Cross Draw (7 page)

“So you say yes?” Rosemary asked.

“Yes,” Delilah said.

“Jenny?”

“Yes.”

“Morgan?”

“Oh, yes.”

They all looked at Abigail, knowing what she was going to say.

“Well, I say no,” she said. “He's dangerous.”

“Not to us,” Rosemary said.

“Yes, to us. When the word gets out that he can't use his right arm, men will come after him. And we'll be in the middle.”

“Who's going to pass the word?” Rosemary asked. “Aside from us, only the doctor and the sheriff know, and they're not going to tell anyone.”

Abigail averted her eyes.

“Abigail,” Rosemary pressed, “who's going to tell?”

Abigail didn't answer.

“Oh no,” Rosemary said.

“What?” Jenny asked.

“She already told somebody,” Morgan said.

“Abigail,” Delilah said, “you didn't.”

“It's not my fault!” Abigail wailed.

“That's what you said when Clint got hurt,” Jenny said. “And you're the one who let the wagon fall on his arm.”

“—I didn't. I . . .” Abigail stammered.

“Who could she have told?” Morgan asked. “We've been together . . . almost all the time.”

“Almost?” Rosemary said. “Where did you go, Abigail?”

“I—I went to a store. I just wanted something . . . sweet,” she said.

“You went out to buy candy and ended telling someone about Clint's arm?” Rosemary asked.

“A man came up to me and started talking to me,” she said. “He seemed very interested in us.”

“Us?” Rosemary asked.

“Well, eventually he asked about Clint.”

“And you just had to tell him,” Jenny said.

“I—I—before I knew what I was doing . . . yes.”

“Damn it, Abigail!” Rosemary said.

“Are you trying to kill him?” Jenny asked. “First the wagon, and now this?”

“It's—it's not my fault!”

“I'll have to go and tell him our decision,” Rosemary said, “but I'll also have to tell him what Abigail did.”

“Maybe he won't come with us, then,” Morgan said.

“That's up to him,” Rosemary said, “but he deserves to know.”

She walked to the door. They were in the room she was sharing with Abigail. “Don't let Abigail go anywhere!” she ordered before leaving.

Walking down the hall, she heard Abigail wail, “But it wasn't my fault!”

Candy Nolan had beautiful skin, and lots of it. In fact, she had acres of flesh, all pale and smooth except for her pink nipples and pussy.

Big Paul Dillon lived up to his name. At six-foot-eight and 280 pounds, he always picked the biggest girl he could find in a whorehouse, and this one was no exception. As soon as he'd arrived in Denby, Arizona, he'd gone looking for the nearest whorehouse, and the largest whore. He'd found both.

He sat on the bed and watched her undress. When she was naked, she stood there for him to inspect. Her breasts were large and pendulous, her thighs large and powerful, her calves thick. But she was not sloppy fat. Her belly, though large, was firm. Dressed, a man might call her fat. Naked, she was simply a big girl.

“Okay?” she asked him.

“Okay.”

“Now you, big boy.”

He smiled, stood up, undid his trousers and dropped them. When his massive dick came into view Candy's eyes went wide.

“Oh, my!” she said. “I hit the jackpot.”

She got on her knees in front of him and took him in both hands.

“Jesus, it's not even hard yet and I can't hold it in two hands.”

Big Paul had already removed his boots. Now he discarded his shirt so that he stood naked in the center of the room.

Candy stroked his dick until it began to swell, then took it into her mouth. As she began to suck it, he closed his eyes. This whore was very good at what she did. It was going to be a good experience.

For both of them . . .

 

Downstairs, a man came into the whorehouse carrying a telegram.

“Lookin' for a girl, son?” the madam asked.

“No, I'm lookin' for Paul Dillon.”

“He's upstairs.”

The young man started up.

“No,” the woman said, “you can't go up there. Not without a girl.”

He looked into the sitting room, where a couple of less-than-desirable-looking whores were sitting, clearly bored.

“I'll wait,” he decided.

 

Dillon breathed heavily as Candy slid his massive cock in and out of her mouth. She couldn't take all of him, but he was impressed by how much of it she managed to accommodate.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He reached down, put his hand under her arms and lifted her up, off the floor and dumped her on the bed.

“Oh my!” she said happily. “No man has ever been able to manhandle me like that. Makes me feel like I weigh ninety pounds.”

“If you weighed ninety pounds, you wouldn't be in this room with me.”

He got on the bed with her, took her tits in his hands, and squeezed them. She reached down to take hold of his cock and stroke it. They were both happy with what they had.

He leaned down and took one hard nipple in his mouth, sucked it avidly, then moved on to the other one. They were the biggest, thickest nipples he'd ever had between his teeth.

At one point he realized he could smell her cunt. She was wet and ready. He got to his knees between her big thighs, grabbed her legs, and spread them.

“Come on, big boy,” she said. “Do it.”

He pressed the spongy head of his cock to her wet pussy, and slid it up and down a bit to wet it, causing her to groan and bite her lip. Then, suddenly, he slid his long dick into her and she gasped, lifted her powerful legs and wrapped them around him.

“Oooh,” she groaned, “yes, fuck me, big man.”

He did. He fucked her hard. So hard that it seemed that their combined weight might make the bed fall apart . . .

