The Art Thief

Feathers from Martha Tate's sun hat peaked through the barred window of her black stagecoach as she looked at the horseshoe of men pointing their guns at her--the gang of none other than Billy Gibbons. They followed her from town, and now they had her and her driver alone. The man in the middle spoke up. Martha thought she knew who.

"Miss Tate, you got somethin' I want in that stagecoach."

"If it ain't Billy Gibbons," she said to the shadowed face in the saddle. "You ambitious creature. If only I knew what you meant. There ain't nothin' in this coach but a frightened, helpless little lady and her rifle. Whatever shall I do?" A few of Billy's men glanced back at him.

"I'd advise you not to play me for a fool, Miss Tate," he said. "I know you left town with Dürer's last Melancolia, and by God, I will have it."

"Well--no," she laughed, "you ain't gonna have it, Billy, 'cause it ain't here. Only thing in this coach is me." Billy breathed out a little chuckle and sauntered toward where Martha's terrified driver knelt in the dirt.

"Sixteenth century, Miss Tate," said Billy. "It's a masterpiece --one in a million--and one of my boys saw you walk out the gallery with it. Now, I don't wanna hurt nobody, but I might have to if you don't hand it over."

"It ain't here, Billy, and I ain't comin' out. Rip this whole wagon apart. You won't find it. Set it on fire if you have to, though you may lose me and this Dürer you think I have," she smiled, "if, of course, it's in here." Martha sat back on the bench with her arms folded.

"I never killed anything so beautiful, but there's a first time for everything I guess. We bandits got our priorities, you Germans got yours. Let's work somethin' out," Billy said.

"German? That's what this is about? You think just 'cause my family's German, we're totin' fine works of art across the country?" She sounded irritated. "You got a bunch of birds flyin' around under that hat, Billy Gibbons."

Billy squat down before Martha's driver, staring into his eyes, and took off his hat. His smooth, brown hair curled around his chin. "I got to have it, Martha," he said, still looking at the scared driver. "How about you give up that print, and your driver's hat still gets a head to wear?"

Martha stood up and looked out the window. "You scum suckin' fool. You'd steal the wheels off a baby carriage just to play checkers. On my word, Billy, you hurt my driver and I will erase Dürer from memory, starting with Melancolia."

Billy smiled and slid his revolver out of the holster. Martha watched as he spun it slowly around his finger and cocked back the hammer.

"You really gonna shoot my driver? That won't help you, and it ain't sausage to me. He's as useless as a toothless gopher."

"If it gets me my Dürer, Miss Tate, I'll do it," said Billy.

"Do it then. Shoot the poor bastard. That way when people talk about how tough ol' Billy Gibbons was, they'll remember he was stupid too. Send your men away from here, huh, and let's just you and I talk?"

"Nah, I ain't gonna do that," Billy laughed. He circled her driver, still spinning his pistol. "Miss Tate, I don't think you--"

"Call me Martha, huh?"

"Miss Tate," Billy squatted in front of the driver again. "I'm a reasonable man, but I--"

"Whoa, Bill! Watch ou--"

A shot rang out from inside the stagecoach. The horses spooked. A few of them whinnied and reared up, then tore off.

"Dammit," Billy yelled. "Now why'd you do that?" A few of his men ran off to catch the horses.

"Cause you weren't listenin' to me, Billy. Tryin' to be a tough guy like all these other sandbags. I'd have honey for you if you'd just listen, sweetie." She steadied her rifle at him. "Now, I don't know how many women you suckered into sharin' a bed with you, but if my driver doesn't get a horse right this instant, none of the miserable children you sired'll have anyone to call daddy."

Billy's men raised their guns back at Martha.

"Hell," she said, "I should do it for their sakes anyway."

"What do we do, Bill?" one of them asked. "I can teach this whore a lesson if you just gimme the word. Wipe that smile off her face."

"That how your boys talk, Billy?" Martha said. "That the company you keep? Boy, I guess you oughtta die."

Billy scratched his head and batted his hat on his knee. "Be a lot harder to get in that coach with her dead. Messy too." He looked at Martha a moment, then cursed under his breath. They didn't break eyes as he unloaded his horse and walked it over to the driver.

"Happy?" he asked, handing the reins to the driver.

"I appreciate that, Billy Gibbons. I knew you were more than just a cautionary tale to future mothers." She sighed with relief as she watched her driver ride off. "Now, I got a proposal for you about this Dürer, but only if there ain't no one here but you and me. You got a reputation Billy, and while I may be roundheeled and dunderheaded, I ain't stupid enough to get stranded out here where fox and hare kiss g'night."

