## Archive-name: woman_of_the_apaches

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Subject: SP fiction: WOMAN OF THE APACHES

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WOMAN OF THE APACHES by V. N. McCoy [An Extract] Copyright (c) 1994 Spectrum Press from the SP website at http://users.aol.com/specpress

(see info at end of extract)

When they came over the yellow ridge they found a town
nestled in a valley, its image unclear in the shimmering heat,
the sun white and blazing in a pale blue sky.
"What now?" Horse said. The palomino under him lowered its
head, searching, kicking dust. Streeter rolled a cigarette and
squinted down over the sagebrush slope.
"We can rest up a day or two."
"I need a hot tamale."
Streeter pulled a red cloth from his belt and wiped his
face. "You won't find much here. It looks dead."
"Ain't this mining country?"
"Used to be."
Horse grunted. "I'm betting an old mining town's got some
loose pussy in it."
Streeter shrugged. "Don't be too sure. Anyway, we don't
want to get corralled here, not if we can help it." He lit his
cigarette and they started down.
There was only one road going in, a dry road from the north
whose deep ruts were filled with desert weeds. A splintered
wooden sign said: CLIFFORD ROCK.
"Never heard of it," Horse said.

Clifford Rock had been something once, a boomtown swarming
with miners and gamblers, the last leg of an extension of the
Santa Fe Trail down into the heart of the New Mexico territory.
But then the silver and lead mines in the Socorro region ran out
and the town began dying, the crowded saloons and the all-night
dances gone elsewhere. There was still some talk of finishing
the railroad spur from Socorro, but so far nothing had come of it
and most people doubted it would ever happen.
When Streeter and Horse rode into town, the main street was
quiet, a few Mexicans and their women talking near a blacksmith
shed, a bony white dog scratching his ear. In the center of town
they found a Wells Fargo office and across from that a hotel and
saloon large enough for a mining town but too large for the
remains of one.
They tied up and walked into the hotel, across the empty
lobby to the desk. Streeter punched the bell and a young woman
in a gingham dress came out of the open door.
"We need a room," Streeter said. "And somebody to look
after the horses."
The young woman nodded and turned a ledger book. She had
dark hair and a full bust and a sensuous mouth. Her hands were
fine-boned and her appearance suggested a pliant femininity.
"Front or back room?" she said.
"Front room, ma'am."
Streeter fixed his eyes on her breasts, gauging their size.
He liked women with flesh on their bones.
She asked their names and made the entry carefully. When
she looked up and caught Streeter's eyes on her body, an eyebrow
lifted and her rosebud mouth held back a smile.
"You've got the first room off the landing. Number three.
Welcome to Clifford Rock, fellas."

At sundown there were a dozen men in the old saloon, but
because of its size it looked empty. Streeter and Horse sat
alone at a scarred table, and except for an occasional glance,
the other men ignored them. The young woman from the hotel came
in through the connecting door and she began a conversation with
the bald bartender. She now wore a polka-dot dress with puffed
sleeves and ruffles.
Streeter leaned back in his chair. "She may be the only
woman in town, Horse. Maybe she owns the hotel."
Horse chuckled. "The hell she does. Her name's Sybil
Morgan and she's only the manager."
"How'd you find that out?"
"Came down while you were sleeping, pal. Look at that
mouth. A pretty mouth is a good sign in a woman."
"You're loco."
"A pretty mouth and big tits. What more can a man want?"
"Keep your voice down, dummy."
Horse laughed, two gold teeth sintering in the lamplight.
"She's a beauty, buddy."
Then Sybil Morgan turned from the bar, looked at them and
walked over to their table.
"I'm glad to hear someone laughing. Are you fellas
travelling far?"
"South," Streeter said. The neckline of her dress was low
enough to show a few freckles and the rise of her breasts.
Sybil Morgan nodded. "We don't get many strangers here.
We're too far from everything. It's not like the old days when
they had the mines working."
"Any girls in town?"
She smiled at them. "What kind of girls?"
"Nice girls," Horse said. "The nicer the better."
"Please sit down," Streeter said, leering at her as he
indicated the chair between them.
"Can't do it now. I've got work waiting. Maybe later,
though. Thanks anyway."
They watched her leave the saloon.
"She needs plugging," Horse said.
"Yeah, maybe. But I'll bet you a dollar she ain't
interested in us."
"Maybe she thinks we're dirty."
"Yeah, maybe she's right," Streeter chuckled.

