Message-ID: <55576asstr$1176138601@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: q75g2000hsh.googlegroups.com!not-for-mail From: shaw.alphamale@gmail.com X-Original-Message-ID: <1176108738.149112.242760@q75g2000hsh.googlegroups.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 9 Apr 2007 08:52:18 +0000 (UTC) User-Agent: G2/1.0 X-HTTP-UserAgent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Windows NT 5.1; en-US; rv:1.7.9) Gecko/20050711 Firefox/1.0.5,gzip(gfe),gzip(gfe) Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com Injection-Info: q75g2000hsh.googlegroups.com; posting-host=124.180.71.211; posting-account=2V_30A0AAAA9gQjcvTjg27NYR1RDnDHF X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 9 Apr 2007 01:52:18 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} "THE FASTEST GUN IN THE EAST" (M/F/F; historical) Lines: 859 Date: Mon, 09 Apr 2007 13:10:01 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2007/55576> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, Sagittaria "THE FASTEST GUN IN THE EAST" (M/F/F; historical) BY DAVID SHAW shaw.alphamale@gmail.com www.alphamalestories.com ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Two ladies meet a cowboy in a white hat and get themselves re-branded! ---------------------------------------------------------------------- The broad shouldered young man wearing a fringed deerskin shirt and white stetson was leaning casually against the deck rail of the Queen Charlotte, watching the Indiana shoreline steadily passing to the beat of the riverboat's sternwheel. A spur fitted riding boot rested casually on the lowest of the rail bars, the wearer's slumped attitude suggesting no more than a casual interest in the summer greenery and sunspeckled ripples. It would have seemed an entirely peaceful scene, save for the butt of the Colt Navy revolver protruding from a well worn leather holster at the man's right hip. That, and the way his head and eyes seemed never to be entirely at rest. Somehow he seemed both relaxed and yet never quite relaxed enough to be taken unawares. If any bystanders had reached the same conclusion, they would have been correct. And indeed there were bystanders, two of them, both female, and both looking intently at the Westerner from the corner of a deck house a few paces away. Yet each of the women would have been surprised to learn that he was well aware of their presence. As indeed they were surprised, and then in equal measure disconcerted and discomforted when he suddenly turned towards them and doffed his hat in a respectful bow. "Ladies." "Oh my!" The one that responded first was somewhere into the middle years of her third decade, her features strong yet well proportioned, with tresses of ginger hair underneath a saucy blue hat and a body which would have needed a powerful stallion to carry it swiftly, and, the cowboy instantly thought, a strong man to do it full justice. Junoesque was the word which came to mind. And he was well aware that no one aboard the Queen Charlotte would have looked at his cowpuncher clothes and believed that such a word could exist in his vocabulary. Not that he needed to consult any dictionary in forming a instant opinion of what he'd like to do with the red head's lush bosom and generous hips. Then the second woman spoke up: "I'm sorry if we seemed rude, but we had an idea we'd seen your face in a newspaper sketch. With a hat and shirt like the one you're wearing now." The cowboy turned towards the speaker and bowed again. She was perhaps three or four years younger, hatless, slimmer, her long blonde hair piled on top of her head and secured at the peak with a tortoise shell, falling away into two pony tails secured behind her graceful neck by black ribbons and then flowing out free and loose past her shoulders. "Ma'am, it does seems my moniker has been mentioned some in your Eastern papers. That is if the name you had in mind is Jake Jefferson Jackson, 'cause that's what'd be printed on my calling cards, if'n I had any". Both of the women gasped as he proudly introduced himself. In fact the copper nob was so surprised she twitched as if jabbed with a pin. "The gunfighter! I knew I was right. Oh, I've read so much about you, Mr Jackson. In Mr Buntline's stories. Why you're mentioned in the same breath as Buffalo Bill and Wyatt Earp." Jake smiled, revealing an excellent set of white teeth in his handsome face. He spoke slowly, as if savoring every word. "Well, now, a man couldn't want for better company than to be named with than those two gen'l'men. But to right truthful, old Ned sometimes draws it on too strong by a chain and a quarter. I could say more but I'm kind of shy about shouting the odds in front of strangers." "Strangers? Oh, I'm so sorry Mr Jackson," the older woman answered. "I'm Clara Butler and this is my friend, Georgina Tasker." The cowboy showed the unabashed grace of a true caballero as he kissed each presented hand in turn. And equal lack of embarrassment in eyeing the hands he didn't raise to his lips. "Well, ladies, you've plumb disappointed me enough to make a rattlesnake cry salt tears. Here I was thinking I'd fallen down a gold mine and it turns out you're both wearing golden rings already. I guess Mr Butler and Mr Tasker are going to be showing up hot footed real soon, and all ready to whip my hide for trying to cut out the best looking pair of high steppers ever seen on the deck of this mobile tea kettle." Clara