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A Walk in Arizona, western sex story (wild west,ranch,farm,western,cowboy,cowgirl,stories)



A Walk in Arizona, western sex story



The dust was thick in the still, hot air. The sun blazed across his shoulders and the back of his neck as he swayed with the motion of his scraggly horse. Sweat barely trickled down his face, no longer stinging his eyes or burning his parched lips. His bloodshot eyes swept the desolate brush stretching out across the desert valley, broken here and there by rocky outcrops, and occasional saguaro, or a mirage that promised water but offered only a hot death.

Yeah, he thought, fucking southern arizona is a real paradise during the nine months of summer they have here.

Hours dragged by, no hint of a breeze, no water to be found. The few watercourses he found only had water during spring runoff, or during the occasional flash flood. He was standing on the edge of a dry gully desperately trying to keep his legs under him, when he heard it...the sound of an axe striking wood. His head snapped around and his ears strained, his brain sluggishly becoming aware that he had been hearing the wood chopping for some time. A stumbling, shambling run took him to the rim of the arroyo, and he fell to his knees in relief.

A small weathered house stood against the base of the hill on a small bench above another arroyo. His blurred vision had trouble making out the pole barn, but, there! A well! Oh sweet, blessed cool water, Elixir of the Gods! Before he was aware of it he was lurching through the brush toward the well. He would recall those hundred and some yards as the longest of his life. The brush tore at his shirt, cholla slid their needles into his flesh...he felt none of it.

He stumbled through the brush at last and was making his weaving way across the hardpack of the dirt yard when he heard a gasp. A young woman in a gingham dress stood staring at him in shock, and a little fear, near the side of the house. He tried to croak out a word or two, but a dry rasp was all he managed before he fell on his knees next to the well. Frantically, he dropped the bucket, hearing the splash, feeling the coolness coming from below. Then, the bucket was in his hands. Desperate to guzzle, he knew to do so was sickness or death. He carefully rubbed water on his face, letting a small drizzle into his mouth so that the piece of leather that used to be his tongue could renew an aquaintance gone too long. He was still on his knees trickling water into his mouth when he heard the "ahem" behind him.

A woman stood twenty feet away, between him and the house. The double barrel shotgun she was holding did not waver an inch as he looked at her.

"Who are you, and where did you come from?" Her tone was firm, bordering on impolite, he thought. He cleared his throat a couple times, then tried some words. "Jared Su...Sullivan." The lie required no thought.

"What are you doing out here?" she reiterated. Words and lies were easier now. "I was riding the grubline down to Sonora, was going to get work with Javier Fernandezs' crew." He looked her over while she stared into his eyes. A bit bony, dishwater blonde, barely bumps on her chest, but her hips had a suggestive width that he found slightly pleasant. Maybe 5' 8', blue eyes that showed intelligence, strength, and a great weariness. Hard to guess her age, frontier women looked anywhere from 30 to 85 at thirty. Probably getting close to forty though. Beyond her, the younger woman watching from the porch.

"either you run into bad luck, ran afoul of the law, or are just plain stupid. You have a mount out there somewhere? Are you alone?" She still held the shotgun on him. He sighed. "I am alone, I did run into bad luck, and I have a very tired and sick horse out there about two hundred yards. I'd appreciate it if you would let me up to go get him." Her eyes flicked to the brush. "Jamie, go out there and get this man's animal. I'm not letting him out of my sight."

The daughter jumped of the porch, a lithe motion she made sensual somehow. He watched her firm ass as her long legs carried her into the barn. Two clicks brought his eyes back to the mother. "Thoughts like that usually get holes blown into a man,"she said conversationally, "and if I were you, I would water my horse and get clear of us before something happens to you or us. I have a daughter to raise, so trust isn't high on my list of things to apply to strange men." He was forming a reply, when the dirt hit him in the face.

'Horseshit. Hell smelled like horseshit,' he thought. 'Just my luck. Wonder where the heat is? Always heard you could fry an egg in the air down here.' Vaguely. the sound of horses munching hay came to his ears, the smells of a barn wafted into his consciousness. An experimental roll told him that he was lyting in hay, and also that his muscles were so stiff he could be run through a sawmill for 2x6's. He was still pondering the mystery of his teleportation when the darkness closed around him again.

