Wilder West Ch. 01

She lifted and squeezed them, remembering how excited Charlie got the first time she'd let him touch her breasts while they were courting. She was pretty sure he'd actually climaxed in his pants though he'd struggled to hide it and had abruptly broken off that night's date. She'd been confused, lying in her bed later that evening, trying to figure out what had happened, trying to figure out if she was a bad girl for letting him touch her. But as she had played with her large, soft breasts the way Charlie had, she had no doubt it was okay -- they were in love, plus it just felt so good.

It felt good now as she lay on her narrow cot in the county asylum. Tingles of excitement were beginning to run through her breasts and she started to bring her hands back to her crotch again to try and turn the small pleasure into big pleasure right away. But something stopped her, almost as if other hands had grabbed hers and guided them back to her breasts.

A quick flash of fear ran through Jane, but just as quickly subsided as the imaginary hands pressed her own hands onto her breasts, squeezing them tighter and pressing her nipples into her palms. Ooh, she'd forgotten how good that felt, how sensitive her nipples were. She had a sudden overwhelming memory of lying on her side in bed, nursing her first child while Charlie lay up against her like a spoon, stroking in and out of her cunny from behind while the baby sucked the milk from her swollen breast.

Then he had leaned over her side and taken her other breast into his own mouth. Jane groaned as she remembered the sexy, naughty feeling of her husband nursing from her and fucking her at the same time. She pulled on her nipples, just as he had, feeling them swell between her fingers. Pulling her gown away she lifted the large sacks up to her mouth, sucking a nipple into her mouth, again just as Charlie had.

The hot memories kept coming back. Even when she wasn't lactating Charlie liked to watch her lick and suck her own breast, especially while he sucked the other. It was obviously very erotic for him as it always made his beautiful penis grow long and hard, even if he'd recently had an orgasm. And to be honest it also made her hot and wet and very ready to feel his cock inside her again, even if she'd already come once.

She switched tits, sucking on the left one, coaxing its large brown tip to harden and swell like the right. Back and forth she went, but slowly, sucking on one big nipple while pinching and twisting the other. This was the most foreplay Jane had experienced in years and it felt wonderful.

No frantic attack, trying to sprint to the finish line without a proper warm-up, but a slow, sensuous build-up, enjoying the journey, not just the destination. The lines of heat burned their way from her nipples, across her belly, joining in her crotch where they melted away her anxiety, leaving her pussy glistening with warm, musky juices.

One hand slowly followed the lines of fire down to her damp crotch, while the other continued to lift and squeeze, massage and pinch. Her southern fingers pushed into her thick bush, scratching lightly through the wet curls. They came upon her clitoris hood and bypassed it, continuing to the crevice from whence the warm moisture flowed.

She ran a finger up and down the crack, gently working the petals of her flower apart, coating her digit in the slippery nectar. Then that digit was pressing, forcing its way inside like a honeybee going to the heart of the flower. The hand that had been mauling her tits came down to help with the violation of her love hole; pulling the covering lips farther apart and allowing a second, then a third honey-seeking finger to force its way inside her.

Once her digital penis was well settled and stroking in and out, her other hand finally went to her love button. But she didn't touch the poor raw clit directly; instead she squeezed the upper part of her pussy lips together, catching the swelling nub in their soft embrace. Indirectly she massaged her clit, which was so sensitive that it still sent wonderful bolts of pleasure through her even without direct contact. Her cunt-fucking fingers went faster, harder, deeper as she squeezed and released, squeezed and released.

Her back arched off the mattress and a deep groan escaped her lips as it hit her; the most glorious, satisfying, soul-releasing orgasm she'd experienced in years. This is what she'd been seeking, this was joy, this was real fire to go with all the smoke that had been blinding her life. She let it roll through her, slowing her stroking, slowing her squeezing, playing it out as long as she could until she collapsed back with a final gasp and a long sigh.

The reaction in Molly was basically the same, an arched back and sudden gasp. But this was more like what you would see if you hit a cardiac patient with electric paddles; the jolt of juice causing the muscles to snap and the desperate gasp of a person coming back to life. Together the two women were on the road to recovery.

