The Gun & The Whip

At thirteen he had run away from home, a stowaway on the ship of one of his father's competitors. After two days at sea he was found and put to work scrubbing the galley and living quarters of the officers on board. When a disgustingly evil mate tried to rape him, he was to stab the man through the eye with a huge Bowie knife that seemed to disappear when it wasn't in his hand.

The captain had seen the knife before and was secretly pleased that the son of Captain Questor had found his way into his clutches. He made the lad his private cabin boy and spent long hours teaching him the trade of a buccaneer. The youngster spent three years in that position until one day, after a particularly nasty skirmish with a Queen's Navy vessel, he was promoted to mate. During the fighting he'd saved the captain's life and turned the guns of the galleon on the powder room while the crew fought on the decks. He was put in charge of training the men to fight. His skill with a blade was uncanny, and he had come to be a deadly shot with firearms of all sorts.

He had a strange habit of growling during combat like a jaguar from the jungles where the pirate Lords hid out and, like his father, his eyes would turn a strange blue when he was aroused in any fashion. Men learned to gauge his mood by those eyes and it saved the life of more than one of them when they angered him.

Two more years found the ship pulling into the piers of San Francisco, the destination his mother had been sailing to all those years ago when Captain Questor had taken a fancy to her, taken her from her family, and eventually made her his. The girl and the Captain were still together, true to their natures and their lust, locked for eternity in love.

The young man became a regular at the dockside bars and brothels and soon developed a reputation as a dangerous gun and a rabid womanizer. Unassuming, handsome, lithe and armed with a wicked sense of humor and a pair of Colts, he ran through the whores of the largest port on the West Coast like a hurricane, leaving broken hearts and bruised bodies behind.

As time passed and the young man grew into his height and weight he had already taken over two groups of bandits on the docks, and the surrounding gold mines. He had also begun to run in more refined circles and was often spotted at society parties and affairs courting the daughters and wives of the affluent. The day came when he was caught with the young wife of a political boss. After shooting him dead in his own home in self-defense, the young Questor was forced to flee San Francisco for parts unknown. There was much lamenting among the female population, but the men seemed glad to be rid of the scoundrel.

A man rode a black stallion into the east, looking back on the port just once, as a new chapter in his life unfolded...

The town of Dark River Landing had been established for only about 10 years. Here in New Mexico, things were slower than in California or the East. Originally the settlement had been a stopover for stagecoaches and the occasional Pony Express rider. More recently the railroad had brought new life to the small town. In the last couple of years the population had increased five fold and new stores, churches and schools had been added to the mix. Of course the river, the railway, and a rapidly growing town combined to also attract an influx of saloons and brothels. With them came the gamblers, the gunmen and the outlaws, in addition to the ranchers who brought their herds to Dark River Landing, loading them onto trains bound for slaughterhouses in California and Kansas City. Recently a few crop farmers had moved into the area and, in contrast to most cattle towns, they had been made welcome, as fresh vegetables and fruit were a rarity.

There was a modest town government with five members; a mayor and four councilmen who were mostly original settlers of the area. They owned stores and the livery stable, and two of them had massive ranches a little farther north on the river where they raised cattle and horses. The mayor was a likeable man. God fearing and dedicated to the town, he had built the original stagecoach stop, along with an inn that had grown over the years to become the finest hotel in this part of the country. He owned parts of several town businesses and, until the bank had been built, and had served as the financial guide for many of them. A proud father of three, his eldest son worked in the inn as the manager, the younger ran the railway station, and his daughter was usually to be found riding her white mare in the wilderness surrounding Dark River Landing.

She was an expert rider and had on more than one occasion loaned out her services to the local ranchers during branding and counting season. Good with a rope and a dead shot with a rifle, she was nevertheless the perfect image of womanhood. With her long black hair and hazel eyes that sparkled with a hint of fire, every young man for a hundred miles around had dreamt of wooing her, but she had not yet found a man who could hold her attention long enough to keep her.