"Miss Tate, I got enough horses here to drag this coach off and crack it open somewhere else. I don't need your permission."

"That may be true, but my guess is my driver's on his way to recount today's events to the sheriff, and he don't take kindly to bandits. You tell your men to leave, and we can work this out ourselves. You don't have to get caught."

"Miss Tate--"

"Get 'em outta here, Billy, god dammit!" she yelled, "and for heaven's sakes, call me Martha."

"You promise my Dürer's in there?"

"Promise your Dürer--Billy, what in the hell's got you thinkin' people owe you promises? I won't promise nothin', but certainly not around these rattlesnakes you call friends."

Billy sighed and laughed. He twirled his pistol around some more, then fired at one of the coach's wheels.

"Dammit Billy!" Martha screamed, hiding back in the coach again. "That coulda ricoche--"

"Leave, boys!" he yelled. "Get outta here! We'll meet up five miles east of here."

"But, Bill," one of them said, "you don't really think she's gonna--"

"Go on! Git!" The men left. "Miss Tate and I got business to attend to."

Martha face softened. She watched them ride off. "Maybe there is some spine in that suit after all. I thank you for that, Billy. Your men don't seem fond of me like you do, and I don't fancy them the way I fancy you."

Billy lifted his pistol in Martha's direction, but lowered it after a moment.

"Well, there you go, Miss Tate," he said as they disappeared over the ridge. "Nobody else but us."

"Billy," Martha said. "I wanna open up this door, but I need to know I won't get shot."

"I ain't lookin' to shoot you, Miss Tate."

"I don't think you will either, which is why you're gonna put that thick hunk of metal of yours on the ground by your saddle."

Billy nodded. He walked over to the saddle and dropped his revolver. "There. No more pistol. No way to protect myself."

"We'll see, Billy Gibbons. I'll have you kindly disrobe so as to make sure you ain't hidin' anything."

"Miss Tate --"

"Martha, dammit!"

"Miss--Martha, I can assure you I ain't got no firearm."

"There such a thing as the good word of a bandit? You are in no position to bargain, Billy," Martha said, gesturing toward him with her rifle.

Billy hesitated, then he tossed his hat to the ground. He slid his boots off, pulling his socks behind them. A breeze rolled through as Billy unbuttoned his shirt and let the wind take it from his hand where it drifted onto the grass. Looking at Martha, Billy tugged at his belt and took off his pants. He faced her, standing barefoot in long johns.

"There, Martha," said Billy. He lingered looking at her through her barred window. "Nothin' to protect me."

"I don't know how they do things in Banditsville, U.S.A., Billy, but that union suit's gonna have to come off as well. I'm afraid it's the only way this'll work."

Billy obeyed. He unbuttoned his underwear, slid them down, and stepped out, leaving only his hands to cover a thicket of hair underneath.

The coach's door made a loud clank, squealing as a black boot slowly pushed it open. There sat Martha in her feathered hat, with her legs dangling over the edge of the stagecoach and her rifle pointed at Billy's midsection.

"Now listen," she said with her gun pointed at him, "we got two options here. One is I put a bullet in your pecker and let you go. That'd be for holding me up and sending my poor driver off like that."

"That don't sound like such a good idea."

"Two is you come look for your Dürer in here on conditions that you don't harm a hair on my head." Billy's breathing slowed as he nodded. "Do we agree? I have your word on that?"

"Is there such a thing as the good word of a bandit?"

"Good point. Guess I'll shoot ya then."

"What I mean to say, miss--"

"Martha, Billy, god dammit. Martha! You men and your courtesy."

" Martha, I want to say I won't hurt you, but I ain't sure I can guarantee that."

"Take a step closer, mister. Explain yourself," she said, still pointing the gun at him.

"I mean, I wouldn't kill ya--I wouldn't hurt ya bad--but what's happenin' in my mind right now ain't gentle."

"Go on," Martha said, relaxing her hold on the rifle. Billy took another step toward her.

"What I'm saying is you might gonna have to shoot me, 'cause I don't know how well I can keep myself from hurtin' you--at least a little bit. You might not walk so good tomorrow."

Martha could see Billy working to keep his dick covered, but it had grown.

"What ya got under those hands?"

"This?" He paused, peeking under his hands. "I call it a pussy straightener. Something to help if a woman's vagina ain't so straight. My guess is a woman so beautiful as yourself don't suffer from a crooked vagina."

"Crooked vagina? Ain't heard of anything like that before. You some kind of doctor?"

"I ain't a doctor, ma'am, but I know a crooked one when I see one," said Billy, taking another step toward the coach.