SILVERTON HIGH SCHOOL -- PRESENT DAY: Gina was really getting into her story. "Patients, staff, visitors -- reports kept growing about the O'Reilly ghost or ghosts. Most just mentioned a wisp here, a smoke-like body there, nothing solid, but definitely moving in a controlled way; appearing and disappearing in different places throughout the asylum."

The tall blonde's voice got deeper as she continued. "But some of the stories tell of a much clearer spirit, easily visible, nearly solid." Her eyes looked intently at her friend's long, thick red hair. "A spirit with flaming red hair."

Her clear blue eyes drilled into Barbara's green ones. "Some said she was dressed in old fashioned Western wear; a high-collared, floor length dress. Others said they saw her in a long white nightgown, unbuttoned in the front. And some claimed she was fully naked!" Dropping her gaze to Barbara's pale throat, then her full bosom, Gina continued, "But they all agreed she was stacked, with pale, freckled skin, a classic Irish bombshell."

The red rose into Barb's cheeks as her wicked girlfriend leered at her and the two boys laughed. Jerry put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in to plant a kiss in her red locks. "Classic Irish bombshell, that's my Mistress McCoy," he said proudly and lovingly.

Gina's boyfriend Paul said, "Gee, sounds like just the kind of ghost I'd like to have haunting my house. Somehow the stories I've heard about O'Reilly's always sounded a bit more frightening than sexy."

"Well the Red Spirit is only one part of the story," Gina said, picking up her tale. "The different descriptions make it unclear if it is just one ghost or many, and looking beautiful doesn't mean she can't be evil...or wicked," she winked at the blushing Barbara.

O'REILLY's SANITARIUM - 1922: It had been three weeks since Molly and Jane connected and both "women" showed remarkable improvement. Jane still masturbated a lot, but not constantly and uncontrollably. However, she was more brazen about it, or at least less concerned about being caught.

She would play with herself a few times a day, not always even trying to reach orgasm; just enjoying herself, becoming more comfortable with her body and sexuality. When she pleasured herself she often lay back naked or almost naked on her bed, not trying to sneak a feel under her hospital gown, but giving herself free access to whatever part of her full, womanly body she was exploring.

These were the times that had gotten Frances, the asylum director's secretary, into the habit of wandering past Jane's room, unconsciously hoping to catch her in the act. Frances had never been with another woman and thoroughly enjoyed a good pounding by her husband, but from the first time she had accidentally come across Jane playing with herself she had been hooked.

The staff was pretty thin at O'Reilly's, which meant when the on-duty nurse took her lunch break the patients' ward could be deserted for half an hour or more. Without thinking about it Frances had gotten into the habit of taking her own lunch break at this time and wandering down to the patients' rooms instead of going to the town diner to eat.

Frances' urge to go to Jane's room had been growing day by day; growing at the same pace that Molly's spirit was being reinvigorated by absorbing Jane's sexual energy. You couldn't say that Molly had possessed Jane or Frances, but she was certainly seeking out each woman's passions and reflecting them back in concentrated beams.

And so Dr. Franck's secretary found herself standing close against Jane's door, trying to get a view through the small window without exposing herself to the inhabitant. Mrs. Rostick was sitting back against her headboard, completely naked. Knees bent, feet pulled into her buttocks, legs spread, hairy cunt wide open to exploration by her fingers and Frances' eyes.

The shine in the pubic hair on the committed woman clearly showed the passion literally running out of her. She ran her fingers up and down her slit, smearing the natural lubricant across the lips and up to her now healed clit. Frances groaned in the hall when the other woman pulled those lips apart, exposing her deep pink interior.

She scooped out more nectar with her fingers and smeared it on her nipples, rubbing them in circles until both stood out like proverbial pencil erasers. Then Jane lifted the large globes in turn to her mouth, sucking her juice off the prominent brown pebbles.

Having teased her nips to their full size Jane put her left forearm under both massive breasts, lifting them up together while her right hand returned to her sopping pussy. Frances was spellbound, unconsciously holding her breath in anticipation of Jane rubbing more honey onto those big nipples with their silver dollar-sized aureoles. What Jane actually did made Frances gasp and started her own honey pot oozing freely.