The sky was gray when he woke again. In the dimness he could make out the haymow of the polebarn, and see a light down below him. Someone was quietly humming, and he heard hay being pitched. Muscles protesting, he slowly levered himself to the ladder and made his way down.

"Good morning, Mr. Sullivan." The daughter, Jamie if he recalled, was tossing hay to a couple draft horses, his own horse, and two swaybacked nags. He stretched, taking her in. Around 19 he figured, chocolate hair, maybe 5'7', nice full breasts under the front of her blouse. She wore a white Mexican style "peasant' blouse, and a light brown skirt. The bit of ankle showing was trim, but thick enough to indicate muscular legs. A giggle brought his gaze back to her face. Blue eyes like her mother, not a pretty girl, but not ugly. Just rather ordinary features. "When a man looks at a woman like that, momma says there is either going to be a wedding or a shooting." Her eyes danced with mischief.

"Well, if you were a woman instead of a half-grown young'un, I suppose that might apply." Her eyes flashed but he cut her off. "Wasn't your mother running me out of here yesterday?"

"Oh she was, but then she found your badge and papers in your saddlebags." she tossed another fork of hay over a stall. He laughed til he cried inside. The very dead Jared Sullivan might not find it funny, but he found it hilarious that a simple badge and papers of a dead man cleared him of distrust like a lightning bolt lights up the midnight sky.

"Well good. I hope your mother understands that when I told her I was a grubline rider, I was having to use a litlle professional deception." He started to head for the door, but her voice stopped him. "I may be only half grown, but even I know a man should bathe when he smells like pig shit." With that she tossed the pitchfork aside and made to indignantly flounce by. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close, delighting in the surprise and anger in her eyes. "Missy, you're old enough now that you should be careful how you talk to a man. Someone might take it into their head to teach you some manners." "What, like a spanking?" she shot back. Her hand dipped into her apron pocket and came out with a two barrel Derringer. "I dare you, Mr. Sullivan." He laughed and released her arm, stepping back. Puzzlement warred with anger on her face as he said, "You are gonna make some man a fine woman someday." She was still staring at him like that when he went out the door, to find something to bathe with.

The sun was barely over a ridge to the east when he heard a bell ringing. "Breakfast!"

He put on his shirt, still wet, and walked over to the front door. Inside, the kitchen/dining room smelled like bacon, eggs and coffee. A small table had three plates on it, loaded with flapjacks, bacon and eggs. Jamie stood by the stove, grabbing a worn and dented coffeepot, while her mother was already seated at the table. Her ankles and a few inches of calf showed under the table, surprisingly curvy and toned for a woman who looked like she weighed 130 pounds. His eyes shifted up and he caught her blush, and he smiled at her. "Good morning, Mrs..."

"Holloway, Mr. Sullivan. Jessica Holloway. You may call me Jessica." She blushed again and looked down. "Forgive my rude welcome yesterday. Two women alone can't be too careful when it comes to men, not with the closest law being 35 miles away."

"Think nothing of it, Jessica. Besides, with two such pretty women around, caution is understandable. I don't mean to be rude, but where is Mr. Holloway?"

Jamie spoke from the stove. "Buried. Dad was murdered a year and a half ago. But, how could you not know that? didn't you come out here to investigate his death?" Both women looked at him intently, and Jessica frowned at the surprise on his face.

"No," he said slowly. "this is the first I have heard of anyone named Holloway. I was working a different case entirely when I stumbled across you." He saw the suspicious frown on Jessica's face. "I have written four letters to you since my husband died, asking the Marshall's office in Tuscon to send someone to investigate."

"Ma'am," he replied, "I can honestly say I have never seen a single one of your letters."

Jamie turned to him while Jessica's frown deepened. "How long do you think you will be here?"

Feeling he had missed something important, he took a bite of bacon-wrapped flapjack before answering. "A few days at least. My horse is done in, and I am pretty stiff and sore." Under the table, he briefly let his knee bump into Jamie's thigh. She looked up quickly, but he was looking at her mother.

"After breakfast, Mr. Sullivan, if you wouldn't mind helping us out around the spread? Jessica inquired.

"Of course, Jessica, and please, call me Jared."

