The train was late.
That was not out of the ordinary. There were not that many passengers at the small station. Blackie saw the widow lady from the Tombstone Sentinel editor’s funeral. She was a fair piece not at all suited to wearing black. Her little bratty boy was a squalling at her feet. The curvaceous bereaved woman ignored her stepson. It was probably for the best. Her recently demised husband had doted on the child, pampering and spoiling him beyond belief.
He looked at her bending over to the child to hush him up. The nicely curved ass cheeks could not be completely hidden under the folds of the black mourning clothing. Blackie leered with a nasty grin imagining her ankle length dress pushed up above her waist. He wondered if she had any frilly stuff on her bloomers. His dormant pecker started to rise. He willed it to stop because he was still a little sore from last night’s wild ride on Suzie Belle’s broad flanks over in the Last Chance Saloon.
“May I inquire if you are fixing to head out of Tombstone, little lady?”
Agatha Primgrass looked at the long, lean frame of the notorious “Blackie” Coltrane. He liked to dress all in black whenever possible and today was no exception. The most eye-catching part of his dress was the tied-down Colts slung almost at fingertip length for his reputed fast draw technique. She saw the raw sexual hunger in his shaded eyes. She saw the nicotine stain on his drooping mustache from the “chew” he had just spit into the middle of the dusty street. She was not afraid of him. She was not afraid at all in broad daylight in the middle of town with a station master standing right behind her.
Despite her disgust with his appearance and everything he represented, Agatha was cognizant of the bulge in his Levi’s and the dirty thought made her cheeks redden up.
“Are you addressing me, sir?”
Blackie laughed. It was not a funny laugh; it was more of a “don’t mess with me” laugh.
“Allow me to offer my condolences on your loss, ma’am. I was not acquainted with the departed Mr. Primgrass, but I heard he was a very good newspaperman.”
“Thank you, sir. My husband was an honorable man. He believed in justice and the right of folks to live in peace.”
“So you are leaving Tombstone?”
“No, sir, I am only taking my stepson Chester to his Aunt in Tucson to get some real book learning at their school. The paucity of young’uns in Tombstone does not support the hiring of a school teacher or the building of a schoolhouse.”
Blackie had sidled a little bit closer to the attractive woman in her mid-thirties and was close enough to reach out and touch her. The young Chester was fascinated with his six-guns and looked at them with the longing eyes of innocent youth. He took a nickel out of his Levi’s and gave it to the little boy.
“Go get yourself a lemonade in the train station, little boy. The train won’t be here for a while. You don’t mind ma’am?”
“No, that is a good idea. Run along, Chester. I will wait at the steps for you.”
The little boy ran into the railway station for his treat.
Agatha felt herself breathing a little faster. She was really angry with herself right now. How could she feel attracted to such a vile and nasty creature? He might even be one of the crooks, who had engineered the dastardly murder of her husband. In all honesty, Agatha had to admit she was a little relieved at her husband’s demise. He had become very strict in his discipline of his wife and often left her poor bottom bruised and battered after his “corrections”. In his fits of jealousy, the departed Mr. Primgrass took even the slightest glance by his wife toward a male visitor as the worse sort of lewd sexual behavior. Poor Agatha had not ever been with a man other than her husband and she was a loyal and faithful wife.
Now that he was gone, the young widow had felt stirrings of sexuality that she had never felt before.
Even now, the proximity and male scent from the dangerous gunman made her lower lips flutter and brim over with fluids she seldom experienced even with her husband fully inserted and pumping away.
The train could be heard in the distance and there was a lot of scurrying around by the train platform workers. There might not be many passengers, but there was always a lot of merchandise arriving into the small town isolated in a remote part of the Arizona desert. A couple of small black boys stood ready to fetch and carry luggage for prospective travelers. The mood was relaxed and festive with the approaching black cloud and the rumble on the rails announcing the arrival of the westbound train.
Blackie picked up the carpetbag at Agatha’s feet and took her elbow in a firm grasp. She gasped with repressed sexual needs as he allowed his bulging groin to brush over her ample rump. Agatha felt she would fall to the ground on all fours if this dangerous man instructed her to do so. The sly gunman sensed her attitude and pressed up tightly behind her as the train pulled into the station. He memorized the exact curves of her behind and the firm muscles of her sturdy legs. Agatha could feel her juices running down the insides of her legs. Thank God her dress hid all of her sinful lust. She looked backwards over her shoulder on the train steps.
“I will be back on Saturday afternoon on the 4 o’clock train. You are welcome to call on me at my house on Main Street. I might be tempted to shave that terrible mustache off, sir.”
Blackie grinned up at her and gave her a lingering boost up into the railway carriage with the palm of his hand. He allowed his fingers to push into the gap between her ass cheeks just to serve notice that his visit would not be purely social in nature. He saw the widow look down at him from inside the railway car. She was wetting her lips with her tongue. He felt it was an expression of the widows desire to be wetted up all over in all those places a tongue makes a difference.
The small boy ran back with a satisfied look on his face. He was not cranky any longer. Blackie made sure he got on the train and back to his Stepmother.
Stepping down off of the train was a stranger. The gentleman was someone completely unknown to Blackie. His mind came back to earth in a big hurry. This is why he was here at the station. The boss wanted to know if anyone came into Tombstone. He wanted to know who they were. He wanted to know where they were coming from. He wanted to know why they were there. Anyone could be a potential threat to the boss and he wanted to be ready for a threat at any time.
This stranger was dressed in city clothes. He didn’t look like he was from the city. He only had one bag and was sporting only one gun in a belt holster. It was up high and didn’t look like it was well-placed for a quick draw. Blackie knew that speed was one thing, but accuracy was another thing all-together.
