The Deathtrap Girl

by Kurt Barker

“Say what you want, but I know what I know. I always figured that was going to die young. I thought that somehow there would be a way change my fate, but now I know that it's impossible.”

  “That's bullshit. I don't want to hear any more of that nonsense. If you don't-”

  “Stop! I don't want to argue!”

  “Then cut out that doom and gloom crap.”

  Poloma put her hands on her hips and glared at Blackshot. “Look. I don't want to talk all this out right now! I want to get fucked!” she stated. “Now are you gonna get your cock out and stick it in me, or not?!”

  It was a difficult decision to make, and Blackshot wrestled with it for almost an entire half-second. “I knew I shouldn't have given you so much coffee,” he muttered as he unbuckled his belt.

  His jeans were already stretched almost to bursting, and when he released his fly his cock surged out stiff and hard. Poloma circled his thick shaft with her hand, running it up and down slowly.

  “Oh, it's really big!” she murmured. “I wish I'd know this earlier.”

  “That's what you get for sneaking out of windows,” Blackshot said.

  He pulled her close to him and palmed her supple breast, kneading it firmly until the copper flesh bulged from between his strong fingers. Poloma groaned gently, pressing her lithe body against his muscular chest while still still caressing his rigid length. Blackshot brushed away the long strands of black hair that had swept across her face and brought her lips close to his, but she turned her head away.

  “You don't have to pretend to like me,” she said.

  “But I do like you,” Blackshot replied. “I like every bitchy, wild, sweet, gentle inch of you.” Her took her chin and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers. “What's more, you're going to make Hans a good wife.”

  “Dammit! Don't say that!”

  “It's true. It's not healthy for a man to rattle around all alone in that damn castle, always trying to stay in control of everything. I think a crazy Comanche spitfire that turns his world upside down is just what the fellow needs!”

  “Stop talking!” Poloma cried. She threw her arms around Blackshot's neck and kissed him hard. The heat of her hungry mouth against his put the campfire to shame, and drove even the memory of cold from his body. Her hands clutched at his unshaven jaw as their lips met time and again.

  Blackshot cupped Poloma's thick ass cheeks in his hands and lifted her up onto her knees. The head of his long shaft pressed to the lips of her pussy, and found them already wet. She gasped softly at the pressure of his manhood against her. Then the gasp crescendoed into a throaty wail as he pulled her down to meet his rising hips and plunged deep into her body.

  Poloma threw her head back and rode him with unbridled abandon, her voluptuous thighs tightening against his sides as she met each powerful thrust of his hips. Blackshot gripped her sides and rammed into her deep and hard, watching her swollen tits dance on her chest with each revolution of their bodies.

  Sweat sparkled on her ribs and taut belly in the dim fire light, and her hair was like an inky whirlwind about her head. The sultry heat that emanated from her undulating body surrounded Blackshot and stoked a fire in him like a locomotive engine, and he pounded into her pussy with a manic vigor.

  Suddenly Poloma cried out in anguish and threw her arms around his neck as an intense orgasm coursed through her. Her fingers clutched handfuls of Blackshot's hair and her sleek body shuddered and tightened around his pulsing cock in climax. Pressed together so close, he could feel the thumping of her heart matching the Gatling gun pace of his own.

  Blackshot raised himself up onto his knees and eased Poloma back onto her elbows. The blood was still pumping and he was eager to recapture the rhythm they had shared a moment before. As he laid her down and bent over her, he felt her body flinch as his fingers touched her still-tender back. He quickly withdrew his hand, but she caught his wrist and held it to her.

  “Touch me- touch me everywhere. I want it like this,” she gasped. “I want it hard.”

  “You haven't seen hard yet,” Blackshot growled.

  “Show me-- rip me in two!!” Poloma moaned.

  Never one to disobey such an order, Blackshot grasped the girl's straining hips and drove his whole girth deep into her torrid core. She shrieked with desire and wrapped her sinuous legs around him, digging her heels into his thighs as she urged him on. His hands sought her heaving breasts and crushed them against his palms as he slammed his hips into her. The sound of his balls slapping against her succulent ass was like a marching drum as their bodies collided faster and faster.