Streeter lost his bet. Sybil Morgan returned an hour later
and this time she sat down with them. She seemed in high
spirits, and after a bottle of whiskey and an exchange of bawdy
stories each more lusty than the one before it, she hinted she
might be willing to have them both in her room.
"Only if you're quiet."
"We're the quietest boys west of the Pecos."
"And not a word to anyone."
The two men mused at their luck while they waited the ten
minutes she wanted. Streeter paid his dollar to Horse.
"I think I'm dreaming."
Horse laughed. "You ain't dreaming, friend. She's just
lonely for a couple a handsome buckos."
"Well, let's get on with it. I got a bad need for it now."
In the last room on the landing, they found Sybil in a blue
nightdress and a cloud of perfume.
"I suppose I shouldn't be doing this, but the men around
here aren't much to talk about."
Streeter nodded. "It's a dead town, ma'am." He slipped the
nightdress off her shoulders and pulled it down to expose her
breasts, two heavy melons with luscious thick nipples.
Horse whistled.
Sybil blushed and told them to be quiet. "It may be a dead
town, but I've got to live here. Haven't you ever seen a woman
before?"
"You're nice to look at."
"I'm almost thirty and I've had two children. You've just
been riding too long."
She used both hands to lift one of her breasts, squeezing
out the long nipple between her fingers. Streeter flicked it
with his thumb. The aureola was the size of a dollar.
"Where's your family?" Streeter said.
"Killed by Apaches."
"Too bad."
"It's been nearly five years. I don't think about it much
any more."
Horse moved closer and lifted the other breast to test its
weight.
"That's an honest milker."
Sybil smiled. "And going to waste."
"It's not good for a woman to be alone," Streeter said.
She laughed. "Right now I've got the two of you. Are you
going to wear those gunbelts on the bed?"
"Let's see the rest of you."
"Not until you take off some clothes."
"Accomodate the lady," Streeter said to Horse. "It looks
like a long night."

Sybil Morgan was a deliberate young woman and she knew what
she wanted. Strangers were rare in Clifford Rock. She told
herself in a day or two they'd be gone and that would be the end
of it. When she dropped her nightdress, she faced the men with a
smile and then she turned around to give the them the full effect
of her charms.
"Do you gentlemen approve?"
"You're a beauty," Horse said.
Streeter grunted, his eyes on the lush curves of her
buttocks. "Divine pulchritude, ma'am."
She laughed softly, facing them again with her hands under
her breasts. "Well, come on now and get naked."
When Horse had his clothes off, Sybil discovered the origin
of his nickname.
"I've never seen anything like that," she said as she moved
closer to him. "Lord no." She blushed as she ran her fingers
over it, her fingertips tickling the swollen knob. "You're both
randy as hell. I'm flattered."
"Show us your quim," Streeter said.
She blushed again. "That's nasty."
"Horse likes to lick it."
A shiver of delight seemed to go through her, and now when
she looked at Horse she smiled. "Is that true?"
"Get on the bed and you'll find out."
"One at a time," she said coyly. "I'm not a floozy."