As dusk settled, a dark figure on a magnificent black stallion rode into town. Dressed all in black, the rider wore his hat down low over his eyes, but those curious enough to look closely noted a hint of blue in his assessing stare and a sardonic smile on his lips. He stopped in front of the livery stables and, after completing arrangements for his horse, crossed the street and walked towards the hotel. A quick chat with the desk clerk and he was ensconced in a room on the second floor overlooking the main street. Moments later he left the hotel and walked in the direction of the railroad depot, turning into a saloon at the last moment. Heads lifted and eyes stared at the stranger, then the rumble of the patrons began again as he walked slowly to the bar. A couple of men noticed the way his colts hung low on his hips, one of them a quick-tempered cowboy from a ranch to the north and the other a deputy who kept to himself quietly in the shadows under the balcony.

"Whisky," the man said, and turned to survey the crowd, his eyes moving quickly and noticing everything.

Resting against the bar and sipping his whisky, the young man with the shielded eyes looked around and took it all in. He had a habit of noting the exits whenever he was indoors. He never knew when he might have to leave quickly and in a most unorthodox fashion. From his days running the bandit crews on the piers in San Francisco, to those of slipping in and out of bedroom windows, he had developed a sense of when it was time to get out while the getting was good. It had kept him out of jail so far, and probably kept a few people alive as he was not a good man to corner. He knew right from wrong, but he lived by his own standards and wasn't real partial to society's rules.

A girl walked down a long flight of stairs to the saloon floor. Blonde, pretty, and with dancing eyes, she had one of those walks that brought every man's eyes instantly to her. The young man was no exception, but he had a wry grin on his face instead of the adoring and lustful looks of most of the other men in the room. He'd seen her type a thousand times, had owned girls like her body and heart and used them for a moment's diversion. He suspected that this one would be no different.

The girl moved fluidly through the crowd of men, touching one on the shoulder, bending over to whisper in the ear of another and flashing a dazzling smile at yet another. Every man in the saloon watched her avidly. As she neared the piano, the young cowboy with the quick temper stepped in front of her saying, "Alice, why don't you just forget the singing and let's go back upstairs!"

She looked at him with alarm in her eyes. She obviously knew the man, and for some reason feared him. He wasn't large or possessing, but he had a nervous energy about him that spoke of snakes under rocks and spiders in dark corners. "Abel, we've been through this. I have work to do and you're keeping me from it." Her voice tinkled like bells, but her face was tight and drawn.

His hand curled into a fist and he raised it towards her. She stepped back quickly, tears springing to her eyes, "Abel, please, don't strike me." A murmur went through the room, but no one rose to stop the interchange. It seemed that the girl was not the only one afraid of Abel. Men watched and gritted their teeth but none moved. Abel's hand uncurled and he smiled evilly.

He grabbed her arm and spat "We'll talk about this later Alice. For now, its time for you and me to leave."

Suddenly he leaned back and dropped her arm, his eyes wide, his hand moving quickly towards his gun. His hand froze on the handle when he felt the cold steel of the Bowie against his neck. "Boy, I'd suggest you move that hand away from the gun, turn around and walk on out of here," a cool voice growled in his ear. In the silence of the saloon every word rang out as clear as a bell. Abel lifted his hand clear of his gun and waited a second, rage filling his face, then spun and walked stiff-legged toward the doors.

Alice looked at the young man standing in front of her, the Bowie having already disappeared, and smiled softly, "Thank you Sir, but that wasn't necessary." He watched her face, noticed the relief as her features softened, then stated matter of factly, "well Ma'am, it sure looked necessary but I'll mind my own business next time."

Her face twisted through a variety of emotions, and she stuttered, but the young man had turned and was heading over to his whisky glass on the bar. At that moment, someone yelled "Look out!" By the time the young man had spun to face the doors both the Colts were in his hands. A second later Abel was blasted back into the street, blood already welling from the two large holes, one in his chest the other where his face had been. Even as the saloon doors swung back and forth the Colts were back in their holsters and the young man was asking the bartender for "another whisky."

The deputy moved out of the shadow and toward the man at the bar.

