Cowgirl's Rough Ride

“I don’t make love like something
you read in one of them papers. It’s gonna be rough and it’s gonna hurt.”

His words rang in her ears. But she
didn’t care what he did to her. This was her guardian angel. The one who would
free her from this harsh and hopeless life. And she would go with him to the
ends of the earth; riding by day, camping around a fire at night, riding into a
hail of bullets.

Brutal Bill was a legend in these
parts but he was so much more to her.

Most of her years had been spent on
the farm, trapped, like an herb ground between pestle and mortar. In the twenty
summers she’d seen, the last few had been the worst. With only herself to tend
to things, the farm was falling apart. He was her ticket out.

“Do what you will, good sir. Just
take me with you.” She pleaded while kneeling on the hard, degraded wood floor.

He shifted his weight from one gun
holster to the other, the dry grit scuffing under his boot.

“And what would I do with some farm
girl? I kill for a livin’ and the road is my home. That ain’t no place for a
girl.” He fixed her with a hard look, his gray eyes red from the dust.

The elements had taken its toll on
his features; the skin on his cheeks was stained and sunburned. Crow’s feet
spread from the corners of his eyes. A scratchy shadow ran along his strong
jaw, though she could tell he normally shaved. Although his full lips were
cracked, she still wanted to kiss him.

She looked at the floor, searching
for something to say to convince him.

That morning she’d gone out to get
a pail of water when she noticed dust up the road. Even if she had anything of
value, the outlaws weren’t interested in robbing her. They were on the run and
they only wanted a place to hide. If her father were alive, she was sure they
would have shot him. The only reason they kept her around was for their own
personal entertainment.

She thought she was done for. All
these years spent working her hands raw, just to be used and thrown away like a
dirty rag. As she faced death, she realized she didn’t want to go out as a
farmer’s daughter.

So the three men had held her down,
ripping her dress, when one of them went flying across the room, shot through
the window. The boom of the rifle was deafening. The other two let go to reach
for their guns, but it was too late. The quick pistol shots sounded like a
single bang and the outlaws both jerked and spun.

Then she looked up and Bill stood
in the doorway, pistol in one hand, rifle over his shoulder. Hell nor brimstone
could keep her from going with this man. She’d asked him to marry her on the
spot. He might have been convinced if she had defended herself.
I wish I
still had Pa’s gun.

“I can shoot,” she said, hoping he
wouldn’t laugh. “My Pa taught me to keep the wolves away. And I can cook.”

“Can you, now?” He squatted down in
front of her, his gun belt and spurs jingling as he moved. “Well here, I wanna see
how you handle a real gun.”

He pulled one of his handguns and
turned it, handle first, for her. Fearing a trick, she hesitated. But he nodded
his head, urging her to take it. “Go on.”

She reached up and slipped the palm
of her hand along the smooth, pearl handle. It was an expensive looking gun,
much more ornate than her father’s simple weapon. Taking it in her grip, she
hefted the weight. It was heavier, too, but felt natural in her hand.

A shadow passed in front of the
doorway. Even with the sun in her eyes, she could make out a man with a dust
cloth wrapped around his face, a gun in his hand; death was in his eyes. She’d
missed one of the outlaws in the chaos.

Before she could scream, her arm
flew up and her gun fired.

Heart pounding, she opened her eyes
and saw Bill halfway to standing, his other gun in his hand. The doorway was
empty except for dust and gun smoke swirling in the rays of light.

“Well, now,” Bill said bemused,
holstering his gun. “The little girl can shoot. I just might have to keep ya.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and
smiled. The room swayed, the adrenaline and excitement making her feel drunk.

He retrieved his gun from her and
grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. She desperately held the tattered
remnants of her dress to her chest, trying to be modest.

“What do they call you?” He asked
as he rifled through the belongings of the dead men.

“Jane,” she replied meekly.

Bill’s gravelly laugh sounded like
years of tobacco and whiskey. “Tricky Jane’s what I’m gonna call you. I don’t
think this sonofabitch ever thought you’d kill him.”

He turned and shoved the outlaw’s
gun holster into her arms. “Here.” Not waiting for her to grab it, he walked
over to examine each of the bodies.

The leather and gunmetal were heavy
and she held tight to keep them from dropping. With her hands full, her dress
slipped out of her fingers and fell open, exposing her breasts. She grit her
teeth, hoping the tangle of thick leather was enough to cover her.

Bill leaned down to remove a boot
from the smaller of the four men. “This’ll do.” Turning to her, he stopped, his
eyes wandering down her exposed skin. His smile had a hint of malevolence. She
blushed but kept her chin up.

Shaking his head, he reached down
to lift her leg up. He held her foot against the sole of the boot and she felt
like she was a horse getting shoed.

“What’re you doing?” She asked,
feeling foolish while wobbling on one foot.

“You need somethin’ to wear. If’n you
want to ride nude, it’d be fine by me.” He released her leg and gripped her
shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh. She winced but held his stare.

“Listen good now. I’m not taking
you for a wife. I’m taking you because you’re useful.” He gave her a little
shake and leaned close. The brim of his coal gray hat brushed her forehead and
she felt his hot breath on her lips. “You hear me?”

His ash gray eyes searched her for
any hint of hesitation. “There’s a reason cowboys don’t get old. It’s dangerous
and you’ll probably get hurt. Maybe even die.”

Refusing to blink, she looked
defiantly at him. She wasn’t going to let him change his mind.

