Old West Cowgirl

In just three generations, Alejandra's family had been through SO much. Her grandpa Antonio had left Spain as a teenager, seeking adventure and fortune among the missionaries who were colonizing the New World of Alta California. As an early Californio, grandpa Antonio had been given a modest land-grant on which he lived in a small two-room Adobe house.

In Alta California, grandpa Antonio met and married a lovely native girl with a dark bronze complexion. He had trouble pronouncing her name at first, it being in a language unfamiliar to his Spanish ears. But he learned that her name meant "Cascading Waters", an apt description for her long, straight black hair that flowed down her back and caressed her shapely derriere. But he was to soon discover a second meaning for her name, for as he licked at her clit, sucked it up into his mouth, and kissed all around her pussy, she flowed a very sweet kind of cascading water of her own, onto his grateful tongue.

Cascading Waters loved coupling up with her Spaniard, and over the years she bore grandpa Antonio five fine, strapping sons, all of whom they raised in the strictest Spanish Catholic traditions. Although Cascading Waters had herself baptized out of love for her Antonio, there were those Spanish settlers who would never think of her as anything but a savage heathen.

Life was pretty good for grandpa Antonio for many years. In public, Cascading Waters was circumspect, the perfect Catholic wife. In private, she was the same loving and uninhibited woman she had been raised to be in a freer "Indian" culture that was devoid of a millennium of Catholic sexual repression. She enjoyed sex in ALL of its endless variations, and her culture had made sure she was WELL schooled in this subject. She trained grandpa Antonio well, so he was more skilled, attentive, and devoted to her than most early Catholic settlers in California.

Yes, things were great for grandpa Antonio and Cascading Waters for a very long time. But then some of the citizens of Alta California who were fed-up with Spanish tyranny, led a revolt and formed a new independent nation called Mexico. The successful revolutionaries refused to honor many of the old Spanish land grants, and grandpa Antonio lost even the modest little rancho he called home.

Grandpa's eldest son, Jose (Alejandra's father), was the first to leave home and seek his fortune, the birth-right that he felt the Mexican Revolution had robbed from him. Life was a struggle for him at first. But then some fool gringo named Sutter had found a lump of gold in the Sacramento river, and thousands more fool gringos traveled thousands of miles by wagon to find gold for themselves. They all needed pans to sift the gold from the rocks and water, and later pick-axes to hack the gold out of cliff faces, and lanterns so they could see as they hacked gold off of cave walls. They needed rugged clothing for their mining exploits, tents to sleep in, pots to cook in, and food to cook in those pots. Papa Jose set up a shop in San Francisco, and did very well selling such supplies and more to the gringos. He found that San Francisco was also a busy seaport, and the sailors and fishermen needed all sorts of supplies, too. Business was booming for Papa Jose, and soon he opened a new, larger general store, with a hotel above it for the sailors and fishermen while they were in port.

It was while running his general store, that an Italian family checked-into Papa Jose's hotel. They had a beautiful young daughter, with similar chiseled features to his own Spanish face, only much softer and sweeter-looking. Her complexion was dark olive, so she fit in well with the blend of Spanish and Indian features in his own dark complexion. Papa Jose wound-up marrying her, and Alejandra was their first child.

As a young girl, Alejandra grew up around Papa Jose's general store and hotel. In her late teens, she grew to be quite a beauty, inheriting her grandma's dark native complexion and long, straight dark hair. She didn't know it yet, but she was also to inherit grandma Cascading Waters's insatiable appetite for sex, helped along by grandma thoroughly training Alejandra from a young girl, in the ancient native traditions of giving and receiving sexual pleasures. Much to grandma's joy, under her tutelage, Alejandra came to develop her greatest skill in the ancient and honorable native art of fellatio. Also like her grandma, the growing Alejandra turned out to be quite busty, and she generally dressed to show of this ample feature. As a young woman, Alejandra met her share of gruff men, from sailors to cowboys. Some were handsome, but most looked beat-up by life, smelled bad, and had deplorable manners. She had even given herself over to one cowboy who had literally charmed the panties off of her, but he was just too gruff a personality for her to want to stick with him. She deserved MUCH better than this, and she was determined to GET, as good as her grandma had taught her to GIVE.