blushed as she answered: "Oh no, Edward and Eric have gone ahead to Pittsburgh to look at a business there they may be buying as partners. We would have gone with them but there was a last minute problem in boarding our children, so we've had to follow on the next boat." Jake made a great play of being astonished: "You gals have family! Why if that ain't the biggest surprise I've had since Ready Money Mary O'Cready hit me over the head with her bed warmer, and me never even suspecting she ever had the need of that kind of implement at her place." Georgina and Clara broke out into a fit of giggles, very unlady like but very attractive giggles. Jake laughed too as he replaced the hat over his neatly trimmed blonde hair. Underneath it was the developing thought that these Eastern females had a style and easy confidence about them which was like nothing he'd seen before in women -- not married ones, anyway. Maybe some of those stretchers he'd heard about Eastern goings on hadn't been so stretched out after all. Well, he'd soon enough find out in the big city. "Why, the pair of you are just such natural belles of the ball I figured you were hardly old enough to be excused Sunday School, let alone figuring on taking your own tackers to one. Ain't that something? Well, I guess I'll watch the skies tonight and have myself a wish on a falling star the gals they find for me in New York are something like as admirable as you ladies -- though I won't be denying I'll be adding a postscript that they're not married." Georgina stared at him curiously: "What girls, Mr Jackson?" "Why, Mrs Tasker, every time you talk about Mr Jackson I'm figuring to turn around fast and see who's looking behind me. I'd take it kindly if you'd call me Jake. As for them gals, there's a gentleman in New York, name of Samuel W. Loftus, who's sent me letters saying he's a mind to do a stage show there, the same kind of a show that Ned Buntline persuaded Buffalo Bill his'self to do, 'til they parted brass rags." "'Scouts of the Prairie'," Clara said. "I've heard of that. Why, it was a huge success. It packed the theatres everywhere it went." "Well, Mrs Butler, I guess we've been hearing the same story, so that's why I'm here, a simple ranch hand aiming to stash a few dollars away in his poke while he can." The red head smiled: "Jake, please call me Clara. And can I ask how it came about that a simple cowpuncher ended up in so many gunfights? Some of the people who write about you say you fell into some pretty bad company." The cowboy gave her smile for smile. Only this time his handsome face was somehow not nearly so friendly. Neither were his eyes. "Clara, what they write about me I can't hardly help. But along the trail there's been some hombres who've called me a few names to my face." Jake patted the butt of his Colt. "Can't quite recall how many at the moment, but I guess I could always get old betsy out and count the notches again, if'n you was curious." Clara blanched, her face stricken: "Oh Lord, Jake, Mr Jackson, forgive me. Insulting you in any way was the furthest thing from my mind. Please let me apologize." Jake took off his hat and bowed again before answering. "Miss Clara, I wouldn't be dreaming of asking a lady of your quality for any such thing. I guess I'm as nervous as a shepherd at a rodeo myself in being honored by the presence of two such beautiful women and I misspoke. I beg your pardon." "Oh, granted, Jake, completely granted. I made a fool of myself." While mea culpas were being exchanged Georgina's vivid blue eyes had become fastened on the Navy Colt. Indeed, aimed at it as if they were weapons themselves, with an obvious glint of excitement lurking in their depths. "Mr . . . Jake, is that really the pistol you used to kill all those men with?" "It surely is, Georgina. I'd like to show it to you but folks might start getting nervous if'n I was to clear leather out here in the open. Why the fellow up there at the big wheel might take on such a turn we'd end up ploughing a stretch of river bank with those big blades back there. Tell you what, ladies, I'm travelling in a private cabin on the Texas deck, cabin number one, all paid for by Mr Samuel W. Loftus of New York, and plumb comfortable it is too. Step inside for a pow wow to pass away the time, why don'tcha? I'll show you my six shooter and tell you all about those gals in New York." Jake wasn't sure of what reaction his bold suggestion might get, but Clara did as he thought she might, blushing, putting a hand to her mouth to stifle a startled laugh, then looking sideways at her friend. Georgina was less visibility surprised, though her lips twitched and Jake could have sworn the gleam in her eyes grew even more intense. "Why, Mr Jackson," she breathed slowly. "I could almost think you were trying to pen us up inside your corral." Jake grinned, put on his hat again at a rakish angle, and leaned forward to whisper gently into her delicate pearl decorated ear. "Well, Georgina, you know what happens to wild mares in a corral, I guess. They surely get to buck a lot. But when Jake Jefferson Jackson is breaking them in they damn near buck themselves right out of their hides. And I never yet met a lady who didn't think it was the best thing that ever happened to her." Georgina had heard what he said. Clara had a very good notion of what he'd said because her friend looked as shocked as if a skunk had suddenly run up inside her skirts. Both of the respectable married ladies quivered as though the Queen Annette had run aground at full speed and shaken the decking underneath their feet. Especially Clara, despite all the ballast she had stowed away in her expansive curves. As for their eyes, well, Jake had never seen any pop out so much since a string of mules in Laramie had gotten themselves a smell of a circus camel. "See you later, gals. And I've got a bottle of sipping whisky in the cabin I'd surely like your opinion on. Stirs the corpuscles up and loosens corsets too, so they say. 