  Poloma's back arched and her arms clutched vainly at the discarded skirt that lay beneath her as she climaxed violently. The relentless hammering rhythm was driving Blackshot to the limit as well, and the convulsions of her body around him were the last straw. He drew his turgid shaft from her wet sheath and fired out his load onto her glistening breasts and stomach in hot jets.

  Poloma groaned heavily and closed her eyes as the last aftershocks of her orgasm shook her. As Blackshot released her and lay back against the embankment, she ran her fingers slowly through the tuft of sopping wet hair between her thighs, then across her cum-streaked belly before bringing them to her lips to lick them.

  “You're good at that,” she said.

  Chapter 39

  The dawn crept slowly over the hilltop, bathing the leafless trees in orange and purple hues, and bringing a strain of warmth to the crisp air. Blackshot woke to find Poloma's clothes rolled into a heap beside him, but no Poloma. He got up and started to walk the stiffness out of his legs, swinging his arms to get the blood pumping. If he had been asked to find a part of his body that was not sore at that moment, it would have been a difficult challenge; getting used to sleeping on the ground was something he had never managed to get used to, and he didn't particularly want to get used to it, even with a sexy Comanche vixen for company.

  Blackshot spotted the aforementioned vixen approaching from the direction of the pool. She was naked from head to toe, sauntering nonchalantly through the remnants of the melting snow with her knife and the little coffee pot in one hand and the skinned carcasses of two squirrels in the other.

  “You were right,” she said as she placed the little pot, which was filled with water, by the remains of the campfire, “Sun Wolf didn't return to the camp and he's nowhere around now either. I guess staying here wasn't as stupid as I thought.”

  “Oh, stop it. You're going to make me blush.”

  Blackshot kindled the fire and sat down beside it, savoring its warmth in the chilly morning. Poloma cut up the squirrel meat with her knife and dropped the pieces into the pot to stew. Once this was done and she had stirred the pot with the tip of her knife, she jabbed the long blade into the soft earth and stood up, wiping her hands on her bare thighs.

  “That's going to take a while,” she stated as she came and knelt down before Blackshot. Her hands tugged open his belt and then started working on his fly.

  “I must say, this is better breakfast service than I've gotten in some fine hotels,” Blackshot chuckled.

  Poloma placed her hand on his chest. “Lean back. Gimme some room to work,” she said.

  Blackshot complied, and in a moment his cock was free and hardening in the girl's warm hands. She stroked it firmly up and down the whole length, her perky breasts jiggling with the motion, until it stood up stiff and erect before her.

  Then Poloma's head lowered and the soft caress of her long hair tickled Blackshot's hips. This sensation was almost immediately ignored as the tip of her hot, wet tongue pressed to the head of his cock and ran down the shaft, teasing it like a flame of fire. He groaned as her tongue reached his balls and explored them with persistent pressure before gathering them into her mouth and suckling them hungrily.

  When Poloma released them from her mouth it was only to wrap her moist lips around the base of his thick girth and slide languorously up his pulsing length. As she reached the top, her mouth opene
d wide and she plunged his head into her torrid mouth. Her lips closed tight around him and her head began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm as she sucked his tingling flesh with craving urgency.

  The sun had lifted itself above the rise of the hill and sat there as if it was a blazing fire raging in the tops of the trees. As he viewed this sight of burning trees with unfocused eyes, Blackshot knew exactly how they felt; the heat of Poloma's throat was like a silky furnace that was closing around him as his eager cock surged deep into her. She had increased the pace now, and each nod of her head brought her lips further down and down until they were sucking voraciously at the base of his shaft.

  Blackshot's heart was pounding in his chest, and each beat seemed to send a fresh ripple of electricity racing through his body. Poloma's mouth was relentless in its attack, and he knew his body could only hold up to this sweet punishment for so long before it would surrender to the tides of desire rushing through him. When he could restrain himself no longer, the flood gates burst open suddenly, filling the girl's throat in hot spurts.