The deputy stopped in front of the young man, "feller, you're gonna have to come with me. The man in black, turned slowly, knocking back the shot of whisky like it was water. His blue eyes lifted and shone from under the brim of his hat.

The deputy looked back at him, an imposing man in his own right, long reddish blonde hair, golden colored eyes and a nose like a hawk but with a strange Indian cast to his face. He reminded the young Questor of someone he'd known as a youth from his days back home in the Caribbean with his pirate father. The name escaped him at the moment, but he took a liking to this man right away. That was the second best thing that was to happen to the deputy that day. The first, though he didn't know it yet, was meeting the young Questor.

Alice called out, "Roger Eagle Feather, that was simple self defense and you know it. Don't you dare take him to jail!"

The deputy looked up and around, his face reddening, "its just plain ole Rog dammit Alice. How many times do I have to tell you that." The Questor chuckled, apparently this man didn't much like being teased, but a pretty girl can get away with damn near anything.

The Questor looked at Rog, "well I reckon you're gonna have to take me in just for legal purposes, so lets get this over with."

Rog flashed a look of gratitude at him, the man had helped him save face and shown that he was a man of honor and respect. He also took a liking to the young Questor immediately. He led the Questor out the door, never even unarming him and down the dirt street to the sheriff's office. The Questor took off his guns and placed them on the desk and walking over to an open cell, laid down on the cot and promptly dropped off to sleep.

Rog smiled, this was one cool son of a bitch he had in his jail and went to filling out the paperwork.

An hour later, the door opened and a dark haired beauty strolled in clad in a long skirt and a lace blouse that clung tightly to her figure. Her scent filled the air with joy and the deputy sat up a little straighter. She smiled, "Rog, I hear you have a man in jail here for shooting that bastard Abel. I've also been told that it was in self defense, that Abel was trying to shoot him in the back."

Rog nodded, tongue tied at the sight of the girl. "Yes'm Miss Valerie, I saw the whole thing, but you know I can't just let people shoot each other, your daddy would have my hide." She laughed, a sound like small bells ringing, and said, "Well, my daddy asked me to stop by and see if everything was alright and to make sure the man was getting fair treatment." She glanced over at the man sleeping on the cot, and at that moment his eyes opened. She saw something which made her hand fly up to her throat and her eyes to widen in surprise. The man's eyes, a dark hazel when he opened them, swiftly turned a deep biting blue as he ran them over her form. She felt like the man had reached out and stroked her and the worst part was, she liked it.

At that moment, the girl Alice burst into the jailhouse, "dammit Rog, I've got bail money here from half the citizens of town to get this man out of jail. Ain't nobody gonna miss that sonofabitch Abel and you know it!"

Rog sighed, he'd been about to let the man go if he were to leave town and not return, but with the whole damn town up in arms about the young man he took the bail money and told the Questor, "don't leave town Sir, there's probably gonna be some more questions when the sheriff gets back to town."

The Questor smiled a wry smile, walked out of the cell, picked up his guns and knife and arm in arm with the blonde walked out of the building down the road back to the saloon. The girl Valerie watched silently, her eyes still large and her knees shaking slightly under the long skirt. She'd never been so affected by a man before. She watched the man and the whore walk down the street together laughing and lifted her nose in the air, "humph, just like all the others, put a pretty whore and a bottle of whisky in front of them and they're lost." Rog chuckled under his breath, he'd seen the look on her face and he thought to himself that if she were to meet the young Questor again that things might turn out a bit different.

The Questor and the girl Alice walked into the saloon to a rousing cheer. Whisky was poured for all around and there was much celebration. No one noticed the young man leading Alice up the stairs a short time later, and the sounds from the saloon were sure to hide any sounds from above.

He stepped into her room, his eyes burning. "Strip girl, let's see what I've bought."

Suddenly shy, the blonde Alice let her hand rise slowly to her throat. She fumbled at the buttons on the high necked blouse and seemed unable to get her fingers to work properly.

