flesh were Honey's breasts: her big, mouth-watering, man-pleasing
handfuls of pleasure were propped up on top of the fence rail, as plump and
tasty-looking as warm muffins on a Sunday morning.
A barbaric grin creased Jack's rugged features. He was fixin' to heat those
muffins up a little more...
Chapter 17 Corral Torture Part II
Meanwhile Ernie, still playfully swishing his whippy switch in the air, had
passed through the corral gate and had taken a position inside the coral.
Honey glared at the perverted cowpoke as he ogled her deliciously
vulnerable breasts. "Nice work, Jackson. Her tits are sittin' on top 'a that
rail nice as you please. Ain't they, Honey?" Ernie used the tip of his switch
to flick playfully at one of Honey's swollen nipples.
"Let's see, Jack. She's got four comin'. Tell ya what, pardner. How about
we double up on her?" Ernied sliced his home-made cane viciously in the air
again, enjoying the way the rancher's daughter flinched. "I'll give her a couple
across those juicy jugs, while ol' Betsy gets rea-fuckin'-cquainted with that
sweet ass 'a hers!"
"Four it is, Ernesto," Jack grinned bitterly. "One for each fuckin' year I
spent in that stinking prison. Serves the bitch right!" Jack eyed Honey's ripe
bottom cheeks and the architecture of the corral. Another plan was beginning to
form in his diabolical mind. But for the moment he simply wrapped his big hand
tighter around Black Betsy as he perfected his grip.
Inside the corral, Ernie had taken a position on Honey's left. The
venomous little man licked his thin lips salaciously at the sight of the
succulent pink-nippled breasts that were posed so enticingly along the upper
surface of the corral rail. His right hand trembled slightly, so excited was he
by the prospect of using his home-made cane on Honey's perfect pleasure-globes.
Hell, he thought to himself, this was almost worth getting shot for.
"OK, Honey. Lean forward and stick those big beauties out for me real
nice! I'll bet yer starting to regret tellin' yer daddy I was a peeper, now,
aint'ya, darling'?" he sneered, as Honey reluctantly inched forward. "And
remember, Princess -- I don't wanna hear a fuckin' peep outa you either, while
I'm whippin' yer tits -- or yer gonna get more! Comprende?"
Honey Wilson looked up at Ernie and saw the feverish and irrational eyes
of a lunatic. She nodded despairingly.
"Ready, Jack? On three!"
Black Jack Slocum adjusted his Texas-sized cock which prodded almost
painfully against his black denims. The contrast between Honey's adolescent-like
pigtails and her full, ripe, womanly asscheeks was stunning. A thick bead of
perspiration clung tenaciously to the delicious dimple at the base of Honey's
tapered back, as if hesitant about venturing downward into the deep, dark,
mysterious cleft between her shapely buttocks.
Slocum's cold, dark, water-moccasin eyes traveled up Honey's long, lithe
legs and paused when they reached the teenaged beauty's deliciously rounded
rump. Hot crossed buns, he mused with a cruel grin, as he studied the
criss-crossed striations Black Betsy had left on Honey's buttock-ovals. As he
tightened his grip on his thick belt, he decided that it wouldn't be amiss to
warm those creamy buns up a little more. Before he slipped his long, hard
summer sausage between 'em. Jack figured that he and Ernie just about had
enough time for one more rough roll in the hay with Henry Wilson's pride and joy
before they'd have to hit the trail; and then they were going to need to put
some distance between themselves and any possible pursuers before the Wilson
crew returned from the cattle drive.
"You're on, partner," Black Jack responded gruffly. "On 'Three' it is."
"ONE..." Ernie's voice, always on the squeaky side, seemed to have risen
half an octave in his excitement.
While he measured the distance to Honey's luscious breasts, Ernie caught a
glimpse of Jack's black-shirted arm drawing his belt back, its shiny surface
gleaming in the bright morning sun.
"TWO..."
Honey's torso quivered involuntarily as Ernie the Weasel drew a bead on his
twin targets, the perspiring upper slopes of her breasts which Jack had
positioned so temptingly atop the weathered corral rail. Honey's body seemed to
glow in the bright sunlight as she struggled in vain at the ropes which held her
fast to the wooden crosspiece. Ernie, meanwhile, had tightened his grip on his
switch, and lifted it upward, cocking his elbow so that his wiry forearm pointed
toward the blue summer sky.
"THREE... YEAAHHHH!!"
With a maniacal cackle, Ernie viciously brought his switch down across the
belt-reddened curves of Honey's naked breasts with a violent THWICCKK!! At
precisely the same moment that Black Jack brought his heavy belt down across the
ripe summits of her bottom, with a punishing CRACCKK!!
"AAIIIEAHHGHHHHHH!! Oh, Goddddd, it hurts." The beautiful blonde's voice
was choked by the horrific pain of the simultaneous blows.
"Aww, Honey," Ernie said sardoniclly as he checked the soundness of his
switch, noting with satisfaction the two-inch-long damp, crimson streak that now
adorned its other end. As he congratulated himself for crafting such an
effective weapon, he turned back to face the blue-eyed rancher's daughter.
"Now, darlin', I warned you that if you couldn't keep quiet, they wasn't gonna
count, didn't I?"
Ernie waited for the curvacious blonde to nod miserably. "Sorry, but we
ain't gonna be able to count those two. That's a damn shame, ain't it, Jack?"
Ernie smirked as he winked at his partner as Jack slowly recoiled his dreadful
belt.
"Yeah, Ern, breaks my fuckin' heart!" Jack snorted derisively as he
studied the livid mark he had left across Honey's sumptuous derriere.
"Please ... no... it's not fair..." Honey mourned, while Ernie sized up the
damage. His slicing stroke had opened a thin gash on her left breast and left a
dark streak on her right.
"Ready for another go, Jackson?"
The swarthy gunslinger ravished Honey's quivering bottom-cheeks with his
cold, reptilian glare. "Ready as I'll ever be, I reckon."
"ONE!" Ernie lifted his switch high into the air again.
"P-please ... please..."
"Are ya ready, Honey? Stick those tits out, girl, or I ain't gonna count
this one neither..."
" TWO!"
"No ... not there ... not again..."
But Ernie was as bound and determined as Sam Houston at San Jacinto.
Honey bit down hard on her lip, knowing the pain that next few seconds
would bring.
"THREE!!"
With a hyena-like grin, the sadistic little hombre slashed his switch
downward into Honey's nude love-melons with another punishing THWICCCKKK!! that
pinned her pleasure-mounds to the rough surface of the weathered wooden rail.
The second blow had fallen midway between the first one and the proud, pointing
tips of her breasts.
"MMMMMMMGGGGGGGHHHHH!!" It was all Honey could do to stifle the screams of
agony that welled up within her.
This time Jack waited until her breast-pain had subsided somewhat before
laying Betsy squarely across her buttock-rounds again with a mighty forehand
blow. CRACCCKK!!!
"NNGGGGGGHHHH!!!" Honey's arms struggled futilely with her bindings while
she stamped her bare feet in the dirt as if somehow that futile movement would
help soothe her suffering.
Her breasts and bottom were aflame with pain. It was everything Honey
could to do suppress her desire to scream.
" What's the matter girl? Those juicy jugs 'a yers gettin' a little sore?
Well, Honey, I reckon you shoulda given that some thought 'afore you came at me
with that knife." Ernie the Weasel had a crooked grin on his homely mug as he
crossed in front of her and took up a position on her right.
"OK, Princess, back in position. Get those knockers out there! More,
goddamit! Or you're gonna get it worse! Head back! How's her ass looking,
Jackson?"
"Ern, she's gonna find out in a little while how good it looks," Jack
answered with an undertone of menace that caused the blonde teenager to shiver
with fear.
"I'll bet. Well, pardner, you ready?"
"Always ready to whip a fine-lookin' ass like this 'un, Ern."
"Attaboy!"
"ONE!"
Honey's upper body shuddered lasciviously as Ernie Gibbs extended his arm
so that the blood-stained switch rested atop her pink, puckered nipple-tips.
Despite the fact that her arms were securely lashed to the top rail of the
corral, Honey tried to pull back from the rail of pain.
As soon as she did though, she felt a powerful hand between her shoulder
blades pressing her forward, as Black Jack Slocum forced her pain-wracked
breasts forward into harm's way again. "The man said to stick yer tits out,
Honeychile, and that's jest what yer gonna do."
"Thanks, Jackson," Ernie grunted as he lifted the switch about a foot above
Honey's protruding nuggets, and then slowly lowered it, rehearsing the chopping
stroke he was going to use. He repeated this ritual twice more as Honey's
breasts trembled with trepidation.
"TWO!!"
The switch came gently to rest on the beautifully distended crests of her
breasts for the third time, as Ernie prepared his final stroke. Jack's big paw
crushed her against the corral with the force of a battering ram. "Remember,
Blondie, not a peep!"
"THREE!!!
The freshly-whittled cane went up quickly this time, and came down even
faster, flashing down out of the azure sky with what seemed like bullwhip
velocity before descending with terrible force directly onto Honey's swollen,
cock-teasing nipples.
THWICCCCKKKKKK!! "MMPHHHHNGGGGGPHHH!!"
The pain was excruciating. Fresh tears filled her eyes as Honey choked
back the scream that fought for release, and then expelled her imprisoned breath
with an animalistic groan. In her suffering, she had not noticed that Jack's
hand was no longer pressing against her back. But a moment later she heard the
faint but unmistakable whoooosh of leather cutting through air, an instant
before another lightning bolt of searing, scalding pain tore through her rounded
bottom -cheeks.
"UMMMMMGHHH!!"
"Not, bad, Princess," Ernie remarked grudgingly, as he eyeballed the deep
indentations his switch had left in Honey's lust-nubbins. He slid the terrible
rod underneath Honey's right breast and then pulled it back toward himself,
thereby transferring the thin trail of blood on the switch to one of the few
unscathed parts of Honey's body. "For a daddy's girl, she takes a tit-whipping
purty good, Jackson."
"Please ... for God's sake.." Honey begged through her tears. The proud,
pointed breasts with which she had teased the ranch-hands to distraction so many
times were ablaze with pain, as were the tempting curves of her freshly-striped
bottom. "G-go" she gasped painfully." Just go... I won't tell anyone ... I
promise. On my mother's grave, I promise."
"Well, I don't rightly know about that, Honey. Sounds like yer bein'
mighty unneighborly to me. Whaddya think, Big Jack?" Ernie grinned crookedly.
"Sounds like our little Princess is askin' us to leave before the party's over.
Personally, I wouldn't mind stayin' around for one more cup 'a tea, if you know
what I mean."
"Right, pardner," Jack muttered in the low, throaty growl of a man consumed
with sadistic lust. "That and mebbe a little dessert."
Frightened by the tone of his voice, Honey turned her pretty blonde head to
look back over her shoulder at Jack. Slocum's gaze was fixed on the deep,
sensuous buttock groove that bisected the broad, horizontal marks he'd just left
with his belt. And she quickly understood the meaning of his last remark.
Because Black Jack Slocum's huge cock looked as hard in his denims as the
barrel of a cannon. Not only that, but his eyes were lit up with the ferocity
of a grizzly who'd gotten a whiff of Honey.
And now it was time for the grizzly's dessert....
Chapter 18 Corral Torture Part 3 - Roped and Raped
Honey was startled when Jack Slocum stepped forward from behind her and
started untying the cord that held her left wrist fast to the rail. Had her
prayers been answered? Was he going to let her go?
"Thank you, thank you," the words rushed out of her.
As Jack pulled her wrist-rope free, he gave her an ominous look. 'You ever
heard that old saw about countin' yer chickens, Princess? Mebbe you don't wanna
thank me jest yet. Put yer feet together!"
Her spirits dashed, Honey moved her pretty bare feet closer together. The
broiling Texas sun baked her nude body as she faced the Wilson corral.
"Closer, blue-eyes. I want yer knees as close together as yer cuntlips."
Flushing a rosy crimson, but having no choice, the beautiful blonde
teenager did as she was bid, and soon the rope that had been around her left
wrist had been wrapped around her ankles so tightly together that a playing card
could not have fit between them.
A second length of rope that had been used to tie her arms down, was soon
employed in binding her lower legs to the lowest rung of the corral. Then Jack
wrapped a third rope tightly around her legs, just above her knees. The
voluptuous, blue-eyed rancher's daughter had some difficulty maintaining her
balance with her feet and legs forced so closely together.
Soon her tawny thighs were cinched together too, but not with a rope;
instead Jack used a thin strip of reins' leather to encircle Honey's bare legs
at mid-thigh, knotting it so tightly that Honey cried out in pain.
"What you up to, there, Jackson?" Ernie called out as he watched the big
man untie Honey's other arm. Both of Honey's arms were free now, but with her
legs bound together, there was no chance of her escaping.
At this point Jack paused and stroked Honey's blonde hair softly,
admiringly, and then he slowly began unbraiding her pigtails, his fingers having
had plenty of experience with much more difficult knots than those in her golden
braids. Within a minute or two, Honey's girlish pigtails had metamorphosed into
a womanly cascade of rich blonde hair that fell down below her shoulders.
That gentle procedure accomplished, Jack grabbed Honey roughly by the
back of the neck and forced her blonde head down, under the top rail of the
corral.
"Well, I'll tell ya, Ern. I met a crazy old coot in the slammer while I
was there," Jack began. "Big old feller name of Vic. Everyone called him Vic
Shiloh, 'cause he'd taken a minie ball in the leg at Pittsburgh Landing in '62.
Before the war he'd been an overseer at the big Thornhill plantation down in the
Mississippi delta country."
Jack pressed Honey's head down so that her upper body was extended forward
over the middle of the three corral rails.
"Me and Vic used to trade yarns about all the women we'd had. And some we
didn't, " Jack chuckled at the memory. "One day we was out on the rockpile and
Vic told me that in the years leadin' up to the war, after his wife had died,
Colonel Thornhill had bought hisself a bunch 'a pretty young slave girls. There
was six of them cuties, the way Vic told it, one for each night of the week.
Marse Thornhill was a God-fearin' man, see, and didn't believe in diddlin' the
slaves on Sunday."
Ernie guffawed at such a praiseworthy example of Christian piety.
Honey was bent double over the midrail which pressed against the hinge of
her stomach now, and Jack undid the rope which lashed her right wrist to the top
rail, and pulled her two wrists together behind her back, and wrapped the cord
around them, pulling the knot tight, but leaving a few feet of rope dangling
downward.
"Now Big Vic, see, was an ass-man. And he specially liked the nice round
bottoms them colored girls had. The way he told it, every night after dinner he
would drag one or the other of those bed-warmers back to his quarters and start
off the evening by whipping her sweet young ass with a three-thonged strap he'd
made from the hide of a twelve-foot bayou gator. The old SOB called his strap
the Insta-gator. Cause them shapely cuties would start tremblin' and carryin'
on the instant they saw him reach for it."
"He made them girls count off the strokes too," Jack continued. "Claimed
he was teachin' 'em how to cipher. Haw!! He'd give the girl of the evenin'
anywhere from ten to thirty strokes dependin' on how much cotton she'd picked
that week and how enthusiastic she'd been about pleasurin' him the week before.
I reckon a coupla them girls who got really good at suckin' his hambone saved
theirselves a bushel of strokes with that gator-strap. Vic had all kindsa fun
with them girls, but buggering 'em was his specialty. The way Big Vic told it,
not a one 'a them girls ever made it outa his cabin without takin's Vic's prick
up her pretty ass before the night was out."
When he was done tying Honey's wrists together, Jack took yet another
length of rope and looped it around the young blonde's creamy waist twice.
"Take a deep breath, Princess," he ordered. When Honey hesitated, Jack slapped
her sharply across her shapely buttocks, causing her to draw in her breath, and
then Jack cruelly tightened the waist rope, narrowing Honey's already trim waist
by almost an inch, before securing her midsection to the midrail of the corral
with an intricate bit of ropework. Then he took a final length of white cord
and encircled Honey' throat and neck with it before kneeling and wrapping it
around the bottom rail of the corral before tying it off.
Jack stood up and eyeballed the results of his labors. The blonde
teenager's athletic young body had proved to be every bit as flexible as he had
surmised; the ripe, rounded ovals of her bottom were in a gorgeous 'fuck me'
position, high and round and emphasized to perfection by her inverted L-shaped
posture. Honey's sleek upper body protruded between the middle and upper rails
of the corral, while the moderately tight neck rope ensured that her head and
shoulders could not rise higher than parallel to the dusty floor of the corral.
Inside the wooden enclosure, Ernie the Weasel felt his prick swell with
pleasure as he marveled at the pendulous fullness of Honey's luridly-striped
breasts. Her pink nipples were like coral bullets aimed at the windblown dust
of the corral floor. The distended buds still bore the mark of his switch, but
they continued to protrude delectably from her luscious man-pleasers, as if
daring her evil captors to do their worst.
"Geesus, Jackson, you're the best," Ernie the Weasel enthused in genuine
admiration of Slocum's ropework. "I could chew on those big tits for a week."
El Raton scratched at his swollen crotch in a way that made Honey's stomach
turn. "Just you wait, baby, yer gonna get some more 'a this."
Honey stared at the horrid little man with disgust. So far, at least, her
bondage was not oppressively painful, except perhaps for the constricting
cincture around her waist and the thin strips of leather that bit into her tawny
thighs. The cord around her neck was tight, but not dangerously so -- there was
a bit of slack in the rope that bound her neck to the bottom rail and she
retained enough freedom of movement in her neck and shoulders to be able to keep
her head in line with her horizontal torso.
As he'd been recounting his yarn, Jack had been tickled by the way
Honey's shimmering buttock-globes had twitched convulsively every time he
mentioned the word 'strap'. He stepped forward and ran his big hands over her
warm ass-flesh. "Hey, Ern, hand me over that switch you whittled. I'm fixin'
to warm Honey's hiney a little."