Alejandra was 20 years old when a tavern opened across the street from Papa Jose's store and hotel. The proprietor was a young man of about 25, born into southern slavery. She had never SEEN a man with such a dark complexion before, MUCH darker than the Spaniards or even native women like grandma Cascading Waters. Alejandra was intrigued. His was a soft, kindly face, very handsome, even beautiful. Andrew had been luckier than most slaves: as a house servant, he did not have to do back-breaking manual labor. He had seen many a slave whipped to within an inch of his life, but Andrew was bright, and he knew how to avoid displeasing his masters and facing the lash. The mistress of the plantation had taught him to read a few basic words, and had given him pocket change from time to time, to spend on himself when he went into town to buy supplies for the family's kitchen.

Then one day, the master had come home rip-roaring drunk, and mad as hell. For no apparent reason, the master took out his whip, and struck at young Andrew's back. Andrew cowered behind the kitchen stove as the house mistress and several others struggled to wrestle the whip out of the master's grip. That single, stinging lash was enough, and Andrew daily grew more determined to run away to freedom. One day about a month later, he got his chance. He knew where the house mistress hid some money, she had taken out the money-jar in front of him many times, to give him pocket money for in-town. She had been kind to him, and he hated to repay her kindness by stealing from her, but this was his only hope of escape.

So he took the money and ran. And ran and ran. He didn't stop running and hiding until he had no more land to run across: he had hit the Pacific Ocean! So he used the master's money to buy himself a modest, run- down old shack in bustling San Francisco, and fixed it up as a tavern for the sailors, fishermen, and cowboys.

As she grew to know the former slave Andrew, Alejandra grew more enamored of his handsomeness, gentleness, and kindness. He wouldn't even let her sleep with him without the benefit of marriage. And so, a few months after they met, much to the shock of many Californians, the part-Spanish, part-native, part- Italian Alejandra married the nearly-pure African, Andrew. Many were counting on their fingers, as precisely nine months later, Alejandra gave birth to a son. She must have conceived on their wedding night, the timing was so close.

He had made love to her so sweetly and gently on their wedding night, none of the gruffness of her first cowboy lover. All those years of ingrained training on how to please his masters had paid an unexpected benefit: Andrew now focused on pleasing his bride FIRST, over his own pleasures. He had a truly masterful tongue, and was a true connoisseur of the fine and ancient art of cunnilingus. He knew how to ease into her so slowly, making her want him more and more, begging him to speed up, but he held back until her desires went completely over the top, at which point she grabbed him in her tiny fist and forced him in deeper and harder.

But after the honeymoon, everything changed. Andrew spent more and more time in his saloon business, and 15 months passed before he again made love to her. Then Alejandra's Papa Jose grew gravely ill, and she found herself spending ever more time helping out around the store and hotel, and less and less time with her equally-busy husband. Then her father died, and Alejandra faced an endless barrage of lawyers and realtors as she tried to settle her papa's affairs. With all of that going on, nearly two years elapsed before Andrew again made love with her, and she would so often go nearly out of her mind from the desperation of her lonely horniness. She even toyed with the idea of joining Miss Hennessey's "Fancy Parlor" girls, who ran their business above Andrew's saloon, just so she could be with a man again, but she couldn't stand the thought of being with another cowboy. The fishermen smelled too rancid to fuck, and besides, she loved her Andrew too much to betray him in such a manner,.

Andrew and Alejandra stayed married for 17 years, and they made love maybe six times in all that time. But as bad as that was, it got worse. One day, a cowboy who had sampled a little too much of the wares of Andrew's saloon, whipped out a pistol and began firing at the ceiling. Bullets ricocheted off the ceiling and the walls, and one caught Andrew in the back, squarely between his shoulders, exiting just inches from his heart. Andrew collapsed on the floor of his saloon, blood pouring out of him and staining the hardwood slats. A doctor happened to be in the saloon. He tried to stop the flow of blood, but it was just too much, and within five minutes, Andrew had no pulse.

Alejandra was PISSED. Now instead of a VERY occasional lover, she had NO lover at ALL, to satisfy her ever-growing horniness. Worse, the sleaziest cowboys, drunks, and rabble tried to "comfort" her out of her panties and into their beds. They ALL disgusted her beyond endurance! And she still had a year to go before she could let her son wander out alone into the world, and have time for herself and a man, without the duties of motherhood.