"all right, Jared. I'm sure you can look around and see what needs doing. Beyond that, could you ride out to check on our goats? We have a Navajo woman that raises our goats in exchange for some of the herd. They are about two miles due north of here in the hills. Jessica and I are going to town to pick up our monthly mail and supplies." She looked at her plate while speaking.

"I can do that. While you are in town, can you pick up some ammunition for me? .44-40, and .45-70." He fished in the pocket of his jeans and set a gold half eagle on the table. "I lost all my ammo but what was in my guns and belt when I lost my packhorse."

"Of course, Jared." Jessica scooped up the eagle. The rest of breakfast passed in silence. He bumped Jamie's thigh again, but this time left his knee against her firm young flesh. She looked up and blushed. He apologized and moved his knee, slowly, rubbing it to her knee.

It was close to noon when he finally rode up to the herd of scraggly goats roaming through a brush-choked canyon. There was no one in sight as the goats chewed their way through the thorny brush, apparently perfectly at ease devouring shit that would make a person feel like they were masticating broken glass. He dismounted, and casually looked around, enjoying the view of the canyon and the desert below. He figured they were a good 500 feet higher up than the ranch. A small wisp of smoke and a goatskin shepherd's tent were off to his right fifty feet into the brush.

"Hello," he called. Jessica Holloway sent me up here to check on things. Anything you need?" A moment of silence was broken by a whisper of cloth. Upon turning, he saw a Navajo woman walking down the hillside from a cluster of brush and rock twenty feet above him, rifle in the crook of her arm. Her colorful skirt came to mid-calf, and her calves were brown and shapely. Typical of Navajo women, her hips were wide, her torso rather short, and she was only about 5'3". Her breasts bopunced under the fabric of her shirt, and they looked full and promising. He started to get hard thinking about what that sweet mocha pussy would feel like with his cock pounding the juices out onto her muscular thighs.

He quelled his lust and pulled the making's out to have a smoke.

"Tell Senora Jessica that I will need more coffee, sugar, and flour." His smoke hung from his mouth, forgotten. She was very pretty. Dark hair, smooth skin, beautiful teeth...a very light sheen of sweat stood out on her brow, and he watched a drop of it slide down over her full upper lip. He mentally shook himself and lit a match.

"Yeah, I'll tell her." He looked up and saw she was looking at him intently. After a moment, he saw she was looking at his smoke, longingly. A grin split his lips. "Tell me something. What would a woman do for a bag of tobacco and papers?"

"Nothing that would please you." She took a seat on a flat rock about ten feet from him.

"Oh I don't know about that. Why don't you make me an offer?" The way she was sitting he could see all of her calves and a bit of inner thigh, and it was making him sweat.

"You can go now. Before you do something that makes me shoot you." Her tone was that of someone talking about how many bills they had at the general store, but the rifle across her lap twitched until the barrel was pointed in his direction.

He stood and walked one step toward her. She pivoted, smooth and fast, mounted the rifle and now he was looking down the barrel. He grinned at her. "I like the way you look, and the way you walk, and the way those tits look under that shirt, so I am going to have you. I'm going to take you. So, shoot me." He took another step and the hammer clicked back on her Winchester. He took another step and he was three feet from her. The end of the rifle barrel was just about at his crotch.

"Last chance," he told her. He drew in another lungful of smoke, and blew it at her face. He saw the anger flash, and leaped aside as the rifle boomed. powder peppered his right leg, but he was on her and had the rifle away from her. She shifted underneath him, and he rolled away from her as she came up with a trade knife in her left hand. "Come and die, pig!" She crouched with her hands apart, leading with the knife. He stood there, smiling at her, reaching down and unbuttoning two buttons on his fly. His hardon popped out and he still stood there, teasing her.

"I'm going to put this white cock in your little brown pussy." She lunged, cutting edge up, coming in fast. He caught her wrist and twisted outwards as gently as possible. The knife dropped in the dirt, and her right hand came around in an old-as-time female clawing defense. He took the claws on his shoulder, reached out and ripped her blouse open. Her tits bounced out, a couple handfuls of brown feminine flesh. She tried to knee him in the balls while clawing for his eyes, instead denting his thigh. He caught her other wrist and pulled, then pushed when she instinctively backed away with her feet. She ended up seated in the dust, one leg fully exposed, the other tucked under her. His erect cock swayed in the air a couple feet from her face. Her eyes were unreadable.