Gibbs grinned and went to retrieve the switch he'd used to whip Honey's
big tits when Jack had had her position her breasts atop the upper rail. He
handed it across to his tall, black-clad partner, who took if from him and
swooshed it through the air a couple of times, close enough to Honey's ear so
that she could hear the swiftness with which the rod cut through the air. Jack
grinned a cruel grin as the taut muscles in her buttocks tensed most enticingly
in reaction to the sound.
"Anyway, like I was sayin', ol' Vic Shiloh said he fucked one or t'other
'a them hot-blooded young darkies in the ass every single night ('ceptin'
Sundays, of course) from the day him and Thornhill had celebrated the Dred Scott
decision together -- that was back in '57 -- until the day they heard that
General Beauregard fired on Fort Sumter, four years later."
WHAPPP!! Jack whipped Ernie's switch sharply across Honey's sumptuous
buttocks, driving her belly hard into the corral rail.
"Ahhhhh," she gasped softly. She could almost feel her bottom redden in
response to his blow and hated the satisfaction that that must have given her
tormentor.
Then, as if he had done nothing more noteworthy than swat at a mosquito,
Slocum went on with his story, while his scrawny, ferret-faced sidekick ogled
the helpless nudity of Honey Wilson as she strained futilely at her bonds.
"Later that afternoon Vic and Thornhill decided to celebrate the attack on
Fort Sumter. The purtiest of them six slave girls was named Ruby -- and Ruby's
big mouth had gotten her sweet ass in trouble again. Vic had overheard her
tellin' the other slaves that Mr Lincoln was gonna do this and Mr Lincoln was
gonna do that. Him and Thornhill decided they better teach the hot-blooded
little troublemaker a lesson, and an hour later the two of them had strung Ruby
up to a low-hangin' tree branch in front of the Big House.
"Then they ripped Ruby's short little sundress off of her and spent a few
minutes admirin' their prize. 'Cordin' to Big Vic, Ruby had that nice
coffee-with-cream Creole skin that a man can't help but want to take a whip to.
Him and Thornhill felt her up some while they explained to her that they was
gonna beat the "Mr Lincoln" sass outa her pretty young body. Then they started
in givin' her the fifty strokes they had promised her.
"It was a muggy day down in the delta country, and inside 'a five inutes
they were makin' the sweat fly off 'a Ruby's sweet young body with every stroke.
Vic was usin' his trusty three-thonged gator-strap and Old Man Thornhill decided
to break in a new carriage whip. Vic said they gave little Ruby ten across her
back, ten good butt-cutters, ten that wrapped around her pretty legs, and ten to
her flat little belly.
WHAPPP!!!! Jack slammed the rod into Honey's upcurved buttocks again. The
tall snake-eyed desperado studied the rosy imprint his blow had left for a
moment or two, and then picked up where he'd left off.
"Vic saved Ruby's tits for last. Thornhill hadn't ever let him whip the
girls' titties before, cause he'd paid good money for them girls, and he knew
how Big Vic could kinda get carried away sometimes. But seein' as how Vic was
gonna sign up with the Colonel's old regiment, the Fourteenth Mississippi, the
next mornin', the old man decided to let him have a little goin' away present
that last night. Besides he figgered it'd serve as a warning to the other
slaves not to act up while Vic was away. The slave cabins was down an old dirt
road way back behind the Big House of course, but the way Vic told it, by
sundown you coulda heard Ruby hollerin' across ten acres of delta cotton."
WHAPPP!!! the switch cut across Honey's deep butt-cleft with punishing
force.
"Aarrrghh!" Honey moaned as she wiggled her burning bottom as if her
movements would somehow quench the flames that consumed her luscious asscheeks.
But all her gyrations did was send tingles of lust through Jack's sperm-heavy
balls.
"Where was I? Oh yeah, Ruby. She was a pretty little thing, Vic said.
About sixteen then, with the innocent face of a fourteen-year old but the curves
of a full-grown woman. 'Cordin' to Vic there couldn't 'a been three bed-warmers
between Jackson and New Orleans with titties as round and firm as hers. Well,
Vic and the Colonel worked her brown boobies over good that night. They stood on
either side of her smokin' Havana cee-gars and sippin' the Colonel's brandy
while she swung back and forth under that tree branch. Every coupla minutes one
of 'em would hand his his snifter to the other to hold and give Ruby a high hard
one, takin' turns until they had given her the ten they had planned on. The
Colonel was goin' on seventy, Vic said, but he still knew how to curl a carriage
whip around a nice set of knockers. And Vic weren't no slouch neither, of
course."
WHAPPP!!! Jack caned Honey's blushing asscheeks again, down low, just
where her taut thighs melded into the base of her bottom-curves.
Honey Wilson let out another cry as she squirmed in pain.
"In fact after they'd given Ruby what was supposed to be her last ten, Old
Man Thornhill had such a gleam in his eye that they decided to give her ten
more. By the time they was done with the second ten tit-splitters, that
carriage whip had busted Ruby's boobies open pretty good. Then they cut her
down and dragged her, kickin' and screamin' across the plantation grounds over
to the stable where the Colonel kept his horses. When they got there, they
threw that Creole beauty face down over a bale of hay and tied her down and took
turns jammin' their lumber up her pretty ass for the rest of the evenin'."
"By mornin' that haybale was covered with blood, and Wilkinson hung it up
like a swing from the branches of a magnolia tree, so the rest of the slaves
could see what they could expect if there was any more talk about Mr Lincoln."
Ernie had been listening with interest to the strange tale of Vic Shiloh
but his slow-moving intellect had fastened, as was his custom, on one detail.
"Geesus, Jack. He got laid every night for four fuckin' years? Hell, that must
be," Ernie paused as he scratched his scraggly chin and wrinkled up his brow in
fierce concentration, "purt' near five thousand pieces of ass, pardner."
Jack gave his partner a quizzical look and shook his head derisively.
Ernie's arithmetical prowess was about what you'd expect from a redneck who'd
got his lazy, ignorant ass kicked out of school in the third grade. Jack
thought for a second and then decided that there wasn't much point in correcting
his lame-brained sidekick. Instead he slid a hand in between Honey's tightly
clenched butt-cheeks, and then wedged his way downward until he could grope her
moist pussy, while the half-jack-knifed blonde squirmed in revulsion.
Honey had listened in horror while Jack had recounted his dreadful tale.
At about the point where Vic Shiloh and Colonel Thornhill were stringing Ruby
up, Jack had reached out and grabbed the four-foot long rope end that hung from
the wrists he'd tied behind Honey' nicely tapered back.
Honey gasped in pain when Jack yanked the rope end upward. What had been a
rather pain-free bondage position instantly became a painful one as Jack wrapped
the end of her wrist rope once around the top rail of the corral and then began
pulling.
"Aaaaaaagghhhh!" Honey cried out in agony as Jack cranked her arms and
shoulders painfully up behind her. As her shoulders were pulled back, the cord
that bound her neck to the lower rail tightened up as well, adding downward
pressure to her torso.
Jack had pulled at the wrist and shoulder rope until it was as tight as it
could be without dislocating Honey's softly rounded shoulders. The blonde was
hopelessly enmeshed in his painful web now, the shiny-new white ropes beautiful
against her suntanned flesh. The ropes pulling upward on her shoulders
counterpoised ingeniously by the ropes pulling downward on her neck. The tension
of the two sets of ropes had lifted her spankable, fuckable ass into even more
delightful prominence. Then Black Jack Slocum had picked the switch back up and
had used it twice since, as we have seen.
"Vic swore to me," Black Jack Slocum continued as he wiped the sweat from
his brow, "that the best fuck he ever had in his life, was the first time he
tied a girl up like this." Jack pointed at his blonde victim, whose deliciously
rounded buttocks were the highest part of her pretzeled body. "'The most
important thing', he said, 'was to rope your little dogie's legs real tight," he
continued as he gestured at the leather reins which had sunken deep into Honey's
tawny thighs. Jack switched Honey's bottom crisply again, burying in the rod
deep in her springy buns before their youthful resilience caused her ass-flesh
to spring back, ready for the next stroke. "Cause it tightens a woman up like a
glove that's three sizes too small.
"In fact," Jack went on, "Big Vic told me that when he first signed on at
the Thornhill plantation he'd had one the field hands, an old darkie named
Quincy, make him a big old wooden bolster, sorta like that ugly blue ottoman in
the Wilson drawing room only a bigger. Quincy was a real handy feller and did a
right fine job on it, too, stuffing the fabric up real tight with chicken
feathers, and then sewing it up nice as you please. When he was done, that
crazy SOB named it after hisself. Called it the Vic-timizer."
SMACKK!! "Aaaurrghhh!" Jack whipped the switch across Honey's rosy bottom
again, causing her to jerk in pain, to the extent her tight bondage permitted,
before continuing with his story.
"In fact, old Quincy did such a nice job on the bolster, that crazy Vic
decided he'd let the old boy watch him break it in, along with a few of Vic's
cronies that had rode down from Vicksburg one weekend. Some of them Vicksburg
boys," Jack chuckled at loud at the memory, "was so damn dumb that they believed
Vic when he told 'em the town had been named for his daddy, Keelboat Vic
Kingston."
"Anyways, the whole bunch of 'em stood outside of Vic's cabin window
watchin' throught the windows while Vic threw a fine-lookin' nigra wench named
Sarina over the Victimizer, and strapped her to it tight as you please, with her
legs cinched together just like blondie here. Y'see, Sarina had run away and hid
when Vic had come lookin' for her, all drunk and horny, the night before. And
Vic wasn't about to let no slave girls think she could get away with that kind
of nonsense. Not as long as Big Vic Shiloh was around."
WHACCKK!!! "Aaaeaiiiahh!!" Again the makeshift cane exploded acrossy the
creamy flesh of Honey's quivering ass-cheeks before Jack Slocum resumed his
relation of the exploits of Vic Shiloh, while Ernie listened spellbound.
"Anyways, after Vic strapped Sarina to the bolster, he hoisted her little
pink dress up to her shoulders -- old man Thornhill didn't let the young
colored girls wear no underthings, a course -- and he started in on her with a
birch rod. Now Vic was probably exaggeratin' but he says he started at her
ankles and gave her a cut of the birch every half inch all the way up her pretty
brown legs, her rounded ass and her long, tapering back, up to where that frilly
dress was bunched around her shoulders. A stroke every half inch would have
meant right around a hundred cuts, so I can't vouch for that part of it. But
however many it was, you can imagine that Sarina was wailing like an African
banshee by the time Vic was done."
"Then Vic dropped the birch and snuck up behind her, unbuttonin' his fly as
he went. He rubbed a little bear grease on his 'Stonewall Jackson'," Slocum
grinned at the recollection. "He named it that after the first battle of
Manassas, I swear to God -- and spread Sarina's cheeks and rammed Stonewall
into her big brown ass while his drunken Vicksburg buddies cheered him on."
"Vic didn't find out 'til later that old Quincy was Sarina's daddy, and
then he felt kinda bad about that part of it. The old carpenter took sick right
after that and passed on just a few weeks later."
Jack tightened his grip on the switch and drew a bead on the precise
middle of Honey's lusciously upraised derriere. Then he slammed the rod down
again, as if her were trying to give her a horizontal butt cleft as deep and
dark as the intriguing vertical groove that separated her tight-set
bottom-ovals.
WHAACKKK!! "AAIAHHHH!" Honey's cries were growing louder and longer
with every stroke.
Jack dropped the rod, and then slowly walked through the corral gate and
came around to face the blue-eyed teenager, undoing his fly as he did so. By
the time he arrived in front of her, his cockshaft was protruding from his
pants, hairy, hard, and horny. Stepping in front of Honey he grabbed her blonde
hair and lifted her head up so that she was facing his mighty manhood.
Jack positioned his cock an inch from Honey's full, ripe lips. "Better get
it nice and wet, Princess, cause I ain't in the mood to run into the house to
get no oil. You got thirty seconds, to lube 'Big Fella' up the best way you can,
and then he's goin' in yer ass, wet or dry."
"B-but..." Honey stammered.
"Thirty seconds, Honey. Clock's tickin'. I wouldn't waste no more time
if'n I was you."
At the sound of those words, Honey wrapped her mouth around Jack's
Texas-sized cock and did her best to produce some saliva. He moved his hips
forward slightly so as to fit more of his blue-veined organ into her mouth, as
Honey desperately tried to moisten its massive girth and length.
But the day was dry and fear and pain had rendered her rather dry-mouthed.
When the half-minute was up, Jack pulled out of her mouth, his cock moist and
glistening from her attentions, but hardly soggy and dripping. The rangy
gunslinger quickly stood up, strode back out the corral gate and came around
behind her.
Honey heard a metallic click as Jack undid the thick silver buckle on his
belt, and then she heard his pants slide down his legs. Two seconds later she
felt his big, powerful hands on her nether cheeks.
"Yeah, darlin'! Yer gonna be somethin' special, Honey-girl."
Jack unbuttoned the row of buttons on his dark shirt, while he admired the
shape of Honey's heart-shaped ass. It remained to be seen whether Vic Shiloh's
notions would hold true, but there was no gainsaying the fact that he'd never
seen an ass as fuckable as Honey's. Ripe, round, rosy, and astonishingly
deep-clefted --- and decorated with the three wide bands that Black Betsy had
left and the narrow striations left by Ernie's punishing switch.
Jack stripped his shirt off and then reached down and pulled off his black
boots and then shucked his pants and drawers off, and stepped up behind his
jack-knifed victim. The hot Texas sun felt good on his face and chest as he
inched up behind Honey and ran his hairy hands all over Honey's bottom cheeks,
stroking and queezing her warm, resilient flesh.
Ernie watched with amusement as the mortified expression on Honey's face as
Jack's hands violated her nude buttocks, slowly turned to one of horror as Jack
stepped closer, so that the tips of his big feet straddled her cinched-together
ankles. Jack stroked his immense weapon a few times, until his cocktip was a
deep, pulsing purple.
Then he slid his lanky but muscular body up tight against against the silky
skin of Honey's hips and thighs. He grabbed his rigid sex-pole and guided it
into the tiny vertical crevice where Honey's long, strong, bound-together
thighs, still bearing traces of the dark marks Betsy had left the prior evening,
melded gracefully into the curvature of her buttocks. Then he lifted his
throbbing monster upward between her legs, letting its Cyclopean head linger at
the portal to Honey's pink-lipped vagina. He steered his weapon up and down
against the tightly-clenched petals of her labia that peeked out ever so
slightly from her cinched thighs for a cock-pleasing moment. But he was in the
mood for other pleasures.
He guided his veiny phallus higher still, sliding it through the narrow
fissure formed by her buttock cheeks. "Yeaahhhhh," he groaned with pleasure, as
he felt the soft, firm flesh of Honey's bottom-globes caressing the length of
his brawny organ.
Honey grimaced as Jack toyed with her nether regions; his penis felt like
a fleshy club between her legs. But still he pressed closer.
Jack let his hairy organ make one more pass at Honey's quim, moistening it
with her secretions. Then, when his teasing club could no longer stand to remain
unsheathed, Jack's forceful fingers gripped Honey's naked buttock-globes and
parted them, revealing the crinkly aperture that seemed to wink at the hot Texas
sun overhead.
"Aw, she's got a purty little asshole, Ern, don't she?" Jack muttered
salaciously. "I'm gonna give you a break, Honey-chile," Jack growled, as he
spit heavily into her butt-crease; the gob of saliva would ease the entry of
his blue-veined cocktip into her delicate pinkish-brown rosette.
His thumbnails holding her cheeks apart, Slocum positioned his fleshy
piston, slightly moist from Honey's panicky licking, at the entrance to her
alluring anal ring and thrust forward.
"N-no.." Honey begged, as she felt the aggressive tip of Jack's horse-cock
press relentlessly against her puckering anus. She marveled at his amazing
return to full sexual potency after the marathon of sexual punishment that he
had subjected her to at the secluded lake little more than an hour ago.
"Unnnghh!" Honey gasped, as Black Jack's thick organ screwed its way into
the foyer of her tight muscular canal.
"Mmmm, baby," Jack muttered as he lunged forward again, determined to
conquer Honey's springy bottom. "Mmmmmm.... Yeah!" And then again, little by
little wedging his fleshy cudgel into Honey's resisting ass channel, as the
jack-knifed blonde wriggled in pain beneath him. "Take it, Honey. Take it in
your hot, tight ass!" The sight of Honey Wilson's cock-clutching pink orifice
stretched to the bursting point around his swollen dick-head sent delicious
thrills of pleasure pulsing through his plum-sized testicles.
"Oh, yeah! It's goin' deeper, blondie, lots deeper," Jack groaned as he
wedged his monster cock further into Honey's deliciously tight rear passage.
Once he felt that his rock-hard rammer was partially ensconced in Honey's
resisting rosette, Jack reached forward and seized the sturdy corral rail with
both powerful hands, and then, using the rail for leverage, he slammed his
cockmeat even deeper into Honey's rectum. Her frantic but unavailing efforts
to escape his phallic impalement only added to the pleasure of his pillage.
"Maybe next time you'll think twice about testifyin' against a fella who's
just havin' a little fun, Princess," Jack sneered. Waves of ecstasy coursed
through Slocum's cock-shaft and radiated through his long lean body as if by
magic, as Honey's rectal muscles clenched and unclenched around his massive
girder. Crazy Vic had been right after all, Jack thought; he'd buggered a lot
of bung-holes in his time, but lashing Honey's legs so tightly together, had
turned a routinely pleasurable ass-plundering into one that was
un-fucking-forgettable. Paradoxically, Honey's defiant efforts to thwart his
intruding organ, her frantic, hair-swirling side-to-side movements which were
intended to deny it further access to her elastic rectal channel, served instead
to milk his rockhard phallus, suctioning it ever inward.
Still holding on to the thick middle rail of the corral for leverage, Jack
thrust forward again, his hairy, well-muscled legs hard and hot against Honey's
taut, straining thighs. "Oh, geesus, that's good!" Grunting with pleasure he
thrust again. And again, as he went on establishing a painful, pounding rhythm
to his rectal rape. Within a few seconds Jack was sodomizing Honey with a
powerful burst of compact fuck-strokes that attacked Honey's shapelby buttocks
with Gatling-gun rapidity, slamming the teenaged blonde's naked belly against
the rough corral rail with every punishing thrust.
