Spur: Nevada Hussy

by Dirk Fletcher

  "Good, I like that. Spur, you going to take a bath with me?"

  "Too much bathing ruins the skin."

  "Chicken, huh? Well, at least you can scrub my back." She looked at the bed. "There's an extra blanket in the closet. Bring it along. But not when anyone else is in the hall. No sense getting both of us thrown out of here, is there?" She winked, opened the door and went across the hall to the bathroom. She knew where it was. McCoy grinned, took the extra, soft blanket from the closet and when no one was in the hallway, stepped into the bathroom and locked the door.

  STELLA HAD EMPTIED one of the buckets of water into the six foot long, roll rim, white enameled tub and Spur saw that it was one of the best ones. It was a real luxury item. The woman had taken off her clothes and now when she turned to look at him her full breasts hung down and Spur couldn't help but gasp in surprise.

  "I'm speechless," Spur said as she stood up. For a moment he was fearful that the massive breasts might prevent her from coming upright. She turned toward him and he laughed softly.

  "You have the most beautiful figure I've ever seen," Spur said.

  She shrugged. "Yeah, good tits, but them and a quarter will get you lunch at the little eatery up the street." She nodded. "Course it is nice to be noticed." She poured the next two buckets of hot water into the bath tub and then half the cold and tested it.

  "Sure you don't want a bath?" she asked.

  "Just had one," Spur lied, and watched her step into the tub.

  "When I get rich, I'm going to have one of these, and all the hot water I want... and two little boys to heat water and fetch and carry it. I'll have it all piped down to the tub with a tank upstairs for the hot water and let it come down through the pipes..." She shrugged. "I do carry on sometimes." Stella sat down in the water and pushed her legs out, then slid down until only her face was out of the water.

  "Oh, lord, I can die happy now." She lifted out of the water and sat up straight. "You know those letters I sent?"

  "I heard about them by telegraph."

  "I know lots more than what they said. I can tell you two of the men who are setting up the plot." She hesitated. "They are... customers of mine, and they both talk in their sleep. I could be a rich woman now if I used everything I hear." She paused and twisted her face. "I'd either be rich or dead, probably dead, 'cause the kind of men I work with are not the most kind, forgiving or understanding. That's why I don't ever want to be seen with you. They find out I talked, and I'll wind up as gear grease for some mine machinery about three thousand feet underground."

  Spur had sat on the only chair in the small room. She waved.

  "Hey, come on over here and scrub my back. I'm not giving up this chance."

  Spur had felt the pressure building up ever since he came into the room crowded full by the woman and her beautiful breasts.

  "Stella, I can't possibly wash your back... unless I get to wash your front too!"

  "Oh, yeah, and I get to play with your balls! Get over here and help me enjoy my bath. It's been almost a year since I got to use one of these fancy damn bathtubs."

  Spur washed her back with soap and the provided cloth, then she turned and he delicately scrubbed her breasts. He had only finished one when she caught his hands.

  "Spur, you sweetheart! Are you getting in the tub with me or am I getting out on that blanket?"

  He stood, slid out of his clothes and pointed to the blanket. She squealed in anticipation and stepped from the tub, dried herself quickly and helped Spur pull his boots off. When he was as bare as she was, she sat on the blanket she had spread out on the floor.

  Spur took the straight backed chair and pushed the back of it under the door handle so that it rested on two of the four legs. Now no one could get in the bathroom even with the key.

  McCoy knelt down beside her and she grabbed his swinging penis which had only started to fill with hot, eager blood.

  "You a slow starter?" she asked.

  "The only thing I do slow is stop," Spur said. He caught one of her breasts and massaged the big nipple until it grew even more and throbbed.

  "Chew on them," Stella said, her eyes closed. She bent over farther until her breasts hung straight down, and Spur slid under one and gulped it into his mouth. For a moment he thought he was going to be smothered, then he chewed and licked the pulsating nipple. As he did he felt her hands at his crotch, and quickly he responded to her urgings.