'Bye." The last thing Jake saw before he turned away was a back view of the two women facing out over the deck rail, heads close together and two pairs of shoulders heaving with emotion. What emotion Jake couldn't have exactly sworn to, not on a bible leastways, but if it had been a pair of Comanche squaws he was studying instead of white women he would have said for certain the pair of them were nigh on choking with laughter. Of course squaws usually needed to be liquored up to laugh that much. But given half a chance he could soon fill that want -- as well as any others which might come along. Jake went the steps to the Texas deck two at a time, grinning and happy. Sure, he'd already figured out that he was probably going to be on the losing side in this encounter but at least he'd played his cards hard and fast. Better yet, he'd enjoyed the game. Even better, he was halfway convinced that if either of the Eastern wives had been on her own she'd have let herself be sweet talked into dancing the mattress polka underneath him. Why all these Easterners, male and female, they all seemed to think the West was some kind of a romantic place, a Camelot just a crossing away over the Missouri, with cowboys as knights on horseback. Except those of them that had actually ridden the trail along the North Platte long enough to find that the real West was a far flung collection of half assed towns full of dirty shacks and mostly dirt poor people. Oh sure, one day it might become a fine place to live, but right now the West had one appalling shortage -- women. While in the East there were cities with millions of sassy spankers like Georgina and Clara high stepping around in them, all seemingly ready to go weak at the knees at the sight of a stetson, levis and six shooter. A thought which brought to mind a shortage which did exist in the Eastern States, a shortage of ill intentioned ranchers looking out with cocked firearms for Jake Jefferson Jackson on account of their wandering livestock which had somehow ended up with his brand on them. There was also a power of husbands clear through to the Rockies just as eager to plug him for the same reason, 'cept he hadn't slapped a hot iron on the wives he'd rustled, just a hot cock between their legs. Nope, it'd take a team of oxen to drag Mrs Jackson's son Jake west of Saint Louis again. New York and a tasty young widow with a fat portfolio of railroad stock would settle this wandering cowhand down just fine. Inside his cabin Jake sang poured some water in a basin, washed his hands and face, removed his boots and carefully opened a small box marked 'Dr. Power's French Preventatives.' Out of the box he took two of the rubber sheaths packed inside it and carefully examined them. Freshly bought at a barber's shop in Saint Louis, he expected them to be in good condition but the new fangled rubbers aged quickly. Just another problem with living way out in the West, now made worse by the newly introduced Comstock laws which made it a federal offence to send contraceptives through the post. Maybe the US government figured the Comstock nonsense was the quickest way to populate pioneer territories. Jake piled up the pillows on the cabin's double bed and spread a horse blanket on top of the coverlet. Not only did the blanket protect the fancy coverlet, it gave off a stallion smell which had often proved remarkable results in certain ladies he had come to know in the past -- in the fullest sense of the word. But when he stretched out and relaxed on top of the blanket his attention was almost fully taken up by the ribbon bound bundle of papers in his hand. It was the script for the stage show which Sam Loftus had sent him and Jake was set on having it engraved word perfect on his mind by the time he reached New York. Yet before he settled down to reading he got up again, set out three glasses on the table and a bottle of Maker's Mark whiskey. He poured a measure into one of the glasses, then shrugged and filled the other two glasses as a libation to the gods of luck and love and lust. And if they were not on his side today then he'd end up drinking all three shots himself. Taking one glass back to the bunk Jake lay down again and began speaking the lines as he read through them. He'd turned over three pages when the .36 seemed to flow from the holster into his hand with hardly a flicker of movement. He looked up to see Georgina and Clara almost jammed together in their rush to get through the cabin door and get it closed behind them. A man might have thought the pair were seeking shelter from a sudden storm -- until he saw the apprehension on their faces, as if the shelter was underneath a solitary tree with lightning flashing through the sky. Jake's smile showed more teeth than a he-wolf baying underneath a full moon and he lifted up the gun until the muzzle pointed at the cabin roof. "Hello, ladies. Sit yourself down and