"Ungh! Unggh! Unngghhh!!" Honey groaned as Jack's piston fired into her
smooth-walled rectal cylinder again and again. Every concussive lunge sent
sharp pangs of agony through her back-bent arms and shoulders.
Jack's lightning-swift series of staccato thrusts set Honey's nude
tit-melons to swinging and swaying in time with his jolting sexual rhythm.
Entranced by their seductive bobbling, Ernie knelt down in the dust in front of
Honey and lifted her blonde head so that he could press his lips to hers.
Revolted by his foul breath, which stank of cheap tobacco and stale alcohol,
Honey turned her head away from his lips.
"What's a matter Honey-girl? Don't wanna give Uncle Ernie a friendly
little kiss? Now that ain't very nice."
"Ohhh, Goddddd, stop!" she begged as Jack slammed heavily into her rounded
rear again. And again. And again. Adding to the strain on her tortured
shoulders.
"Ram her good, Jackson!" Ernie exhorted his partner. "Blondie here needs
to learn some manners." Gibbs reached forward, trapping Honey's pendulous,
swaying breasts, still warm from the belt-whipping he'd given them, in his
trail-dusty hands.
Honey moaned in distress as she felt the Weasel's ragged nails did into her
tender love mounds. "Please .. not so ha... Aauggghhh!!" she wailed as Ernie
tightened his sadistic grip.
"Ohhhhhh, yeaaaahhhh," Jack exulted as his powerful body slammed ever
harder into Honey's upraised derriere. Then as a sudden stab of pain under his
right eye reminded him how Honey had broken his nose, he yelled, "Hey, Ern!
Make yerself useful and smack those juicy jugs around!"
Ernie gave Honey's pleasure-globes another brutal squeeze before releasing
them. The homely little man grinned gleefully as he used his left hand to lift
Honey's head slightly by her golden tresses so that she could watch his right
arm sweep forward to spank the outer curve of her left breast.
Smackkk!! "Ouwwww!"
"That's it, Ern! Work those tits over good!"
Honey's left breast was still bobbling gently when Ernie Gibbs switched
hands and whipped his left hand sharply across Honey's other lust-globe.
Smackkk!! "Aaaoooww!"
With his big black boots planted firmly in the ground, and his powerful
arms gripping the corral rail, Jack Slocum's long, lean body was a sinewy 6' 4"
battering ram, that pounded its way deeper into Honey's rear entrance with every
punishing thrust.
"Unnghhh! Mmgghhh!! Ummmgghhhh!!!" Honey's grunts of pain grew louder as
each of Jack's violent lunges forced his manly cock-knob another centimeter into
her magnificently upthrust bottom. "Please ... please..." she whimpered
piteously.
Just when her entire consciousness seemed centered on the stabbing, burning
pain in her ass, Honey felt Ernie's ragged fingernails gouging painfully into
her tender breasts again. "Ooooooohhhhh..." she moaned softly, a moment before
she felt the gut-wrenching pressure of another punishing lunge from the swarthy
gunslinger behind her.
Jack was beside himself with lustful pleasure. Vic's recipe for sexual
pleasure had been a complete success. Having Honey's lovely thighs lashed
together so that her hips and buttocks were forced to hug his plunging manhood
like a long-lost relative, made all the difference between a decent meal and a
sexual feast. It was sort of like how a hungry cowboy can dine on a chewy
sirloin in a Panhandle roadhouse and think he's livin' the good life -- until
he's tasted a juicy, two-inch thick melt-in-your-mouth-tender Kansas City
T-bone.
The entire length of Jack's Texas-sized phallus was imbedded in a blonde
Kansas City T-bone, and Honey's every convulsive spasm of pain squeezed its
punishing length deliciously. He let go of the rail now and let his hands wander
over Honey's golden flesh, enjoying the warm sweaty feel, and the womanly scent
of her splendid body. His greedy fingers crept spider-like over the soft skin
of her back, and then over the creamy rondures of her sculpted buttocks, and the
sleek curves of her bare thighs.
Inspired by the rising crescendo of Honey's ever-louder moans of
discomfort, Jack continued working his man-weapon in and out of Honey's inflamed
nether passage. His anal assault resembled the untiring staccato strokes of a
steam-driven piston, steady, forceful, relentless. The sexual pleasure was so
intense that he was torn between the desire to prolong the ecstasy for as long
as possible and the need to achieve the intoxicatingly sweet release of a
shattering climax.
"Unnngghh! .... Godd... please ... I can't take any m.... UNNGHH!!"
The wild-haired blonde's cries of distress grew louder, but only served to
make Jack thrust all the harder. Then he called across to his partner. "I'm
gettin' tired of her whinin', Ern. Why don't you close her yap?"
"Yeah, I know just how to shut our Princess up," Ernie gloated as he
released the breasts he'd been mauling, and tore at the buttons on his fly,
freeing his ugly little cock from its dingy, denim confines. Then he stood up
and moved closer to Honey and lifted up her head so that her lips brushed
against his prick.
"Open up, baby! Lunchtime!"
"UNNNNNGHHH!!" Honey groaned piteously again as Slocum jack-hammered her
asshole with another vicious thrust. Honey slavishly bent to her degrading
task. She opened her mouth wide as Ernie the Weasel slid his scrawny dick
between her lips, filling her mouth with the vile taste of his unwashed body.
As soon as her lips closed on his erection, she gagged uncontrollably.
"What's a matter, Princess? You forget how I fucked you in the ass last
night? Sorry, but I was so busy gettin stabbed and shot, that I forgot to bathe
this morning, your highness. But don't worry, you'll get used to it." Ernie
Gibbs slowly sawed his foul, scraggly-haired sausage in and out of Honey's young
mouth.
Meanwhile, Jack couldn't take it any more. He'd long-since lived up to his
reputation as Black Jack Slow-Come. His sperm-laden cojones were slapping
against Honey's luscious, cock-clutching ass with rapid-fire velocity as he
headed around the final turn building up speed like a Kentucky thoroughbred. He
grabbed hold of the corral rails again and redoubled his efforts. "Yeah! Yeah!!
YEAH!!!" he roared, his hairy gonads primed to pump what felt like gallons of
man-seed upward into his cock. He thrust again, reveling in the delicious
sensation as the intensely pleasurable moment seemed to be frozen in time. Then
he reached forward with his long, simian arms and seized a lush, ripe-nippled
Honey Wilson breast in each hand as he pounded his way down the homestretch,
giving his protesting filly a ride she would never forget.
The intimate muscles of the blonde teen-ager's rectal channel were being
stretched and pounded and punished in ways that she had never dreamed of. And
now Black Jack Slocum's big hairy hands had closed on her bobbling love gourds
once again and were gripping them so tightly that in her near-delirium Honey
feared that the unbearable pressure might cause her swollen nipples to pop off
of her breasts like champagne corks at a wedding.
'Take it, Blondie!! TAKE IT!! ... RIGHT ... IN ... YOUR ... HOT ...
FUCKING ... ASSSSS!!!!" Jack roared as the full length of his Texas-sized cock
plumbed the depths of Honey Wilson's man-clutching rectum.
"GGMGMPGPHH!!" Honey choked on Ernie's fuck-pole, and somehow the notion
that Ernie's ugly prick had silenced Honey's cries for help sent Jack's
well-muscled body thundering across the finish line. He gave Honey's nude
breasts a final tit-crushing squeeze and then his cockshaft exploded with
pleasure as he fired jet after jet of Slocum-sperm deep into the inner recesses
of Honey's perfect body.
"YYYYYEAAAHH!!!!!!" he groaned as he lunged twice more, emptying his fleshy
gun-barrel into Honey Wilson's tantalizing nether passage.
After his shattering orgasm, Jack fell forward on Honey's sweaty body
briefly, and then pulled away, his meaty cock making an odd popping sound as he
withdrew its massive length from Honey's clutching sphincter. He was breathing
as hard as if he had plowed a fresh furrow. Which, in a way, he had.
"OK, Ern," Jack said, as he slowly pulled on his clothes, carefully
threading Black Betsy through the appropriate belt loops, "Looks like you've
got yer little Princess just where you want her. I'm gonna check out the house
one more time, and see if I can find any cash, or guns, or anything worth taking
with us." And Black Jack Slocum squeezed his feet into his black boots and
headed toward the Wilson house.
"OK, Big Jack. Old man Wilson's loaded -- there oughta be a lotta loot
stashed in there somewheres. Then we can vamoose, just as soon as Princess,
here, finishes giving me that West Texas blow job she promised me an hour ago.
Keep at it, Blondie," the little man ordered, as Honey's tear-dampened cheeks
retracted inwardly in time with the soft, firm suction of her lips. And she's
gonna do it real good if she knows what's good for her!"
"Wrap yer pretty lips around it. Mmmm. That's good. Use your tongue, too,
Princess. Get it nice and wet! Oh yeah! Now suck it, baby. Suck it like like
a little pink piglet! Worship that cock!"
Ernie loved the slurpy sounds Honey made as she kissed and licked and
sucked his manhood. Her mouth was as warm as a newborn animal's on its mama's
teat. Warm and wet.
His excitement increased as he forced Honey's head down on his cock,
gagging her with his man-weapon. He held on to her blonde hair tightly with both
hands as he face-fucked her, harder and harder until she was choking for air.
But Ernie was in no mood to slow down. "Take it all, you cock-sucking
bitch! Right down to the balls! Take it all!" he repeated grimly, as his
scrawny testicles slapped against Honey's pretty chin.
He was fucking her throat now, with quick, furious lunges, his penis
throbbing with carnal desire, as he thrust it deeper and deeper into the warm
pink cavern of her mouth.
"Oh, fuck! Yeah!" his voice was almost unrecognizable, it was so convulsed
with lust. "Swallow it, Princess! he shouted, as he finally shot his wad into
her gaping mouth. "Swallow every goddamn drop!"
And Ernie's skinny body shook with a final exquisite shudder, his thrilling
orgasm recompensing him in part for Honey's nocturnal attack the night before.
Chapter 19 Painful Bondage
Honey's pink lips were coated with strands of semen when Black Jack
returned from his excursion into the Wilson house.
"Lick it clean, baby!" Ernie growled as he grabbed her blonde hair again
and wiped his vile, sperm-covered cock back and forth across Honey's face,
squeezing the last few dribbles of seed out of his hairy dick.
Jack watched for a moment, enjoying the look of utter humiliation on Honey
Wilson's face, while Ernie Gibbs finished stuffing his depleted member back into
his filthy denims. Slocum glanced up at the position of the sun in the sky
before saying, "C'mon, Ern. Time for us to saddle up. We gotta put some
distance between us and the Wilson Ranch before them shit-ass cowpokes get
back. They ain't gonna be too happy when they find out what we done to their
prick-teasin' princess."
"Please ... please ..." Honey's voice was weak, despairing. Her body was
still bent at the waist over the middle rail of the corral, with a neck rope
pulling her head down even as the ropes around her wrists pulled her shoulders
back painfully. Her body ached as a result of her flogging and violent anal
penetration by Black Jack Slocum, and her spirit had been crushed by having to
swallow Ernie Gibbs' vile seed.
"We gonna leave her like that?" Ernie asked his rangy partner.
Slocum removed his black hat and wiped the sweat from his brow; the west
Texas sun was beating down on them with a vengeance. "I reckon we might as well.
Why not?"
"Well, fer one thing, if we leave her like that, her ass and her back's
gonna get sunburnt to beat hell. Ain't that right, Honey?"
"Y-yes." It had been the least of her worries, but Ernie's words were
certainly true -- in her inverted L-position the back of her legs, her bottom
and her back were entirely exposed to the direct rays of the sun, while the
front of her body was not. Had the horrid little man been moved by some impulse
of human sympathy, now that the two raping marauders were about to leave?
"Damn right, Honey! And we don't want those big fuckin' tits 'a yers to
miss out on the fun, do we, Jackson?!?" Ernie chortled. Inside the corral,
Ernie the Weasel bent down and undid Honey's choking neck rope, for which Honey
was grateful, and as she straightened her aching back, Jack Slocum untied the
ropes which held her left wrist to the toprail of the corral.
But only for a moment; within a minute or two, Honey found herself in a new
and nearly as painful bondage. Jack had undone the ropes which had pulled her
arms and shoulders up and back so painfully but had swiftly retied her. She was
still standing with her feet and legs outside the corral, and her naked belly
was still pressed painfully against the splintered middle-rail of the corral.
But now, from the waist up her body was inside the upper rail, with her
rounded shoulders pulled backwards so that the weathered toprail fit snugly,
albeit painfully, under her armpits. Ropes tied as tightly as only Jack Slocum
could tie them cinched Honey's upper arms painfully to the toprail. Another
constricting rope pulled her elbows inward behind her, so that her arms were
flush against her ribcage in a way that seemed to force her luscious
breast-melons close together.
But it was the way her shoulders were pulled back that really did wonders
for Honey's spectacular breasts, forcing them to jut outward from her chest
like the rounded stone outcroppings that eons of geological pressures had thrust
upwards from some of the nearby hills.
Jack eye-balled Honey's sun-tanned pleasure-mounds for a long, lingering
moment, cursing inwardly that there wasn't time to fuck the living daylights out
of those twin beauties again. The snake-eyed gunslinger could still feel the
jolts of pleasure that had thrilled his cock when he'd forced his rock-hard
Texas truncheon through Honey's damp and dripping crushed-together breasts on
the banks of the little lake this morning. Hard to believe some lily-livered
city slickers and greenhorns didn't have the horse sense to give their women a
good hard tit-fucking on a regular basis. Specially after giving 'em a few good
licks with a leather strap. Just to soften 'em up.
"There, you go, Princess," Ernie said, now that Honey was fully erect, and
her brazen breasts were positioned so that they would receive the full brunt of
the torrid sunshine. "Ain't that better, now?"
The former ranch-hand slipped his hands beneath Honey's perspiring melons,
cupping their weight in his hands before giving her slick, pink-tipped breasts a
forceful squeeze. "Now, ain't you happy that you ain't gonna look like no
turtle's belly?" Gibbs' untrimmed, jagged thumbnails reached toward Honey's
pleasure-nuggets. "Hey, when you 'spectin them bastards that worked me over to
mosey on back here, anyways?" The sharp edges of Ernie's thumbnails pressed
inward against the very tips of her nipples as Honey gasped softly. "T'morrow
night? Hell, hot as that sun feels, I reckon yer big, juicy jugs 'll be baked
hotter'n yer grandmaw's cherry pie, by then. Won't they Jack? And purt near as
red,"
Ernie grinned darkly as he took Honey's tender lust buds gently betweeen
finger and thumb and rubbed the coral nubs until they stood proudly at
attention. "And that's just what you deserve, sweetie, for costin' a man a job
just for wantin' to see what a man's got a right to see." Scowling, Ernie
slowly tightened his steely grip on the voluptuous blonde's nipples until tears
of suffering welled up in her azure-blue eyes.
Jack slid his hairy fingers between Honey's silken thighs one last time,
as he gave Honey's bindings a final thorough once-over, admiring his own
artristry as he did so. The coarse hempen ropes that bound her arms would leave
impressions that would be visible for days, as would the belly cincher that he'd
tied around her waist earlier, after ordering Honey to suck in her breath. "Yep,
that should hold her, until her pa gets back. It'll give us plenty of time to
get away. C'mon, Ern, let's vamoose."
But Ernie had taken an oblique step or two backward to enjoy Honey Wilson's
sun-tanned body in profile. The leather reins bit into the well-defined
quadriceps muscles in Honey's athletic thighs like a tourniquet, causing her
tawny flesh to redden in response. The compact curves of her heart-shaped
derriere were pulled toward the fence by her waist-rope, but her back was
arched into a taut bow by the ropes which bound her arms to the toprail. With
her shoulders thrust backward, the rancher's daughter's pink-nippled breasts
jutted forward even more provocatively than usual.
Ernie whistled under his breath. "Geesus, I hate to leave a
fine-lookin' young slut like this, Jack, but I s'pose yer right. So how much
dough 'd you find in the house?"
"Only eighteen dollars. But c'mon, it's time we got outa here."
"Eighteen dollars!" the little man exploded. "Eighteen dollars! Ain't no
way I'm leavin' here with only eighteen fucking dollars! Her daddy's rich,
Jack! There's gotta be more'n eighteen dollars! Fuck! The sonofabitch owed me
more 'n that when he fired me!?
Jack looked nervously up the road toward toward the Dunbar ranch - making
sure that there was no cloud of dust betokening the return of the Wilson ranch
hands, "Damn it, Ern, I told you -- that's all there was. We gotta make
tracks, Ern, and get a good head start. Remember, Cyclone's got two of us to
carry, now. And there's bound to be a posse after us by tomorrow."
Ernie, just now remembering that Honey had chased his horse away when she
made her escape, took off his hat, slammed it on the ground and kicked it.
"Uh-uh, Jack. No way."
The little weasel looked like he was gonna have a stroke, Jack thought.
Just below the bloodstained makeshift bandage Ernie had wrapped around his
gunshot wound, a vein in his temple was pulsing like an abscessed tooth.
"I got that money comin' to me, Jack. And by God I'm gonna get it!"
Ernie grabbed a handful of Honey's blonde hair and pulled it back hard. "Where's
your old man keep his money, Princess?"
"I - I ..."
"Talk, dammnit! " Ernie's eyes were ablaze with fury. "Where in the goddam
hell is that switch?" he raved as his eyes darted around wildly until he spied
the rod he had fashioned earlier. "Where's the dough?" he snarled as he twisted
Honey's silken mane and lowered his face to hers, so closely that she could
taste his foul breath.
"Ouww! I don't know. I don't think my father keeps any money in the
house."
"She's a lyin' horse-thievin' bitch, Jack. And I'm gonna make her talk!"
And Ernie strode determinedly toward the corral gate where Jack had dropped the
thick switch. Cursing under his breath, Ernie stalked back toward the nude
blonde who was pinioned fast to the corral rail, swishing the switch menacingly
through the air as he did so.
