Slocum 419

by Jake Logan

  His shaft hardened and grew longer.

  Stacey reached over and clasped his stalk in her hand. She squeezed her fingers together and Slocum’s penis grew harder and longer.

  “Who’s first?” he asked.

  There was a sudden silence as the twins looked at each other.

  Slocum wondered if they were going to go through with it before there was a loud knock on his door.

  He thought that the girls were maybe wondering the same thing.

  But there was no knock and he was ready to mount either twin.

  13

  Stacey leaned over and bent down to gaze at Slocum’s manhood. She gripped his stalk gently, her eyes wide with wonder and admiration.

  “Can I kiss it, John?” she asked.

  “Just don’t bite,” he said.

  Stacey snickered. Lacey squirmed as Slocum fondled one of her breasts. One finger rubbed a nipple and it grew in size.

  Stacey took the crown of Slocum’s member into her mouth. Her tongue laved the slit and all around the throbbing head of his cock.

  Slocum felt the swelling in his shaft as blood engorged it. The veins swelled into blue scrawls all along its length.

  “Umm,” Stacey moaned as her tongue swabbed over the mushroomed warhead that began to seep precoital fluid. Then she began to suck Slocum’s cock, pulling the head into her mouth and sliding her mouth up and down his shaft.

  Lacey reached over and pulled Stacey’s hair.

  “Suck, suck, suck,” Lacey said.

  Stacey spewed Slocum out of her mouth. Her eyes flashed.

  “It tastes good,” Stacey said.

  “I want you to fuck me, John,” Lacey said, pouting.

  Slocum patted Stacey on the top of her head.

  “Can’t do everything at once,” he said. “You’ll have to take turns.” He looked at Lacey.

  “I want you inside me, John,” she said. “All of it, now that Stacey’s slobbered all over it.”

  “Oh, Lacey, you little bitch,” Stacey said. “You always spoil everything.”

  “I do not.”

  “Now, now, girls,” Slocum said. “Don’t fight. Take turns. Lacey, you first. Stacey’s already had a small taste.”

  “That’s right,” Lacey said. “I’m ready, John. Put that little doggie in my pussy.”

  Stacey huffed, but she propped herself up on one elbow as Slocum rose above Lacey and lowered his hips to position himself for entry into her pussy.

  Lacey reached out and guided him to the mossy portal of her sex. He pushed against her labia and she let go. He slid inside her, slow and easy as Stacey looked on in envy.

  “Smooth,” Stacey said.

  “Shut up, Stacey,” Lacey snapped.

  Slocum slid up and down her steamy tunnel, and Lacey responded with hip movements of her own. She rose and fell beneath him as his strokes increased in speed. Then she cried out in little gasps of breath as her body quivered beneath him.

  “He’s giving it to you, Lacey,” Stacey said.

  “Ummff,” Lacey said as she thrust her hips upward, taking Slocum’s cock deep within the hot folds of her cunt.

  Stacey inserted one of her fingers into her pussy and began to stroke back and forth, stimulating her clitoris with the tip. Her hips began to undulate in time with Slocum’s strokes. Her mouth gaped open and her eyes widened as she gazed at Slocum taking her sister on a wild sexual ride.

  “Ummm,” Stacey intoned.

  Lacey gasped with pleasure. Her arms enfolded a large portion of Slocum’s back, and she slid her hands to his neck, pulled on it to bring his head down close to her. She kissed him on the lips, and he felt her tongue stab into his mouth and wobble across the tip of his tongue.

  Slocum took Lacey up to dizzying heights of pleasure. Her body bucked and rippled with spasms as she climaxed half a dozen times. She cried out each time she reached a climax, much to Stacey’s annoyance.

  “Enough,” Stacey screeched. “Get off her, John. It’s my turn.”

  “Sorry, Lacey,” he said. “Your sister is clamoring for attention.”

  “Oh, oh, oh,” Lacey exclaimed. “Go to her, then. I’m floating, John. I’m floating on a cloud.”