have a drink. They're already poured." The two woman stood with their backs to the door, staring around them at the luxurious cabin and then at Jake. Clara seemed as nervous as a young miss at her first church social dance, while Georgina's cheeks were flushed and her pert bosom betraying more hard breathing than she'd acquired merely from climbing the steps to the upper deck. Jake chuckled and took a sip from his glass. "OK, so which one of you dared the other to come and visit a stranger in his cabin? For my money, it was Georgina." She stared back at him, then gave an unexpected ghost of a smile: "Why me?" "Because of my gun. Because you want to handle something that's killed a heap of men. Don't get fussed about it, there's a lot of gals like you. One of these years mebbe you'll all get together and start your own civil war with your menfolk -- or maybe just ignore them altogether. Doesn't matter to me, as long as you're here. As for Clara, she's pure female through and through. You like men, don'tcha, Clara? And men surely like you. So if this is the only chance you're ever going to get to have a gallop with another man riding you, why not pick a right handsome cowboy, right?" Clara's cheeks were turning as red as a prairie sunset: "I think we'd better go, Georgina." "Ah, that might be a problem." Jake lowered the barrel of the Colt and squinted down it towards them. "See here, gals, this pistol is loaded and cocked and on a hair trigger. Just one twitch and off it goes. Only I wouldn't want you to have the idea I'm threatening to shoot you. The truth is, this pistol is as harmless as a toothless snake. I'm too far East to risk shooting people. So there's nothing in the chambers but black powder for show. If I was to pull this trigger there'd only be a big bang and a power of smoke and sparks." Georgina's breaths were coming even faster as she stared down the Colt's muzzle. "I don't understand why you're telling us that." "Because the wheelhouse is above this cabin. And if the Captain or one of his officers heard a shot in here, why they'd naturally come running to investigate. And guess who they'd find here. Mrs Butler and Mrs Tasker together in a male passenger's cabin. Wouldn't that just cause some gossip on board this hooker? I should just about say so. Why, there's no telling how far that kind of talk could spread. Your husbands might even get to hear some of if they should meet the boat in Pittsburgh." "Oh dear," Clara said slowly. "Oh dear." Georgina only nodded, as if hearing nothing but what she'd expected: "Corralled. You've got us corralled. Just like I knew you would." Jake nodded too, affirming her statement: "Seems like that's the way of it." He put his hand down beside him on the blanket, the six shooter still in it. "OK, girls. Over on the wash stand there's a bowl, a jug of water, soap, flannel and a towel. Get them." They both seemed surprised but did as he ordered. In the meantime Jake stood up, moved his pillows further along the blanket, then lay down again with his feet out beyond the edge of the bed. Clare stood watching with the bowl in her hands and the towel over her shoulder, Georgina carrying the jug and flannel and soap. "Wash my feet for me, ladies. Make them clean because you'll thank me for this later." The women exchanged glances but knelt down. Or rather, Clara put the bowl down on the table and spread out her skirts before kneeling down. Then she took the bowl and jug and other things from Georgina and put them on the cabin floor before Georgina also rearranged her dress as she got down beside her friend. Jake smiled down the length of his body at them. "Ready when you are, ladies." It was Clara who began on his right foot, gently rubbing the soapy flannel under his sole and then over the top of his right foot. Jake wriggled with pleasure. "That's nice, that's sure nice. I was figuring to tell you ladies about those gals in New York, wasn't I . . ? Hmm, that's right Clara, every one of those toes." Georgina's eyes were growing wider to match the growing bulge in Jake's levis. Her elbow jabbed against Clara's arm, and Clara looked up in turn, her eyes showing the same gleam as on first seeing the Colt. Jake laid his pistol down carefully on the blanket and moved his hand away from it a few inches. "There's no hiding it, ladies, the touch and smell and sight of you pair of beauties surely has the South rising again. And mebbe also because Mr Loftus has promised me a couple of chorus gals to come on stage with me, dressed up as saloon dancers. Only wearing a sight less, judging from some fancy daguerreotypes he's sent me. Seems like they're hardly even planning on keeping their underwear on. Looks to me like there'll be a riot in the theater before I get to do anything -- shucks, that's a good feeling. OK, Georgina, your turn." The blonde took the flannel from Clara and carefully re-soaped it before wiping the material over his left foot. Jake admired the way Georgina made a pretence of trying not to look at his half cocked cock, yet kept glancing at it with quick glances from under her lowered face, sneaky looks which were both somehow coy and sultry at the same time. Clara again had a different style. As she toweled his other foot dry she was staring at his groin with the undivided attention of a town drunk watching a bottle of whiskey being uncorked. "Kiss the bottom of my foot, Clara. Then start sucking my toes, nice and gentle, all along