"Ain't you had enough, girl? You know I ain't playin' games! Where's
your pappy keep his fucking money?"
"I-I told you ... I don't kn .. ."
Ernie the Weasel, his homely face contorted with rage, climbed through the
corral rail, took the switch back over his shoulder, and then swept it forward,
blistering Honey across the backs of her well-toned thighs.
WHACKK!! "Aaaaiiiiii!"
"Wrong answer, Princess. Where's the money?"
"I-I-I..."
WHACCKK!! "AAAGGHH!!" Ernie whipped the home-made cane across the very
summits of Honey's spacious bottom-globes.
"Kee-rist, yer pissing me off. I'll bet there's a goddam safe. Where is
it?"
"I've never heard of any ..."
"Liar!" The expression on Ernie's face was grotesque as he tightened his
grip on the cane and swung again.
WHACCKKK!! "Eeaaaaiiiahhh!" Another thigh-burner that left a lurid mark
high on Honey's bare legs.
Fuming, the ferret-faced little man clambered back through the corral so
that he could face the beautiful blonde teenager. Standing slightly to her left
he extended his arm, gently tapping Honey's out-thrust, sweat-sheened breasts
with the the hardwood rod.
Ernie's gray-green eyes had the wild, frenzied look of a rabid dog. "I
don't have to tell you where you're gonna get the next one, do I, Princess?"
Honey's blue eyes filled with tears as she felt the weight of the rod
against her tender breasts which were so provocatively proffered for punishment.
She shook her head sadly from side to side.
"Please ... no..."
Ernie stepped closer so that there was no mistaking the wrath that
contorted his scrawny features. "Right on these big teasers, that's where yer
gonna git, it, darlin'. Less'n you tell me where that safe is."
The blonde teenager, sobbing, could only choke out, "Please ... I don't..."
a moment or so before she felt a scalding wave of pain as Ernie's rod blasted
into the soft, womanly curves of her close-set breasts, striking the soft flesh
just below her pouting pink nipples.
"Honey, I wouldn't mind whipping yer tits from now until Chrismas," Ernie
snarled. "You want some more? You better talk, you fucking bitch!" Ernie
waited only a few more seconds before he lifted the switch high in the air and
hacked Honey across the tops of her naked tit-globes with a vicious downward
stroke.
THWACCKKK!! "Aaaaahhhhh ... O my God ... O ... O God..."
"WHERE IS THE FUCKING MONEY??"
"I - I have two d-dollars ... in my sewing basket. Please ... you can ...
"Two Fucking Dollars?! Yer old man's got eight hundred head of cattle and
yer gonna offer me two fucking dollars?"
Enraged by Honey's response, Ernie took dead aim at the very centers of
Honey's glorious young globes. Honey, nude, bound, utterly defenseless, could
only watch as the fiendish little man swung the rod forward in a vicious
sweeping arc cut that ended with a sickening THWUCCKK!! when the cane buried
itself deep in the crinkly pink flesh of her aureoles.
"Ouuuuuwwwhhhhhh!! ... it hurts ... please ... no! ... no!! ... no!!!"
The syllable was still on Honey's lips and her quivering pain-melons were
still in flames from the prior blow when Ernie lashed out at them again with
tit-splitting ferocity, this time landing flush on both of her swollen nipples.
THWACKK!! "AAAAAIEEAAHHHHH!! Stop ... I'm begging y..."
"Talk, you fucking whore!" And then The Weasel blistered the blonde's firm
young breasts yet again, just missing her aching nipples, striking instead the
exquisite edge of a pinky-brown aureole. Moments later he sliced her proud
beauties savagely once more, this time opening a crimson gash on the inner curve
of Honey's left breast.
Honey felt as if her throbbing breasts were swimming in a sea of fiery
acid. In less than twenty-four hours her pink-tipped treasures, which had never
experienced a moment of discomfort in all of her nineteen years, had been
spanked and punched, strapped and burnt, bound and raped, belted and caned. And
there was still no end in sight.
Jack had watched Ernie's savage outburst with both unabashed excitement and
growing concern. His cock had stiffened pleasurably as the beads of sweat had
flown off the tattle-tale's luscious love-jugs with each stroke of the cane, but
each minute they delayed leaving left them a minute closer to the gallows, once
the Wilson hands returned from the cattle drive.
"Ern?"
"Yeah? What is it?" Ernie replied disgustedly, as he wiped some spittle
from his mouth with a filthy sleeve.
"Well, the old man just went on a cattle drive. Stands to reason, maybe he
don't have much cash until after he sells the cattle, don't it?"
Ernie glared at him and gave Honey a final withering CRACKK!! across her
tortured tit-globes, before shrugging resignedly. "I swear to God I got worse
luck than a virgin in a mining camp! Fuck it!" he snarled, as he kicked at his
hat again. "Oh, well. I reckon we'd better be gettin' outa here."
Relieved that Ernie had finally become more tractable, Jack began striding
over toward the waiting Cyclone.
But he had only taken two steps when he heard Ernie's voice -- once again
with its own agenda.
"But first, Jacko, I want to leave Honey one more whaddyacallit of our
little visit." Ernie scratched his head thoughtfully. "A souvenir! Yeah,
that's it. Something to remember us by, Jackson. I saw somethin' in the barn
yesterday, and I was tryin' to figger out how to make use of it, and then it
came to me sudden-like, while I waitin' for you two this morning," Ernie said,
as he turned and headed toward the barn.
Deciding to humor his scatter-brained partner for a few more minutes, Jack
cast his eyes up toward the bright sun overhead. "Gonna be a hot one, today,
Honey. Maybe ninety, ninety-five. Be careful you don't get too much sun, now"
he snorted good-naturedly to the nude teenager, whose gorgeous body faced
southward, directly in the path of the broiling afternoon sun.
Ernie reappeared a minute or two later, looking like a clerk in a general
store. He was carrying a brace of six foot metal stakes in one hand and a
hammer and a coil of some odd-looking wire in the other. Jack watched as his
partner went on to pull a ball of twine and a pair of heavy gloves out of the
back pocket in which he had apparently stashed them while he was in the barn.
Jack watched with interest, and Honey with apprehension, as Ernie used his
pocket-knife to cut a couple of four-foot lengths from the ball of twine. Then
he bent down to Honey's throbbing left nipple and mouthed, sucked, and tugged on
the coral nugget, until it reacted to his caresses by pointed at him defiantly.
Then Ernie fashioned a little noose with the twine and jerked the noose
painfully tight around the base of Honey's breast bud. Jack had already been
playing with her other boob, so it didn't take long to duplicate the feat on her
other nipple. Each nubbin was now choked by a tight little nipple noose, with a
length of twine dangling below.
Ernie then reached for the two six-foot stakes and hammered them firmly
into the ground, maybe four feet apart, right in front of Honey, in a line
parallel to the corral fence. Then he pulled on the gloves, and carefully
unspooled some of the wire.
Jack could see now that Ernie had found some of that new-fangled barbed
wire, which some of the crop farmers in the west were using to keep cattle from
grazing on their land. It was big news, even in prison, as more and more of it
sprouted up all over the west -- because the cattle ranchers wanted a free
range, and hated barbed wire with a passion. In recent years there had been
violence on both sides over its use. Jack guessed that one of the Wilson hands
had probably stolen the wire from some poor SOB of a farmer who had been trying
to put it up to keep the Wilson cattle from rampagin' across his land.
"I been wantin' to use some of this on a girl with nice knobs, ever since I
first seen it," Ernie smirked.
Slocum returned the evil grin and looked on as his partner strung two
strands of the barbed wire between the metal stakes, so that the wire ran in a
line half an inch beneath Honey's firm young breasts, and about the same
distance away from her ribcage. Nasty-looking bits of sharp, twisted metal
pointed inward and upward at her blood-streaked love-gourds; Honey's slightest
downward movement would impale her boobs on the barbs. Then Ernie moved the
lengths of twine so that they dangled casually over the barbed wire.
Ernie then checked to make sure that the stakes were solid and that the
wire was taut. Satisfied that everything was in order, he addressed his
shapely prisoner.
"Now you best be careful, Princess," Ernie chortled. "This here's nasty
stuff. Those barbs 'll cut through cowhide; no tellin' what they might do to the
soft skin of those pretty titties 'a yers."
Then turning to his swarthy crony, Ernie sought approval. "Whaddya think,
Jack? Ya like it?"
"Not bad, Ern, not bad at all. But all she has to do is hold still and
that wire won't give her no trouble."
"Well, that's true as true can be, Jackson," Ernie said, as he doffed the
heavy gloves, "but holdin' still ain't always the easiest thing to do. Even
when a girl's tied up as nice and tight as you tied our little Princess. Looky
here."
Ernie took one of the dangling ends of nipple twine and, after carefully
studying the proper length, tied it securely around the switch he'd used to flog
Honey, about a foot up from the thick end of the switch. Then he took the
dangling end of the other nipple noose and did likewise, securing it about a
foot from the other end of the rod.
The yard-long whipping switch now resembled an erotic trapeze, trisected by
the strands of twine that had been suspended from Honey's swollen nipples. And
then, crouching, Ernie slowly lowered the rod, letting most of the slack out of
the twine.
When the rod was no more than six inches from the ground, Ernie released
it. When it fell toward the ground, the rod's weight tugged down hard on
Honey's imprisoned nipples, bringing the yielding underslope of her breasts into
contact with the ugly points of the barb wire strung just below them.
Despite his ignorance at arithmetic, Ernie's eye had measured well -- the
switch swung gently back and forth about an inch off the sandy corral floor.
"Aaaggh!" Honey winced, and tried to lift her breasts up from the barbs
that had pierced her. And she was able to do that, barely - the rod was not all
that heavy. Honey quickly determined that she could keep her breasts off the
barbs, but only by lifting the rod off the ground with her nipples.
"There, our little Princess oughta have some fun with that!" Ernie said,
Bravely, Honey lifted up with her pectoral muscles. And saw that Jack and
Ernie were making their way toward Cyclone.
"For God's sake! You can't leave me out here like this."
"Relax blondie, your pa's due back tomorrow. You won't die. Keep yer chin
up! And yer chest!"
And Honey could hear the two men chuckling at Jack's joke as they rode off.
Leaving her suspended in painful bondage.
The first few minutes weren't too bad; despite the dreadful abuse she had
suffered at he hands of the two desperados, she was strong and healthy, and her
arms and shoulders were able to support her body weight fairly comfortably. And
although her inflamed breasts were criss-crossed with belt and switch-strokes,
her pectoral muscles were fit, too, the result of pitchforking thousands of
bales of hay through her teenage years. The rod wasn't all that heavy, probably
no heavier than a silver table knife.
But a young woman's nipples, no matter how stiffened by desire or crude
caresses, no matter how brave, simply were not designed for lifting, and within
an hour, Honey was reduced to choosing between the agony of the weight pulling
on her poor nubbins, or the vicious points of the barbed wire digging into the
undersides of her breasts. She was trapped hopelessly between a rod and a sharp
place.
As the sun arced slowly toward the west, the heat of the day began to take
its toll as well. By mid-afternoon, she felt like a chicken broiling on a spit;
luckily she had gulped down quite a bit of water at the pond early that morning,
and so heatstroke, for the moment, seemed unlikely.
By four o'clock, every muscle in her body was in misery - her back hurt,
her calves and thighs were cramping. Sweat poured down her naked body, and she
was fighting a losing battle trying to keep her abused breasts above the jagged
barbs. How could she possible endure another twenty-four hours of such an
ordeal?
The minutes crept by at a snail's pace. At some point in the late
afternoon Honey began to feel a few ants, looking for moisture, and attracted by
the film of perspiration on her magnificent body, beginning the long trek up her
shapely legs. Flies, perhaps attracted by the smell of blood, buzzed around her
breasts, occasionally lighting and brushing their ugly legs together on her
creamy jugs, To the extent that her bonds permitted her to move, Honey
shuddered in revulsion. She hated bugs, and wondered what nocturnal creatures
the night might bring.
Only the knowledge that the ranch hands were due to return the following
day helped her keep her spirits up.
It never occurred to the tawny teenager that others might find her first
...
Chapter 20 The Night Riders
Jack Slocum had bound Honey well. As the blazing late afternoon sun slowly
descended toward the horizon in the west, the young blonde still hung on the
corral like a full-breasted, golden-haired scarecrow. Her shoulders hurt from
being pulled backward over the top rail of the corral, her legs ached from being
forced to stand in such an unnatural position, and the south-facing front of her
body was rosy from the broiling rays of the sun.
Honey had fought all afternoon to lift her breasts clear of the strands of
barbed wire that Ernie Gibbs had strung just beneath them, but the weighted
nipple harness he had fashioned ensured that her ripe love-melons paid a
lacerating price each and every time she tried to relax.
Honey had never looked forward to a sunset so much in her life, for if
nothing else dusk would provide a reprieve from the skin-scorching rays from
above. The brightly-shining globe in the sky had been her only companion on
that long afternoon, and a most unpleasant one, but one that seemed to celebrate
its mastery over her. As twilight approached it was as if the brilliant orb had
looked down upon the splendid body of Honey Wilson with its bright lusty eye,
and had become so aroused by the sight of her glorious nudity that it erupted in
a cosmic climax, shooting brilliant sprays of golds and pink and reds through
the porous, puffy clouds that dotted the azure sky.
Twilight came, and with it the first stirrings of of nocturnal life.
Occasional froggy croaks from the direction of the swimming hole punctuated the
soft drone of chirping crickets that interrupted the stillness of the summer
evening. Dusk had almost turned into nightfall when Honey heard the first faint
sound of horses' hooves, coming down the road along which she had raced the
night before. Her heart leapt up; surely these riders must be her daddy's ranch
hands, returning from Abilene. Soon she would be freed from her painful and
humiliating bondage, and a posse would be formed to track down the brutes who
had raped and tortured her. But this time, Jack Slocum and his verminous
sidekick wouldn't get off with a prison sentence. There wouldn't even need to
be a trial or testimony this time. Her daddy would see to that! He'd see that
the two desperados were lynched from the highest tree between the Brazos and the
Rio Grande. And if it was up to Honey Wilson, her daddy's posse could cut off
the gunmen's balls and feed them to the coyotes before they started the necktie
party.
As the rhythmic pounding of the horses drew nearer, Honey called out weakly
once or twice and was rewarded by hearing the horses turn off the road into the
dirt drive that led up to the ranch house. Unfortunately she could not see
them, because she was positioned with her back to both the road and the drive
that led from the road to the house. From the sound, there seemed to be a number
of horses, perhaps as many as eight or ten, she thought. But once the horses
had pulled up, the riders paused briefly. Despite the fact that night had not
quite fallen, and that anyone looking in her direction should have had no
difficulty in seeing her nude body lashed to the corral rail, the riders did not
approach.
Honey strained to hear what the horsemen were doing, puzzled by the fact
that she did not hear the door to the bunkhouse opening. Even if they hadn't
seen her, why wouldn't the ranch hands have gone into their cabin to rest after
their long, dusty ride back from Abilene?
"Help! Help me!", she cried, as loudly as her waning strength would permit.
"Red! Michael!" she called out the names of two of the bunkhouse crew. But even
the slight exertion of speaking proved painful, as the necessary intake and
outflow of breath brought the smooth, soft undercurves of her breasts into
contact with the jagged barbs of the wire.
Honey was mortified by her nakedness and her bondage; but there was
nothing to be done for it. Better surely to be seen naked by a few of the boys
than to spend the night struggling to keep her bloodied breasts off of the
cursed wire prongs. But still the seemingly oblivious riders made no reply to
her muted calls for help. Then a sudden swift twinge of alarm shot through
Honey's body. She remembered something else that she had forgotten in her pain
and fatigue and her joy at hearing the approaching horses.
The ranch hands weren't due back from Abilene until the following day....
Honey wrestled with the question of whether she should continue calling
attention to herself. Was it possible that Jack and Ernie had changed their
mind and returned, bringing a band of brutish marauders with them? Ernie had
been convinced that he had been cheated out of money. Had he brought back a
pack of free-spending thugs willing to pay to use and abuse her body?
As twilight melted into darkness, Honey strained to listen to any sounds
from the mysterious riders, but, aside from the stirring of tired horses, and
the occasional indistinct mutter of male voices conferring in a low voice, she
heard nothing.
Within a few minutes darkness had fallen, and the rising moon seemed to
have become lost behind the billowing, fleecy clouds which had so embellished
the sunset, leaving the night inky black. A lonely coyote howled out on the
prairie, its voice touched by sadness, as if it missed the crescent-shaped
companion that had kept him company on recent nights.
Then, suddenly, from behind her, Honey heard a pair of nearly silent feet
running in her direction. As the runner drew closer Honey detected the
unmistakable odor of stale alcohol a moment or two before she cried out in alarm
as a dark, heavy cloth was draped over her head. The rough cloth, which felt
like part of a horse blanket, was quickly secured in place by a snugly-fitting
rope around her throat. The man with the rope spent a long time silently
fashioning an intricate cocoon of knots spaced at odd intervals around her
throat and neck, a cocoon that she quickly sensed would not be easily undone.
When the foul-smelling man was done securing her over-sized blindfold,
Honey felt him tearing or cutting a small opening in the stifling fabric, near
her nose and mouth, so that she could breathe.
While the man was tying the blanket, Honey had heard more footsteps
approaching - many more. There was a hint of smoke in the air. Some of the
newcomers had apparently lit torches so that they could see in the stygian
blackness of the night, a blackness made doubly dark for her by the cloth that
had been pulled over her head. She could smell torches burning on either side
of her, but could see nothing more than the pale irregular outline of light
through the all-enveloping blanket.
Suddenly Honey heard a commanding voice call out, "Mondala-te!"
Exhausted from her ordeal, and not sure if perhaps the blanket might have
muffled her hearing, Honey essayed, "Red?" again, in a troubled, trembling
voice. But surely Red and the boys would not be behaving so strangely....
