Bullet for a Babe.

Posted by Barbanne on January 17, 2002 at 21:49:48:

Dave's favourite fantasy involves a dusty windblown street in a nowhere western town and a girl gunslinger, sexy of course, and lightning fast draws and hot lead and a cold corpse.
As Dave is my good friend, here then, just for him (and anyone else who reads and enjoys it) is:


This was it!
Showdown time was here.
Me versus Dave out on the dusty streets of town. I had to look good for this one, I had my reputation to think about.
I spent a heap of time thinking what to wear.
This was to be no ordinary gunfight.
No way. This was about death! This was about SEX!
Finally I settled on jeans. Low slung hip riders, the sort that clung to my hips and looked like they might just slip right off at any time. Elasticised, tight, ass huggers that moulded in under my crutch so that looking closely you might think you could see the slight mound of my vulva under the blue denim. (and you'd be right) No panties, they're for wimps and nice girls. No way I'm a nice girl. Bad Barbanne, tough little tart that's me.
Mid height heeled boots to just above ankle height with zippers up the inside to help me get them on.
Gun belt and holster, really low slung drooping below the already dangerously almost indecent waist band of my jeans.
Colt 45. (is that right?)
A necklace of rawhide thong and a big ruby red, facetted stone set in inlaid silver surrounds.
Hat, black, sort of cowboyish.
I did my hair in a ponytail. No scrunchie to hold it back not when we were in the old west where a man had to do what a man had to do and a girl had to use a leather thong to tie her hair into a ponytail.
Nothing else, basically your topless (as in nude above the waist) gunfighter chick.
Should I maybe say Babe, Necrobabe.

I strolled out onto the street trying to look cool.
Dave was there!
God the man is gorgeous, just plain gorgeous and I felt all drooly.
I scuffed the dirt of the street with my toe.
"Hiya Dave."
"Hiya Babe."
"Throw down, slap leather, fan the breeze, stuff like that from countless cowboy flicks. Grabba your una pistola as they say in the spaghetti westerns."
"You mean draw Babe?"
"Yeah whatever."
"Ladies before gentleman."
What the hell. I needed the start.
I went for my gun.
So did he. Boy oh boy he was fast.
Sadly I was slow.
I saw his gun coming up and scrabbled with my own. I saw flame flare from the barrel and heard the BOOM! I felt his hot lead tear into my left breast and rip me up. I staggered two steps to the right. I tried to aim. My gun weighed a tonne and I couldn't get it up any further. I pulled the trigger and it boomed and dirt flew up in front of me. I dragged it around and pulled the trigger again and boom, more dirt. I staggered to the left. The gun weighed more than anything I had ever felt before. I looked down. Blood was spreading from a hole in my breast. Designer trickles of blood seeped over my teeth and snaked out of the corner of my mouth.
I dropped the gun and swayed forward.
My hat fell off.
I tottered backward trying to stay upright.
I felt tired.
My knees buckled and I landed on them. My feet scuffed backward. My eyelids fluttered and I fell flat on my tits, face down in the dirt. I lay there barely breathing, unable to move. Twitching, shuddering.
Dave came over and slipped his toe under the soft part of my tummy, below my rib cage. He flipped his foot rolling me over. My arm windmilled and smacked the ground. I lay there trying to focus from under fluttering eyelids. My ruined heart gave its final pitiful beat. The blood stopped flowing. My hypothalmus closed everything down. My slitted eyes lost focus and dulled to nothing. My muscles freed from cranial control went wild, spasming. My heels drummed on the hard packed earth. My ass beat its own tattoo on the same earth. My back arched and my spine crackled. My legs quivered. My arms twitched convulsively. My whole body shuddered in a final paroxysm of death.
The light in my eyes went out altogether.
No movement.
No pulse.
No breath raising or lowering my dusty breasts. Tits up and finished on the dirty windy street.
I was dead!

