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From: shaw.alphamale@gmail.com
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Subject: {ASSM} "THE FASTEST GUN IN THE EAST" (M/F/F; historical)
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Date: Mon, 09 Apr 2007 13:10:01 -0400
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"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.
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