As if in response to that single spoken word, Honey could feel hands
lifting the switch Ernie had whittled and which he had suspended from her
sensitive nipples, so that its weight pulled her poor breasts down toward the
painful barbs. Even though she could not see, she sensed that the newcomers
were undoing the switch from the twine, thereby releasing the strain on her
tortured nipples. Moments later she could feel masculine hands carefully
disengaging the barbed wire the desperados had strung beneath her blood-streaked
pleasure-globes.
"Oh, thank you, thank you. But can't you please take this thing off my
head?"
But the deep voice only answered, "Mondala-te! Ka-i-ne!"
The voice was not all that loud; but it was possessed of a measured
forcefulness that made Honey tremble with fear. There was a strange,
half-familiar inflection to his voice, a familiarity that she guessed stemmed
from the fact that the voice was that of a man secure in his purpose. A man who
would not easily be dissuaded from his course, least of all by a woman's tears.
Strong hands attacked the ropes which bound the blonde teenager's ankles to
the lowest corral rail, while other hands worked to liberate her wrists. Other,
more eager fingers wrestled with the tiny loops of twine which had been pulled
so painfully tight around the tender love-buds which had endured so much in the
last thirty-odd hours.
"Ka-i-ne!!" The voice was impatient.
When the evil circlets of twine were removed from her nipples, Honey was
greeted by twin bursts of pain resulting from the renewal of circulation to the
inflamed tips of her out-thrust breasts.
As two pairs of eager, groping hands ran freely over her tender breasts,
made hyper-sensitive by their long hours of exposure to the hot Texas sun, Honey
sought for clues to the identity of her "rescuers". Surely the strange words of
the leader were not English. But she had heard enough Spanish in her young
life to be fairly certain that her "rescuers" were not Mexican either. Who else
could they be? In her fatigue and confusion she tried desperately to come up
with a plausible answer other than the one that hovered in a dark corner of her
consciousness like an evil cloud...
Had a roving band of Indians somehow found its way to the lonely Wilson
Ranch? Even in her predicament the thought that she been calling out "Red" to a
party of Indians struck her as savagely ironic. There were numerous tribes of
Indians still residing between Austin and Albuquerque, but she felt her blood
run cold as she realized that there was only one tribe so audacious as to let a
band of its men stray so far from their ever-shrinking lands.
Comanche! In west Texas, the Comanche were perhaps the last remaining
tribe not to be fully subjugated by the westward-encroaching whites. She
remembered listening once outside the bunkhouse window as Michael Casey, the
bookish Irish-immigrant wrangler, responded to a series of questions by old
Lester, the Negro harmonica player, about the Comanches.
Casey had explained how the Comanche had originally been a peaceful
Shoshone people, but how circumstance and history had turned them into the
prototypical "wild Indians". How they had been the first tribe to adapt to the
horses that Spanish adventurers had brought up to the American southwest from
their settlements and outposts in Mexico. They had embraced the horse with
enthusiasm and skill and had, over a century and a half, made themselves into
one of the most feared cavalries in history.
It had been the Comanche and their horses who had made large scale buffalo
hunts possible in the years before the white man's advent. And it had been the
Comanches, not constrained by the white man's notions of personal property, who
had rustled just about every horse and mule in New Mexico, and a great many in
west Texas as well, a half century earlier. The Texas Rangers themselves had
been formed, Casey noted in his Irish brogue, in large part due the depredations
of the warlike Comanche.
The white man's slow, steady, acquisitive western migration had decimated
the Comanches, as it had so many other tribes, but every now and then reports
surfaced of small bands of marauders raiding isolated villages and outposts.
Great and fearless horsemen, the Comanche were capable of covering remarkable
distances in a short time. Honey Wilson had not heard of any Comanche raids in
recent years within fifty miles of the Wilson ranch. But it seemed apparent
that some primitive magic or magnetism had drawn a party of them across the
great llano estacado, the staked plains of western Texas, to the lonely corral
and the bare-breasted beauty who adorned its weathered wood like the figurehead
of an old-time whaling ship.
Comanche! Since she had been a little girl Honey Wilson had listened
spellbound to dreadful tales of massacres and torture perpetrated by bands of
the red marauders. Of outposts attacked and villages burned, of men slaughtered
and scalped, and the women, particularly the young, pretty women, subjected to
ordeals of depravity and pain which had surely made them wish that they, too,
had died in the first hour of the attack.
There was no way of telling how much exaggeration and one-sidedness there
had been in these blood-curdling stories, but they had caused her many a
sleepless hour as a child. As Honey had blossomed into nubile young womanood,
those chilling accounts had caused her to fantasize a few times of being taken
captive by a war party of virile young Comanche. When she had had such
thoughts, a strange combination of fear and girlish sensuality had caused her
pink nipples to stiffen and her soft inner thighs to tremble with apprehension.
She never knew to what extent it was an apprehension of pleasure or pain -- or
both.
In her daydreams sometimes the cavalry would arrive at the eleventh hour to
preserve her virtue. On other, more sensuous occasions, a handsome young brave
would somehow contrive to rescue her from the series of dreadful ordeals
conceived by his malevolent comrades. The young warrior would proceed to lead
his golden-haired prisoner off to a secluded bower and ravish her in a dark
forest to the accompaniment of sweet bird calls and the rushing sound of a
waterfall.
Unbeknownst to Honey, Ernie the Peeper had watched from his covert perch
one night while Honey had pleasured herself during one such dreamy, rosy-hued
fantasy. Fresh from a swim at the lake, she had stretched her tawny body out on
the crisp whiteness of freshly laundered sheets, lying on her left hip, facing
the foliage through which the Weasel's unseen eyes devoured her delicious
nudity. She had caressed herself lovingly, as she imagined a gentle lover
might, touching her silky thighs with long feathery strokes, lingering at the
portals of her seat of pleasure for a brief, teasing moment before sliding up
her body. She had run her graceful fingers over her smooth flanks, and felt the
gentle pressure of her lower ribs pressing against the golden flesh of her flat
tummy.
When her hands reached her breasts, her sensitive love-mounds seemed to
tingle with pleasure-passion. Her pink breast tips responded to the gentle
strumming of Honey's self-taught fingers, by swelling with shameless desire, as
if the handsome brave's lips and tongue were ready to close upon them.
As her left hand slid down her creamy body to the juncture of her
golden-fringed thighs, Honey had no idea that an unseen watcher was liberating
his rock-hard cock from his dungarees, or that he was stroking himself even as
her index finger toyed with her glistening clitoris. Several more minutes of
pleasurable exploration ensued, during which Honey envisioned her muscular young
warrior positioning himself above her luscious body, before lunging his
stallion-like maleness into her moist and yearning love-nook. His first
imagined thrust caused the blue-eyed nymph on the bed to climax in a shuddering
cataract of pleasure, even as her rapt-eyed voyeur splattered gushers of semen
into the concealing foliage....
But tonight the cavalry might as well have been on the other side of the
Pecos. And the handsome young brave seemed no more real than a character in a
fairy tale....
Chapter 21 The Circle of Fear
In another minute or two, Honey had been carefully lifted off of her place
of bondage. But she was hardly free; strong male hands on either side of her
gripped her wrists tightly and her face remained enshrouded in the opaque cloth.
Her long legs, their normal athleticism weakened by hours of bondage, felt
unsteady beneath her.
She heard grunts of male pleasure and then felt the warmth of the torches
growing closer. Honey sensed that her "rescuers" were enjoying the sight of her
nude body bathed in the warm glare of the flickering torchlight. Despite
herself, she could not control the agitated breathing that she was certain
caused her breasts to rise and fall in wanton provocation. Even in her
blindness she suspected that her embarrassment at her nudity had caused a deep
warm blush to suffuse her golden skin; from the sound of rustling footsteps she
guessed that she was standing naked before six or eight men, perhaps more.
The resonant voice spoke again, "Trova! Ka-i-ne!" Strong hands seized her
upper arms from either side, and soon she felt herself being dragged across the
dry, dusty earth enroute to an unknown fate.
The golden-haired teenager struggled fiercely, kicking out at her captors,
trying to break free, but the coarse woolen blanket muffed her cries, and the
steely grip of her assailants never slackened.
She had expected to be pulled toward the waiting horses and then to be
whisked away to some remote encampment, but her savage abductors seemed to have
other plans. The strangely silent men pulled her unwilling body roughly along
for several minutes, but their silence did not surprise her, for were the
Comanche not known far and wide for using stealth and surprise as weapons?
Finally they came to a place where the ground seemed softer under her bare feet,
and the familiar deep voice called, "Ayah!" and Honey was pushed forward hard,
so that she tumbled face-first to the ground to the accompaniment of crude male
laughter.
Blinded and growing increasingly claustrophobic under the suffocating
horse-blanket, Honey rose to her feet slowly, and reached for the knots that
secured the blanket to her neck, thus rendering her virtually sightless.
Mocking laughter engulfed her as her fingers pulled at the ropes, but the cord
had been tied into a virtual rosary of beaded knots around her neck.
"Nula!" the now-familiar voice rang out threateningly. Honey ignored him
and continued to try to extricate herself from the intricate cocoon of knots.
Then she heard the voice cry out, "Nula!!" again from some distance away, and a
second or two later her left breast exploded with pain; someone standing
directly in front of her had given her tender, sun-reddened, love-melon a
hard-knuckled backhand as a warning to leave the knots alone.
"Aeeiiiaaaah!" Honey cried out in agony as pain tore through her breast,
just as she heard the commanding voice speak the word, "NULA!!" again, no louder
than before, but with fearful intensity. Then there were hands pulling at her
neck ropes, choking her into silence briefly, followed by the sound of
shussshhing noises. The rope-puller released her, but Honey had learned her
lesson: she would pay dearly if she tried to free herself from the neck-ropes
again.
The sound of gruff voices taunting her caused the long-legged blonde to
turn and run in the opposite direction. But she had only taken an unsteady step
or two before she ran into a man who grunted with masculine pleasure as he made
a rough grab for Honey's sunburned breasts.
She quickly pulled away from his painful touch and then started in the
opposite direction, but found still another pair of eager hands which wasted no
time in groping at the mossy treasure between her legs. She turned to her left
only to have a nipple pinched and twisted, and then back to her right, in time
to be rewarded with what felt like a boot being placed against the shapely
curves of her spacious buttocks. A moment later, the powerful leg shoved her
forward sending her sprawling to her knees again. Her bestial captors' low,
mocking laughter followed her all the way to the ground.
Trembling with frustration and terror, Honey regained her feet and tried
once again to escape the tormentors who encircled her, but whichever way she
moved there were male hands waiting. Playful hands at first, as if the men were
merely re-enacting some rough childhood game, but as the minutes wore on, the
groping hands became more insistent, the playful grabs at her breasts lingered
longer, and squeezed harder, the friendly swats at her legs and buttocks began
stingingly less friendly. Within minutes the crude, taunting laughter had
degenerated into earthy grunts of male lust anxious to be satisfied.
The leader of the predators crossed his arms over his chest and watched
with intent satisfaction as the shapely young maiden was passed from one man to
another to be fondled and mauled and groped. He had cautioned his comrades to
be silent so as to avoid discovery and they had done well.
A silver crescent moon peeked out from behind a bank of clouds now,
causing the girl's pale figure to gleamed beautifully in the moonlight.
Meanwhile, the torches his followers carried caused their dark shadows to dance
around her like evil spirits. Evil spirits circling a glowing, torch-lit body
like cold and lonely planets revolving endlessly around a bright, attracting
sun.
The biggest and most cold-hearted of the men had Honey in his grasp, now.
For a moment the leader was moved by a faint twinge of pity at the plight of
the pale moon-goddess, but then he remembered all of the outrages her people had
committed against his people, how they had taken his wife from him, what they
had done to his lovely daughter, and his heart hardened once more.
Honey cried out in pain as the big man's powerful hands reached around from
behind her to cup her opulent breasts. He squeezed them brutally for a few
seconds and then pushed her into the waiting arms of another man. It was their
leader, Honey realized, when that man seized the curves of her bottom and pulled
her nude body against his own and whispered faintly into her ear, in his oddly
inflected voice. "Your people have killed my people for many moons,
golden-hair."
Honey was startled to hear him speak English, even if it was only a few
halting syllables. "And my daughter, my beautiful daughter -- what they did to
her was worse than a death, golden-hair! But tonight it is we who are the
wolves and it is you who are the buffalo!"
And then, after giving her tempting buttock-ovals a final, virile squeeze,
he put his hands on her rounded shoulders and pushed her backward into the
center of the dark shadows again, before issuing what Honey guessed must have
been some kind of a war cry. "Baranga!"
They were on her in a flash -- a swarm of arms pulling and hands clawing at
her naked body. She kicked out bravely at one of the unseen figures who
encircled her, but the target of her futile attempt caught her leg, and lifted
it waist-high and held it there, leaving her balanced precariously on one foot.
She felt one man drop to the ground alongside her planted foot and run his hands
boldly along the long luxurious length of her leg, beginning at her ankles,
sliding quickly up to her knees, and then ever-more-deliberately up her bare
thigh, until he reached the very apex of her inner thighs and the entrance to
her pussy.
She fought desperately to keep her balance, as rude, rough hands squeezed
her buttocks from behind, and then she felt intruding fingers between her
rounded demi-ovals, searching for her nether-orifice. From the same quarter, a
thick, sloppy-wet tongue had insinuated itself deep into her right ear and was
tongue-fucking her earlobe with clammy enthusiasm.
Two pairs of greedy, clutching hands shared her swollen breasts, rubbing
them with Aladdin-like vigor, as if they expected a genie to be forthcoming if
they polished her splendid love-mounds properly. Meanwhile the man who held her
upraised leg slowly edged toward her, his hands becoming bolder and more
aggressive by the moment.
It was only when the ear-tonguer behind her thrust his thick middle finger
into her rectum that Honey went down, her balancing leg having lost its
struggle. She fell backward onto the ear-tonguer, and no sooner did she hit the
ground than she felt the pressure of his thick erection beneath her, its naked
length pressed flat against the brute's stomach by the sweet, sensual pressure
of her shapely ass-cheeks.
The savage beneath her groaned with pleasure at the sensation, even as the
two breast-men fought to hold her writhing body down. Honey scratched and clawed
for all she was worth, even as she heard the tell-tale sound of pants being
shucked down legs in front of her. She kicked out in the direction of the
falling trousers, but in doing so opened her thighs, and when she did so the two
leg-men pounced, one of them grabbing her left leg and pulling it painfully hard
to her left, while the other threw himself between her warm thighs and pressed
his angry swollen penis against her squirming pussy.
Her attacker entered her with a quick, violent lunge while the breast men
consolidated their grip on the struggling blonde. Each of them quickly trapped
one of her flailing arms in an immobilizing arm bar with one arm, leaving them
free to grope her full-nippled orbs with the other. The man between her legs
man fucked her swiftly and forcefully, ramming his manhood into her again and
again, his silence interrupted only by his groans of mounting lust. Beneath
her, the ear-tonguer continued to rape her ear with his intrusive tongue, even
as he slid his body sinuously beneath her, using her sweet bottom to massage his
lust-swollen cock.
The man on top of her was breathing like a locomotive approaching a depot
as he plowed into her. He fucked Honey with more enthusiasm than skill,
subjecting her vagina to a vigorous pounding for ten or twelve minutes, before
he issued a series of semi-delirious groans of pleasure and Honey felt his manly
seed splattering against the walls of her girl canal. When he pulled out of the
station, a second man, no less eager or more considerate, quickly took his
place, ravaging the sweet pussy that, until the prior day, had never known a
man.
And so Honey's ravishment continued, in an eerie near-silence, interrupted
only by male grunts of lust and pleasure and soft feminine cries of anguish, as
one man after another took his turn atop her squirming body. The licentious
ear-tonguer beneath her maintained a firm grip on her breasts throughout,
employing Honey's well-whipped lust-gourds as handholds to slide her sleek,
sweaty body up and down his own, and using her deep-clefted buttocks to massage
his fiercely swollen cock. Aside from that relative fixture, nearly every time
one of the men shot his sticky seed into Honey's velvety love-tunnel, there
would be a brief re-shuffling of positions, as the rapist of the moment
exchanged places with a torch-bearer or one of the men holding her down. On
each of these occasions, Honey fought with all of her dwindling might to escape
the clutching hands, but she was one and weak and they were many and strong.
Short cocks, long cocks, skinny cocks and thick ones plundered her naked
body until Honey lost count of how many men there had been. She recognized a
few of them by their sexual predilections when they returned for a second
helping of depravity. One of the brutes enjoyed grinding his knuckles into her
navel while he fucked her; another seemed to take inordinate pleasure in
pinching one of the nipples that the under-man's tit-gripping hands had
proffered, and trapping the other between his fore-teeth, while he slid his
ardent cock in and out of Honey's golden-fringed pussy.
After several men had taken her in her original position, her attackers
turned her over, so that she knelt on her hands and knees, and one of them
pressed her neck into the grass with a boot, while a few of his companions took
her from behind. Later still, Honey felt the disgustingly familiar tongue of
the under-man fucking her ear once again, and then, moments later, she felt the
hands that had gripped her breasts so tightly earlier parting her luscious
buttocks. She smelt the distinctive odor of saddle oil only a moment or so
before she felt the splash of the slippery fluid on her tight, trembling
rosebud.
Honey squirmed and writhed like a madwoman as invasive fingers rubbed the
oil around and into her tightly-clenched rectal orifice for a few seconds, and
then she felt a corncob-sized phallus pressing determinedly against her
oil-slick bottom-hole. She gasped in pain as the remorseless dickhead punched
into her sphincter, painfully stretching the elastic ring of ass-muscle.
Fortunately, the ear-tongueing savage was neither as large nor as vicious as
Black Jack Slocum had been; but like his predecessor, her rectal attacker seemed
to revel in debasing her, forcing her nose and lips into the dewy grass, while
his fleshy piston made war on her defenseless nether-passage.
Suddenly Honey realized that her assailant must have signalled to his
comrades to let her go, that he neither wanted nor needed their assistance in
mastering her. Seizing her opportunity, she wrenched herself free from her anal
impalement and scuttled forward, enjoying a brief moment of freedom.
