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Boob HillJohn ‘Long’ Johnson held up a weather-browned hand,bringing to a halt the six horsemen and women trailingbehind him. He pushed back his dusty, ten-gallon cowboyhat and shaded his brow, squinting stinging sweat out ofhis blazing blue eyes as he gazed down at the ramshacklecollection of wood frame buildings and homes that wereDike City, Kansas. Shimmering waves of heat rose off thesun-baked land below, and the sluggish Little Snake River,which regularly overflowed its banks and the town’scrudely constructed dykes, wound its way like a muddyartery through the burnt-stubble heart of the valley bowl.‘That her?’ one of the men asked, bringing his mountalongside Johnson’s.‘Yep,’ was all the handsome, taciturn cocksmanreplied.‘Her’ was a good description of the wind-whipped,bare-ass town, because Dike City, Kansas, was home tothe infamous Boob Hill – a barely-legal brothel that wasbusy turning the local female population into howlingnymphomaniacs. Married men were being left wifeless,families daughterless, single men ecstatic by the depravedgoings-on at the sprawling whorehouse. Good-hearted,god-fearing womenfolk would enter the brothel on amission of mercy and never leave, turned on to thepowerful pleasures of the flesh by the devious Madam ofthe house, Lurlene ‘Chesty’ Laflemme.By hypnosis or potion, or some other means unknown,Chesty would transform the modest little ladies of theprairies into sex-craved she-devils that no one man couldever hope to satisfy. The reborn brazen babes needed,craved, men, and plenty o’ ’em, and Chesty provided theman-meat to temporarily satiate their overwhelminghunger, at a tidy profit to herself, of course.Johnson had been hired by the town council, twelvemarried men good and true, to put a stop to it – to tameChesty and lift the gate on her ever-expanding corral oflust-addled women, to reunite families torn asunder by allconsumingcarnality. Sure, the single men, and a goodmany of the married, too, had objected to the Town hiringJohnson, but most of those men weren’t landowners, and,thus, couldn’t vote, so their opinions counted as much ascow chips to the political leaders who felt the Wild Westhad no place in Dike City.‘We gonna hit her tonight?’ another of Johnson’s mobinquired.‘Naw,’ the well-endowed tail boss drawled. ‘We’ll hit’er come mornin’, when the debauchery’s at low ebb.’The attractive group of cowboys and girls nodded,confident of Johnson’s skills on the range, the battlefield,and in the sack. Every clam-shaped notch on Johnson’srifle stock spoke of his abilities of seduction and survival.There were a hundred and twenty-five such notches in all.Johnson kicked a glowing ember back into the campfire,then squatted down and tilted a tin cup of hot, black coffeeup to his thick, sensuous lips, taking a good, long draught.Somewhere far off in the night-shaded wilderness friskycoyotes barked love songs back and forth, while lustygophers made chattering love in their funk-smellingburrows. Good signs, all.Johnson sagely regarded the flame-licked faces of hisposse, liked what he saw: three men – experienced, dickheavydudes who could cunny-ride the orneriest of ladies;and three women – big-breasted beauts who kept theirmen’s tools well-oiled, and pacified any stray males whogot in their way.‘Mebbe y’all should work on your moves some, so y’allbe ready come mornin’,’ Johnson instructed.The sex-hardened gang quickly jumped to their feet andshucked their buckskin like it was crawling with fire ants.They stood nude and lewd before the flickering campfire,the men’s iron-hard dongs bobbing long and heavy andsure, cocked for action, the women’s hefty, heaving jugsswollen with mother’s milk, begging to be sucked dry.Then they adapazarı escort paired off, started getting down and dirty witheach other.Johnson studied their technique, mindful of any flawsthat could get a man bucked, a woman chucked. He drewhis own ten-inch cum-cannon out of its cotton holster andcommenced to stroking, watching Lynn ‘Man-Eater’Craven tease Cal ‘Sure-Shot’ McGroot’s lengthy prodwith her playful, pink snake of a tongue. Her awesome,snow-white tits, capped by inch-long, rosy-red nipples,swayed ponderously from side to side as she licked allover Cal’s hard wood. Then she ably swallowed thegroaning man’s timber in one slobbery gulp, her fiery-redhair cascading across her pretty face.Lynn bobbed her head up and down on the buckingcowboy’s bushwhacker, sucking hard and sure withprecision mouth-strokes, from bloated tip to furry base, tillshe finally yanked Cal’s dripping lady-killer out of herstretched-wide mouth and asked, ‘Y’all gonna fuck mytitties, or what?’Johnson’s lips creased into a smile, as he pulled on hispecker with a calloused, practiced hand, looking onappreciatively as Lynn cupped and seductively juggled herover-ripe melons. Her magnificent, blue-veined mamswere enough to tempt even a not-so-straight-shooter tobury his spunk-gun in between her soft