Echoes

by Tempe O'Kun

  We continue riding along for a spell. Each thrust rubs my little clitty against his tip and belly fur. Each frantic gasp from Blake stokes the furnace of my heat. Warmth builds in me like a kindled fire, blazing higher and higher, burning up my thoughts of anything else as I buck against the right-lovely texture of his shaft.

  I freeze, a hare’s breath from going over the edge.

  My body quivers atop him, taut and tense.

  Velvet wings pull me close.

  I go off.

  “Aa! Aa! Aaaaaahhh!” I bury my face between his shoulder and pillow, hollering with pleasure as my body floods with trembles centering on my nethers, on the delightful cock wedged against them, leaving me gasping ‘til I’m breathless and shuddering with aftershocks. My hips press hard on him, my legs squeezing on him like a skittish pony—meanwhile other parts of me make it known they’d like something to squeeze on too. I grip his shoulders. He holds me against his wiry frame. Fluffy and soft, breathing hard, stiff against me: Blake’s a whole mess of feeling. I try to tell him how nice he feels, but I only manage “Oh…oh… Jordan… Hah…” over the hammering beat of my heart.

  A true gentleman, Blake waits real patient-like while I recuperate. Tender wings stroke down my back. Sappy words breeze past my ears. Sticky juices make our fur a ticklish mess. Feels right pleasant and I tell him so.

  He chuckles against me. “You, madam, have got quite a way of saying good morning.”

  I grope for something clever, but my brains’ve turned to jelly. Instead, I roll us to our sides. Feeling a heavy slickness between my legs, I reach down and scout the area. My paw comes back slick and damp. “Glad sakes, Jordan. Look how wet ya made me!”

  The fruit bat blushes scarlet under his chocolate fur, sputtering. “S-Six!”

  I kiss him on the nose and grab his penis with my wet paw. “Way you look at me, lawbat, yer gonna get rode hard and put away wet now an’ then.”

  “That’s—uh!—hardly a ladylike thing to…” Poor Blake. Talking ain’t his strong suit once I start rubbing him against my tingling lips.

  I breathe into his ears, whispering soft and rubbing hard. “Forget ladylike—I think you know what this bunny’d like…”

  Riled and ready, Blake bucks against me, and it takes a few tries to line him up proper. Once I do, he thrusts halfway up into me at a shot, squeezing the air from my lungs. I drape a leg over his hip, right where his wing joins the rest of him, and pull in a welcoming way.

  We set to doing what bunnies do.

  He’s deep and thrusting shallow, pumping my foolishly damp passage ‘til I can hear each in and out. His sac bumps against my thigh as he drives himself in to the hilt once more. His breath washes hot against my neck, like a desert breeze. Laying side-by-side, his thrusts rub on different parts of my passage than before. He nuzzles into my chest fluff.

  My muzzle curls in a smile. My ears droop, the window’s light glows pink through them at the edge of my vision. My modest breasts jiggle each time he buries himself in me, and, if I time it right, I can clench on him as he’s sliding out. Lawbat sure takes to that, breathing hard as he works into me.

  At some point in our little hoedown, the pillow jostles from under his head, leaving his neck at a funny angle. I slide my arm in as a replacement, since that seems the polite thing to do, what with him making cute little grunts and groans as he drives jolts of joy through my body.

  I lay back and let him do the work. He gets frantic, unsteady in his motions, ‘til at last I feel his length swell inside me, then spurt out blast after blast of his silky seed. His teeth set, glinting in the fiery light of dawn. Those gold-flecked eyes shut as he loses himself in the moment. Delicate gushes of warmth cause my muscles to spasm in time with him. My eyes squeeze shut in delight, but stop neither morning light nor tingling pleasure. I hold him holstered, now that he’s done going off. His body slackens against me. Whenever he moves, his softening length slicks against every bump and valley of my walls. I giggle like a fool. My body’s too heavy to move, my heart too light to keep from pulsing wonder through me. I just lie, warmed by sunlight and fruit bat juices. We breathe together. Even with my heat satisfied for the moment, I know I’d be powerful lonesome without him.

