A desert breeze blew in through the open doors of the hacienda. The water ola swung gently beneath the cool, shaded porch. Sparrows, nesting in the nearby adobe barn, swooped into the courtyard, searching for flies and yellow jackets. A cricket squeaked from a hidden corner of the courtyards. Katydids set up their minute howl from the dry, dust-covered brush. A hawk flew overhead and all noise stopped. As the hawk receded into the distance the chatter of birds and insects continued.
The hacienda was constructed of adobe, as was the courtyard around it. It had a low adobe wall to keep out vermin, topped by and old weathered wooden fence to keep out larger animals. Horses neighed from the coolness of a lean-too, designed to give them partial protection from heat and storms. A mare stomped and it’s foul nodded it’s head and ran up to the mare, as if understanding her secret language.
A chicken began cackling, proud of it’s latest accomplishment. A wet brown egg lay in the nest behind it. The heat, blowing down off the rocky mountain behind the ranch, stirred up a dust devil 100 feet tall. The tall, slender funnel of yellow sand crept across landscape, battering the creosote bushes, sage, and cactus. Eventually it began to slow, lose it’s shape and falter. Sand fell like sleet in a winter storm. The falling sand struck the open eyes of a man in a brown vest, blue striped shirt, and levis. The eyes, staring up into the heavens, did not blink. The paper tag from his tobacco pouch blew on the white string, like a tiny kite in the wind. The sun gleamed off his brass belt buckle. His gun belt was buckled on just beneath it. The holster was empty. In his hand was the missing gun, still clutched in his frozen grip. Looking at the front of the pistol, one could tell that three cartridges were empty.
The yellow sand was disturbed around the body, as if several men had sat atop their horses, looking down at the body. The tracks led off to the north. A coyote crept close to the body, sniffed the smell of blood, mixed with the man smell, and crept away whining. Although it was hungry, it could not take a chance that the man wasn’t dead. It’s wasn’t worth the price of a meal.
The sun slowly drifted across the sky. It was late afternoon when the sound of hooves, wheels on gravel, and trace chains, broke the stillness of the desert.
Two women rode in the wagon, obviously mother and daughter. The mother put her hand on her daughter’s new hat and smiled. She shook the reins, eager to be home. If her husband was in a good mood, he may have started the steaks cooking. She had started the beans on the stove before she left. If her husband had remembered to feed the fire, they would eat soon.
She raised her head and looked at the chimney. Her daughter saw the look of disappointment cross her face.
“What’s the matter, mama?”
“Your father forgot to put wood in the fire again. The stove will be cold.”
“Papa has lot’s to do, with the new colt and all. I told him I wanted venison, he’s probably out hunting,” Dede said joyously. She turned and her face twisted into a mask of horror as she saw the body.
“DADDY!” she screamed, leaping from the wagon.
Dede Becket drew her gun with blinding speed. The gun leaped into her hand without thought. A roar reverberated off the rocky mountains. A cloud of smoke obscured Dede’s face for a moment. When it cleared, her face remained frozen, her eyes as unblinking as her dead father’s six months before.
Her cold eyes did not focus on the battered can rolling across the ground, they stared into the future at the four men who had killed her father. She dropped the gun into the holster and drew again the moment the sound of the seating gun reached her ears. She dropped the gun back into the holster, spun and fired, without being aware that she had drawn. The second can leaped off the adobe fence and spun into the desert beyond. She slowly began to reload deftly, with her powder horn and a bag of bullets.
“Don’t go,” Martha Becket said to her daughter. “You are all I have left.”
“Daddy didn’t have a son, if he had, he would have done this job. Now it falls to me.”
“You’re not… you can’t…” Martha said helplessly, her eyes full of desperation. Dede silently nodded. She had waited long enough.
Dede had known that she didn’t have a chance with the gun when she found her father’s body. They would have simply raped and murdered her as well, if she’d ridden out. As days turned into weeks, then months, Dede grew better with her pistol. At first blisters had formed, at her constant handling of the gun. Now her fingers were calloused. Dede packed her saddle bags, hugged her mother and stepped into the corral.
The colt was now 8 months old, old enough to be weaned from it’s mother. Dede tied the colt to the fence with a piece of twine. She threw the saddle on the bay mare and rode out, jumping the fence rather than opening the gate.
Martha stood watching her daughter retreating down the road. She sank into the porch swing and began rocking. By midnight she was still there, looking off into the darkness. She went in to bed sometime around 2 in the morning, still listening for the sound of returning hooves.
El Paso lay 70 miles southwest of the hacienda. Dede made this her primary destination. She stopped off at the Chelsy ranch, within sight of El Paso, the following evening. She borrowed food and ammunition, then rode off with the merest word of thanks.
El Lobo lay about 50 miles south of Juarez on the trail leading deep into Mexico. It was little more that a handful of buildings and a cantina of the same name.
A bay mare stood hitched to the railing. Behind it were several piles of manure, signifying that the horse had been standing for quite some time. It flashed it’s tail at a cloud of flies in annoyance, then perked up it’s ears at the sound of a muffled scream.
