I woke up in a man-killin’ mood.
Don’t often get that itch, leastwise not first thing in the mornin’. I do when I hire out as a gun-hand. Nothing strange about it; I sell my guns for a living. Don’t take much to work me up in that direction.
I rolled over on top of JD and pulled him up on his knees, grabbed his dick and shoved into him. “Didn’t you get enough of my rump last night?” he asked, pushing back on to me.
“Can’t never get enuf of this, pardner”, I grunted as I humped him. Maybe a good buttfuck would clear the urge to shed another man’s blood.
We grunted and growled until my stroking got him close. “My cannon’s about to fire” he groaned. I could feel him tighten around my own cock. He jammed his ass to impale himself on me as we both came, his cum filling my hand as I filled his guts. I took a lick of his juice, then rubbed it over his crotch. I slid out of his ass and rolled him on his back, licking his belly and crotch. “Helluva breakfast” I said, grinning up from between his legs.
JD smiled back. “We’d best get up and see to feeding the horses and make us a real breakfast, hoss. You may have just ate but I’m hungry as a grizzly bear”.
We were sitting on the porch having a smoke after our meal when I let JD in on my urge. I’m pretty well usually easy-going (except of course when you cross me get me riled up, then you’d best step careful or you might end up deader’n Davy Crockett). JD knows me though-we been ridin’, rustlin’ and killin’ for a good three years now. He just gave me a sideways glance and took a pull on his hand-rolled.
“I know just how you feel pard. Remember that gambler I drilled? The fella in that little place in New Mexico?” I returned JD’s look. I remembered well. I wasn’t at the table but heard their raised voices, just a few words. JD had shot the gambler where he sat, his sixgun firing under the table. JD had fired four rounds, slowly, each making the card-sharp jerk like a doll in his chair. I remembered his chair sliding back a few inches as each slug plowed inta the poor sumbitch. JD had just sat here grinning, the other fella splayed in his chair, staring at the ceiling, his guts a mess of flood and shredded cloth.
“Hell, that poor asshole wasn’t cheatin’ at cards, leastwise not so much that it mattered. Fuck, I just wanted ta send someone to meet his maker that day.”
Reckon ‘ol JD understood.
I had to figure out just who it was I’d snuff out. We chewed it over some, talked about some men I’d like to kill. Maybe I’d just find some drifting cowpuncher to plug and watch him kick. Finally I shrugged. “Reckon there’s just some poor dumb fucker who’s already dead and he just don’t know it. Finally decided to saddle up and head into Nowishta Crossing. Not much of a town, little more than a crossroads, but with two saloons an no law it was a good hangout for ranchers, cowboys, drifters and men on the dodge.
I stood up and went inside. Strapped on my gunbelt. I drew the .45 Colt on my left hip a couple of times and did the same with the .45 blaster in my belly-gun holster. Made sure they slid fast and easy. I shouted to JD. “Y’all wanna come along to this shindig? See who I can find for a dance partner?”
JD laughed. “Wouldn’t miss it for nuthin’, bubba. Anyhow, I just might be needed to throw your leakin’ bullet-riddled corpse face-down over yore saddle and bring ya back. Can’t leave your dead ass on the floor of the Red Dog saloon, can I?” JD kept chuckling as he checked the loads in his pistols and made sure they slid easy in his holsters.
(to be continued)
Don’t often get that itch, leastwise not first thing in the mornin’. I do when I hire out as a gun-hand. Nothing strange about it; I sell my guns for a living. Don’t take much to work me up in that direction.
I rolled over on top of JD and pulled him up on his knees, grabbed his dick and shoved into him. “Didn’t you get enough of my rump last night?” he asked, pushing back on to me.
“Can’t never get enuf of this, pardner”, I grunted as I humped him. Maybe a good buttfuck would clear the urge to shed another man’s blood.
We grunted and growled until my stroking got him close. “My cannon’s about to fire” he groaned. I could feel him tighten around my own cock. He jammed his ass to impale himself on me as we both came, his cum filling my hand as I filled his guts. I took a lick of his juice, then rubbed it over his crotch. I slid out of his ass and rolled him on his back, licking his belly and crotch. “Helluva breakfast” I said, grinning up from between his legs.
JD smiled back. “We’d best get up and see to feeding the horses and make us a real breakfast, hoss. You may have just ate but I’m hungry as a grizzly bear”.
We were sitting on the porch having a smoke after our meal when I let JD in on my urge. I’m pretty well usually easy-going (except of course when you cross me get me riled up, then you’d best step careful or you might end up deader’n Davy Crockett). JD knows me though-we been ridin’, rustlin’ and killin’ for a good three years now. He just gave me a sideways glance and took a pull on his hand-rolled.
“I know just how you feel pard. Remember that gambler I drilled? The fella in that little place in New Mexico?” I returned JD’s look. I remembered well. I wasn’t at the table but heard their raised voices, just a few words. JD had shot the gambler where he sat, his sixgun firing under the table. JD had fired four rounds, slowly, each making the card-sharp jerk like a doll in his chair. I remembered his chair sliding back a few inches as each slug plowed inta the poor sumbitch. JD had just sat here grinning, the other fella splayed in his chair, staring at the ceiling, his guts a mess of flood and shredded cloth.
“Hell, that poor asshole wasn’t cheatin’ at cards, leastwise not so much that it mattered. Fuck, I just wanted ta send someone to meet his maker that day.”
Reckon ‘ol JD understood.
I had to figure out just who it was I’d snuff out. We chewed it over some, talked about some men I’d like to kill. Maybe I’d just find some drifting cowpuncher to plug and watch him kick. Finally I shrugged. “Reckon there’s just some poor dumb fucker who’s already dead and he just don’t know it. Finally decided to saddle up and head into Nowishta Crossing. Not much of a town, little more than a crossroads, but with two saloons an no law it was a good hangout for ranchers, cowboys, drifters and men on the dodge.
I stood up and went inside. Strapped on my gunbelt. I drew the .45 Colt on my left hip a couple of times and did the same with the .45 blaster in my belly-gun holster. Made sure they slid fast and easy. I shouted to JD. “Y’all wanna come along to this shindig? See who I can find for a dance partner?”
JD laughed. “Wouldn’t miss it for nuthin’, bubba. Anyhow, I just might be needed to throw your leakin’ bullet-riddled corpse face-down over yore saddle and bring ya back. Can’t leave your dead ass on the floor of the Red Dog saloon, can I?” JD kept chuckling as he checked the loads in his pistols and made sure they slid easy in his holsters.
(to be continued)