  "Spur, you know I was only twelve when I got banged the first time. Course by the time I was ten I had more tits than my mother did, and when I was twelve I had boobs about like I have now. It was the damn ice man! He brought ice every day. We lived in New Jersey then. He came and put the ice in the ice box, and every day he asked me if my mother was home. She usually was. Then this day she wasn't and I told him. I didn't know no better.

  "He grinned and said he had some special eating ice. He brought it in, pushed some down my blouse and then said he had to go get it, and his hands were all over me. I'd never felt anything like that. I was just sexed earlier than other girls I guess. He had my blouse and everything off me and his big dick out and I didn't have any idea what he was going to do with it.

  "Then he spread my legs and I yelled and he put his hand over my mouth and pushed. I felt it go in and couldn't believe it. I mean I was only twelve and didn't know nothing about sex or fucking. That damn iceman taught me a lot in two hours that afternoon!"

  Spur came out from under her breasts and pushed her down on the blanket. Her slender legs spread and he moved between them. He could feel the heat of her thighs, her eyes glistened in anticipation.

  "Do it!" she said softly. "Push him inside of me before I explode!"

  He lowered and pressed forward and they were mated. Her legs came over his back and locked together and she began a slow motion with her hips as she lifted part way off the floor. It set Spur on fire and he thrust forward in a slow rhythm, then stopped and kissed her breasts. When she looked at him he had an answer.

  "Stella, I want to make this first one last as long as I can."

  "Good, then we'll both take a bath. I saved one bucket of hot water. No I didn't. By that time it won't matter."

  A few minutes later they turned over without coming apart so she was on top and she showed Spur a fancy little hip movement that he had never experienced before.

  "Easy," Spur said.

  Stella shook her head. "Now is the time," she said and increased the side to side motion and then round and round and Spur felt her whole body go into a spasm that shook her and rattled her until she screamed, and then moaned in the joy of the climax that came again and again. Her face twisted and she drove at him harder with her hips until she burst again in an intense physical rapture that Spur had never seen a woman experience before.

  A third time she thrust against him and this time when the tremendous surge of powerful emotion had washed through her again and again, and at last moved on, she fell against him totally spent. A moment later she roused and leaned back and grinned at him.

  "That's what I call a girl's night out. Not often I get to really let go with a customer. Not unless I know him well, or like this I'm with a man I go bonkers over." She laughed. "Is this one lasting long enough for you?"

  At once she used her practiced art of bringing him to his own fulfillment. Spur shouted and drove upward against her again and again until he thought he would explode, and then he did and she kept working at him until he had drained the last of his juices and fell back washed out and exhausted.

  She moved gently off him and they lay side by side on the doubled blanket on the floor.

  Ten minutes later she sat up.

  "Now, how about that bath fit for two? I never did get all of my fill of that hot water in the glorious tub."

  A half hour later Spur brought dinner to his room from the small dining room below and Stella and he ate. As she picked at the roast chicken she told him about the town, and what she knew of the plot.

  "Spur
McCoy, you've got to remember that this is a rambunctious town. It was nothing more than two shacks back in 1859 when them old scallywags was placer mining up the creeks from the Carson river. Then overnight we had two thousand men here scratching and clawing, cheating, claim jumping and murdering each other.

  "Now here we are fifteen years later and things ain't much better. Yeah, we got government and a mayor and policemen and a sheriff, but still men are scratching and clawing, cheating and claim jumping. They just do it different now."

  "Big mine owners call the shots?"

  "Damn right! Nothing gets done unless they want it done. And what they don't want done stays undone. Three of the really big mine owners run this town. The other smaller owners try to get inside, but they don't have much chance. And, damnit, they are right. There is no reason on this desert mountain why there should be a town here, except for the gold and silver. When they run out, this town is gonna shrink up like a just cum prick. Right down to about two hundred people, if that many. Might be a ghost town with nothing but memories living here."