Mrs. Rostick did indeed reach inside herself to coat her fingers with pussy juice, but instead of gently massaging it into her nipples she sharply slapped it onto the sensitive nubs, crying out in painful pleasure as she smacked one and then the other, back and forth.

Frances' hands roughly grabbed her own tits through her dress as she stared open-eyed while Jane abused herself. Her brassiere was thick, but she was still able to pinch her own nipples painfully tight as she imagined herself rushing into the room, jamming her fingers deep into the patient's love hole and slapping the horny slut's nasty juice on those big, beautiful tit buttons.

Jane kept her melons crushed against her chest with her arm, but the next time her slapping hand returned to her burning cunt it stayed there and turned its punishing attention to her also swollen clitoris. Panting, grunting and yelping she sprinkled slaps up and down her tender lips, always returning to the magic button.

On the other side of the door Frances grabbed at her crotch through her skirt, dry humping her hand with increasing ferocity. "Oh yeah, oh yeah, do it, do it, spank yourself you nasty slut," she growled. Or did she just imagine saying that? Was she actually hearing someone else saying all those wicked things into her ear? When she thought about it later she couldn't say which it was, she only knew that she had never in her life spoken like that before, but the words had been almost as exciting as the attack on her pussy.

She clenched and released her crotch harder and faster, keeping pace with Jane's masturbating. The force that was Molly nearly glowed with the power of the passion flowing between the living women, connecting the two so they could "hear" each other's thoughts or sounds, each one egging the other on to higher levels.

"You love it, don't you?!"

"Yes, yes, I love it!"

"Only a whore would be so wet, only a whore's nipples swell like that. A dirty whore who deserves a good spanking."

"Unh, unh, unh."

"Spank that pussy, whore! Slap it good! I can hear how wet your nasty cunt is, I can hear the proof of what a slut you are!"

"It's true...wet...nasty...slut!

"You're going to come now. You're going to explode. Show me how hard you can come you dirty whore!"

"Oh, oh, oohh, I'm coommmiinnnnggg!" Jane's ass lifted off the mattress with the intensity of her orgasm as she roughly rubbed her enflamed clitoris.

Frances collapsed against the door, her forehead pressed to the glass as she swooned with her own earth-shaking climax.

A pale-skinned redheaded woman leaned against Frances' back, moaning softly in her ear, showering kisses on the back of her neck.

At the same time the redhead lay beside Jane with her head in the heavily panting woman's lap, sprinkling butterfly kisses across her bearded mound.

Eventually each living woman caught her breath and opened her eyes to find the other looking passionately at her through the glass. Smiles spread on both faces. After a moment Frances shook her head as if waking from a dream and then pushed herself away from the door and staggered off down the hall. Jane just slid down on the mattress, pulled the sheet over herself and slipped into a contented sleep.

Molly pulsed, she throbbed, she glowed; her hair flamed red, her eyes green, her skin shone like the full moon. It was the most solid she had been in years. She wandered down the hall in the opposite direction from Jane, seeking the next source of energy to connect and loop with.

The station nurse returning from lunch passed by Jane and wondered about her flushed face and wild-eyed look. That concern slipped from her mind, however, when she turned the corner and saw one of the patients at the other end of the hall, buck naked. The nude woman turned the corner and Nurse Flannery set off at a trot to catch her. When she reached the end of the short hall and turned after the woman she was surprised to see that the connecting hall, which came to a dead end in this direction, was empty.

The nurse quickly checked the four rooms down here; one was empty, the other three were all locked from the outside and she could see the patients in each one -- no naked woman among them. 'Jane Rostick!' she suddenly thought, this was just the kind of thing that poor creature would do.

She turned and trotted back to Jane's door, but it was also firmly locked and there was Jane curled up asleep on her bed. Besides which, Jane's hair was brown and the woman she'd seen had definitely been a redhead. But they didn't have any red haired patients she realized. Caught in the traditional dilemma of a staff member who'd been away from her post, Nurse Flannery didn't make any formal report of the incident, but another chapter was added to the O'Reilly's legend via the grapevine.