Angered by the interruption of his buggery, the brute she had eluded cried
out and she felt two or three of his companions crashing down on her again, this
time twisting her arms so that she could not possibly escape until the
bottom-fucker caught up to her, and this time he made no mistake, violating her
spasming rectum with a savagery almost worthy of Black Jack Slocum himself.
Honey felt his cock-meat slamming into her relentlessly even as his cronies
attended to her corky nipples, pinching them, pulling them, twisting them with
feverish abandon. "Please ...," Honey moaned piteously, but the brute who had
buried his thick cock balls-deep in her bung-hole gave no indication that he
understood the word, and continued his punishing assault.
When the sadistic ear-tonguer finally shot his wad deep into her nether
channel, his companions, inspired by his example, decided that they too might as
well exploit Honey's delicious heart-shaped bottom. While his comrades held her
down, a second man plunged his rutting organ into Honey's dainty, torch-lit
rosette and pummeled her ass with a barrage of short rapid-fire strokes.
Excited to the edge of ecstasy by the way Honey's involuntary muscular
contractions delivered rolling waves of pleasure to his buttock-drilling
phallus, he came rather quickly. But he was quickly succeeded by a third
ass-fucker, whose groans of lust were so loud that the leader had to shusshh
him, and then a fourth brutal sodomist, as the grunting savages continued to
pleasure themselves at the expense of their luscious captive.
The last thing Honey was to remember was the tall body of their leader --
who had waited until all the others were done and had drifted away into the
darkness -- kneeling between her legs. By this time Honey was so exhausted that
the leader needed no one to hold her down. His knowing, experienced hands
explored all the curves of her body thoroughly, as he thrust himself
forcefully, but not violently into her. "This is my revenge, blue-eyes!" he
growled in his strangely accented English. Finally, after long minutes of
plunging his prodigious manhood into her defenseless body, he climaxed with half
a dozen explosive staccato thrusts in time with the last six words she was to
hear him speak, "This - is - for - my - people - goldenhair!" just before she
lapsed into blessed oblivion.
Chapter 22 Safe Again
Honey stirred slightly, trapped in the hazy twilight world between
wakefulness and sleep. She seemed to hear a voice, a man's voice, but a gentle
voice, speaking to her. Could a man's voice be gentle, she asked herself
doubtfully. It seemed a lifetime since she had heard one that was.
"Miss Wilson! Miss Wilson!"
Had it all been a dream? As Honey came to, she felt a familiar coarse
fabric covering her from the shoulders down. Her eyes, which had been rendered
sightless by a piece of that same blanket, tried to get used to the bright
sunlight. The golden sun was once again high above a few wispy white mares'
tails that interrupted the seemingly endless blueness of the west Texas sky.
But it had been no dream. She hurt all over. But she was alive, and, as
if in answer to her prayers, the face above her was Red's. Good old Red, the
ranch foreman, in his ancient stetson, that was said to have been cream-colored
a decade ago, but years of sun and rain and dust had darkened it to a dirty
beige. But Honey was never happier to see anything in her whole life than she
was to see Red's dusty old hat.
The burly foreman was bent over her, a worried look on his face. "Casey!
Give me your damn flask, and I'll have no Irish nonsense about it."
Michael Casey gave Honey a friendly blue-eyed wink and produced a bottle,
leprechaun-like, from what seemed like thin air and handed it to Red, who
accepted the bottle, and spoke softly, "Here, Honey, take some of this. Just a
sip, now." Red offered her the amber-colored liquid, and Honey swallowed a
little. She choked a little on the strong brandy, but it felt good going down.
"My Lord, Honey, what in tarnation happened to you?"
Honey could see some of the other hands, back from the cattle drive,
standing around behind Red. Thank God! To finally see friendly faces again.
Slim, the jokester, and the hard-working Virginian, Tom Jackson, who was always
telling whoppers about being the son of Stonewall Jackson. She recognized
Dexter, the Yank from New England, who spoke with that funny accent. And Buck
Williams, the one who'd made a grab for her at the party. And Michael Casey,
who hailed from Killarney, as he was proud to tell every man he'd ever met. And
old Lester, Lester Jefferson, the good-natured Negro, his ever-present harmonica
almost falling out of his shirt pocket as he peered down at her with kindly
eyes. And one or two others as well.
"Oh, Red!" Honey began, "These two men came, and they ..." but she couldn't
go on, and Honey wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed convulsively into
his broad chest.
"Now, Honey, that's OK. Don't you worry yourself about it none, right now.
Do you think you can stand up? Boys, turn around while Honey gets up. She don't
need you all a-gapin' at her!"
Honey gave Red a smile as the shame-faced hands turned away, allowing her
to climb painfully to her feet, and to wrap the blanket securely around her
nakedness while the gentlemanly foreman also averted his eyes.
As she got up, she looked around and realized that the Comanches must have
dragged her off into the grove of trees near the pond, whose blue surface
glimmered brightly in the sunlight. She had been lying directly under the
accursed "Hanging Tree," whose innumerable dark leafy arms seemed to hover above
her threateningly, as if it were possessed of a malevolent will of its own. She
stared up at the overhanging branches which seemed to reach downward like a huge
predatory bird and shuddered silently.
"C'mon, miss," Red continued. "We had a helluva time finding you when you
wasn't at the house," he said. "But we've found you now, thank goodness.
Red supported her as she walked stiffly toward the waiting horses. "Let me
help you up on Ginger, here, and we'll give you a ride back to the house. Your
daddy's gonna be back later on today, and Clem, too. Everything's gonna be OK,
you'll see. And you can tell us all about it, if you want to, whenever you feel
up to it."
Then Red turned to the man on his right. "Stoney! Ride into town and fetch
Doc Parker. And if that SOB is drunk, like he usually is, make him drink a pot
of coffee before you haul his drunken ass back to the ranch."
" 'Scuse my language, ma'am," Red said with a shy smile, before turning
back to Jackson. "And tell Sheriff Buchanan to get some men together; we're
gonna go lookin' for the varmints that done this!"
Tom Jackson quickly mounted his horse and rode off toward town, while
Casey and Lester gently helped the beautiful, brutalized blonde clamber up on to
Red's horse, before beginning the slow procession back to the ranch.
But even in that peaceful moment, as she listened to old Lester start up a
slow, almost mournful rendition of "When Johnny Comes Marching Home, Again,"
Honey Wilson had the sense that the final curtain had not yet been drawn on this
strange and terrible chapter in her life.
And she was right ...
{Please join me one last time for the upcoming conclusion of "The Outlaw's
Revenge}
{This paragraph re-printed from Chapter 21 for the sake of continuity}
The last thing Honey was to remember was the tall body of their leader --
who had waited until all the others were done and had drifted away into the
darkness -- kneeling between her legs. By this time Honey was so exhausted that
the leader needed no one to hold her down. His knowing, experienced hands
explored all the curves of her body thoroughly, as he thrust himself
forcefully, but not violently into her. "This is my revenge, blue-eyes!" he
growled in his strangely accented English. Finally, after long minutes of
plunging his prodigious manhood into her defenseless body, he climaxed with half
a dozen explosive staccato thrusts in time with the last six words she was to
hear him speak, "This - is - for - my - people - goldenhair!" just before she
lapsed into blessed oblivion.
Chapter 23 A Prisoner of Passion
A fine evening some three weeks later found Honey and her boyfriend Clem
going for a stroll after a satisfying dinner of chicken and biscuits. Honey was
almost completely recovered from her ordeal physically and, she was thankful
that she didn't remember all of the details of her horrific two-day nightmare.
But everyone on the ranch had noticed that her father, Henry Wilson, seemed to
have aged considerably after listening to Honey recount what she remembered of
her ordeal.
With her father present, Honey had told Sheriff Buchanan as much as she
could remember about her attackers, in hopes that they might be able to track
down Slocum and Gibbs, or the Comanches, but the two outlaws had apparently
escaped across the Mexican border, and the Comanche, as was their way, seemed to
have melted into the vastness of the llano estacado, the west Texas plain.
After a few days chase' the posse came empty-handed.
It was at about this time that Honey came to the conclusion that it was
pointless to force what details she could remember on Clem, who had been most
attentive since his return from the cattle drive. After all, what good could
come from it?
Honey and Clem walked down to the pond and were walking back, hand in hand
toward the ranchhouse, enjoying the shimmering atmospheric canvas of brilliant
reds and oranges that was the Texas sunset. In the distance they could hear
old Lester beginning his nightly campfire serenade. He was playing a lively
"Oh, Susannah!" when the strains of the harmonica first reached their ears, and
as they drew closer to the house, they could hear him start in on one of Honey's
favorites, "Shenandoah." Michael Casey, like so many Irishmen, believed himself
to have a fine voice and loved to sing, especially after he'd had a sip or two,
and joined in.
"Shenandoah, I long to hear you ...", the sonorous words of the old
folksong came to the young couple as soon as Lester had played the first few
notes.
"My, isn't that a beautiful song, Clem? It makes me feel like I've known
that river all my life, even though I've never been within a thousand miles of
it."
Clem joined in for a moment. "Shenandoah, I love your daughter," he sang,
joining Casey in song from a distance while he smiled down at his girl, before
squeezing Honey's hand more firmly. "I know what you mean, Honey. It's amazing
what Lester can do with that mouth organ. When he plays, "Oh Susannah" doesn't
it make you want to get up and dance around until dawn?" When Honey nodded,
Clem went on, "but when he plays "Shenandoah" it makes me feel like I want to
sit in silence on a hill and look out into the distance forever, hoping for a
glimpse of a river I've never laid eyes on."
Clem glanced fondly at his girl. After the incident her girlish pigtails
had gone the way of her youthful naivete, and Honey's long blonde hair now fell
to her shoulders in a gleaming golden storm. Tonight, her cornflower-blue
sundress seemed to bring out the sparkling quality of her azure eyes. The thin
blue dress seemed to Clem to be cut a half-size too small, the way it clung
almost indecently to the opulent curves of Honey's ripe young body. The dress
was cut a bit low in front, too, so that just a hint of Honey's sumptuous
cleavage was visible. When they had embraced upon his arrival Clem thought he
had felt Honey's chiseled nipples pressing against his chest; he was nearly sure
that her tempting breasts were naked under her thin sundress.
The handsome young couple passed the Wilson barn on their way toward the
bunkhouse; the door to the barn was ajar, and Honey glanced in and saw the
familiar bales of hay and shivered silently. The sight of the bales stimulated
memories that she had tried hard to repress and suddenly she felt herself
reliving the awful moments when Slocum had thrown her down violently across some
of those very bales, and Ernie the Weasel had forced her to caress her body
shamelessly while the two desperados had raped her with their lascivious eyes.
But even that humiliation paled when compared to the memory of Black Jack
Slocum's savage assault itself, not to mention the thought of his maniacal
sidekick giggling while he touched the red-hot tip of his burning cheroot to
her thighs and belly and breasts.
Honey closed her eyes for a few seconds as she walked, trying to rid
herself of the dreadful images. When she opened them she and Clem were standing
in front of the bunkhouse.
"Evenin', Miss Honey." Lester, in between songs, greeted her with his warm
familiar smile, his impossibly white teeth gleaming in the middle of his
improbably dark face. "Sho' is a lovely night, Miss. Evenin' suh," Lester
addressed Clem.
Honey was fond of the old man, whose hair seemed to have grown
unaccountably thinner and whiter in recent weeks. "Yes, it surely is, Lester."
Seeing that the most of the ranch hands were scattered in a semi-circle around
the Negro musician, Honey crossed her arms across her generous, thinly-covered
breasts protectively, and spoke to them. "Hi, Red. How are you-all doin'
tonight? Slim, Stoney, Michael. Buck." She greeted the last-named more
coolly; she still remembered how he had made a grab for her at the birthday
party a while back.
" 'Tis a balmy evening to be sure, Miss Wilson, but nothing like the nights
we had back in Ireland. I remember one night lookin' out over Galway Bay while
..."
"Oh, stow the blarney, for once, Casey. We could put your whole stinkin'
island in one little corner of Texas!" Red liked to egg the Irishman on.
"Could ye now, you red-necked son of a sodbuster? I'd like to see ye try!"
Casey put the cap back on his bottle of rye, and stood up unsteadily, ready to
take on the much bigger man. Slim grabbed him and held the feisty Irishman
back. "Aww, c'mon Mike. Red was just playin' with ya. Wasn't ya, Red?"
"Yeah, I reckon so," said the foreman good-naturedly. "Say, Lester, play us
another tune; maybe it'll calm that crazy Mick down." Red winked at Honey.
Lester had gotten halfway through the first verse of the poignant
"Londonderry Air" which Casey had taught him and which always seemed to placate
the hot-headed son of Erin, when Honey heard Henry Wilson's voice calling from
the doorway of the house. "Honey, we got a council meetin' tonight in town, so
I'm going to take the buckboard in. I'll be back in a couple of hours. Don't
let her sit out here listenin' to Lester, all night, will you, Clem? She still
tires easy."
"No sir. I think we're about to go inside now. I'll be leavin' shortly
myself."
*******
Ten minutes later, thankful for Henry Wilson's unexpected departure, and
the opportunity to be alone, the amorous young couple was sitting in the love
seat in the parlor, Honey on Clem's lap, in the midst of a long, steamy kiss.
Honey's body had been sore for the better part of two weeks, and now that the
pain was finally gone, she just wanted to feel good for a change. The pressure
of Clem's insistent mouth on hers and the touch of his hand on a soft, warm
thigh under her thin dress, sent pleasurable tingles through her body. Through
the curtained, but open window, they could hear Lester's harmonica finishing up
an Irish lullaby.
"Ummmm, yes," Honey purred sensuously as Clem's hand slid further north,
toward the apex of her supple thighs. "That feels nice, Clem. Touch me, baby,"
she added as she wriggled with pleasure. "I want to feel your hands on my body."
Clem's hands flew to Honey's bodice where they fumbled clumsily with the
ivory-colored buttons. Impatient with his inexperienced awkwardness, Honey
whispered, "Here, let me help you, sweetie," and her slender fingers flew
through the series of stubborn circlets, slipping them through their respective
buttonholes, and a few seconds later the pale blue bodice fell open nearly to
her waist.
"God, they're beautiful," Clem muttered, as Honey slowly drew the panels of
her dress apart. As Clem had suspected there was nothing underneath Honey's
bodice except her splendidly pink-tipped breasts, the inner curves of which were
fully revealed to his ravenous gaze. Honey adjusted her position slightly so
that she faced her adoring lover, straddling his thighs, her knees on the soft
cushions of the love seat.
Clem's eyes feasted on Honey's peaches-and-cream pleasure-globes as waves
of pleasure rippled through his amorous manhood. Tonight was the first time
since the incident that Honey had been in one of the sensual, kittenish moods
that had cost him so many sleepless hours. Clem crushed his lips against
Honey's again, tasting the sweetness of her breath and the softness of her
mouth. He felt Honey's fingers running through his longish brown hair even as
she permitted his own hands to resume their ambitious ascent, this time up the
backs of her tawny thighs.
"Oooh, I love the touch of your hands, Clem. You make all the hurt go
away," Honey whispered, as she shuddered with pleasure. "Make me feel good,
sweetheart. Ooooh, yesssssssss. Higher! That's it!" she said breathlessly as
one of Clem's hands found its way to the lacy fabric between her legs. "Make
me feel good all over." Honey slid further up his thighs, and leaned toward him,
feeling his trousered manhood pressing thick and hard against her loins, and
offering her pulsing love globes to his caresses. "Love 'em up, Clem.
Ummmmmmmm, yes, baby, yesssss!"
Delighted by Honey's long-dormant passion, Clem slid his left hand inside
Honey's gaping bodice, filling his questing hand with a smoldering breast.
While his right hand fondled the curves of her buttocks, Clem scooped her right
breast in his left hand lovingly, and pressed it inward against her other love
gourd, marveling at the beauty of the concave canyon of flesh he had created.
Honey's coral-pink nipple-nuggets seemed to swell with desire even though he had
yet to touch them.
But he did not long defer that pleasure. He leaned forward, inhaling the
lilac fragrance with which Honey had anointed the scented valley between her
breasts. He had barely touched one of her quivering lust-buds with the tip of
his tongue, when Honey moaned with pleasure and slipped the bodice of her dress
back off her shoulders, thus giving him untrammeled access to her quivering
man-pleasers.
Deciding that he, too, could play the teasing game, Clem decided to ignore
Honey's quivering nipples for the moment, and concentrate instead on the rest of
her peaches-and-cream pleasure-melons, even though her love-buds reached toward
him, pink and aching with desire.
Clem's hungry mouth sought out Honey's left breast and attacked it gently
with his lips, starting with the inner curve and slowly kissing and sucking his
way around her wondrous globe. Leaning backward slightly, and supporting
herself by placing her hands on the loveseat, Honey arched her back into a
sensuous curve and thrust her opulent breasts forward for Clem's delectation.
Clem obliged by continuing to pay homage to Honey's majestic lust orbs with
his lips and tongue, polishing every inch of her softly-curved pleasure-domes.
"Mmm, yessss, Baby," Honey purred, as she slid a hand across Clem's crotch.
She could feel his young manhood, thick and hard, primed for action.
It was Clem's turn to groan with pleasure as he felt Honey's hand on his
cockstaff. His former diffidence long since cast aside, Clem stiffened his
tongue and then swirled it around each of Honey's thrusting nipples without ever
actually touching the throbbing tips of her breasts. He explored every minute
crevice, every sensuous irregularity in the pebbly texture of her pink areolae
with his questing tongue. Meanwhile Honey's yearning lust-nuggets, still
untouched, strained toward him, as if begging him to put an end to his cruelly
benign neglect.
When at last Clem's lips did close around a succulent nipple, Honey gasped
with desire and threw her golden mane of hair back and abandoned herself to the
pleasure of the moment, permitting Clem to feast on each of her deliciously
swollen nipple-buds in turn.