Downstairs, everyone could hear the bed jumping up and down, and waited for the ceiling to come down.

“Gotta be Candy and that big fella,” the madam said to the girls.

“Dillon,” the man with the telegram said. “Paul Dillon.”

“Am I supposed to know that name?” she asked.

“No,” the young man said, brandishing the telegram, “but you will.”

Rosemary walked across the street to Clint's hotel and knocked on his door. He answered, gun in hand.

“I've talked to the girls about you coming along,” she said, “but there's something you should know.”

“Come on in.”

He holstered the gun and turned to face her.

“So they said no?” he asked.

“On the contrary,” she said. “They all said yes . . . except Abigail.”

“Does the vote have to be unanimous?”

“No,” Rosemary said, “she was outvoted. But now it's up to you. You might not want to come along.”

“Why not?”

“Abigail let it slip to some man in a shop today about your arm.”

“Oh.”

“Are you angry?”

“I should be, I suppose,” he said. “But it was bound to get out.”

“If you still want to ride with us, you're welcome—if you can do it without killing her.”

“I'll do my best. Yes, of course I still want to come. It's better than staying here and waiting for some young gun to come along.”

“When do you want to leave?”

“I'm a passenger,” he said. “You tell me where and when and I'll be there.”

“Why don't you let me cut your meat again tonight. I'll let you know then?”

“I'm pretty hungry,” he said.

“Can we meet in an hour? I should know by then when everybody wants to leave.”

“Okay,” he said. “An hour.”

She smiled and said, “I'll come here and get you.”

“That's fine.”

“Good.”

He opened the door for her and watched her walk down the hall, then closed it.

 

Dillon rolled off of Candy and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Are we done?” she asked. “Already?”

“I only paid for an hour,” he said.

“Oh.” She pouted in disappointment. “Don't have any more money, then?”

He looked at her. Her dark hair was tousled, her lips swollen from kisses. There was a bite mark on her left tit, next to the nipple. And he could still smell her cunt, wanted to bury his face in it. Would have, too, if he hadn't become impatient to fuck her.

She noticed his penis swelling again, beginning to jut from his lap.

“Not for this, I don't,” he said. “Sorry.”

“I'm sorry, too,” she said.

He stood up to get dressed, his dick wagging at her. She reached out and took it in her right hand.

“Tell you what,” she said. “You tell me what hotel you're in and I'll come to your room tonight.”

He frowned. “For free?”

She grinned sheepishly. “Unless you want me to pay you,” she said.

“I've never heard of a whore givin' it away for free,” he said suspiciously.

“Well, to tell the truth,” she said, “I've never been with a man as large as you. I really enjoyed it. Usually, these skinny little men pick the skinny whores. I get the ones who smell, or are just curious. Whatever their reason for coming upstairs with me, they usually just climb aboard, rut, and roll off. You're different. I'd like to spend more time with you.”

“Well, that's fine with me,” he said. “I don't usually find women your size. I pick the biggest one, but they're still usually too small. They get kind of . . . scared when they see me.”

She stroked his hard cock and said, “I can see why. Some of the little girls downstairs would worry that you'd kill them with this thing.”

“I'm at the hotel just across the street.”

“For how long?”

“At least tonight,” he said. “I'm only passin' through.”

“Too bad,” she said. She slid her hand down to cup his heavily hanging balls. “But at least we'll have tonight.”

“All night?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “All night long.”

 

When Dillon came downstairs, he had a spring in his step.

“Happy?” the madam asked.

“Very.”

“Good. There's a young man here waitin' for you in the parlor.”

Dillon leaned over to look in and saw his young partner, Lou Raymond.

“Lou!” he called.

The young man was glad to get away from the two skinny, unattractive whores and rushed to Dillon.

“We got this—”

“Outside,” Dillon said.

They both stepped outside, walked a few blocks away, and stopped.

“Okay.”

“Telegram,” Raymond said. “The madam wouldn't let me bring it upstairs. Not without a girl.”

“Why didn't you pick one?” Dillon asked, taking the telegram.

“Did you see them? They both probably have diseases.”

Dillon read the telegram, then read it again. “The Gunsmith,” he said, “in Big Rock.”

“And injured,” Raymond said. “Real bad.”

Dillon folded up the telegram and put it in his pocket.

“We headin' for Big Rock?” Raymond asked.

“We are,” Dillon said, thinking about Candy, “in the morning.”

This time, Clint went to a restaurant with Rosemary. They sat in a corner and she cut his meat as discreetly as she could. They both ordered the same steak dinner, so she simply cut up the one in front of her, then traded plates with him.

“Well done,” he said.

“I can be sneaky when I have to be.”

They ate and talked about Abigail.

“She's bitter,” she said. “Has been mistreated by men, and now she's . . . old.”

“Not so old,” Clint said. “She looks . . . fifty.”

“To a woman, that's old,” she said. “Especially an unmarried woman.”

“An old maid?”

“She was married once before, so I don't think she can be called an old maid,” she said. “But he was the first man to mistreat her.”

“And what happened?”

“He was killed.”

“By who?”

“Nobody knows,” she said. “He had a job, was walking home from work one night, and was killed. It looked like he was robbed.”