Molly glided into a patient's room just ahead of the worried nurse, but here was another one of Dr. Franck's laudanum zombies. However, through the wall, back the opposite direction she sensed something, something throbbing, throbbing like the pulse of blood swelling a hard penis and she went to it like a magnet.

Another catatonic patient, this time a woman, but she was not alone. A male orderly was standing over her bed, gazing on the helpless woman. For some reason he'd found himself here more and more often recently, thinking darker and darker thoughts; thoughts that left him feeling both excited and guilty when he left the asylum each day.

Molly had done wonderful things for Jane Rostick, but not because she was trying to do good, it was just a side effect of making Jane's passion more effective and thus enriching to Molly. That was the same blind goal she acted on now as she focused on the orderly. She had been trying to get him to act for some time and with her energy boost from Jane and Frances she was finally strong enough to push him over the line. She caught the rhythm of his pulsing blood and echoed and magnified it until the red haze covered his eyes and he raped the woman lying prone at his mercy.

A red haired woman with pale skin kneeled on the mattress behind him and grabbed his hips, helping drive him deep into his unknowing lover. It was a glorious recreation of a moment from when she was alive.

SILVERTON - 1870: As Molly McCoy and her brother Sean made their way toward California they planned on stopping along the way with various relatives and railroad friends. One of the first was their mother's cousin, Seamus O'Reilly, in Silverton, Nevada. Silverton was one of the boomtowns created and nurtured by the Comstock Lode. The need to get the silver from the rich vein to the ports of Sacramento and San Francisco was one of the reasons the railroad barons had invested the money needed to conquer the mighty Sierra Nevada with their iron rails.

Lots of Irishmen who'd hired on to build the railroad had given up the hard labor of the rails for the hard labor and wild dreams of the silver fields. Seamus O'Reilly, however, was not one of these. He much preferred to let others do the hard labor while he provided what they needed away from the mines. Seamus had sold a successful pub in Dublin and used that stake to open what eventually became an astronomically more successful business in America.

To the future residents of Silverton, O'Reilly's would be simply a long- deserted, possibly-haunted example of frontier architecture that had served as a mental asylum for the first four decades of the twentieth century. Local legend had lost track of the fact that for the last four decades of the nineteenth century O'Reilly's had been one of the most popular saloons, hotels, and whorehouses on the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada.

In 1870 Seamus O'Reilly's establishment had hit its stride and gained that top spot in the silver range. People came from Virginia and Carson Cities to take part in the pleasures at O'Reilly's. Seamus had foreseen the future and built his first small saloon out on the farthest edge of town so he would have room to expand and expand he had.

The main room had been added onto, including a second story. The large wing added to the northern end held some of the most well appointed, luxurious hotel rooms between St. Louis and San Francisco. An even larger wing jutting off the southern end held more modest hotel rooms for the average miner or cowboy and at the far end of that wing were the rooms for O'Reilly's girls.

What made O'Reilly's girls special was the way Seamus treated them. There were plenty of whorehouses in the region, but generally the women were treated badly; most of the money they brought in stayed in the house owner's pocket, they were often beaten and at the mercy of whatever abuse the customers wanted to heap on them.

When Seamus took a girl in he found out what she was comfortable with and paired her up with like minded customers. Clients that went over the line with one of O'Reilly's girls would find themselves outside, face down in the mud at the hands of the Irish giants Seamus had on patrol. The girl's take of the customer's fee was the most generous percentage in the area and Seamus himself opened an account for each new girl at the bank with a starting bonus.

As a result, over time, the most beautiful prostitutes migrated to O'Reilly's and the girls there would end up doing acts as kinky as at any other place, but they did them much more willingly because they knew they would see some of the extra money charged for those acts.

For his customers there were also bonuses that made his establishment the place to go, even if the cost was a bit higher. At another site closer to the camps Seamus had a second house that catered to the many Chinese laborers who'd been imported to build the eastward bound railroad. From the Chinese girls who worked that house Seamus had taken two of the most beautiful and brought them to the main house to service those clients interested in the more exotic.