mountains andlighten his load, frost her flesh-cones.Cal ambled closer and eased his throbbing rod intoLynn’s heated chest canyon, began churning his hips in adosey-do as old as the Jism Trail itself. Lynn shoved herivory mounds together, smothering Cal’s pumping dong,then spat into her tit-tunnel to grease the action evenfurther. Cal sawed his saddle horn back and forth in theredhead’s depthless cleavage, fucking her treasure chestfaster and faster, pinching and rolling her fully-flowerednipples as best he could. And Lynn stuck out her tongue,providing a warm, wet cushion for Cal’s peek-a-booingcocktop.Cal rode roughshod over Lynn’s tremulous titties,blazing a heated, humid, velvety path between herjouncing jugs, till he broke the flesh-spanked night airopen with a yowl of satisfaction and blasted a bandolierfulof white-hot jizz onto the girl’s all-natural endowment. Hecoated Lynn’s neck, her cupped casabas, with the unerringaccuracy of a man who’d corralled and domesticated apassel of damsels in distress (and out of ‘dis dress’). Lynnjoyously rubbed Cal’s salty jerk into her massive, shinybreasts, revelling in her own wicked powers of tit-suasion.Johnson’s shrewd eyes roamed over the rest of hismerry, messy band of fucking and sucking cummers,confident that they could handle the wayward women ofBoob Hill. He tucked his own purple-knobbed fuck-stickback into his trousers, saving his juice for the personalchallenge that lay ahead – a high-poon showdown with thedangerous, money and man-lusting proprietress of BoobHill, Chesty Laflemme.Come the crack of dawn, Johnson rose up on his hind legsand stretched, felt his manhood to ensure it was inworking order, and then roused the rest of his posse. Theplan was simple: take on all comers, cum on all takers –hands-on demonstrate to the horny, horn-swoggled womenof Boob Hill that one man could, indeed, satisfy onewoman, and then return the satiated gals to their rightfulfamilies.The group of well-hung twat-tamers and their bustycock wranglers mounted up, cantered off the high groundand down towards Dike City, rocking sensuously back andforth in their polished leather saddles. They were trottingMain Street in a matter of a minutes, then pulled up andlooked towards the end of the deserted street, where on arocky, barren plateau stood the gaily-lit brothel that wouldbe the sexy scene of Johnson and his gang’sshowdown/ho-down with escort adapazarı Laflemme and her lusty ladiesof the evening, and morning, and afternoon.The gang dismounted, and with the torpedo-tittedwomen covering their broad backs, the thick-memberedmen trod the dirty, grey planks of the sagging woodensidewalk, resolutely striding past shuttered storefronts andup the hill to the din of iniquity that had laid claim to somany normally monogamous women. The brothel was agaudy, rambling mansion of twenty-some rooms, asstructurally unappealing as a temperance tomboy withbumps where breasts should’ve grown. Johnson didn’twaste time skinning his knuckles on the red-painted frontdoor; instead, a well-placed boot splintered the entrywayand his posse passed inside.They crossed a long, marble entrance hall, climbed aspiralling, red-carpeted staircase, and then trundled downan upstairs corridor. Johnson fanned his men and womenout in front of him, and they burst open doors and leapedinto chambers framed in chiffon and doused in perfume,taking the slumbering, all-too-temporarily satiated womenof the house of ill-repute unawares. The heavy-breastedcowgirls pulled the paying customers aside, using theirample charms to convince the stunned johns to make love,not war, while the three-legged cowboys bared their loinsand put into practice their studly powers of seduction,rustling up memories in the confused ladies’ minds of justhow sweet and sweaty it was to be a one-man woman.Johnson, meanwhile, moseyed off further down thehall, in search of even breastier babes to stamp with hisbrand. When he reached the end of the long, wallpaperedpassage, he toed the last door in line open and strodeinside, found one Lurlene ‘Chesty’ Laflemme ensconcedin the bubbly chop of a cast-iron bathtub like a siren in thesea. Johnson could tell it was she, both from the fact thather striking face matched the Wanted poster he carried onhis person, and the fact that, even though her body wascompletely submerged in the soapy water, her SierraNevada-like breasts still peeked their pink tips out of thesuds.‘Been lookin’ for ya, Chesty,’ Johnson drawled, slowlyand carefully unbuttoning his buckskin jacket.‘Been waitin’, long rider,’ Chesty replied, a defiantsmile lifting the corners of her crimson lips. Her sunbleached,blonde hair was piled atop her head like a stookof ripened wheat, with a blood-red rose stuck in its midst,thorns and all. She pushed her mams still further out of thebursting bubbles, till they glistened huge and hypnotic inthe oil-lamp light, gargantuan in size, tanned an almost allovertawny, saddle leather brown and twin-peaked byjutting nipples that looked like they could spray enoughwhite gold to satisfy the most parched of ’49ers.