"Is that so? Better come take a look at it."

As Billy dropped a hand to climb into the stagecoach, Martha glimpsed a long, flesh staff that his hand could barely conceal.

"Martha," he said.

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid the only way I'm gonna find out is by lookin' under your dress."

"You gonna--well, what are you gonna use to examine it first?" Billy's deep green eyes looked into hers. "I don't want you just fixin' something if it ain't broke."

"I could use my tongue if that'd be preferable," he said.

"Let's see how that tongue does," she said, grabbing the back of his head. Martha inhaled as much of his face as she could with her mouth open wide, lunging her tongue into the back of his throat and coursing the roof of his mouth.

Billy dug in with his tongue and reached his hands down to rip her blouse open.

"That was expensive, Billy," Martha said between breaths. "They don't make 'em like that anymore."

Billy's kisses nearly tore her head off. She collapsed under his force. His hand slid down under her waistband where he found throbbing, wet lips. His breathing became heavier and his tongue throbbed in her mouth.

His fingertip gently grazed across the smooth, soft skin between her thighs as his kisses pushed her head against the stagecoach.

Martha said, through intermittent breaths, "Now that I think about it," her chest pulsing, "I remember my doctor tellin' me somethin' about a crooked vagina. Why don't you administer that treatment?"

Martha slipped her arms out of the sleeves and pulled her dress off as she pressed her entire body against Billy, their warmth and sweat slipping and sliding across each other.

Billy's hand glided between her legs while his other hand clasped the steely rod that kept space between the two of them. Martha had to touch it. She gripped onto it while Billy sat back on his haunches, picked her up off the side of the stagecoach, and lifted her.

The head of his hard dick circled her for a moment. Martha's mouth hung agape as she looked down on it, waiting. Billy's muscles twitched as he lowered her onto his body, plunging into the deepest inches inside her. Martha gasped.

She could feel him inside her, his wet cock grazing her insides like slick oil. They rocked slowly as she clutched him tighter and tighter, trying to keep her breath under control as it huffed out faster than she could take it in. Her breaths shortened until she held her breath entirely and went quiet, only emitting bursts of air.

The only sound throughout the valley was an ever increasing squeak as the wooden wheels of the stagecoach rocked back and forth. The door hung wide open with Billy's clothes on the ground only a few feet away.

Martha's entire body shook. Time stopped. It was the rapid heat from her spine that brought her back to being here, fucking Billy Gibbons. Her face grew tense as her voice fulminated to describe the feeling inside, loud enough for anyone within miles to hear.

Billy put his back into it, finally unable to stay quiet. His moans eclipsed the sounds of the squeaky coach wheels.

"You," Martha said, her voice almost nothing but breath, "the man who said I bought the Dürer, pretty nice hat he had on, huh?" She panted. The sweat from red her hair dripped onto Billy's face.

"Yeah," breathed out Billy. "Pretty nice."

"Real nice hat, huh?" Martha could barely speak.

"Yeah, he did," said Billy, thrusting as hard as he could. "Who cares?"

"It was my uncle," Martha sighed out. "I told him to make sure you heard."

"Heard what?"

"Don't stop, Billy. Christ, don't stop. This is all I wanted. I wanted you to come and find me."

"What?" Billy's dick ruthlessly seesawed inside her.

"I wanted you, Billy Gibbons. I wanted you to come find my treasure. I wanted you to come inside me. I want you to come inside me. I want you to come so hard inside me, right now."

They pushed against each other harder and harder. "Come on, Billy. Come on. I'm your masterpiece," she said with heavy breath. "Fuck me like one."

Billy pushed against the stagecoach's floor as hard as he could, crying out as Martha's head threw back in hot exhalations. It was coming. Billy wouldn't stop. Their cries burst across the golden field as he released himself inside her.

They felt their heartbeats as they leaned against each other a while with their eyes closed.

"Oh, Billy," said Martha, looking down at him. "I can't believe you found me. I can't believe it all worked."

He sat with her a while as they caught their breath. Billy looked up at her a moment, then started laughing. He kept laughing as he lifted her off himself, stood up, and put his clothes back on.

"So, there ain't no Dürer?" asked Billy.

"Alles hat ein ende, nur die wurst hat zwei," said Martha. "Everything has an ending, Billy. Only sausage has two."

Billy smiled as he finished buttoning up his shirt. He picked up his saddle and put it on the horse his men left him. With a deep breath, he looked back at her once more and tipped his hat. His horse trotted away, and Martha waved her black feathered hat at him until he disappeared over the ridge.