  "Now, Stella. Who is trying to steal the gold shipment?"

  "I only know two names. One of them is Guy Pritchard. He's maybe thirty-three or four, likes me to tie him up beforehand. Anyway he's one of two engineers on the little steamer that comes in from Reno on the branch railroad. He's scared shitless, but he's going through with it because they promised him a million dollars if the whole thing works right."

  "The engineer, that makes sense. But he isn't planning it."

  "No, you're right. He's a flunky, and they probably will kill him when it's over to shut him up for good. The other gent could be the mainspring. Once in a while I get a message to come to somebody's house. Boss lady says fine, as long as I split fifty-fifty with her. Three times now I been to this one big house.

  "Gent's name is Rush Sommers. The Rush Sommers. Used to own the old Crown Point Mine. Now he's into something big again with what they're calling Consolidated California. He sent a hack for me, told me to bundle all up with a hat and veil so nobody could tell who I was. His wife was in San Francisco. He told me she knew he fucked around."

  "Did he talk in his sleep, too?"

  "Oh, yeah. But he bragged before he went to sleep, then bit his tongue and told me if I didn't forget what I just heard he'd cut my tits off. I swore up and down I hadn't even heard what he'd been talking about. Convinced him I was concentrating on his big cock and I couldn't think about anything else. He believed me."

  "What was the big secret?" McCoy asked.

  "He said he just put his team together and was celebrating. He said he had the engineer tied up, and a key man in the sheriffs office, as well as an ex-banker from the east now running a saloon who could help him dispose of the gold."

  "That was it?"

  "He figured it was too much, he shut up his trap like a barn door in a big windstorm. Then I figured I better earn my money and I gave him more than he wanted, and he passed out about ten o'clock. The rest of the night he slept and talked and I remembered every word.

  "The gist of it was that he was running into cost problems with the Consolidated Mine and needed some fast money to get to the really big veins he's sure are down there around the sixteen-fifty to the two thousand foot level. How better to get the cash than to steal the gold shipment? He would have little of his own bullion on the train because he was still developing Consolidated. A perfect set up. He would know when the train was starting out on the trip to Reno."

  Spur pushed his dishes away and stared at the woman. She hadn't bothered to dress yet, and Spur marveled at the perfectly formed yet big breasts that sagged a little from their own size and weight. He reached over and played with one as he talked.

  "So we've got a railroad engineer, a deputy sheriff, a saloon owner and one of the biggest mine owners in town. That's quite a cast. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

  "Why would I lie about something that could get me killed? Hell, by now there are getting to be too many wives in town for fancy women like me to count much. Was a time when we was top drawer around here. Even three years ago when women was scarce, all the men treated us girls like queens of the court. We was special, since we was females, and some of them placer miners hadn't seen a woman for two years. They would walk ten miles just to watch us walk down the street. And we got respect back then.

  "Then too, that kind of a theft would hurt this town, put some small outfits into bankruptcy and cut down on my own business income. That's two fucking good reasons why you should believe me."

  "Okay, I do. We heard a rumor from another source too. I've got two names but we don't know the other two."

  She nodded. He bent and kissed her nipple, then licked it and sucked on it until it filled with rushing hot blood and enlarged until it was as thick as his thumb.

  "Spur, you tit-sucker! You know how to make a woman feel wanted."

  "Part of my strategy. Which saloon owner could it be? You said he was from the East. Would he have an accent? Which one do you figure he is who is in on the robbery?"

  "There's two of them are possible and I'll tell you right after you ream me out once more with that wonderful big fence post you keep hidden between your legs!"

  Spur chuckled. "Fence post! Now that is a new description. Shall we try the bed this time?"

  It was better than before. Spur delighted in her large hanging breasts and the different ways she used to entice him into climaxing. This time she kept lifting her legs higher and higher until she rested them on his shoulders, bending herself in half and Spur yelped and drummed her with a dozen hard thrusts in a climax that left him panting.

  She let him recover, then slid off the bed and began to dress.