  As the tremors died away, Poloma slid his swollen shaft from her lips and let his cum stream down her chin and drip onto her succulent tits. She swept her hair back from her flushed face and her dark eyes locked onto his.

  “That was for saying that you liked me last night,” she panted.

  “If I had known that you felt that way about it, I would have said I loved you,” Blackshot groaned.

  Chapter 40

  The quality of the sodden chunks of squirrel meat did not come close to reaching the bar set by the pre-breakfast entertainment, but the hot stew was more filling than anything else Blackshot had eaten in two nights, and he finished off his portion quickly. In light of Poloma's efforts (of various sorts) he felt that he should offer some compliment on the food, and was just crafting a believable one in his mind when Poloma stood up suddenly, eyes wide.

  “Shit!” she cried.

  Blackshot jumped up and turned to follow the girl's gaze. Through the trees in the direction of the plains a column of thick black smoke was rising into the morning sky.

  “Well, it looks like we don't have to go hunting footprints to track down Sun Wolf today,” he muttered.

  “He's signaling to us; he wants us to know right where to find him.”

  “Let's go see him then. Get dressed.”

  “It'll be a trap.”

  “Of course it will.”

  Poloma swore again and gathered up her clothes. Blackshot rounded up the horses and by the time he had saddled them, the girl was ready to ride. He noticed that she winced as she straddled the back of the horse, and a grin crossed his lips. She did not meet his glance though, and he could see in her face that the dark mood had descended over her again.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Blackshot said as he led them around the ridge and down the slope of the hill toward the plain. “We don't know what the bastard's pulled out of his bag of tricks this time.”

  “You don't need to tell me,” Poloma bristled.

  The wind had picked up as the morning had gone on, and it was pushing the ashen plumes of smoke into the trees along the hillside. A dark haze gathered under the network of the tall oaks' bare limbs and hung dense and foreboding on the trail, making the sun only a pale glimmering smudge in the sky above the riders.

  The hot mist stung the eyes and burned the throat, and Blackshot tied a kerchief over his nose and mouth as he pressed on. A glance over his shoulder showed that Poloma was holding her hair across her face, squinting into the haze. He held up his hand to her and silently indicated a change in course.

  Turning to the right, they made their way further up the hillside toward a rocky ridge that overlooked the vast snowy plains. The jutting rock caught the smoke and funneled it into the trees, and once Blackshot had surmounted the ridge he found that the air was much more breathable and cool. He led the way further along the outcropping until he found a good level spot to dismount.

  “What are you doing?” Poloma inquired as he slid down from the saddle.

  “Getting a better look at the trap,” Blackshot replied. “I'm not figuring to ride in blind through all that smoke if I can help it.”

  He walked to the edge of the precipice and knelt down to survey the scene below. The height of the ridge gave him a good line of sight into the flat lands beneath them, although the shimmering smoky waves rising across the hillside obscured much of the view. However, the source of the smoke was immediately visible; near the edge of the treeline where the stream curved around the base of the hill sat a squat, humble farmhouse, and just beyond the house was the quickly vanishing remnant of a small barn, now completely awash in a raging firestorm.

  So utterly was the barn ablaze that it left little doubt that it was meant to be a beacon to draw Blackshot and Poloma to the site. Squinting through the swirling plumes of ash that rose from the fire, Blackshot examined the house minutely, but saw no sign of fire or of movement inside.

  Suddenly he felt Poloma's hand tug at his sleeve. “Look! Over there!”

  She was pointing off to the right hand side of the house, and after a second he saw what had attracted her attention; a tall oak stood twenty yards or so from the buildings and a man was tied fast to its trunk. He was short and stocky, and his bronze beard was flecked with gray. Blackshot saw with relief that he was alive, but even turning his head away from the waves of hot smoke that lashed his red face seemed like a mighty effort to the man, and he offered no fight against the ropes that bound him.