‘What’s it all about, big ’uns?’ Johnson asked,cautiously dropping his jacket, going to work on hisflannel shirt, warily avoiding any sudden movements thatmight spook the big, brazen, bathing mama. ‘Why youturnin’ good women bad, wives into wantons?’Chesty regarded him steadily with her slate-grey eyes,watching as the loaded-for-bare cunt rustler deftlyunbuttoned his shirt, shunted it aside. She surveyedJohnson’s hairy, muscular chest and licked her bee-stunglips. ‘A girl’s gotta have her gold,’ she replied. ‘Andbusiness is boomin’, big man.’‘That the only reason?’ Johnson inquired, wellknowingthat dollars and cents weren’t the only factors atplay here. The weaker sex coveted coin and carnalknowledge as much as the male of the species, sure, butthey coveted something else even more, something that allthe money in the world couldn’t buy – love, sweet, love.Chesty blushed, looked down, up, at her tremendous,sud-sprinkled titties. ‘I was a one-man adapazarı escort bayan woman once,’ shespoke softly. ‘But then he ran away with a two-bit barfloozy and…’ She glanced angrily up at Johnson, whosepants were now down around his ankles, his rigid dicksticking out like a flagpole at a frontier fort, waiting to besaluted. ‘Well, let’s just say that I vowed to never let thathappen again, and filthy lucre became my one true love;you treat it well and it’ll never leave you.’‘Money’s cold comfort on a long winter’s night –’specially ’round these parts,’ Johnson stated.‘I’ve plenty of one-night stands to keep my bones warmthrough the winter months,’ Chesty responded. ‘So don’tthink for a damn minute that you can bring me back in linewith that handsome pussy-prod of yours, cunt-puncher,’she sneered, her spongy, soap-lathered boobs undulatingas she slid upright in the bath, her glittering eyes locked onJohnson’s twitching trenching tool.‘Well, ma’am, we’ll just have to see about that,’Johnson said modestly, lifting his snakeskin cowboy bootsout of his puddled denim trousers. He stood before thedripping, over-endowed frontier goddess, the both of themas naked as Adam and Eve save for the ten-gallon hat andsize-f******n pair of boots Johnson was wearing. And thenhe rushed her.Chesty toppled the tub over on its side and spilled outof the bathwater, was on her bare feet in the blink of athird eye, brandishing a steely eighteen-inch dildo in herclenched right fist.Johnson slid to a stop on the slickened floor and heldup his hands. ‘Whoa there now! You put that hole-pluggerdown, ma’am,’ he intoned.‘This is all the man I need!’ Chesty shrieked. ‘Maybeyou wanna try it on for size yourself!?’ She hurtled herselfat Johnson, the metallic cock-substitute aimed ass-high.Johnson scrambled backwards, slipped, and crashed tothe floor. He desperately kicked out his right boot, caughtChesty’s shin, and knocked the top-heavy madam off herfeet. She cried out in alarm, flailed her arms, and thenlanded smack dab on top of Johnson’s propped-up pecker.Her sticky, splayed pussy lips caught on the cowboy’sbloated dickcap, and then her downward momentumburied his massive schlong to the hairy balls inside herstretched-out pink.Johnson pinned Chesty’s arms to her side andfrantically pumped his hips, savagely fucking thediscombobulated babe before she even knew what hit her.Her foot-and-a-half-long lady-pleaser/man-smasher lay onthe wet floor, as defunct now as the twin cities of Sodomand Gomorrah.Johnson pounded the tittified gal’s poon with his prong,fucking her relentlessly, striving to pacify her, todemonstrate beyond any reasonable doubt that one mancould readily satisfy one woman, even a huge-breasted,jilted woman. And when Chesty finally let out a soft sighof surrender, Johnson knew he was hitting his mark. Hereleased her arms and grabbed up her overhanging jugs,fondled and squeezed her sodden, stunning breastworks.Chesty closed her eyes and moaned, dug scarletfingernails into Johnson’s striated chest, pumping herfirm, round bottom in rhythm to his urgent thrusting.Johnson knew then that he’d at last brought law and thenatural order of things back to Dike City, Kansas. Herolled Chesty’s rock-hard, distended nipples between hislong fingers, kneaded her smooth, sun-kissed, Texas-sizedtitties, the muscles on his arms standing out in stark reliefas he feverishly worked tit and banged twat.The pace of the Westerners’ frenetic coupling greweven more intense, and the chest-blessed gal bleated inecstasy and Johnson grunted with satisfaction at a job welldone. He blasted wad after wad of heavy-calibre cum deepinto Chesty’s gushing gash. Steaming justice had beenserved.The Boob Hill brothel now sits as empty as apolitician’s promise, abandoned by its proprietress and herminions of man-lust, the wives returned to their lovinghusbands, the daughters to the warm bosoms of theirfamilies. The Johnson posse disbanded shortly after the
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