A cat o’nine tails slashed red streaks across Dede’s lower back and the upper cheeks of her shapely ass. Her naked body jerked and she screamed, pulling against the straps securing her to the low pine beam overhead. She swung on the thick leather straps, sobbing helplessly.
“Do it again,” a cute Mexican girl called to the skinny old man with the whip. “She’s almost my color. See,” she said, placing her cheek against the soft red-streaked cheeks of Dede’s ass. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against Dede’s ass erotically.
“Kiss it, Ramona,” a fat man with a bottle of tequila called. He held up his bottle in salute, then took a long swallow of the burning liquid. He gasped, then looked back with tear-filled eyes. He swore an oath as Ramona gave Dede’s ass a long, loving kiss. Dede shuddered and tried to pull away.
“Ride her se¤ora,” a man called from the back corner of the bar.
“Not without payment,” she said, laughing at the faces around the bar. “I do nothing for free.”
“We could take up a collection,” one man called.
“Get out of the way, woman,” the skinny man with the whip called. He pulled back the whip and slashed it across Dede’s back. She screamed. The end of the braided whip touched her large, pink nipple, starting a horrible fire in her chest. Her ass throbbed with a deep, horrible fire of it’s own. She sobbed, looking hatred at the men in the bar. The whore approached and she hissed an oath at her. The behavior of the men, she could almost understand. But a fellow woman? How dare she.
“Get away from me you stinking whore,” Dede screamed. One of the men translated and Ramona laughed. Ramona approached Dede’s face. She looked at it, smiled, then suddenly dipped and captured Dede’s battered breast into her mouth. She sucked for a moment, then pulled away so only the nipple was in her mouth. She nursed gently, easing some of the pain from the whip.
“How does that feel?” Ramona asked with a smile. The man translated.
“Like I have been sucked by a whore,” Dede growled. Again the man translated. Ramona stepped back and slapped Dede across the face.
“What she needs is a good fuck,” Ramona said, looking at the men in the bar. “Who’s first?”
“Let el azole go first,” the man with the whip laughed, holding up the braided end of the leather whip.
“Yes, let azole go first. Use the whip,” the fat man yelled.
“Muchachos,” the bartender said in concern. “I do not want to get shot, or my cantina burned for a puta,” he spat the words. “One of you get rid of her horse, and take her out back,” he growled. One man rushed outside. The man with the whip, and Ramona, untied Dede and dragged her to the little adobe shack behind the cantina. It was Ramona’s room, used only for business. In minutes they had her tied hand and foot to the old, dirty bed.
“I will go first,” Ramona said with relish.
“I knew you were strange,” the man with the whip cackled.
“She is special, she is an Americano. I bet she tastes like honey,” Ramona said, pulling off her own dress. She stood naked beside Dede. Dede was both revolted and fascinated. She had never considered such a perverted arrangement. Two women were not meant to go together. What could Ramona do without a cock?
Ramona fell atop Dede and began nursing on her left breast. Dede closed her eyes and tried to make believe it wasn’t happening. But Ramona’s mouth felt so soft and warm. It was impossible to ignore it.
Ramona moved to the right breast, moaning as she captured the childish breast in her hot mouth. She sucked gently, while her tongue strummed the nipple. Dede arched up off the bed and gasped.
“She’s ready,” the man with the whip whispered. Dede’s eyes flew open. She had forgotten where she was. The man with the whip, the fat man, and the other, all stood in the doorway with the blanket pulled back. They were watching with excited, greedy looks on their faces.
“Get on with it,” the fat man mumbled. He took another drink of tequila. The splash of liquid made Dede thirsty.
Dede suddenly grew alert as Ramona kissed her way down her stomach. Her eyes widened. She looked down in surprise, and puzzlement. What was Ramona doing? Abruptly, Dede knew. She stared in disbelief as Ramona gently munched on her brown, curly pubic hair, then slid between Dede’s legs with a thump. She eyed Dede’s pussy for a moment. Dede’s breath was coming in harsh gasps. She didn’t believe what she was seeing. She had never imagined seeing a woman staring at her sex so closely. The main thought in her head was, what did the woman think of it?
“Cute,” Ramona said, as if reading her thoughts. “Tell her it’s beautiful, Miguel.”
“The se¤ora compliments you,” the man who had taken care of the horse said. “She say’s you are beautiful.”
“I understood,” Dede nodded. Her frightened eyes went to Ramona’s face, as if she were afraid to look. Afraid that she would frighten the woman away? Perhaps.
“Kiss it, woman,” the man with the whip gasped.
“Shut up or go away,” she said, then leaned down and kissed Dede’s pussy gently. Dede nearly screamed with pent- up emotion. She lifted her head and looked down. Ramona was calmly mouthing her pussy, while looking deep into her eyes. For a moment Dede had a comical view of Ramona’s face, with her lip lined with pubic hair, as if she’d grown a mustache. But there was nothing funny about the instant fire in her loins. Her pussy and ass were burning.