the line and back again." Jake gave a gentle moan of pleasure as she obeyed his orders. Georgina glanced sideways at her companion's obedient behavior and the tips of her ears went pink. But she picked up the towel and applied it as thoroughly to the foot in front of her as Clara had done -- and even more quickly. Then she crouched lower and pressed her lips against his other foot. "Now that is something else." The cowboy tilted his head back and grunted with pleasure as two mouths sucked and nibbled on his toes. "Now that is some pleasuring -- yes, sirree. But now I want you fine belles to help me out a little here. See, I got to thinking about these girls on the stage and how they come out wearing these pink tights on their legs. So I figured maybe I could tease the menfolk in the audience by covering everything else up with ponchos." Jake lifted his head: "Hey, wait up with the toes and pay attention here. You gals listening to me, now." "Yes, Jake," Georgina answered quickly and Clara nodded. "OK, now I want you to help me put on a little production here. Only I don't have any pink tights. But in that chest over there are two ponchos and two Mexican hats I bought them along special in case I couldn't find what I wanted in New York. You two are going to model them for me. But first of all you'll take off everything you're wearing now. And while you're doing that I'll be watching the door to make sure both of you keeps on this side of it." The two females glanced at each other with furtive eyes, as if each was afraid of revealing her emotions. "Come on, ladies, come on. Bowl and jug back on the sideboard and then dump all that fancy gear you women have to carry around. Turn everything loose for a while. Just leave your shoes on and put on the ponchos and hats. And have another shot of firewater as you pass the table if'n you feel like it." Clara snorted with what seemed gallows humor: "That's an invitation I badly need." They stood up, Clara first, reaching out to take the water filled bowl from Georgina's hands, and then the jug before her friend got to her feet. The utensils went back on the sideboard and Clara poured another glass of whiskey, sharing the shot with Georgina in one quick gulp apiece and two gasps of -- what -- satisfaction or disbelief at the speed things were happening? Or a joint summoning up of courage? The boat's steam whistle blew a long shriek overhead and during it Georgina said something to Clara which made the bigger girl glance involuntarily towards Jake with her hand to her mouth, the knuckles showing white. He had a good idea of what had been said: "She's right, Clara, you will be making a noise like that yourself pretty soon." "Oh God," Clara said. "I've gone mad. I must have gone mad." But she allowed Georgina to take her arm and pull her into the corner of the cabin. It took iron concentration for Jake not to move his head or his eyes towards the rustling of material and muttered snatches of conversation occurring just out of his line of sight. There were reasons to keep them averted though. The personal one was that he liked to spread his pleasures out as long as possible. The business one was that he wanted to see the girls in their ponchos for the first time the way an audience would see them. If they looked as good as he thought they would -- well, maybe the idea would work in a theatre. The problem was that it seemed to take an age before both dresses were removed and corsets were unlaced, although Jake knew to the second when Clara's was loosened because of her explosive gasp of relief. Yet even that seemed only an opening movement in the discarding of chemises and petticoats and bustles and God alone knew what other feminine fripperies. And then there were the astonished mutters and gasps of disbelief as both of the women put on the ponchos and looked at themselves in the mirror. Only after what seemed like an eternity did he hear Georgina speak in a quavering voice: "We're ready, Jake." "Fine, ladies, fine. I'm going to close my eyes now. I want you to stand in front of me at the end of the bed and tell when I can take a look." Jake shut his eyes with confidence. There was no way either Clara or Georgina could leave the cabin now, not dressed the way they were. Even so, his palm still rested lightly on the butt of the pistol. There were clicking sounds on the wooden deck, the delicate clicking sounds of female shoes, the only items of everyday dress either of the straying wives had left to their names. Excitement raced through his veins stronger and more potent than any liquor could have done. It was Georgina's voice again, on a quivering note: "Ready." He looked. Both of them were standing straight up, side by side. On each woman's head was a black felt hat, of the style worn by wealthy Mexican women when out riding, flat topped, narrow brimmed, with narrow chin cords hanging loose. Jack's eyes dropped lower. Both of the ponchos were made of thin white linen with gold and red edging, cut so that they hung deeper front and back than at the sides. The V shape of Georgina's reached a point just above her knees, the top of the poncho was close around her graceful neck, and under the thin material the shape of her breasts stood out clearly enough for the nipples to be visible. So were the bright blue stars gleaming in the band of shadow under the hat brim. "God!" The cowboy could not believe the sight of Georgina's legs. No wonder women