  Cuddling up, we pay no heed to the sticky mess in our fur. He kisses his way up and down my ears. I’m awful ticklish on the pink insides, so I wind up laughing into a pillow as he nuzzles without mercy.

  “Glory be, lawbat.” I flop to my back, my arm still behind his head. “Ya act like you never thought to see me again.”

  He looks to me, all soulful. “I didn’t.”

  Ears drooping all coy-like, I kiss him on his little foxy nose. “You’re a fool.”

  “Stay.”

  “Can’t.”

  Blake touches my shoulder like I’m made of fine china. “I’d hate to see you hurt again.”

  “Don’t need to worry about me, Jordan.” I wiggle up naked against him and nuzzle my twitching nose in his fluff. “I’m the tough sort.”

  His wing thumbs cup my muzzle, bringing me level with gold constellations in the dark of his eyes, with all the hope I light in them. “How about one day, Six? One day.”

  Seeing as how my brain’s gone as fuzzy as Blake’s whole body, I just giggle an “alright” like the fool I am.

    

  “Come on, lawbat! Don’t ya want yer trousers back?”

  “I need those! Six, this isn’t—- The washer-woman has my other pairs!” A quick wing snatches at them. I’m quicker.

  Clothed and decent, I bounce around the room keeping Blake separated from his garments. “And here ah reckoned you had life all planned out. One little bunny razes it all to ruin.”

  Another miss. The boy’d be better at this game if he wasn’t so concerned with keeping a wing over his nakedness. He scowls. “One bunny is all I can abide.”

  “So you’re a one-bunny bat?” Trousers balled up behind my back, I lean down for a kiss.

  The pretty fruit bat’s ears drop. “By now, you ought to know what sort of man I am.” His soft lips meet mine.

  I let the kiss linger for a spell, then smile at him. “The sort without any trousers!” I go bouncing down the hall, pants in paw.

  The sheriff stifles a cuss, pauses for a thought, then comes chasing after me. We giggle and raise ruckus down the hall. After much grabbing and wrestling, the lawbat makes a bold dive, almost flying, pinning me to the sitting room floor. Wicked thoughts cross my bunny mind about what we might get to out here.

  I pant under his scrawny body, his fur and breath soft against me. Some intimate twitches bring a blush to my ears. “Why Mister Blake, you’ll just take any opportunity to get atop me, won’t ya?”

  He opens his muzzle to say something clever, but I seize two pawfuls of his bare rump. He makes all manner of cute batty noises, then tenses above me, staring and stunned.

  I follow his gaze to a surprised and, from where I’m laying, upside-down canine.

  “Well, good morning, Deputy Harding.” I tip the hat I’m not wearing in salute.

  After a pause, the old bloodhound raises his teacup in return. “Morning.”

    

  My lawbat scandalized, I’m left alone with the deputy, who is showing me an entirely different brand of hospitality. Sipping on a glass of cool peach tea, I wonder just how he brews it. Must chill the tea somehow after steepin’ it, then mix in peach preserves without making it thick on the tongue.

  I tip my hat to the hound. “Mah apologies about the little show you got, Harding.”

  “Don’t worry on it.” He shakes his droopy muzzle. “Though it’d pay for the two a’ yew to be more cautious.”

  “Were the lawbat any more cautious, we’d never get him down from the rafters.” My paws curl around the cool sides of the teacup.

  The old dog busies h
imself pouring another cup. “I’m willin’ to bet you could.”

  I drown my shyness in a sip. “Some mighty fine tea you brewed me.”

  “My mama’s recipe.” Under all that bloodhound sadness, he smiles. “Hurts Blake something terrible, how you keep leavin’.”

  I take a seat opposite Harding in the sitting room, watching the dust dance in the morning sun. “Doesn’t do me any wonders either.”

  Before the dog can respond, Blake ambles back in a state of dress. Bat doesn’t meet either of our eyes as he glances out the window. “Any news, Deputy?”

  “Nothin’ especially. Got the postal stagecoach comin’ through today. Gotta watch out for those quiet days though. Tea?”

  “I’m not in a mood for sitting down just now.”