  Slocum withdrew from Lacey and sidled over to Stacey.

  Stacey spread her legs and Slocum mounted her. He plunged into her without any need of guidance and Stacey shrieked with delight. He stroked up and down. Her body met his on every rise and fall of his hips. He kissed both breasts, and she clutched at him like a drowning woman.

  If anything, Stacey was more eager and more active than Lacey. She thrashed and moaned with each deep penetration, and her fingernails clawed at his back, leaving red streaks that crisscrossed each other like a crude etching.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Stacey exclaimed. “Oh, John, it’s so good. So very, very good.”

  Lacey just watched, out of breath and sated. But the excitement of watching Slocum fuck her sister glittered like sparkling diamonds in her eyes.

  Stacey climaxed again and again. Each time was more savage than the last, and her legs bobbed up and down like a mad marionette’s. She screamed and cooed and clawed like a wildcat. It took all of Slocum’s resolve and mental control to keep from spewing his seed into her womb.

  She became wetter inside with each climax, and Slocum felt his blood surge into his member, swelling it to enormous proportions. He felt her excitement, and his own pleasure mounted with each stroke, each shattering orgasm that ripped through her loins.

  “I’m coming again,” Stacey moaned in breathy excitement. “Give it to me, John. Shoot your milk into me. Quick, quick. I want it.”

  Slocum let himself surrender to Stacey’s wild passion.

  He sped up his strokes as she clutched him tightly to her breasts. He felt the blood swell in his cock and the jolt of electricity in every fiber of his body. Then he felt that rush of pure pleasure as his seed exploded from his sac and erupted through his penis. He shot into her and Stacey screamed low in her throat as his warm sperm splashed into the deepest recesses of her pussy.

  “Oh, yes, yes,” she exclaimed.

  Slocum floated on a sky filled with brilliant stars and exploding fireworks as he climaxed and spurted his seed into her warm and brothy cavern. He spurted his last, and his diminishing member oozed from her like a dying grub worm.

  He lay between the two girls, breathing hard, still enraptured from the dizzying heights of his own orgasm.

  Lacey rubbed a hand over his belly.

  Stacey entangled her fingers in his long hair.

  “That was the best I ever had,” Stacey said.

  “Don’t brag, Stacey,” Lacey said.

  “I’m full. I feel full. And completed,” Stacey said.

  “Well, you’ve used John up, sis,” Lacey said.

  “Oh, he’ll come back, won’t you, John?”

  He panted his answer.

  “In a while maybe.”

  It was then that he heard footsteps in the hallway. The tromp of boots on thin carpeting.

  “Somebody’s coming,” Lacey whispered and shrank into a mummy of a woman, her hands across her breasts, her legs closed tight together.

  Stacey took her fingers from Slocum’s hair.

  He slid over Lacey and stood up. He reached down and jerked his pistol from its holster.

  “What are you going to do, John?” Stacey asked, suddenly afraid.

  “Keep quiet,” he said. “Both of you.”

  A thousand thoughts crossed his mind. He tried to count the number of footfalls in order to discern the number of men.

  Was it a hotel guest returning to his room or a couple of killers coming to shoot him down?

  All he could do now was wait, either for a knock on his door or the sound of a boot kicking it in.

&n
bsp; But there was neither.

  Instead, Slocum heard the scrape of metal as a key was inserted into his lock.

  Slocum cocked his pistol and strode to the dimmest part of the room. He hugged a shadow there, knowing that he still stuck out like a sore thumb.

  The lock made a click.

  Then he heard and saw the doorknob slowly turn.

  A lifetime flitted by in those brief seconds. Both women huddled together on the bed, clasping each other tight, their eyes shadowy and wide with fear.

  Then the door slowly opened.

  Slocum raised his pistol and sighted down the barrel.

  14

  Clara shivered in the cold breeze that wafted under the awning. She looked at the glowing windows of the boardinghouse, the saloon, and the hotel, and wished she were inside any of them, where it was warm.

  But she had to wait for her husband and whoever else Wolf had chosen to send Slocum to his grave. It seemed hours that she stood there.