had to keep them covered up lest men should go mad with lust -- women with legs as long and as incredibly beautifully shaped as hers, anyway. Jake swung his eyes towards Clara. And said the same word again, but with even deeper resonance. If Georgina's pose was enough to grab the attention of an entire audience of men the semi-naked Clara was in a fit state to start a stampede onto the stage at a revivalist meeting. Like her friend, Clara's arms were down by her side, because lifting them also meant lifting up the bottom of the poncho. But where Georgina could at least have brought her hands up to her shoulders and still have been within an inch of decency, Clara's linen figleaf needed to go barely a handspan higher to lift the veil on her secret valley. Her hipbones held firmly in the poncho's grip, Clara's face was deeply flushed -- and in between . . . in between a pair of trembling cahoonas big enough to keep all three of them afloat if the riverboat sank. "Sweet Jesus," Jake said in stunned admiration. "Clara, your tits are so big a man could stake out a claim on them under the Homesteading Act." The woman gaped at him. "I'll tell you something else, even from here I can see that you're as excited a saloon hostess on pay night." Clara twitched, stared down at the hard nipples standing out underneath the poncho, and instinctively raised her hands to cover them. Before yelping and dropping them again as she realized what else was happening -- but Jake had already caught a glimpse of the ginger patch of hair revealed by the lifted poncho. "That was just what I wanted, Clara. If I can get one of the girls to reach up for some reason while's she's dressed like that the boys in the theatre will get the thrill of a lifetime. Although maybe not as big as the one I just had." Clara shook her head as if she'd been hit with a club: "This can't be happening. I can't be letting some strange man see me naked." "Don't fret about it, I'll find a way to convince you. I'll say something else for you, Clara, you're legs are fine too, even compared to the splendiferous set of pins standing next to you." It was true. Clara's legs were sturdier and wider than Georgina's but every smooth contour was just as attractive. "In fact, I can't quite make my mind up which pair I'm going to put my hand in between first." Georgina took a step back and a deep breath at the same time. Then an even deeper breath before slowly stepping forward again. "Corralled. He's got us corralled." It was hardly more than whisper, directed at Clare. "Yes." the bigger woman's answer was in a husky voice. "Hey, ladies, don't be upset with me," Jack protested. "I swear I've never seen anything like the pair of you standing there the way you are. Why, you're more rousing than an entire corps of Army buglers. If'n I could, I'd take the pair of you to New York and have you in the show. You'd be the biggest sensation ever, I declare. You'd have Dukes and Senators drinking champagne right out of your shoes. Come over here and we'll talk about it some more. One of you on each side of the bed." They edged towards him like the nervous fillies they were. Wide eyed, a little fearful, yet compelled to advance by a mixture of curiosity and desire neither could deny. The same emotions which had bought them into his cabin in the first place. It occurred to Jake that Eric and Edward might be enterprising businessmen but far from enterprising enough in their home lives. Something he'd soon find out. "Georgina, you go over to the left. That's it, stand close. Clara, over on the right and step up." The two women faced each other over his body, looking at each other and then down at the cowboy as Jake savored the sight of every delectable inch of flesh quivering within his reach. Then he stretched out his right hand, slowly, and tickled the back of Clare's knee. She took a deep breath and shivered. When the movement eventually reached the points of her breasts it had magnified to a degree which had Jake shivering as well. "OK, gals, you can haul my pants off. I guess they won't be needed for a while. And then you can go back to what you were doing before with my toes." Clara giggled into her raised hands and the tip of Georgina's tongue flickered for the space of a heart beat between her white teeth like a rattlesnake's warning. Jake lifted the Navy .36 and pointed the muzzle upwards again. In a hurried response the bed creaked as two more bodies knelt down on it. With immense satisfaction he watched the pair of barely clothed women quickly unfastening his belt and pulling it apart. Georgina's tongue appeared between her teeth again as she concentrated on undoing the top button of his levis. Not an easy task because the pressure on it was increasing. Something which had to do with Clara's palm gently rubbing against the next buttons down. What stirred to life underneath her hand made her lift her head in surprise and turn it to gape at Jake. "Now look what you've done, Clara," Georgina complained, still struggling to loosen the levis The young blonde femme laid her hand flat on Jake's stomach and slid it underneath the top of the levis. Then she maneuvered the hand to push the side of it against his iron hard pecker, moving it the right and from below the line of buttons. "Quick, Clara, undo him now," she demanded. Clara bent her flushed face to the task and quickly loosened his pants. Two pairs of hands caught hold of the top of the garment