With a growl, the Questor crossed the room quickly, His hand reached out and tore her blouse down the front, the whalebone buttons exploding across the room and the girl gasping in shock. Underneath the blouse she wore a black lacy corset that lifted her full breasts and drew her stomach taut. The Bowie appeared in the Questor's hand like magic, and it was in less than a second that the razor sharp blade sliced through the tough thick fabric, even cutting the whalebone ribs like butter. The corset tumbled to the floor as the girl's hands flew up and covered her breasts. The Questor stared at her for a second, somewhat surprised that a whore would suddenly become shy and embarrassed, but he'd seen it before. His hunger was legendary in San Francisco, he took what he wanted, on his terms and with this girl it would be no different.

One arm snaked around her waist and pulled her taut against him, the other hand slid the flat of the Bowie blade against her stomach and slid it into her skirt band. She shuddered at the feel of the cold steel against her belly and when the tip slid over her pudenda she gushed. Her body reactions told him everything he needed to know about this slut, even though she was a whore, the woman in her reacted to a man who knew how to twist it out of her. He pulled the Bowie blade toward himself and the cloth slid apart leaving her suddenly naked in front of him, clad only in a garter and stockings. The Bowie disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as it had appeared and his hands roamed over her body, knocking her hands away from her breasts. They stood firm and proud, she was a young girl, the nipples hard and protuberant and a pale pink. The slight thatch of hair at her groin was almost white in its blondness and he noticed a sheen between her legs where the moistness was reflected from the candlelight.

He bent and bit her nipple savagely, her head arcing back in a low moan and a yelp, then he sucked hard until her knees quivered under his assault. His hand slid between her legs, finding the entrance to the moist cave of her womanhood and with a slight growl he drove two fingers into her hard and fast, lifting her to her tip toes with the force of his penetration.

She came on the spot, thinking to herself the whole while, "whores don't feel like this, its only business, I can't let him control me." When he pumped his fingers furiously in and out of her cunt she whimpered and gave in to his lust. Her hips pushed down, grinding against the invasion and she whimpered with need. It had been too long since a man had made her feel this way.

His other hand slid up to her hair and slipping into her blonde tresses he twisted her to her knees. She cried out when his fingers left off torturing her cunt and then was silent as he pressed her face into his crotch. Her hands flew up and unbuttoned his trousers, pulled the belt loose and yanked them down to his knees.

Hungrily she watched his manhood rise before her eyes and when she felt his hand at the back of her head, she thrust her mouth over the purple swollen head and licked in a swirl around the mushroom then down the shaft, her lips pursing and following the trail her tongue had set. Soon her head was bobbing up and down, great gasping sighs bursting from her lips when he would back off enough for her to get air, then a gag, and a choke as he again thrust his cock into her gullet.

She sucked his cock for what seemed like hours, but could only have been minutes and felt him about to spurt in her mouth. Just as she doubled her efforts he yanked her hair and pulled her up .. spinning her rapidly he pushed her onto the solitary bed in the room on her knees, her face pressed flat on the mattress and with no warning and not a word, drove his cock into her from behind, slamming to the root in one fell stroke.

The girl screamed in a mixture of pain and lust. "So full, I'm so full," she repeated over and over as the man yanked back on her mane, pulling her back to his ferocious thrusts and pounding into her like a stallion into a mare. Her cries grew louder and louder until they almost drowned out the music and debauchery from the saloon below. He rode her mercilessly, each time she was about to cum, he stopped and held her still until her thrashing abated and then again he would push her harder and higher towards nirvana.

Finally, with a primal roar, he buried himself as deep as he could go, and bit out the word, NOW! As she exploded in the most violent orgasm of her life, he bathed her walls with hot sticky jism. The mixture of fluids squished from her cunt with each pounding stroke as he reamed and ravaged her continuously until all the juices in him had emptied with great force into her.

He pulled out, and stepped back. The whore collapsed to her belly, whining and cooing like a dove, her legs twitching in aftershock. She never even noticed him get dressed and throw a gold piece on the table. When she finally found the strength to roll over, he was gone.