Responding in kind, the blonde teenager reached inside Clem's fly and
extracted his swollen member; she stroked his firm glans lovingly, noting that
in his excitement a glistening pearl of male seed had formed on its handsome
cock-tip. Honey swept her pink tongue across her moist, full lips with wanton
shamelessness. Clem almost came on the spot, as the thought of Honey's tongue
licking that lone drop of semen from his pulsing rod, much less orally coaxing
every last drop of his man-juice to make the same exciting voyage up and out of
his ardent cock-shaft, sent incredible ripples of pleasure through his aroused
genitals.
Their amorous embrace was interrupted when Honey heard old Lester start in
on "I Dream of Jeannie" while Clem continued to bring pleasure to the bold,
thrusting breasts which had endured so many torments at the hands of Slocum and
Gibbs. His lips worked her tasty coral nipples in turn, leaving Honey quivering
with lust. "Yes, Clem, Yes! Mmmm, right there. Suck it, baby! Ooh, that feels
so good!" Her hands held his head to her breast as if she wanted him to
pleasure her sensitive breast-mounds forever.
It was perphaps best that in the dim light of dusk, Clem could not make
out that the tip of one delicious nipple was slightly darker in color than the
other, the result of Ernie's sadistic cigar play. Or that the underslopes of
Honey's warm, pulsing love-melons still bore faint traces of the flesh-wounding
barbed wire...
********
Despite her erotic rapture, one small part of Honey's consciousness was
aware of the fact that Lester had begun to sing. The old man had a rich baritone
voice, but he couldn't play the harmonica and sing at the same time, so he
rarely sang. But tonight, he must have put his instrument aside for a moment,
because he was singing now.
"I dream of Jeannie with the light brown hair, " he sang, his voice dark
and sweet, and the lyrics and the Foster melody carried across the distance
between the bunkhouse and the parlor, cutting easily through the faint sonic
veil of cricket chirps so typical of a west Texas sundown.
But when the word "hair" reached her for the second time, Honey released
her cock-pleasing grip on Clem's fleshy maleness, and pulled away from his
questing mouth as if she had received an electric shock.
"What is it, Honey? What's wrong?" Clem asked, his erect manhood surging
forward eagerly, anxious for Honey to renew her warm embrace.
Honey, her dress still open to her waist, her meltingly beautiful breasts
glistening with Clem's adoring saliva, looked like she had seen, or heard, a
ghost.
"I don't know, Clem. For a second there, Lester's voice frightened me.
I'm still a little edgy I guess."
"Well, that's OK, darling. Are you all right, now? Now where were we?"
Clem muttered with a knowing smile, as his hungry hands slid back under the hem
of her dress, and slowly made their way up Honey's luscious thighs, stroking her
confidently, passionately, as his lips found hers again.
And they lost themselves in each other's bodies again for a few moments,
until Lester again sang the line ending with "light brown hair." This time
Honey broke free, and stood up, holding her dress together at the throat, and
rubbing her shoulders. Clem saw that she was trembling and that her bright blue
eyes were as frightened as those of a small child.
"What's wrong, Honey?"
"I -- I don't know, Clem. Something about that song, or those words, is
just giving me the chills tonight. Can't say why. I've always loved that
song."
"Don't worry about it, Clem." she went on a moment later. " I'm just
havin' fancies I guess. I'll be all right. But maybe you'd better go. Somehow
all of a sudden I just don't feel right tonight. And besides," she added as she
looked up at the grandfather clock, "daddy'll be home soon."
Clem, while vastly disappointed and puzzled by Honey's sudden change of
mood, was chivalrous and considerate, and stood up and adjusted his clothing.
Then, taking Honey in his arms he gave her a warm kiss goodnight, to which she
responded tentatively, and told her that he'd come by tomorrow to see how she
was feeling. And then he turned and strode toward the front door.
Honey watched him as he crossed the yard to the hitching post. She stepped
outside on the porch and waved as her tall, handsome, beau mounted his
Appaloosa. Clem smiled and waved back, mouthed the word, "Tomorrow" and headed
down the long drive toward the road.
Honey stood there on the porch, and she watched Clem ride away, she
absently let go of the pale bodice that she'd been holding together at her
throat. For a moment, she stood there, her breasts half-bare in the twilight,
as she puzzled over why the line of a song had upset her so. Then, suddenly,
she looked down at her open dress, realized where she was, looked anxiously
toward the bunkhouse to see if anyone had noticed, and stepped back inside the
house.
Chapter 24 Dark Desires
"My God, she's a beauty, isn't she now?" whispered Michael Casey to the
ranch hands whose appreciative eyes had been drawn to Honey's brief appearance
on the porch like moths to a flame."I've never seen sich a sight in me life.
Did ye see her there, lads, half-naked in the moonlight?"
After a few murmured assents, and after Honey had stepped back inside the
house, Stoney Jackson posed the question that had been troubling each man for
weeks. "Do you think she'll ever find out?" Jackson asked the others nervously
around the campfire, as Lester began a slow, soulful version of the chorus of
"Dixie."
"How would she ever know?" Red asked. "Unless one of you goddam fools
shoots off his big mouth!"
"Christ, my big ol' Ranger is hard, just thinkin' about puttin' it to her
that night." Buck Williams looked down at his manly hands, forming them into a
cupping grip. "When I pulled that teasing slut down so she was layin' on me,
wiggling her sweet ass against me, while I stuck my tongue in her ear and squoze
those juicy tits, I knew I was in Texas heaven, boys."
Buck took off his hat and slapped his knee with it, delighted by the
memory. "Did you get her in the ass, Red? No? Geesus, you shoulda. Didn't you
hear how she squealed like an Arkansas razorback when I reamed her? And, man,
once I'd got old Ranger well up inside her I rode her cock-clutching ass like it
was the last event in a Mexican rodeo!"
Williams' laughter subsided when he realized that the others were looking
at him with distaste. "What the hell are you-all lookin' at me like that fer?
That prick-teasing slut did every thing but drop her drawers in front of the
bunkhouse over the last couple of years; she had it comin' and we gave it to
her. Gave it to her good!"
Williams turned to Red. "Don't pretend like you didn't ride her just as
hard as me that night, Red. I seen how you worked on her tits. And you, Slim,
you was the one gave me the saddle oil. Don't you bastards go all innocent on
me! Some of you got her two or three times, same as me. And I'll tell you
boys another thing. I'd have given it to that blonde three more times, if I'd
'a had my druthers. I wouldn't a minded slidin' old Ranger through those big,
soft titties fer awhile, fer instance, and then coatin' 'em with some west
Texas gism. And none of you would have either, and none of you is gonna
convince me of anything different."
Lester's dark brown eyes moved from one ranch hand to the other; he was
playing "Dixie" a little louder now, and a little faster.
"Buck's right! She had it comin'! Didn't she?" Stoney asked the others.
"The way she use to tie up those itty-bitty blouses to show off her tits when
her paw wasn't around? The way she twitched that heavenly ass when she walked
past the bunkhouse like she was the Queen of Texas. I say she had it coming.
And I'll bet, deep down, she liked it."
"Sure she did!"
"The bitch wanted it. You know she did."
Buck Williams had the floor again. "I just wish we coulda made her suck us
off, Red. I been dreamin' about having those pretty pink lips wrapped around
the Ranger for the better part of two years now."
"Too damned dangerous; if we'd started fooling around with that blanket
over her head, it would probably have come loose, and she'd have recognized us.
And I didn't wanna have to kill her, fer Chrissakes. I just wanted to fuck the
living shit out of her! And I did. And so did all of you. And it's over. And
you all better forget it ever happened, if you know what's good for you." And
with that Red climbed to his feet, stretched, and said, "Long day tomorrow,
boys. I'm turning in."
"Me too, I reckon."
"Yep, it's gettin' late."
"Yup. G'nite Lester. Play us something restful, boy!"
And one by one the ranch hands headed into the bunkhouse, leaving only
Michael Casey staring into the campfire, as Lester began playing a slow, almost
solemn version of "The Yellow Rose of Texas".
Chapter 25 A Story of Slavery
Casey took a swig from his ever-present bottle. The Irishman had been
drinking all evening, and was more than three sheets to the wind now. His face,
ruddy from sun and alcohol and looking much older than his thirty one years, was
deeply troubled.
He waited until the old Negro had finished a verse and then broke in,
"Lester, we're going to burn in hell, you know that, don't you?"
Lester paused, lowered the harmonica, and stared into the depths of the
fire. "Yes suh, Mr. Casey, I s'pose we will."
Casey reached his hand out toward the fire and held it for a moment above
the burning wood, until the heat became unbearable, and he was forced to pull it
back. "That was ten fleeting seconds, Lester. Compared to all eternity. My
God, lad, what have we done?"
Lester started in on a second chorus of "Yellow Rose", this one slower
than the first.
Casey took another pull from his bottle. "And what I don't understand,
Lester, me boy, is why you did it. They'd never have done it without you. Not
if they lived until golden coins fell from rainbows. Those louts wouldn't have
had the brains. Or the guts. Where did you come up with that notion of
pretending we were Indians?" Casey chuckled to himself. "And were we not the
quietest lot of Comanches in the history of the world?"
"And where in the divil did you get that redskin voice? Although I have to
admit you sounded more like an Indian than some of the Indians I've known. And
that's the Lord's truth."
The old Negro lowered the harmonica again, as he stared intently into the
campfire. Then he sang two verses of "Yellow Rose" in his rich baritone voice.
There's a yellow rose in Texas
That I am going to see
No other darky know her
No one only me.
She cried so when I left her
It like to broke my heart
And if I ever find her
We nevermore will part.
Casey looked at Lester strangely. He had never heard those words to the
familiar tune before.
"Mr. Casey?" Gone was Lester's smooth as southern molasses Negro dialect.
Casey looked at him, surprised. "Yes, Lester?"
"You're a good man. Not like the rest of these ignorant fools. Can I tell
you a story? Can you keep a secret?"
"Until the Shannon River runs north and south, me lad. Speak."
Lester studied the dancing flames for a long moment before taking a deep
breath and beginning. "Mr. Casey, I was born a slave in 1825, sixty-two years
ago, in Louisiana. I chopped more sugar cane than you can shake a stick at
before I was nine, when my master," Lester spat into the fire, "moved to New
Orleans. Ever been to New Orleans, Mister Casey? They play some sweet music
there; always have. That's where I picked up my first harmonica, you know."
"But I wasn't much more than a boy, only sixteen, when I ran away to
Texas, back when Texas was a Republic. I thought a Republic would be free, Mr.
Casey. For everybody, black and white. And it was, for a time.
"I'd only been there maybe a year when I met a beautiful girl out there in
east Texas. Lenora was her name. She was half-Comanche and half-Negro, and
after we had known each other for a few months we were married, in the Indian
tradition. Her family was good people, Mr. Casey, every last one of them. I
learned a few Comanche words from them, and I never forgot them."
"And we were happy as could be for a few years, until Texas came into the
Union in '45, as a slave state. Pretty soon we heard that the slavers were
rounding up all the black men, even the free ones, and I knew my days of freedom
were numbered. Lenora favored her mother, an Indian woman, and I told her to
forget about me, to go back to her Comanche people. But she told me she would
rather be a slave with me, Mr. Casey, than a free woman without me." Lester's
voice broke for a second; he took a deep breath, paused, and gathered himself.
"That's the kind of woman she was."
"I had to beg her to leave me, and even then she wouldn't have done it
except for the fact that she was expecting our baby. But then she took sick
during the pregnancy, just before she was going to go home to her family, and
the slavers caught us both."
"Seven months later, Lenora had the baby, while we were working on a cotton
plantation out in east Texas. We named the child La Reine -- that means "Queen"
in French, you know -- But she was a breech baby, Reenie was, (that's what we
called her, Reenie) and the birth was too much for Lenora, and she passed on
when Reenie was only a week old."
Lester paused, and looked sadly in to the campfire for a long moment.
Then he lifted the harmonica to his lips and played another stanza of "The
Yellow Rose", this one even more dirge-like than the ones before.
Then he lowered the harmonica and turned back to the Irishman. "Mr Casey,
most folks don't know it, but the words I sang a minute ago were the original
words to that song. It was written to honor a beautiful young mulatto woman who
helped Sam Houston win the Battle of San Jacinto by passing along information
about the Mexican forces."
Casey looked at Lester with a doubtful expression; he'd heard people of
mixed blood being described as 'yellow" often enough; but he'd lived in Texas
all of his adult life and he'd never heard that story. But the glow of the
campfire showed the solemnity in Lester's gaze, and he was convinced that the
old man was telling the truth.
"It's true, Mr Casey, the Lord strike me dead if it isn't. But that's not
important." Lester played another stanza, this time with heart-breaking pathos.
"Lenora was "my" yellow rose, Mr Casey."
"After she passed on, I tried to make some kind of a life for Reenie.
Those years before the war weren't too bad. We were slaves, but our master
seemed a decent sort, and I worked in the fields, and played a little music in
the evenings, just like I do here, during the years that Reenie was growin' up."
"But after the war began, in '61, things started goin' downhill. By the
middle of the next year, the man who owned our plantation could see that the
Yankees were bound to win the war eventually, and he grew bitter and life got
harder for all of us."
"But then, what should have been the happiest event of my life turned into
the worst."
"By early 1863, the owner of the plantation had sent me and Reenie on to
another piece of property of his, that he'd picked up cheap during the war.
Reenie was eighteen then, and she was just as pretty as she could be."
The Irishman watched as Lester's soulful brown eyes became bright with
the pride of fatherhood and the joy of remembrance, but the sparkle lasted only
a moment, before dying out like the embers of a campfire, leaving a mist of
unshed tears in its place.
"One day, in March of that year, while she stood at the door to the parlor,
Reenie overheard the master's son -- Mister Robert -- and a few of his friends,
talking about the Emancipation Proclamation -- word had finally reached our part
of the country that all the slaves in the Confederacy had been set free back in
January by Mr Lincoln."
"Well, Reenie dropped her tray of drinks in joy at this news and ran
outside, jumping and dancing for joy, singing, 'We're free! We're free!' Soon
there were a dozen of us slaves gathered around her listening to the news and
singing and praying and talking about how the jubilee had finally come."
"But then, Mister Robert and his friends, who'd heard all the ruckus, come
runnin' outside, sized up the situation, and while his friends kept us back with
guns, Robert yelled, "'I'll show you who's free, you nigger bitch! Round up all
the niggers, boys. We're gonna teach them who's boss in Texas!"
" 'You understand me?' " Mister Robert bellowed when the slaves had all
been assembled a few minutes later. "Abe Lincoln's word don't mean no more'n a
bushel of horseshit down here! And just so you all don't get no uppity ideas
about bein' free, I'm gonna teach this little loudmouth a lesson!' "
"And they ripped Reenie's clothes off, stripped her naked right there in
the yard, in front of all of us, and Mr. Robert tied her to a hitchin' post and
gave her a terrible whipping, screaming and cursing at her with every stroke.
While his pals cheered him on."
Casey could see that the old man's eyes had filled with tears, and his dark
brown hands were clenched in the vehemence of an ancient rage. After taking a
moment to calm himself, Lester began again.
"He whipped Reenie's back until it was bloody, Mr. Casey. And then he had
his friends turn he around so that she faced him. And then he ..." Lester
couldn't finish the sentence and his voice trailed off while his shoulders
convulsed in silent grief. After a few seconds Lester gestured with his hand
for Casey to pass him the bottle.
Casey, who had never known the old Negro to touch a drink, passed him the
bottle of rye.
Lester upturned it to his lips for a moment, and took a swallow of the
harsh liquor before continuing. "That was more than twenty years ago, Mr
Casey, but I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes hearing the
sound of that whip and Reenie's terrible screams."
"When he got finally got tired of whipping her, Mister Robert turned
around and yelled, " 'Any of you other niggers here think they're free? No?
Well, it's a good thing, goddammit! Now get yer black asses back to work!' "
"And the overseers sent us all back to the fields."
"Old Sally, the cook, told me later that Robert and his friends untied
Reenie then and took her back into the house, into the parlor, and locked the
door. And they ... and they," Lester was sobbing audibly now, as he told the
story, "kept her in there all night. Sally told me that she could hear them
drinking and laughing, and Reenie begging and crying. She'd never been with a
man before, Mr. Casey, and those animals..."
Old Lester took another sip of Casey's whiskey, as he tried to pull himself
together.
"The next morning Sally told me that Robert sent his friends home with the
words, "Y'all come back next Saturday night and we'll have us another party with
our little nigger bitch here, boys! And remember, she's free!!" Mister Robert
laughed at his own joke -- "She won't cost you a New Orleans nickle!"
"Later that evenin', Mr. Casey, we found Reenie dead; my beautiful child
had taken her own life out of shame and despair."
Both men had tears in their eyes now. Lester poked idly at the campfire
for a few moments before taking a deep breath and continuing.
"I vowed that night that I was going to avenge Reenie's death, Mr Casey. A
long time passed before I would get a chance to get even with Mister Robert, and
by the end of '64 the Confederacy was on its last legs, and things were pretty
well falling apart all over the south. Robert went out to a party on Christmas
Eve that year, and came home late that night, drunk and alone."
"I happened to be sittin' up playin' softly on my harmonica, when I heard
him ride up. Nobody else was up and about, and I took my chance, Mr. Casey. I
hit the bastard over the head with a shovel, not to kill him, just to knock him
out. And then I carried him down the road, in my own arms, out to the lake, to
that evil-looking oak tree -- you know the one."
Insight shot through Casey, sobering him up like a jolt of electric
current. The eerie arms of the spreading oak tree by the swimming hole had
often reminded him of tales he had heard of banshees, the Irish spirits who
manifest themselves at every death.
"When he regained consciousness, I hanged Robert Wilson from that tree.
That same cursed tree that Reenie had hanged herself from just the year before.
As sure as my name is Lester Jefferson. And I watched that white devil splutter
and choke and die. And then I hid in the trees, so that I could see Henry
Wilson's face when he found his only son hanging from the same tree where I had
found my only daughter."