and hauled them down -- but only a few inches before the movement stopped and the Eastern matrons looked with slack jawed amazement at what they'd uncovered. "Oh, God, Georgina," Clara moaned in shock. "It belongs in a cage. In a zoo. Or is it Eric who's lacking? I'm confused." Georgina took hold of the base of Jake's erection and gently waved it around as though testing to see if it might fall off in her hand. "No, it's huge compared to Edward's as well. I think he's made more like a stallion than a man." Clara took a full handful of what was protruding above Georgina's grip and shuddered in a delicious tremor: "Oh God, you're right. Neither of us could handle this." "But you are handling it, girls," Jake pointed out. "And it's rude to talk about me as if I wasn't here." Georgina chuckled and gave him another of her sultry glances, this one pitched high enough to just slide out from underneath the brim of her hat: "But you are here, Jake. All of you. That's the problem." With one hand still gripping the base of his stand, the other crept in between his thighs and he felt her soft fingers stroking his balls. "Yes, you're all here, I'm sure of it now." "Hmmm . . . " He stirred in pleasure at her touch. "Come on, ladies, do as you're told. Off with those pants and then stand up." The delicious duo seemed reluctant to abandon their examination of the finer points of Jake's manhood. But they obeyed. The levis were pulled clear and thrown aside, the action fast enough to set enough flesh heaving around underneath the ponchos for Jake to feel like blowing bubbles and whispering 'coochie-coo'. "OK, Clara, you stand at the end of the bed and push your hat back behind your head. Georgina, you stand behind her." The straying wives showed puzzled expressions but did as they were bid. "Clara, down on your knees. In the middle, up against both my feet." She obeyed and stared at the rearing shaft standing up proud before her, her lips tightly pressed together. Jake slid down the bed an inch or so and pressed his soles against the twin mounds of woman flesh underneath the white linen. It was like resting them against the softest cushions in the world "OK, Georgina, get down behind Clara, reach around, grab her tits and rub them against my feet." Clara's head bobbed up as if she'd been stung: "What!" Jake lifted up the pistol and thumbed back the hammer. Georgian looked at it, shrugged her shoulders and knelt down behind Georgina. The red head swung her head from side to side as if not believing what her ears were telling her about the movement at her back. Then Georgina leaned forward and whispered calming words in Clara's ear at the same moment her arms were moving around her friend. Clara squealed, gasped and shivered as her partner in sin took a firm grip on her maternal assets. Whatever Clara's shock, it had no effect at in reducing the big titted woman's lust because Jake could feel the firmness of her nipples as Georgina slid them backwards and forwards and up and down against his soles. "Pull the poncho up, Clara. I want to see your tits while Georgina's shaking them around for you." Clara's hands seemed to be trembling almost as much as her breasts as she hauled up the sheet of linen between their two bodies. The layers of linen bunched up around Clara's mouth as her hands pulled all the material up above her well endowed tits. Georgina reached around to pluck at the swollen nipples as if she was picking grapes. Her friend shuddered and squealed in response. "Oh, sweet Jesus!" Georgina's hands spread wider, each one seizing as much of one of Clara's bosoms as it could, folds of surplus pale flesh squeezing out between her fingers. Clara moaned, her popping brown eyes growing ever wider as her maid of honor began to rub the newly exposed nipples against Jake's feet again, still as hard as unripened plums and surrounded by circles of brown skin large enough to serve hotcakes on. The cowboy began singing softly, joyfully, beating out the time with a two fingered grip on his tower of masculine power. "She wouldn't call for sherry; she wouldn't call for beer; She wouldn't call for cham, because she knew 'twould make her queer; She wouldn't call for brandy, rum, or anything they'd got; She only called for cock: hot! hot! hot!" Georgina was staring over Clara's shoulder at Jake's shaft as if it was a rearing rattlesnake, yet she seemed to have picked up on the same swaying movement because her own body was writhing against her friend's spine. Clara's eyes were fastened on Jake's every movement as she snorted into the rucked up poncho material with all the ladylike demureness of a drowning pig. "Right, ladies, would one of you like to have her velvet smoothed down before we start?" Jake grinned and waggled his tongue between his lips. "What? What do you mean?" Georgina asked. "You mean -- you mean put your thing into one of us?" He pushed himself up on his elbows for a better look at their faces: "There's another hand to deal first, gals. Where I lick your honeypots out for you." Georgina wasn't fooling or hanging back, he was certain. The expression on her face was of genuine puzzlement. She really didn't know what he was talking about. Neither did Clara, he was just as sure. Jake's questions about Eric and Edward had been fully answered. He sighed, stood up and put the pistol down on the side table. "Remember, you two ladies are the ones who suffer if it goes off. So leave it alone and we'll