  I stifle a laugh. I’ll have to see about his mood when we get a moment. “You goin’ on patrol, lawbat?”

  “It’s my turn. Though with you here…” He manages to shoot me a grin.

  “Hey now! I don’t mean to leave the bloodhound in a jam on account of mah sticking around for a day.”

  “A consideration you seem to lack with me.”

  “Ya don’t seem to mind terribly the jams I put you in.” I kick my feet up on an empty chair and smile all sweet-like.

  Blake fights down a fluster, crossing his wings. “What do you propose?”

  “I’ll tag along on patrol. Keep mahself outta trouble while we go around keepin’ folk from having a good time.” That should suit his fancy.

  “I suppose I could deputize you for the day.”

  “Deputy nothin’! I’m not fixing to be your lackey. No offense, Harding.”

  The deputy shrugs and takes another gulp of peach tea.

  Lawbat lifts his ears at me. “Six, if you’re not a deputy, you’ll have to stay out of the way should anything happen.” His muzzle dips with a smile. “You really think you can do that?”

  I settle my arms behind my head, leaning the chair back. “Reckon you’ll just have to make me sheriff too, then.”

  “...Alright.”

  The chair bucks wild under me. I about spill onto the floor. “Whoa! Say what now?”

  “Nothing in the city charter sets a limit of just one sheriff. You can be one.” Those pretty brown eyes narrow on me. “Only for today, mind you.”

  “I’ll be needin’ a badge.”

  He gets a smart little smirk. “That’s the easy part.”

  As Harding looks on, amused, Blake offers me a wing. I take it and rise, following him into the office. Once inside, the sheriff opens a file cabinet and slides the papers back to reveal a strongbox affixed inside. Keys jingle from his belt to his wing thumbs, unlocking it. He takes out an old silver sheriff’s badge.

  “That belonged to my uncle.” He pins it on my vest, then flips something shinier out of the box. “And I believe this belongs to you.”

  I take the pin, turning it over in my paws. “And here ah’d thought you’d do somethin’ all romantic like wear it ‘til I came back.”

  He touches my arm. “Some things I’m not willing to risk losing.”

  That sets a real blush to my ears. I glance away, at the strongbox. Has some cash in it, maybe a hundred in a neat stack of greenbacks, along with some old journals and a sack of coins. I affix the pin to its usual home, if displaced a bit by the sheriff star. “What now?”

  Blake slips on his hat and tips it my way. “Now we walk through town on my route, and keep folks from having a good time.”

    

  “Took down those wanted posters of you.”

  “Much obliged.”

  Blake looks at me looking at folk who look at me. “With Hayes gone, everybody ought to realize there’s no reward to be had.”

  “Seein’ as how they gotta turn me in to you, daresay ah could make my escape easy enough.” I wink his way.

  “Let’s see it doesn’t come to that.” His wing brushes against me. Would like to have him on my arm, though I got enough eyes my way at present. I settle for walking close to him.

  We see to sifting the heap of humdrum the bat’s so keen on. Ferret kits tussle and steal a ball of string from each other. More lawsome folk busy themselves with their shops and shopping. Some saddlery horse compliments me on my new gunbelt; neither Blake nor I return his wink. The lawbat later confides to me that he had the thing commissioned at his tack shop.

  Being all peaceable bores me some, though talking to the lawbat is a mite nicer than I’ll admit to him. Besides, we’ve got more hats tipping our way than a windstorm.

  “Funny how everybody around you makes a point a’ being all law-abiding.”

  His pearly whites shine a smile my way. “Yourself included.”

  I shoot him a dark glance from the shade of my hat. “Ah’d take it as a kindness if you didn’t remind me.”

  His wing rises to pat me on the shoulder, but just like that I feel a tug from my gun. Both paws slip to my belt, feeling the gun that’s there and the one I need to beat out of the lion Hayes. The pull of their echo, gentle but insisting, diverts me to the saloon.

  “Six, isn’t it a bit early for drinking?” He follows.

  “A mite, yes.” I breeze in the doors.