Epilogue: A Tale of Two Campfires
"The old massa," Lester spat contemptuously into the fire, "wasn't here
when they ruined Reenie. For all I know, he never even knew about that night
that Robert and the others raped her. But he was the one that raised Mr. Robert
up to be the animal he was."
"They had me to play "Amazing Grace" at Mister Robert's Funeral, Mr. Casey.
'How sweet the sound', it was indeed."
Lester passed the bottle of liquor back to the Irishman, who took a long
pull from his dwindling bottle, as he marveled at the dark undercurrents from
the past that had cursed the Wilson ranch.
"Anyway, after that I figured I'd settled my score with Wilson. A few
years after the war ended, Honey was born, and a few years after that, Henrietta
- that was Mrs Wilson - passed away."
"And then I buried the past behind me. I stayed on here, I worked hard,
and like the rest of you I watched young Honey grow up into a beautiful young
lady. Like everyone else she drove me crazy with her teasing ways, but there
wasn't anything much I could do about it. And she wasn't really a bad sort.
Just high-spirited and wild, like a young colt."
"It wasn't until that last night of the cattle drive, when Wilson and the
rest of us were up there in Abilene, that it all came rushing back to me."
"I wasn't allowed to stay in the hotel the others stayed at, of course,
being colored, so I kind of propped myself up outside against the back of the
hotel that night hoping to get some shut-eye. Do you remember that young Negro
girl that worked in the kitchen at that hotel, where you-all stayed?"
"Sure, I do, Lester. She was a pretty young thing, wasn't she? What was
her name again?"
"Dulcie, Mr. Casey. Her name was Dulcie." Lester looked at the Irishman,
troubled that even a decent sort like Casey had no idea of the name of the
colored girl that had waited on him for two days. "We're all just niggers to
them," Lester thought to himself.
"Dulcie -- it means 'sweet', Casey, doesn't it?"
Casey nodded.
"She was a sweet young thing, " Lester continued. "Only fifteen."
Casey looked up in surprise -- Dulcie had had a young girl's face, but she
had had the body of a woman. She could easily have passed for eighteen.
"Anyway, Casey, to make a long story short, our church-going boss, old man
Wilson, got drunk that last night, and he told Davidson, the bastard that ran
that hotel, that he was tired of all the old whores in town. That he wanted
someone young and fresh. He wanted Dulcie. And Davidson, the miserable
son-of-a-bitch, rented her out to him. For the night.
"I was camped right under Wilson's upstairs room that night, Casey. And I
heard that bastard cursing her, telling her that he'd paid good money for her,
and by God, she'd better do like he told her. But she wouldn't. So he took his
riding whip to her. He must have stuffed a pillow in her mouth to keep her
quiet, but I could still hear her muffled screams begging him to stop. But she
still wouldn't do what he wanted her to do. So he whipped her some more.
"When he got tired of that, I heard him light a match. And a second later
Dulcie screamed. He must have gone through a couple of dozen matches in the
next hour, Mr. Casey. He had his way with her eventually, of course -- I could
hear her moanin' and strugglin' all night, but there was nothing I could do --
I tried every window and door in the hotel, but it was locked up tighter than a
drum -- But I know this -- little Dulcie never did give in and do what Old Man
Wilson wanted. Cause I heard him complaining to Davidson about it in the
morning.
"So on the long ride back home that next day, I was just a-boiling over
with hatred for Henry Wilson. You remember that he and Clem stayed on for
another couple of days, cause they wanted to talk to that congressman about
water rights?"
Casey nodded, and took another slug from the bottle; water was a big issue
for the ranchers in west Texas.
"Well, late that next afternoon , when the rest of us rode up and saw
Honey, naked as a jaybird, like some kind of virgin sacrifice, hanging on that
corral, all the old rage and bitterness came back. And for Dulcie's sake, this
time, I wanted to defile the one thing in the world that Henry Wilson treasured
most. Just like he had defiled Dulcie Robinson. And just like Mr. Robert had
defiled my Reenie."
"I don't know why, but the idea came over me in a flash -- we weren't due
back for another day; we could sneak up on her, and as long as everyone kept his
big mouth shut, we could have a little party with Honey, and I could use my
little bit of Comanche to confuse her. There aren't really any Comanches within
a hundred miles from here, Mr. Casey, so there was no real chance of any
innocent Indians getting blamed for it."
"Thank God she seems to be all right, now," said Michael Casey. Then the
two men heard the sound of horses and wheels approaching.
"Shhhh!" Casey whispered. "Somebody's coming."
Moments later the two men saw the buckboard approaching from the turn-off
to the main road. Henry Wilson, fresh from his council meeting, held the reins.
He got down slowly; he seemed to have aged twenty years since his return from
Abilene. He had been a vigorous, iron-jawed man who had looked younger than his
sixty years when he'd left on the cattle drive. But tonight he looked almost
eighty.
"Up late tonight, Lester?"
"Yes, suh, Mistuh Wilson." Lester had lapsed back into "colored" dialect,
Casey noticed. "Me and Casey, here, been talkin'. Not about nuthin', of
course."
"Lester..."
"Yes, Mistuh Wilson?"
"Play it for me."
"Sho will, Mistuh Wilson, sho will." Lester knew what Wilson wanted to
hear. "Amazing Grace". Ever since he'd come back from Abilene, to find Honey
violated, he'd asked Lester to play it, every night.
And the old black man picked up his harmonica, and played. And the old
white man sat silently in the darkness and listened. And Michael Casey, the
Irishman who feared damnation, sang the words softly:
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
Lester played several verses, with a sweetness unusual even for him, as
Casey sang on, in his fine tenor voice.
After a few minutes, Casey noticed that Henry Wilson was sobbing silently,
his shoulders shaking, his hands trembling.
"Are you all right, Sir?" Casey peered into the roaring campfire. In a
burst of Irish fancy, the fire seemed to symbolize the hell into which fate had
thrust both of his companions.
Wilson took a long shuddering breath, expelling a great column of air,
almost as if he were purging a noxious mist. "Yes, Casey, I think I am. Now."
Lester continued to play, as the old rancher continued.
"That last night in Abilene, Casey, I committed a great sin. A horrible
sin. And God punished me by taking out his vengeance on my daughter. The sins
of the father fall on the daughter, they say."
And Lester, looking deep into the campfire, said in a sad, tired voice, "I
had a daughter once, too, Mr. Wilson. I know how it is."
Wilson looked at Lester. "My son told me that she'd run away back in '63,
Lester. Weren't you ever able to locate her after the war?"
Lester looked Wilson squarely in the eyes. "No suh." Was there any point
now in telling this tired old man the real truth?
The old Negro thought silently for a moment. "But sometimes I feel that
she's still with me. Ridin' back from Abilene last month, I could almost feel
her arms around me."
Lester stood up, holding his harmonica at his side. "Be sure to tell Miss
Honey that I hope she's feelin' better, Mr. Wilson."
And Lester walked away, slowly, toward the bunkhouse, followed by
Michael Casey. And Henry Wilson listened to him play, "The Yellow Rose of
Texas", at an almost dirgelike tempo, until his steps and his music, receded
into the stillness of the night air.
********
Two slender figures, one tall, the other short, huddled around another
campfire that night, a lonely campfire that burned in the high country of
Chihuahua, south and west of El Paso. The charred, mesquite-scented carcass of
a scrawny rabbit and the pungent aroma of stale coffee lingered heavily in the
cool night air. The two men had covered a lot of ground in three weeks.
"Geesus, Jackson, how wide is this fuckin' desert anyways? I feel like
I ain't breathed nuthin' but trail dust since we crossed the Rio Grande."
"We still got a ways to go, Ern. There ain't really a good crossing
point 'til we get to Nogales. Nogales is a helluva long way from west Texas, so
I don't reckon the law will be lookin' for us there." The tall figure lay back
on the ground and pulled his hat down over his eyes, so as to blot out the
starry desert sky. "Now why don't you get yerself some shut-eye; if we're
lucky, we might make it to the Yaqui River in three, maybe four more days."
The men lay in silence for a long moment, before the high-pitched voice
piped up again. "Tell me, Jackson.
"Geesus, Ern, why can't you go to sleep? Tell you what?
"You know; the story you told me you wuz gonna tell me the other night.
About you and her. That mornin'."
"Dammit to hell, Ern! Ain't you a little old for bedtime stories? Go
to sleep, fer chrissakes!"
"Mebbe yer fergettin' who it was who busted you out of the joint? And
who set you up with Honey Wilson."
Jack was more than a little irritated by his sidekick's persistent
manner. But Ernie Gibbs was as stubborn as a cross-eyed mule; he figured he
might as well tell the damn story and have done with it. "Shee-it, all right
then. But pay attention, goddammit, so the next time you feel like a bedtime
story you can tell it to your own damn self."
"Yeah, all right, Jack, I'll do that," Ernie the Weasel said with his
familiar cock-eyed grin. "Just tell it."
A coyote howled somewhere out on the arid prairie that they had crossed
earlier that day. Black Jack Slocum reached for his saddle bag and pulled out
their last bottle of Henry Wilson's whiskey. His throat was parched from their
days in the Chihuahua desert; if he was going to have to tell his damnfool
partner a story, he at least deserved a drink.
After hoisting the bottle to his lips, Jack glanced over at his partner;
Ernie Gibbs was sitting there waiting for him to start, as eager as a Baptist
widow at a revival meeting.
"Well, let's see How did it all start? I guess I had left you and
Blondie in the kitchen so I could get some shut-eye. Remember I'd been ridin'
all day, and then I'd fucked our blonde princess to a fare-thee-well over that
kitchen table. Hot damn! She had one fine ass, didn't she, pard? For whippin'
and fuckin'!"
"Anyways I dozed off while you was still hollerin' at her to wiggle her ass
for you. And you know who I dreamed about that night? Daisy Thompson --
remember her? Shit, us and the boys had some fun with her sweet ass, didn't we
Ern?"
Ernie Gibbs nodded and leaned forward eagerly. Jack had touched on his
early morning adventure with Honey Wilson back at the ranch, but ever since he
had seen those dark indentations around Honey's breasts when Jack had brought
her, still dripping, back from the swimming hole, he had wanted to hear more.
"Well there I was, just about to lay your pappy's strap across Daisy's fine
young titties, when I heard that gunshot." Jack passed quickly over his
spur-of-the-moment decision to chase Honey Wilson rather than stay and attend to
his wounded sidekick. But hell, Jack thought to himself, I'd do it the same way
again in a heartbeat. What man in his right mind wouldn't chase after a
big-breasted half-naked blonde rather than play nursemaid to an ornery cowboy?
"So I come down to the corral and whistled for Cyclone, and before you know
it, we were chasing that long-legged blonde down."
"She was a good-runner, Ern. She might 'a made it to the Dunbar place,
too, if'n we hadn't 'a whipped half the life out of her legs that day. That had
to slow her down some."
"Man, you should'a seen her runnin' in the moonlight, Ernesto. Those
beautiful legs stretchin' out so nice, her torn white panties barely coverin'
that jiggling behind. When I got up closer to her, I could see those big juicy
knobs bouncing like ... like..." Jack threw his hands up in the air at his
inability to think of a proper simile. "Well, I don't know what they wuz like,
but you never seen such a sight in your life."
Slocum briefly told how he had finally caught up to Honey Wilson at
daybreak, some two miles down the road, in a field studded with prickly
chaparall only a few hundred yards from the safety of the Dunbar Ranch.
"Now she pissed me off, when she done that, Ern. Me and Cyclone didn't
much care for racin' through that brush. Took me a few minutes to chase her
down and lasso her, but I did it. When I rolled her over on to her back, I could
see that she'd really taken a beating tryin' to run naked through that
chaparral. She had prickers and thorns stickin' in her everywhere, but it was
the ones in her tits that done gave me the idea.
"First I stuffed my red bandanna into her mouth, to keep her quiet, and
then I tied her hands behind he with my lasso rope. Wrist to elbow, Ern -- you
can imagine how that made Honey's tits stick out.
Gibbs nodded excitedly. "Yep! Go, on, Jackson."
The tall desperado kicked a stray piece of mesquite back into the campfire.
"Then I went and got that coil of black rope out of saddle bag -- you know, that
Mexican cord?"
The ferret-faced cowpoke nodded. Jack had always been fussy about rope. He
liked to keep different grades of rope for different purposes -- his 'cuerda
mexicana', as he called it, was thin and tough. Ernie felt his cock swelling in
his dungarees at the thought of Jack looping that flexible rope around Honey's
magnificent breasts and then pulling it tighter ... tighter ... tighter.
"Geesus, Ern, you should seen those tits that morning! They must've had
three or four kinds of prickers and thorns stickin' out of 'em. And they
already had to be sore as hell from the shots you gave 'em while you was ...
workin' on yer footwork."
Ernie grinned and looked down at his hands and flexed his knuckles, trying
to recapture the overpowering feeling of mastery he'd had when he had driven his
gloved fists into Honey's firm young breasts.
"It took me a few minutes to rope 'em up," Jack continued. They wuz still
greasy from fryin' up that bacon, so I had to sand 'em down some, first."
Ernie the Weasel felt another brief shudder of lust shoot through his
cojones; he tried to envision the young blonde writhing in misery while his
rangy partner wiped her big, be-thorned bosoms down with coarse Texas sand.
"Yeah. What had happened then, Jackson?" Ernie was breathless with
anticipation. Jack was about to get to the best part.
"Well, Ern," Slocum continued with a chortle, "I did what any Texas
gentleman would have done in my situation."
Slocum went on to relate how he had taken the first length of cord and
started looping it around one of Honey's succulent, pink-nippled breasts.
Ernie listened breathlessly; he and Jack had shared a lot of adventures
with women, but somehow he'd never been around to see one of Jack's tit-ropings.
Jack related how he'd wound the black rope as tightly as he could around
Honey's pinkening pleasure-globes, tightening the cords mercilessly, until the
faint bluish veins in her breasts stood out, and the numerous scratches from the
brush of that lonely field began to seep tiny trails of scarlet. How the
voluptuous blonde had looked at her swollen and pain-wracked breasts in agonized
disbelief. How the excruciatingly tight bondage had slowly caused her breasts
to darken in color, even as it accentuated the pebbly texture of her areolae and
the tautness of her defenseless nipples.
Black Jack paused in mid-story, to take another pull from the bottle they
had swiped from the Wilson ranch. He had stared deeply into the glow of the
campfire, as if trying to recapture the erotic events he was describing. Ernie
had squirmed awkwardly during this brief interval, his aroused cock so hard that
it pressed painfully against the crotch of his pants.
Jack went on to recount how he'd told Honey that her bulging tits reminded
him of the sweet round grapefruits he'd picked as a boy. How he had used to like
to take a pair of those firm ruby-red grapefruits and squeeze 'em until the
juice ran out of 'em. When he got to that point in the story Slocum looked down
at his huge hairy hands, curling his fingers inward until his hands resembled
mighy claws, while he silently relived the thrill of crushing Honey's
tightly-bound pain-melons in his powerful fingers.
When he went on to tell Ernie how he had taken Honey's swollen breasts in
his huge hands and squeezed 'em as hard as he could, just like he had done with
those long ago grapefruits, Ernie had almost come in his dingy dungarees.
Slocum continued by relating how he had tried to lift the lovely blonde by
her rock-hard nipple-buds, and then, a little displeased at having failed at
that pleasant diversion, how he'd given a throbbing, rubicund breast a ferocious
slap with the hard-knuckled back of his hand. How the blonde beauty, her arms
bound tightly behind her, had fallen to her knees on the dusty road, and how he
had picked her up and back-handed her other bulging pain-globe with equal
savagery.
Then he quickly told how he had taken the long leads from her breast
ropes, and tied them to Cyclone's saddle horn. How the great black horse had
dragged the young blonde beauty by her throbbing, trussed-up tits all the way
back to the little swimmin' hole on the Wilson Ranch, while Jack had followed
alongside on foot, occasionally flicking Honey's creamy ass with his whip.
How, when they got to the pond he had untied the beautiful blonde, so she
could clean up a little, and after she'd washed up, he'd thrown her down on the
soft grass along the edge of the tiny lake. After a brutal struggle with the
athletic blonde, Jack had half-choked her by cramming his massive horse-cock
down her throat, before finishing off the enjoyable matinee by fucking the shit
out of her glorious pink-nippled tits.
After Jack finished his thrilling narrative and rolled over to get some
shut-eye, Ernie lay there in the starlight, his cock throbbing, visualizing in
his mind's eye each incident in Jack's erotic adventure, reliving it
vicariously, and trying to commit it to memory. When Jack's snoring grew
regular, Ernie the Weasel undid his fly and knelt before the campfire stroking
himself vigorously while his lurid imagination searched the flames for
tantalizing visions of black rope tightening inexorably around deliciously
sun-tanned breasts, biting deeper and deeper into Honey's sensitive
pleasure-melons. As his hand moved faster and his excitemount mounted, Ernie
could almost see Honey's tasty nipples standing out like pink rivets, while her
moans of suffering echoed across the lonely prairie...
Not long after Ernie had spilled jet after jet of his seed on the hard
Mexican ground, Jack Slocum's sleep was enlivened by the same stimulating dream
that he had had on that night at the Wilson Ranch. The tall, dark gunslinger
dreamed once again of his boyhood encounter with Daisy, the pretty young
sharecropper's daughter. His four adolescent buddies each had a grip on one of
her brown limbs, as they pinned her wriggling body to that memorable elm stump
out by the old shed.
At the Wilson Ranch Jack's dream had been interrupted by the gunshot
just at the point when he had directed his pals to flip their nubile victim
over, so that he could give the front of her tender body the same Slocum strap
treatment he had meted out to her sweet, brown bottom.
But tonight there would be no gunshots, no interruptions to Black Jack
Slocum's dream of boyhood dominance. Tonight, just as on that long ago
afternoon, Daisy Thompson would not escape.
And through the long night, each explosive crackle of dry mesquite in
the campfire was transformed by the mysterious alchemy of dreams, into the
sharp, thrilling report of leather on young female flesh ...
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