have a little demonstration here." Jake lay down on the bed again, in reverse direction, his head close to the end where his feet had been. "Right, Georgina, you've been a good sport so it's your turn for some fun. Put your knees on either side of my head. And don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you. But hang onto your Mexican hat." His last glimpse before his eyes were covered by Georgina's poncho was of two pairs of puzzled eyes staring down at him. He reached up underneath the linen to take hold of the blonde's waist, positioning her body. Her heard Georgina gasp as his ears brushed against the insides of her thighs. A sound followed by a much louder gasp as his tongue laid a snail track of saliva along her slit. Georgina shuddered against his hands, in surprise, in shock. His tongue moved again, tracing the same path, more slowly, more gently. She made further sounds of surprise but his contact on the soft body above was enough to let him know that the Eastern ma'am was relaxing. Relaxing enough to lower herself closer to his probing tongue. Jake would have chuckled if he could. This was the kind of rodeo ride which could earn a man an awful lot of good loving and home cooked meals if he knew how to do it right. And Jake Jefferson Jackson knew exactly how to do it. If there was a woman he couldn't lift up to heaven on the tip of his tongue he hadn't met her yet. Georgina was certainly no challenge at all once he was polishing her pearl with special attention. As he reached up to play with her perky tits she grabbed hold of his hands and pressed them hard against her body as she wriggled frantically above him. Jake wished he could see her face -- even more, he wished he could see Clara's face as she stood there by the bed watching her respectable married friend bouncing around on a man's face with a head of steam building up inside her hotter than the boat's boiler. When he held two fingers up to Georgina's face she immediately sucked on them. And then they were sucked again, and Jake was sure the second time it was Clara's mouth around them. God, she must be stamping the floor with impatience to join in! Georgina's thighs clamped around his head like a grizzly's paws and somewhere above him he heard a partly muffled screech. It wasn't until Jake slid out from underneath Georgina's sprawling weight that he could see he'd just done something new to a woman. Whether or not Mrs Tasker ever talked through her hat, she could honestly say now she'd had an orgasm through one. She'd used the stage prop to stifle her scream of ecstasy and the hat appeared to be ruined for life. So did Georgina, but it was a passing illusion. She moaned, dropped the hat to dangle on its cords, twisted around and threw herself on top of Jake, pressing her lips passionately against his. The old black magic had worked again. Not only on Georgina either. Clara's right one was out of sight underneath the poncho and her face was as hot as a sacrificial virgin feeling the first blast of a dragon's breath. But there was nothing virginal about the way her ample body was responding to her own stimulation. And when Jake stretched out his hand she desperately grabbed it and put it where hers had been. Jake laughed and entered her with two fingers curled up as if he was tickling a fish. Clara sagged at the knees, hands clamped to her mouth to stifle her cries. Jake jumped, grabbed the plump matron's shoulders and pushed her towards the dressing table. The mirror above it showed their two reflections side by side. He pulled up Clara's poncho to reveal her breasts again, then grabbed hold of both wobbling jugs with all the passion of a pilgrim entering the promised land. Clara's face stared back at him from the mirror with slack jawed incredulity as she rubbed her backside against his erection. Another face appeared in the mirror. "Are you having a good time, Mr Jackson?" Georgina asked, almost as coolly as if she was serving him tea after church. "Happy as a darkie in a melon patch, ma'am. All I need now is a rubber. There's one on the table there. Take another for yourself, and down on your knees, girls. I'm sure you can figure out what to do, as long as you both keep your mouths open." He stared into the mirror again, at the fringe of his deerskin hoisted up to his waist and at the two heads bobbing up and down on his cock, copper haired and blonde, both taking polite turns at blowing a tune on the pink piccolo and then rolling a rubber down it. The pair of them had a lot to learn about prick pleasuring before they got off at Pittsburgh. But he was a patient teacher -- sometimes. Not now though. He reached down, grabbed Clara's ear and hauled her to her feet. "Bend over!" Small bottles were knocked off the table as Clara rested her forearms in front of the mirror and stared into it, her tits almost touching the polished wood. She saw her own face, her own shameless nakedness, and then a glimpse of the huge male organ moving in behind to split her apart. She groaned and Georgina's fingers clamped lightly over her lips. "Quiet, honey, quiet!" Jake positioned his tip between the juicy lips and plunged forward, just as the screech of the Queen Charlotte's steam whistle blasted through the cabin again. The cowboy reared up on his toes and yelped with laughter and pleasure as he began giving Mrs Clara Butler a fucking she'd never forget. THE END -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+