"Lay back and pull that skirt up to your hips." She just looked at him, then her eyes swept to her knife, behind him, then to her rifle, ten feet to her right. With a sudden lunge she made it to her Winchester, and came to her feet looking at him over the sights. He smiled at her, reached down and slowly stroked his cock a couple of times. Her heaving breasts looked ripe and suckable. He wanted to leave fingertip bruises in them, mark them as his own. He took a step toward her, then another...no shot. One more step and the barrel was pressed against his left pec.

"Pull that trigger, or lift that skirt and show me your pussy." He waited. With a curse, she dropped the hammer on the rifle, and set it against a bush. Then, while looking him in the eye, she reached down and pulled the hem of her skirt to her waist. Her legs, while not long, were muscular and curvy, without being manly. She had a small patch of short hair on her Mons, surprising him. He had expected her to have a full bush.

He stepped forward and grabbed a breast with his left hand, popped the nipple into his mouth. His right hand swept between her thighs, and even though she stood there unmoving, they parted a little for him. She was wet. Very wet. He straightened and looked her in the eye while he sucked her pussy off his fingers. "Lay down." Without a word, she laid on her back in the dirt, pulled her skirt to her hips, and spread her legs wide with her kness up by her brown tits. He knelt between her thighs and stuffed two fingers in her pussy, pulling them upward roughly, repeatedly. She gasped before she could stifle it, then lay there stiff while he finger fucked her juicy little cunt.

"I feel how ready you are. You want this white cock in you, don't you?" He whispered. She shook her head once. She twitched as the tip of his cock slid up and down her wet slit; he could feel the heat of her as he teased her, prepared her. Her eyes were unreadable, which didn't sit well with him, so he rammed forward and thrust his whole cock into her in one smooth stroke. He felt a slight resistance, then he was balls deep in her. Her neck arched and she writhed under him once, her strong legs lifting her hips. He pulled out and rammed into her as hard as he could, feeling her stiffen on the downstroke. Again and again he pulled slowly out, then fast and hard into her.

He settled into a rhythm, pounding her pussy for all he was worth while he squeezed and mauled her tits. He became aware that her legs were around him now, and he grabbed her behind the knees and bore down with his weight, forcing them wide apart. She was sweating and panting, but refused to moan. Little gasps made it past her set teeth. He grabbed her by the throat and bit down on a nipple enough to hurt. Two strokes later she writhed, strong enough that she almost threw him off. Juice splashed his balls and their thighs, and she grabbed the back of his neck and screamed while the orgasm tore at her muscles.

He felt he was getting close...it had been too long since he had any relief, and he was going to unload as deep as he could into her.

"I'm going to breed you now, you beautiful little bitch! I'm going to fuck a baby into your belly, and you are going to thank me for it. I'm going to come up here every couple days until I knock you up. You are my woman now. You will give me a strong son and I will fuck you until you do." His balls twitched and jumped, building pressure.

"You talk much, like a woman!" she sneered at him. He grabbed her throat again, and held her arms pinned to the ground, thrust into her one last time and came. Jets of hot cum flooded her fertile little hole, and he dirty talked to her as she writhed and came herself a second time. "You are my woman now, my personal whore." He almost moaned as he got to his knees.

She laid there, legs far apart, her brown cunt dripping long blobs of cum. She looked like some kind of pagan goddess lying there, freshly fucked and bred as a woman should be. There was red mixed with the cum. He looked at his cock, then at her. "I am your first?"

"Yes." The single word held a mixture of something he couldn't discern. "If I am your woman, will you beat me? Trade me? Or is that hollow words that men speak?"

He smiled at her. "You will be one of my women as I said. There will be other women, but you come and go as you please. I will come to you."

"And if I decide no?" she asked.

"Then you can be a piece of meat I use when it suits me." He put his cock away and rearranged his gunbelt. She came slowly to her feet, feeling between her legs. she looked at the goo on her fingers. "All I ask is for a strong son, and that when ready, you come to me again." She turned, collected her knife and rifle, and walked back up the hill after her goats. Jeremy Hardt, aka Jared Sullivan, laughed to himself as he mounted his horse and headed back to the ranch. One slut possibly bred, two to go.

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