  "I got to get back for the early evening trade," she said. He watched her putting on her dress. "What I told you, every word is gospel true. I can't tell you no more unless I get something direct from the parties involved. But I don't think they'll risk an all night with me again this close to the time it's supposed to happen.

  "Oh, the two saloon owners. My best bet is Hay wood Lockland, who runs the Wide Vein gambling hall. The other is Max Giardello, the guy who owns the Golden Nugget."

  "So you better be double extra careful," Spur said.

  Stella reached up and kissed his lips softly. "I'll be careful, damn touchy about this subject. Hey now, you can come see Stella anytime. I'll always make room for a free pop for you! But don't even try to talk to me except upstairs. I don't want that damn Sommers cutting me up!"

  He rubbed her tits and walked her to the door. "Stella, there could be a reward in this if we catch everyone and prevent the robbery. It would be enough cash for you to set up your own house somewhere, or even move to San Francisco and live like a gussied up lady for the rest of your life."

  "Or even hook some rich dick in San Francisco and marry him?"

  "Even that good. So keep your ears open."

  She reached down and rubbed his crotch, kissed him again and slipped out the door when no one was in the hall.

  But someone had seen her. Lottie, the madam of the Golden Nugget Saloon, had watched Spur when he talked to Stella, and then had him followed when he left. Something about him she didn't like, or maybe she did like, she wasn't sure. Then when Stella got "sick," Lottie followed Stalla and saw her slip into the bathroom with Spur close behind.

  This was more than a bath and a private romp on the bed. Whatever it was, Stella would find out. If nothing else she would satisfy her curiosity about the big hunk of man. She learned from the hotel clerk that he was registered as Spur McCoy. She would find out what he was doing in Virginia City, and she would find out if his slim powerful looking hips could hump her as well as she imagined.

  THE TALL, SLENDER man sat there in his hotel room staring at a corpse. He should be moving, running again, getting away. Perhaps this was the final curtain for him.

  He stood and looked at his reflection in the wavy glass of the primitive Western hotel mirror. A
ging lines showed plainly. There was no way to deny them. If he were still on the stage he would be slipping into the character roles he had detested in his salad days. Now it was so much different.

  Mark Wilkes stepped over the body on the floor and slowly began packing his one carpet bag. It could be stowed easily, sat upon in a pinch and if he lost it there was little of value in it. It had not always been this way.

  The pool of blood on the floor had stopped growing. That meant the knife wound had at last killed the man. When his heart stopped beating, pumping actually, the blood flow ceased. Just as well. There would be less for the maid to clean up. He snorted at his sudden concern for the unknown maid, while a man he had known for ten years, indeed had toured with for five, lay at his feet dead and half way to heaven, yet Mark could not summon a whit of sympathy, remorse or compassion for him.

  Since April 15, 1865 he knew that he would be living in a shadow for the rest of his life. He never dreamed how deep and dark and long lasting that shadow would be. Perhaps John had been the lucky one, dying so quickly and undoubtedly by his own hand. John was not the kind to play that kind of a scene, not the trial production and the court and sentence and then a public execution. Not John, he would take the option of a quick, dramatic spectacle kind of a curtain.

  At first there had been no guilt associated with Mark. He was the loyal Northern sympathetic brother along with the rest of the family. True, he had continued to work with Edwin in some of his plays, when the part was right, but there was never any official suggestion of collusion between the two brothers and the assassin.

  But some of the fraternity of thespians knew. Mark could never figure out how they discovered it, but they knew. That first few months there had been sympathy, then when that wore thin the hints began and it was in New York City when the first one of the old crowd had come forward and complained of being a bit short of cash, and asked Mark for a five hundred dollar loan.

  It had been blackmail pure and simple, and when the actor freely admitted that he had no intention of paying back the money, Mark had struck out at him blindly, knocking him down. As he fell he hit his head on a brick fireplace hearth, and by the time Mark knelt beside his friend, full of apologies, the man was dead.