After the funeral, a grieving Alejandra found that Andrew had piled-up a mountain of debt on the house, investing in crack-point inventions, and gambling on the outcome of poker games. About the only asset Andrew left her was the saloon. And in 19th century San Francisco, if a woman had any sort of job at all, it was on her back as one of Miss Hennessey's Fancy Parlor girls. Somehow, that was barely acceptable, but for a woman to be owner and proprietor of a saloon was considered too unseemly.

After a year of struggling, her son was on his own at last, and Alejandra had just about given up on her saloon, and was ready to close-up the business and sell the property, when an experienced barman walked in and asked for a job. His name was Alfred. This was just TOO perfect, Alejandra thought. She could have Alfred run the business for her, call it Al's Saloon, and nobody would ever guess that the "Al" in this name referred to Alejandra as the owner, not Alfred. The two Als would make the saloon's true ownership their private, conspiratorial little secret.

But she still had the problem of what to do about her near-constant horniness. She was not about to risk the tavern, her only money-producing asset, by literally fucking with her business partner. If things went badly between them, she would be left with nothing. And in her 40s, she was now too old to join Miss Hennessey's Fancy Parlor girls and make any income that way. So Alfred and Alejandra remained strictly business, and she cried herself to sleep many nights for lack of loving male companionship.

But she loved making appearances at the bar in sexy, revealing outfits. Her favorite was a shimmering brown satin cowgirl shirt, trimmed in white fringe, paired with a teeny-tiny, very tight black skirt, whose hemline barely caressed the tops of her still very-shapely, dark-mocha thighs. She would wear knee-high cowboy boots. The sailors and cowboys all spoke of how you could get a good meal and some stiff drinks at a fair price at Al's Saloon, and if you were lucky, the aging but still quite beautiful barmaid might talk to you sweetly and seductively.

None of the patrons ever got lucky with her, but they always held out hope, and most of them were generally too drunk and too horny to know hey were being had. Alejandra was having fun playing the temptress, but she secretly longed for a kind, generous man like her late husband to sweep her off her feet, and into his bed, but into his bed a LOT more often than Andrew had done. Beneath her sexy, bawdy, naughty-girl exterior, Alejandra was still crying herself to sleep nearly every night. She had hardly made love at all in her whole life, and had yet to experience an orgasm.

Until, that is, HE walked into her saloon.

The handsome stranger wore a dark, charcoal-grey business suit and a black bowler hat. He had a small moustache that gave his handsome face an air of distinction. Even through his suit, she could tell that at 5'10" and about 180 pounds, he was well-muscled. She knew that here was a LOT of man to love. And then he spoke.

"Excuse me, miss, could you tell me where there is a fine and respectable hotel in these parts? I have traveled a long ways, and I am truly weary."

She instantly knew he was a true gentleman. No asking for a whiskey, no cheesy pickup lines, just wanting a hotel. To sleep in, not to try to take HER to. She gazed at him silently, longingly, for a very long moment, and she felt her panties gaining a very slight tinge of dampness.

"Umm, miss, IS there a fine hotel around here?" he repeated.

"Hmmm? Yes, umm yes, there is fine hotel above the general store across the street. My father ran that establishment until he passed away, and it is STILL a very, as you say, 'fine and respectable' hotel. You can get a clean, comfortable room there for a very reasonable price."

Alejandra had to bite her lip hard to keep from blurting out next, what she was thinking, which was: "Would you care for some fine and respectable female companionship in your fine and respectable hotel room tonight, sir?"

But then the handsome stranger gave her the perfect opening.

"Fine, fine. I shall go across the street. Do you know if they can provide a way to wake me up at 7 o'clock in the morning? I am truly weary, as I said, but I must awaken at 7 o'clock to meet with some very important business clients tomorrow."

Alejandra smiled. "I come down here about 7:00 to open my establishment. If you would not consider it too unseemly and untoward, I would be happy to cross the street and come knocking on your door myself, at 7 o'clock in the A.M. If that is OK with you?"

Now it was the handsome stranger's turn to smile. "To be awakened by a beautiful angel? Who could pass up such an offer as this! I shall see you at 7 o'clock on the morrow, then."