“My Pa’s dead, my crops are dust,
and I’m broke. I almost died a lonely farm girl. I ain’t afraid to die with a
gun in my hands.” She was surprised by her boldness.
He’s going to say I’m a
stupid girl, she thought cursing herself.

“Okay.” He nodded and turned back
to the body on the floor, where he set to stripping it of clothing. The shirt
had only a little blood on it; the shot had gone through the outlaw’s eye. Bill
shook it out and tossed it over a chair, along with pants and a hat.

Brushing his hands off, he faced
her, his eyes taking one last glance at her naked chest.

“I’ll be outside tending to the
horses.” He tilted his hat at her and left.

Staring at the door, she stood
still, eyes wide and arms straining to hold her gun belt. The courtesy stunned
her even more than her near death experience. For a moment he’d forgotten he
was Brutal Bill, the meanest bounty hunter in the west.

***

Bill’s pale eyes glistened from the
orange light of the lapping flames. She watched him from across the pit,
wondering what he was thinking as he stared into the fire.

He had been silent through the day.
She only had the sound of the jingling tack and grunting horses to keep her
company. She’d glanced at him periodically, on the verge of breaking the quiet.
But she reconsidered and kept her mouth shut.

She was glad to have the hat, to
keep the harsh sun out of her eyes. But even with the tie pulled tight against
her chin, it was too big. It needed constant re-adjusting as it slid forward
over her face.

Looking at Bill, she rubbed her
backside. She was sore; the saddle and her loose pants had rubbed against her
rear, badly. But she refused to complain.

Instead she got up and moved around
the fire to sit on the log next to him. He sat stone-still and didn’t say a
word, like she didn’t exist. Feeling self conscious, desperately wanting a
reaction, any reaction, she scooted closer and gently placed her hand on his
arm.

He remained still. “You don’t want
to do that,” he growled.

“Why not?” She asked, hurt and
confused.

“Like I told you before, it’ll be
rough and it’ll hurt. You don’t want me fucking you in the bunghole, so let it
go. I’m not the kind of man you’re looking for.” He didn’t look at her and it
drove her crazy. She wanted to see his eyes, to get a glance into his thoughts.
His hat hung low over his face, only giving her the profile of his rough jaw
and hawk nose.

“You must have known me a long time
to be judgin’ exactly what I want.” Frustrated, she crossed her arms and turned
her back to him. “What kinda man are you, then?”

“The man who kills people for
money,” he said flatly.

“Have you always killed for money?”
She asked, turning to see his reaction, her eyebrows raised.

He shifted in his seat and looked
down at his boots. “No,” he finally said.

“I think you used to be a good
man,” she said, and regretted it as soon the words left her lips.

He turned to her, his gray eyes
wide with rage.

“Do you now? And what does a farm
girl think about a man,” he shouted, grabbing her arm and throwing her to the
ground. “--who doesn’t care what you think?”

He snatched one of her wrists and
twisted it behind her, turning her over, forcing her face against the dirt. He
was rough, painfully pinning her hand against her back, his fingers digging
into her skin.

His anger scared her, but it was
exciting. She never wanted a boring husband who was only interested in making
babies. Her desire was to be fucked without reserve by a real man.

She felt wetness between her legs
as he held her to the ground. With one hand, he yanked her pants down to her
knees, exposing her naked ass to the night air. She blushed, closing her eyes. The
rough, dry soil scratched her cheek but she panted with anticipation.

“So, girl, you think you want
this?” He asked, kneeling behind her. She could feel his heat, as he pressed
his body against her rear.

“Yeah,” she mumbled into the dirt.

“Do ya?” He raised his voice,
jerking her arm and sending a shock of fire burning up her shoulder.

“Yes!” Jane shrieked, her
exhalation scattering a plume of dust in front of her face.

“Dumb girl doesn’t know what she
wants. But I’ll learn ya.” His hand came down with unbelievable power. The slap
shocked her, stinging like a burning brand sizzling on her skin. She squealed
and twisted against his restraint. But he held her in an iron grip. His hand
came down again on the same spot, making her tremble in agony.

As his hand mercilessly hammered
down, a fire burning on her rear, she felt a warmth of pleasure spread from her
crotch.

“This ain’t some girl’s dream of
roses and kisses. The road’s hard. The wild’s unforgiving.”

He hit her with an even and
constant rhythm. She whimpered and squirmed, conflicted between the urge to
escape and the desire that wetted her pussy lips. The tender skin of her ass
was raw. And each slap renewed the shockwave of pain with increased intensity.

“When you face a man with a gun,
you don’t flinch. You don’t think about it.” He said, his breathing heavy. “You
just shoot!” He shouted, each word emphasized by slap.

He stopped suddenly and she let out
her breath, whimpering. A light breeze cooled her naked, burning skin. Sweat
stuck hair and dirt against her face but she ignored it, relishing the cool
relief.

“You saw,” she said, her voice sounded
winded. “I shot a man.”

Bill spat. “And you think that
makes you a killer,” he growled. “You don’t know your ass from a bucket of
water.”

She heard his belt jingle, then
felt his bare skin against her ass. His hardness pressed against her asshole
and she gasped. She clenched but he was ruthless, bearing down on the tight
ring. Her skin stretched and his member forced her open. Her back arched, her
jaw locked open, and her breath caught in her throat. Again she was caught
between two extremes; the unbearable sensation and the craving for him to fill
her.

His relentless cock drilled up her
rear, his girth rubbing against her straining hole and sliding along her walls.
She choked back tears, whimpering as he slid back and thrust again.