If he had a couple of the Bar-Bee boys with him, he would have accosted the stranger. It seemed a mite risky in a one-on –one with a complete stranger. Why the fella could be Wild Bill himself for all he knew.
Blackie had survived by being a bit cautious in strange situations. It had saved him before and would probably save him down the road.
The tall stranger lifted his bag, not with his gun-hand, Blackie took note of; and moved off at a brisk pace to the Long View Hotel just a short distance down the wide, dusty street. The roads were empty this early in the morning. There were just a few settlers in for their supplies and a couple of drunks sleeping it off in chairs outside the saloon. A sleepy dog raised its head after the stranger passed him on the steps leading up to the hotel entrance. Then he went immediately back to sleep basking in the mid-morning Sun in a perfectly clear sky.
He didn’t move until the stranger moved inside the building. The look of the tall man was disconcerting. Blackie had a momentary premonition of doom that prompted him to head straight to the stable and saddle his horse and head for new pastures.
The thought of the promise in the widow woman’s eyes changed his mind. That was an opportunity he certainly did not want to miss out on.
The desk clerk in the Long View was taking an early “Siesta”. He was known for taking siestas at all different times of the day.
The stranger rang the bell on the desk and the loud ding almost made the clerk fall off his shaky stool.
“Sorry, Mr. I was just resting my eyes a minute. Just passing through or do you need a room for a longer stay?”
“I want a room that faces the back on the top floor. I would like the room furthest from the staircase. I will need it for at least the next 2 weeks.”
“Sure thing, Mr…?”
“The moniker is Hardison. T.S. Hardison. Where do I sign?”
Hardison signed the hotel register and paid the clerk for the 2 weeks in advance.
“Dodge City? My brother Hiram runs the Long Branch on Front Street. Do you know him?”
“Can’t say that I do. I was a house guest of an old friend while I stayed in Dodge City.”
“You do say! Your room is number 26 at the end of the hall. Just leave your sheets on the bed and your dirty clothes on the floor by the door. We get them back to you the same day by 5 in the afternoon. There is a shine boy down by the barbershop at the end of the street. The barbershop has a full bath facility in the rear. We only have sinks and piss pots in here. The outhouse is directly behind the hotel. One for the ladies. One for the gents. But you can use either one. We don’t get many ladies staying at the hotel.”
“If anyone asks for me by Name, you come up and tell me. I don’t want anyone knocking at my door and disturbing me while I rest.”
Hardison went into his room and checked the window and the door very carefully. It all looked secure to him. He could hear anyone coming up the stairs and they would have to walk the full length of the hallway to reach his door. When he checked the other end of the hallway, he saw a young Mexican girl delivering laundry and sheets to the rooms. She told him she would be taking care of his laundry tomorrow and asked him if he had any dirty clothes from his journey. He found out her name was Teresa and she and her “Mama” did all the laundry for the hotel.
Teresa went back with him to the room and he took out his dirty shirts for the cleaning.
“Mr. Hardison. You have such beautiful shirts. They don’t have any like that her in Tombstone.”
“Call me Wes, Senorita. These shirts are all the way from Chicago.”
“My husband, I am sorry, I guess I should say my recent husband had some pretty shirts from Monterrey with beautiful flowers on them.”
“You look so young to have already had a husband, little one.”
“I am almost 20 years now. My Juan was hung by the Marshall last winter for stealing cattle from the Bar-Bee ranch. I don’t think he did it. He might steal a chicken, but not a whole cow. I have been without a man for almost nine long months now. No man wants me for a wife because I am a rustler’s woman. A bad and dirty woman not to be touched by decent men.”
She spilled all this out without a pause in staccato accented English. He could see her swelling breasts heaving with emotion and she had visible tears at the corners of her beautiful dark eyes. Hardison wrapped his arms around her to comfort her and before either of them had a chance to reverse course, they were wrapped around each other in the large, comfortable bed.
Teresa may have not had sex for almost a year, but her pussy was sure dripping wet before Hardison placed his fully erect member between her silky, soft legs. A single motion and they were joined together in full cleavage of their pulsating flesh. She took him in with a clutching, suctioning vagina that desperately needed his friendly assault into her wide-open womanhood.
Hardison bent forward and sucked the girl’s beautiful breasts and nipples. The more he paid attention to them, the harder the young Mexican girl humped her body up into his buried cock. His balls slapped in steady rhythm into ass cheeks and she hooked her ankles around his neck to keep him deep inside her.
Soon, Hardison was unable to hold off any longer. The girl was squealing now and muttering some very dirty sounding words in Spanish. He could feel her juices pouring out around his cock and when she grabbed his ass cheeks with her fingernails, He spurted his full load deep inside her clutching vaginal walls. He held onto the sweet-smelling girl for several moments until her convulsions had subsided.
He was fully sated and completely satisfied with the poking he had received from the young hotel maid. He wanted to give her something, but sensed it would be misunderstood. So all he did was kiss her full on the lips and ask her if she would be able to deliver his shirts at 5 PM tomorrow.
Teresa was humming her favorite song when she left for home. This tall gringo with the long cock was a savior to her. She felt like a woman again. She felt needed and desired and she felt his seeds running down the inside of her legs. A sticky reminder of her fling on his bed.
She remembered not to appear too happy or her Mama would suspect a man was involved. Her Mama was just too smart sometimes.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/straight-sex/no-strangers-allowed-in-tombstone-part-i-1.aspx">No Strangers Allowed in Tombstone Part I</a>