Blade galloped into the one horse town on one horse, his fearless and trusty mare, Mariah. She ran like the wind.
Blade was covered in a week’s worth of trail dust and wanted nothing more than a stiff drink, a hot bath, and a willing filly to soothe his saddle-swollen flesh rifle.
He looked around the one-horse town with his one good eye (he’d lost the other in a knife fight in Tombstone) and zeroed in on the local Saloon. With a subtle nudge of her master’s buckskin-covered knee, Mariah headed toward the hitching rail. Blade draped her reins over the rail and stepped slowly through the swinging doors.
Miss Rosie was sitting on the bar, her fishnet-clad legs swinging, as she flirted with old Willy Jones.
A hush fell over the grizzled crowd of miners and cowboys as Blade stood silhouetted in the doorway.
Miss Rosie liked what she saw, from the top of the stranger’s ten gallon Stetson to the shiny points of his silver spurs.
“Willy, help me down,” she drawled as she eyed the thick piece of meaty pemmican in the doorway.
Willy put his gnarled hands around her corseted waist and helped her slip to the sawdust-strewn floor of the saloon. As his fingers touched her, she remembered all the times Willy’s willy had plundered her petals. All the times the old prospector’s mining trolley had lumbered down her throbbing tunnel of love, all the times his pick-axe had struck liquid gold hammering her depths. She shivered in wicked delight and gave Willy a wank-promising wink.
Miss Rosie threw back her whiskey in one gulp, set the glass firmly on the bar, and sashayed toward the stranger.
“Welcome to Silver City, cowboy. What can I do for ya?”
Blade didn’t mistake the invitation in her watering-hole eyes, or the sway of her satin-covered hips. He could feel his bullsnake of a cock grow tight against his worn leather breeches.
“Ma’am” said Blade and tipped his hat, “I’m just lookin for a room and a drink, a bath mebbe, if ya got one.”
“Oh, I can get ya wet, mister.” She said as she raked her eyes down his body to the bulge in his groin.
“Willy, would you be so kind as to get this gentleman a bath?”
As Willy went up to prepare the room, Miss Rosie poured a generous shot of whiskey for the cowboy. “What’s your name, Cowboy?” She asked.
“Folks call me Blade ma’am” he drawled and tipped his hat.
“Blade, is it? You looking for a place to sheathe that sword of yours?” She said as she eyed the growing tent in his trousers.
“Lead the way.” He said and finished his whiskey in one gulp.
Blade followed the undulating watermelons of Rosie’s perfect flanks up the stairs. When Rosie opened the door to the Royal Flush room, Blade had to squeeze by her heaving mounds of downy bounty. He tucked a finger into her bodice and grazed the ruby peaks of her perfect teats. Rosie hissed like a cat in heat and followed Blade into the room, cupping his granite hams as he passed.
Blade stopped just inside the room. There stood Willy, shirtless, tan and glistening, the steam from the hot bath shining on the silver hairs of his well-muscled chest. “Howdy pardner, just heating up the water fer yer bath. I figure you like it extra hot,” drawls Willy as he glances pointedly at Blade’s exploding package. “Rosie, darlin, why don’t you pour some whiskey while I cover Mr. Blade here’s back with my home made lye soap.”
As Rosie turned to pour, Blade grinned slowly and started unbuckling his holster. “I recon I could use a bit of a polish.”