So there I lay.
Stretched out in the dirt of this lonely street in this remote town way out west.
A somewhat dopey look of surrender frozen on my dead face.
It was time for Dave to collect the spoils of his victory. We had faced off and he had won. Now he could savour the sweetness of his triumph. He stood like a winner, I lay like one vanquished.
"Loser," he said, looking dismissively at my half naked corpse.
He stooped over me and undid the buttons that held my jeans closed. Big round buttons like a row of coins down from my waistband to my crotch. He spread the flaps of blue denim material aside. Going to my feet he grasped the legs of my jeans and tugged. My legs came up off of the ground and the tight blue jeans slipped down, held for an instant on my wide, bony woman's hips and then pulled free. A nest of brown curls appeared in the smooth valley of my groin as my pants slid down my legs and over my boots and off altogether. As they cleared my booted feet my legs fell heavily to the ground my heels thumping puffs of dust into the air.
The sun shone on my ruby pendant sending red rays across my chest. The bullet hole leaked ruby liquid spreading in a stain across my breast. Snakes of blood from my mouth and nose had dried in place. My gun belt hung loosely around my naked waist. My scuffed and dirty boots were all the clothing I wore. Dust coated my breasts and tummy.

Three men came from the saloon.
Total hunks, bare chested and superbly muscled.
They joined Dave and two got on each side of me, one each at the shoulders and one each at the waist. Bending down they slipped big strong hands under my shoulders and my buttocks and thighs, then, acting as one, they hoisted me up to shoulder height. My arms flopped out so that from above I assumed the pose of one who has been crucified. My legs dangled, spread apart and trailing from my firmly gripped butt. Glistening ooze of ejaculate secreted from my pussy glands dribbled from between the thickened lips of my vulva.
They carried me inside.
My head, hanging way back on my curving neck, bobbed as they walked. My pony tail bounced back and forth. My arms jiggled up and down and my limply curled fingers fluttered lifelessly.
This strange cortege of the dead entered the dim gloominess of the saloon.
They laid me out on a long bar room table.
The soles of my boots splayed out almost horizontally opposed.
My arms remained outflung as though still crucified.
The soft curves of my calves and thighs led to the deep cleft of flesh above my spreading buttocks.
The men, my pall bearers, left me alone.
A waitress in a gaudy frock came over to me with a dampened cloth tucked into her pinafore. She unzipped my boots and took them off, letting them hit the wooden floor with a clump. She unbuckled my gun belt and dragged it out from under me and tossed it aside too. The ruby pendant she fingered hungrily and then grabbing a handful of my hair in one hand she hoicked my head up while her other hand untied the rawhide thong and she pulled the pendant free releasing my head to crash back onto the planking of the table. She pocketed the bauble and then used her damp cloth to wipe the blood from my chest and from under my nose and beside my lips. She forced my mouth open and hastily wiped blood from my teeth. She wiped dust from my tummy and tits and then walked back behind the bar.
"OK boys," she said in her twangy nasal voice, "not every day we get freshly killed meat. It's all yours."
A clamorous racket and men rose from their seats all around the saloon.
"Back ya bastards," said Dave standing beside my head, "I kilt her, she's mine."
They all nodded agreement to that, after all, it was the law of the west.
Dave looked down at me from eyes devoid of all sympathy.
Sprawled out, a loser, demeaned, defiled, debased, degraded and about to be abused.
I was in submission heaven.
Dave dropped his daks and revealed to the suitably reverant gathering an erection of magnificent proportions. I mean this was better suited to the horse corral outside than to the boys club in here. Thick stemmed, blue veined, it curved out and up like a fleshly scimitar. A scimitar of cock that was soon to be sunk into my recumbent corpse.
Dave climbed aboard and thrust this beef bayonet, this paragon of penises into my slick, wet cunt. As it slid smoothly inside the others craned to see whether the tip might not just emerge from my gaping mouth.
Dave drove hard.
Thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.
His gluteals pumping and driving as he rammed his manhood into my helplessly receptive, dripping wet honeypot.
He exploded in a gush of cum and as his after tremors died away, my bum wobbled beneath him.
Dave wasn't finished.
His second performance was better than the first.
Exhausted by his dead paramour he staggered away. By now a queue had formed and the waitress collected the fee from those who wanted to ride. Every bloke there did.
When they had all finally had enough the waitress and the kitchen hand dragged me like all of the other leftovers from lunch out to the trash cans.

The old west was a hard place for hard men. (oh wow were they hard)
No place for a loser as this girl certainly discovered.

How was that Dave?
Shoot 'em and root 'em eh?