  Musk and cheap whiskey hang like whore’s tits—still obvious, but covered up a trifle for the late morning crowd. Patrons trickle back in, or never left, sitting all bleary at the tables. The main topic of debate seems to be if they should go across the street to eat lunch or stay here and drink it. I recognize two mutts playing dominos, but they’re regulars.

  Light glints through the barkeep’s prized collection of colorful bottles. Dusts them more often than the windows, it seems. A collie with a lazy ear, he trots behind the bar, tending his flock of firewater and rotgut. His daughter’s around, always is. Nice enough gal, sheepish for a collie; pity her position as a saloon girl keeps most folk looking down their muzzles at her.

  The cat at the piano has either been tipped too much or not enough, so he yowls into a bawdy tune about an armadillo from Amarillo. Nothing to write home about, but I’m impressed he can rhyme so many words to “bordello.” Blake goes a little pink in the ears. Maybe the song’s not so bad after all.

  We stand off to one side, just taking in the scene. Waiting to see why the echo in my gun yanked me so.

  In the corner, a ‘dillo in a poncho unrolls from his slump over the bar, bleary-eyed. He rises from his puddle of drool and profanity. By the width of his ears and the narrow of his eyes, I’d hazard he’s a little pinch hung-over.

  The piano cat continues his shrill caterwaul, until a coffin varnish bottle comes hurtling against his piano, no doubt aimed at his head.

  “Ah take exception tah yer song, fleabag.” The ‘dillo’s nose wiggles in fury, claws smacking against the floor. “Ah won’t abide no slurs against my kin.”

  The cat hisses up from nursing the fresh dent in his piano. His white tail spikes out like a bottlebrush. “I’ll play whatever tickles my fancy!”

  Claws glint in the dim room. On any other day, he’d be a bad sport for that, but armadillos aren’t known for responding to the customary exchange of wallops. Wells Fargo hires them by the score because they bring their own armor.

  The mutts pause their game of dominos, turning to watch as they cheat each other.

  Blake steps forward, but I touch his slim shoulder.

  I meet his pretty eyes. “Let me handle this one, lawbat.”

  He gets a contrary look, but sighs. His wing sweeps me onward.

  Two strides and I grip the ‘dillo’s back armor. The bumpy texture uneases my paws as I hold him back. I could lighten his pockets, and probably ought to, but I refrain for the lawbat’s sake. “What seems to be the trouble, friend?”

  “Who in the hell are you?” Beady, half-hazed eyes glare up at me.

&nbs
p; I give my badge a little shine. “Ah’m the sheriff.”

  Around the saloon, eyes and ears turn to Blake. I take the moment to scoot a table closer to the ‘dillo.

  The lawbat shrugs. “Provisionally, yes.”

  My small armored pal puffs himself up, plates shifting, though he’s not even up to my chest. All self-important, spits on my boots.

  I drive two fingers against his chest. Beady eyes spring wide. Slowly, slowly, he tips. His toes lift off the floor. Rolls from tail to rump to back. His puny arms flail at nothing.

  I kick a second table against him, wedging the drunk ‘dillo in place. “Ease off, roly-poly.”

  The domino mutts bark a laugh each. The collie barkeep hides his grinning muzzle. His daughter points her long nose to the back room.

  I spare a quick look at Blake, but he’s leaning back against the bar, content to superintend from a ways off.

  “Now you.” I turn to the piano cat.

  He squirms as I loom over him like the noonday sun. “Me?”

  “Ah think it’s time to change yer tune.”

  I weigh down his tip jar with a silver dollar, then whisper in his pointy ear. I step back, trading a look with Blake, as the piano player settles into his seat, cracks his paws, and sets to tickling ivory.

  “Don’t think this settles things!” The ‘dillo snaps at my heels as I stride past.

  “That any way to talk to a fella buying you drinks?” I flip a coin onto the bar. Barkeep jiggers me two hurried shots.

  I set both drinks beside the ‘dillo, who offers a somewhat less sour expression. I cross my arms, trying to sound like Blake, only manly. “Now, if we’re reasonable fellas, this’ll be the part where you have a couple drinks and wait for somebody to move these tables.” I place a paw on the heavy wood.