Streeter was the one who elected to be patient. He sat
near the open window with a cigarette and watched them on the
bed. Sybil had long thighs and a thick-lipped meaty sluice.
When Horse clapped his mouth to it, she closed her eyes and
started moaning. "You're making me crazy," she said.
Horse sucked her awhile, and then he sat up and pushed her
knees back. He fingered the hair surrounding her sex, stroking
the mound, pressing his palm against the bush. The sex-hair
glistened with sweat, the crimson lips below the mound slick with
her juices, curling below the red bean of her clitoris. He
opened her up with his fingers and grunted as he peered at the
gaping hole.
She giggled. "There's no gold down there."
Horse snickered and lowered his head again, rubbing his nose
in her sex, inhaling the smell of her. He worked his tongue
inside, licked the lips, her clitoris, sucking it, drawing it
out, twisting it with his mouth. She started moaning again, her
thighs opening and closing around his ears. In another moment
she exploded, crying out as her eyes rolled up in her head.
Streeter smoked his cigarette. It was almost midnight and
the town outside the window was dark, a full moon revealing a
lonely dog lifting his leg to piss against a hitching post.
After Horse wiped his face, he waited for Sybil to open her
eyes. Finally she mumbled something, smiled as she looked up at
him.
"Let me rest a minute," she said. "Where'd you learn to do
that?"
"New Orleans."
"Nobody's done that to me for years."
"What about your husband?"
"Sometimes. And never as good as that. Never anyone as
good as that." She reached out to take hold of his big penis,
pumping it slowly with a firm grip of her fingers.
Horse chuckled. "I guess I'm just talented."
She turned her eyes to Streeter. "And what about you? You
got any talents?"
"Maybe."
"What's happened to your women? Both of you ought to have
women someplace. How come you're here?"
"I told you we're riding south. Some business in Arizona."
"You're not on the run, are you? I don't care, mind you,
it's none of my concern. But there's a U.S. Marshal here, or at
least he used to be a U.S. Marshal. Seems like he's in the
mining business now. He's gone to Santa Fe for some reason."
"What's his name?"
"Beaumont. Jack Beaumont."
Horse looked at Streeter. The howl of a coyote rippled in
from the hills and died slowly in the silence.
"We're just travelling south on business," Streeter said.
"Just business, ma'am."

Horse had her after that, her legs over his shoulders,
driving into her with long strokes of his big penis. She held
his waist with her hands and bucked her pelvis as she grunted in
response. "Take it easy now, you're hurting my legs."
Horse ignored her. He kept ramming her until the end, until
he gushed into her with a roar. When he pulled out and rolled
over beside her, she lay flat on the bed with her face flushed
and her eyes closed.
Streeter climbed onto the bed and knelt over her, his penis
tickling her pretty mouth. She looked up at him a moment, as if
to complain, but then she opened her lips to take him in. Her
mouth had been softened by the pleasure she'd had with Horse, and
Streeter liked the way it felt on his prick as he began moving
his hips.
He looked down at her sucking mouth and he guessed she was
enjoying herself. She kept her eyes closed as she concentrated
on the cylinder of hot flesh sliding between her lips, and when
he pulled out suddenly, she seemed regretful.
"I don't mind," she said. "Don't you want to finish?"
"Horse tired you out, didn't he?"
They both looked at Horse who was now sleeping beside her.
"Never mind him. Why don't you finish?"
"You going to swallow it?"
She laughed softly as she looked up at him. "Why not? The
Mexicans say it's healthy." She took his balls in her hand,
rolled them inside the sac with her fingers. "I bet these are
full. They're a fine pair."
He ran his fingers over her chin, and then he squeezed it
enough to get her mouth open. "Go on, suck it some more."
She struggled to get his hand away. "Take it easy, honey."
"Go on, suck it."
He pushed his penis inside her mouth again, holding onto the
brass rail at the head of the bed, rocking back and forth as he
rammed her face with a steady rhythm. Before long he felt the
fire rising in his loins, and a moment after that he started
squirting in her mouth.
Her cheeks bulged as she tried to force him back, a gob of
semen spurting out from one corner of her lips as the pressure
became too great. She continued gulping, her lips pulling at his
penis until he was completely drained, and when his member
finally left her mouth it dangled limp and wet.
"Lord, you almost choked me," she said.