Alejandra awakened the next morning with a new-found excitement in her pounding heart, and a quickness in her step. She donned her favorite outfit, the shimmering brown cowgirl shirt with the white fringe trim. It unsnaps allthe way down the front, and she secretly hoped and longed for the handsome stranger to make short work of opening those snaps. This was paired with the shortest, tightest black micro-miniskirt, which she hoped to have an opportunity to raise an inch or two to give the stranger access to all her charms, barely hidden just beneath. The outfit bared vast expanses of smooth, dark, leg, down to her knees. From there down to her feet were covered with the most enticing black cowgirl boots, that accented every shapely curve of her calves and lower-legs.

She couldn't wait for the handsome gentleman stranger to peel her down to the next layer: wispy red panties, matching red bra with peekaboo cut-outs to show off her thick, hard niples, and a fiery-red garter belt holding up nearly- transparent stockings, whose only coloring was their red tops at her thighs.

Dodging the heavy-laden commercial wagons that were already clattering over San Francisco's cobblestone streets at that early hour, Alejandra dashed across the street and ran up the stairs to the hotel.

The hotel proprietor, her late father's successor, was just approaching the desk.

"Excuse me, did a businessman come in here last night? Tall, in a grey suit--"

Before Alejandra could finish describing the handsome stranger who had fired her imagination and excited her too-long-neglected pussy, the clerk barked gruffly: "Room five. Third door down on the left."

Room 5? How fitting, that her first sexual encounter with her new man would be in the very room of her father's hotel, where she had surrendered her virginity to a cowboy more than 20 years before. The thought of that room, of HIM, of her seduction plans, made her heart pound in her ears, and her inner walls dampen-up, as she walked down the hall.

Heart racing, palms sweating, panties dampening, Alejandra hesitantly but excitedly knocked once on the door of Room 5.

No response.

Taking a deep breath, and gathering up her wavering courage, Alejandra knocked again, longer, louder, and harder this time. "Seven o'clock! Time to wake up. Wouldn't want to miss your business meeting now, would you, sir?"

"Hmm? Mmmmfff?" came the muffled, startled reply. As Alejandra heard footsteps approaching from inside his room, panic seized her, and for just the briefest moment, her fear overpowered even her lust. She turned to run away. Just then, the door opened, and a sweet, sleepy baritone voice asked, "Yes? What is it?" That soothing, deeply-masculine voice melted her heart, and melted away her fear. This voice also revved up her returning lust now, to an even higher level than before. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she snaked her hand down the front of her tight black miniskirt, pressing against her panties, in a desperate and doomed attempt to hold back the increasing flow of steaming and streaming juices into her tiny red panties.

The stranger was momentarily startled by the openness and brazenness of where she had placed her hand. Then he smiled coyly and charmingly. "May I help you, miss?"

"Don't you remember me? I own --umm, I mean, I WORK at, the saloon across the street. You asked me to awaken you at 7 o'clock this morning, so here I am."

"Of course, I REMEMBER you! How could I forget the most beautiful, angelic woman I've EVER seen? Could you wait there while I quickly get dressed? Then we could both go to breakfast, together. Umm, I mean, I would be HONORED if you would consent to join me at breakfast."

Alejandra smiled warmly. "It's COLD in this hallway. Could I wait in your ROOM, while you dress?"

The handsome businessman smiled--no, beamed broadly is a more-apt description. He opened the door wider, and bowing, he made a sweeping gesture for her to enter his room.

She watched him disappear into the bedroom. The door was open a crack, and she could see him unbuttoning his shirt from the night before. Judging by the shirt's wrinkled appearance, he had evidently been too tired to change clothing last night, and had slept in his suit. As she watched his long, narrow fingers unbuttoning his white shirt, Alejandra longed to let her OWN fingers unbutton him--not only letting HER touch his bare, hairy chest, but also leaving HIS fingers free to open her own top.

Just then, Alejandra noticed a clean shirt neatly folded over a chair in the outer chamber of his hotel room. He had forgotten to carry it into the bedroom with him. Sucking in her breath, she gathered up all her courage, picked up the shirt, pushed open the bedroom door, and handed him the clean shirt. "I think you might NEED this," she cooed. She could not bring herself to make eye contact, partly out of fear, but mostly because her focus was riveted on his muscular, hairy, bare chest, that she SSSOOO longed to touch!