  “Well, there's the cheese,” Blackshot muttered. “Let's go down and have a taste like good little mice.”

  “You're going to ride right into the trap?”

  “Seems like the best play. Maybe when the trap springs shut we'll get lucky and it'll catch a rat.”

  Chapter 41

  Once back in the saddle, Blackshot led the way down the far side of the ridge where they could approach the farm with the wind at their backs, and keep away from the bulk of the suffocating smoke. As they rode, his eyes were constantly darting back and forth, checking and clearing every tree or rock that might be capable of concealing an ambush.

  “They'll see the smoke up in town,” Poloma said. “Maybe they already have and someone will be coming down here.”

  “Yeah, but lucky for us we beat them to it,” Blackshot remarked dryly.

  In truth he was glad that no one from Dryer Hill had made their way down to the fire yet, for if they arrived and unknowingly spoiled the scene Sun Wolf had set, it would surely be the last thing they ever did.

  At the edge of the trees Blackshot saw a small thicket, and he led Khamsin into it and dismounted. As Poloma followed suit, he scanned the farmyard, the house, the bound man; there was no sign of any other life to be seen anywhere. Sliding one of the Colts from its holster, and taking the canteen from his saddle in the other hand, he stepped out into the yard.

  “Keep an eye out behind us,” he hissed to the girl as he began to walk slowly toward the tree where the man was lashed.

  They reached the tree without incident or sign of movement from the house or yard, and Blackshot motioned to Poloma to cut the ropes that bound the hands of man to the tree.

  “No! You can't....” the man rasped hoarsely, shaking his head. Sweat was streaming down his red forehead, and he winced as he raised his head, but the look in his eyes was one of fear, not pain.

  Blackshot held up his hand to Poloma and she stood back from the ropes. He raised the canteen to the bound man's lips, letting him drink as deeply as he wanted. At length he took it away and waited while the man swallowed and caught his breath.

  Finally he spoke: “Listen here; I got something I'm supposed to say to a man in a black hat and an Indian girl. I reckon that's you.”

  “That's us,” Blackshot replied.

  “The feller named Sun Wolf told me to say that he's waiting for you folks in the house,” the man continued, “and he wants to talk to you face to face, plain dealing-l
ike.”

  “Plain dealing-like, he says? Now there's a man that'll try anything once.”

  “Look, he's got my wife in there!” the man burst out. “He's only gonna wait so long and then he's gonna kill her if you don't go talk to him! Please, you can't let her die!”

  “Don't go in there!” Poloma said sharply. Her eyes were wide and there was panic in her voice.

  “I ain't trying to send you into no trap, but I gotta do what he says!” the man croaked. “He'll hurt her if I don't!”

  “He's not going to hurt her,” Blackshot said. He turned to Poloma. “Stay here and keep a lookout.”

  “If you're going in there, I'm going with you.”

  “I'd rather have someone watching my back.”

  “I'll watch, but I'm still coming with you.”

  “Let's move, then.”

  “Hey listen!” the bound man said as they were about to go. “Under the table I dug out a place- it's under the little table by the wood stove, covered up with a rug. I got some good corn whiskey down there; made it myself. If you can get my wife away from that feller, it's all yours!”

  “Don't you worry. I'll get her away from him,” Blackshot assured him.

  “Under the little table by the wood stove! Don't forget!” the man called weakly as they started toward the house.

  The little farmhouse was a modest affair with a low, flat roof, but showed signs of loving care that had made it a pleasant home. Hand-sewn curtains fluttered from the small window, and rough boards had been lined up beneath the door and nailed together to form a small porch of sorts. The snow had been pushed into heaps away from the porch and surrounding beds of dirt where flowers would grow in warmer seasons.

  Blackshot stepped carefully onto the boards and stood against the door frame, still with pistol in hand. The heat that emanated from the fiery barn was melting the snow on the roof of the house at a rapid pace, and drops of water hit the brim of his hat as he stood listening for sounds from inside the house. Hearing none, he put his free hand to the door and found that it swung open easily.