His balls empty, Streeter left Horse with Sybil Morgan and
he took the bed they'd paid for in the room down the hall. In
the morning, Horse brought him hot coffee and tobacco.
"Beaumont's house is at the other end of town," Horse said.
"He has a wife."
"I know that. He married some pretty girl from the East."
"What you figuring on doing?"
"I'm thinking about it. Where's the Morgan woman?"
"Out somewhere. Did she take care of you last night?"
Streeter nodded. "She's a hot filly, okay. You were right
about her."
"I got a nose for it," Horse chuckled. "Just like a hound
dog. I'm a talented man, ain't I?"

They saw Sybil again at noon. While Horse remained in the
saloon, Streeter led her into the small office behind the
registration desk and he locked the door.
"I'm supposed to be working," she said.
"Nobody knows the difference."
He ran his hand over her rump as he kissed the side of her
head. His eyes scanned the furniture. "Take your knickers
down."
She giggled. "On a hot day like this I don't wear them.
Anyway, we can't do anything here."
"Sure we can. How many times you been shagged in this
office?"
She smiled. "Never. A bed's more comfortable." Her
fingers moved down over his belly to squeeze the bulge of his
penis. "You're stiff, aren't you? I had a mouthful of that last
night."
"I guess so."
"Where you from?"
"Dodge City. The marshal here is an old friend of mine."
"Really?"
"What's his wife like?"
Sybil shrugged, her fingers still squeezing Streeter's penis
through his pants. "Too snooty, if you ask me. She don't belong
here. She wants to take him back East. She's a fancy chicken in
a broken down barnyard, always sticking her nose up at
everything."
"Poor Beaumont. When is he due back?"
"Maybe next week. I don't know. Nobody knows. You might
ask the sheriff, but he's always boozed up and he talks nothing
that makes any sense. If it weren't for the soldiers, three
Indians could burn us all down."
"What soldiers?"
"There's a cavalry post a day's ride from here. They don't
care much about us, though. They're supposed to protect the
railroad, if it ever gets built. Or maybe they're here for
something else. Who knows?"
She let him raise up the back of her dress, and then she
held it herself and she turned to show him what she had.
"That's a nice ass," he said.
"Do you think so?"
He fondled her buttocks with both hands, aroused by the look
of her, pinching and gripping the flesh of her buttocks. When he
slipped his fingers underneath to probe her sex, he found she was
flooded.
"You need a poke," he said.
She giggled. "I always need a poke."
He pushed a fourth finger inside her sex. "Bet you liked
Horse getting his snout up here."
"What do you think? If you want to lick it, I won't mind
it?"
"That's for dogs."
"Hey, you're hurting me."
"Okay, let's do it."
The only piece of soft furniture in the office was an old
settee with faded stitch-work. Holding her dress at her waist,
she knelt on it so he could take her from behind. He dropped his
pants and drove in, prying her open with his thumbs to get a view
of her anus, amused when he reckoned she'd been bum-scuttled more
than a few times.
"You've had it in the ass," he said.
She said nothing a moment, her hips moving slowly as she
gave her vagina the feel of his prick.
"It's not the right place to do it."
Laughing, he reamed a thick finger into the tight hole and
twisted it around. "Nothing to use except spit," he said. And
then he pulled his finger out and he dropped a gob of saliva
directly on her anus.
After that he moved his penis out of one place and into the
other. She gave out a deep groan as he went in, but she held on,
hissing at him, telling him to go easy and the next moment
telling him to do whatever the hell he wanted but just do it.
"Just keep moving it," she gasped.
Streeter had no intention of stopping. He gazed down at the
round mouth of Sybil Morgan's anus sucking on his sliding penis
and he thought of Beaumont. Beaumont. Beaumont. He rammed
Syblil's buttocks again and again, and then when he started
spurting he was still thinking of Beaumont as he emptied his
balls in her bowels.
Howdy Beaumont, he thought. How's the good marshal doing
these days?

WOMAN OF THE APACHES by V. N. McCoy [An Extract] Copyright (c) 1994 Spectrum Press Spectrum Press disk edition ISBN 1-57138-274-7

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Last modified (12/24/96 14:14:23) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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