  And she kept wondering what her daughters were doing up in Slocum’s room. Were they just talking and maybe teasing, or were they going to turn into wantons and let the tall man have his way with them?

  The thoughts tormented her more than the waiting.

  Lately, she had regretted letting Clem—she had always called him that since she’d known him—influence her daughters. She knew that he had not cared for them when they were babies or toddlers. He had never paid much attention to them until they had gotten old enough to work. And that was all he had expected of them. To Clem, they were useful only as laborers, as maids, servants, or of late, enticers of men.

  She had been thinking of leaving Clemson, since they were not man and wife, and yet they were bound by something she could not explain. Criminality, perhaps. Some undefinable attraction that had to do with their mutual desire for personal gain, legal or otherwise.

  Or maybe Clemson’s hold on her had to do with Wolf’s brother, Hans, her first and only husband. Clemson had been her salvation after Hans died. He had taken her in when she was ostracized by the whole community. He had shown her some kindness when others had displayed only their cruelty and hatred.

  Yet Clem had changed since then, as much as she had. He was no longer the town outcast, the ne’er-do-well who cadged off others. He had become Wolf’s brother, in a way, a substitute for Hans.

  It was complicated, but she had been trying to unravel all of it ever since they had come to Durango and Clemson had turned her twin daughters into assassins and probably would yet turn them into whores.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of footsteps coming up the street toward her. She saw three men and recognized one of them as Clemson. Her heart pounded in her chest and pulsed in her temples.

  “Pssst,” she hissed, “over here.”

  Clara stepped out of the shadows and waved to the three men.

  They veered in her direction.

  “Clem, over here,” she called and waved again.

  “I see you, Clara,” he said.

  The two men followed Clemson to where Clara stood.

  “Clara, this here’s Rafe Overton and Jake Snowden,” Clemson said.

  “What you got for us, lady?” Jake asked point-blank.

  “He—he’s in there,” she said, pointing to the hotel. “Slocum, and the girls followed him to his room. Clem, they’ve been in there for a half hour or so. You’re late.”

  “If he’s in there, we ain’t late,” Rafe said.

  “Do what you have to do, but be careful. No telling what my girls are up to with that man.”

  Jake laughed a harsh and lewd cackle. Rafe snorted.

  “Damn you, Clem,” she said. “If anything happens to Lacey and Stacey, I’ll chop your balls off with a butcher knife.”

  The two men laughed.

  They both were cut from the same bolt of cloth. Jake Snowden was perhaps an inch or two taller than Rafe, but both had beard stubble on their lean, wolfish faces. Both had wide-set pale blue eyes and wore their holsters low and tied tight to their legs with leather thongs. Rafe chewed tobacco and spat a stream of brown liquid that turned amber in the weak light of the hotel lamp. Jake had a burnt-out match in his crooked teeth. They both smelled of whiskey and tobacco smoke.

  “Let’s go,” Rafe said, and spat a wad of tobacco from his mouth.

  The three men walked into the hotel lobby and up to the desk.

  Jules got up and stood there.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said politely.

  “What room’s Slocum in?” demanded Rafe.

  “Why he—ah, Mr. Slocum, he’s in, let’s see, I believe that’s . . .” Jules hesitated.

  “You better tell us the truth,” Jake warned.

  Jules looked at the three men and decided his life was more important than keeping his promise to a hotel guest.

  “Room 7,” he said.

  “Give us the key,” Rafe demanded.

  The elderly man hesitated again. “Uh, I’m not supposed to—”

  Jake drew his pistol, thrust the barrel close to Jules’s face, and cocked it.

  “Give me the damned key or I’ll splatter your brains all over that back wall,” Jake said.

  Jules shook with fear. He turned to the wooden plaque on the side wall and removed a key from the spot designated number 7. He handed the key to Rafe, who snatched it from him.

  “Just forget you ever saw us,” Rafe said.

  “You just stay right where you are, pilgrim,” Jake said, “and pretend you’re deaf, dumb, and blind.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jules said, his face white as a flour sack, fear lighting his eyes with flickers of yellow light from the lamps. As if his fear were painting his eyes.

  The three men did not try to soften the sounds of their boot heels on the carpeting as they stalked down the hall with murder in their hearts.

  They looked at each numbered door until they reached Room 7. They halted and each drew his pistol, held their thumbs down on the hammers.

  Rafe stepped up to the door and inserted the key. He turned it slowly and heard the lock disengage. He left the key in and twisted the knob.

  The door opened and he waited. He turned to look at Jake, who nodded.

  Rafe pushed the door open and bent over in a crouch. He thumbed the hammer of his pistol back to full cock and slunk forward into the room, his eyes shifting in their sockets as he gazed right and left.

  Behind him came Jake and Clemson. They cocked their pistols.

  They all gazed toward the dimly lit bed with its pale coverlet and two naked women drawn up like small statues, their arms crossed over their bare breasts.

  One of the women screamed in terror.

  15

  Slocum heard one of the women scream. The scream was loud and ear-shattering.

  He saw the men crouch low and burst into the room.

  The scream was cut short when the first man to enter the room fired at the two women on the bed.

  Lacey gasped as Rafe’s bullet struck her in the chest, just beneath her crossed arms. She fell back onto Stacey, blood bubbling out of her mouth, her eyes wide and glassy with pain.

  Slocum fired a split second later. Half of Rafe’s face was lit by the spray of yellowish light from the lamp. The bullet ripped into that half of his face and shattered his cheekbone. He grunted and fell to one side as the other half of his head exploded in a shower of blood and shattered bones. He was stone dead by the time he struck the floor.

  Behind him, Jake swung his pistol to bear on Slocum, his face spattered with droplets of blood from his partner’s fatal wound.

  Slocum moved then. He slid along the wall and fired as Jake came out of his crouch and squeezed the trigger.

  Jake’s shot narrowly missed Slocum, smashing into the wall inches behind Slocum’s naked back.


  Slocum fired point-blank at Jake. He aimed at his chest and his Colt thundered and belched out flame, sparks, and a deadly lead bullet.

  Jake staggered as the ball split his breastbone and tore through part of his right lung, ripping the sacs to bloody threads. He squeezed the trigger of his pistol as he crumpled onto Faron Clemson’s pistol. Jets of blood spurted from the small black hole in his chest, and the fist-sized hole in his back sprayed blood and tissue onto Clemson, who took the brunt of Jake’s fall and was pushed backward into the door’s frame.

  Slocum strode toward Clemson. He cocked his pistol.

  Faron stared at Slocum, stunned by his nakedness and the pistol in his hand. He dropped his pistol to the floor and raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “D-Don’t shoot me, Slocum,” Clemson pleaded.

  “I ought to blow your damned brains out.”

  “No, I beg you. I must go to my daughters on the bed. One of them has been shot.”

  “Who in hell are you?” Slocum asked. He kicked Faron’s gun away with his bare foot and held the barrel of his pistol pressed against Clemson’s forehead.

  “I’m Faron Clemson. I’m their pa. Wolf made me come here.”

  “Blame somebody else, Clemson. But you knew your daughters were here with me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Ah, it was Clara’s idea. Honest.”

  “You don’t know the meaning of honest, you bastard,” Slocum said. He wanted to pull the trigger and blow the top of Clemson’s head off, but his trigger finger hardened and held still and frozen a hair’s breadth from the smooth trigger.

  They could both hear Stacey’s sobs as she held her dying sister in her arms.

  “Let me go to them, please,” Faron begged.

  “Step toward me,” Slocum said.

  Clemson took a step over Jake’s body, which was still quivering long after he had ceased to breathe.

  “Just walk real slow toward the bed,” Slocum ordered. When Faron passed him, Slocum rammed the barrel of his pistol into the small of Clemson’s back.

  “Stacey,” Clemson uttered as he reached the edge of the bed. “Is Lacey . . .”