Billy and Annie

This isn't a history lesson. It's a story of the wild west. Grab you a whiskey and sit back and listen.

The young man rides the dusty street under the blazing noon sun. A saloon is straight ahead, the weathered wood a ghostly shade of white. The horse stops in front of the watering trough. Sliding off the saddle, the man hitches the reins to the wooden bar. He takes the kerchief from around his mouth, pumps the handle twice to wet it and the grit slides from his face. Aside from a few chickens and a dog barking at the end of the street, the town is dead. Muffled laughter and talking come from inside the saloon. He steps up onto the boardwalk.

The dark stranger pushes through the swinging saloon doors. He moves leisurely to the bar, his long black hair trailing in the breeze. He eyes the dozen or so other patrons before moving next to a blonde. He eyes her carefully. Her rose-colored plaid shirt, slender waist, twinkling light blue eyes. She straddles the stool in her long, tight denim skirt. The skirt unbuttoned to the thigh, her gun belt holding two revolvers. She looks thirty and is built sturdy.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he tips his black hat. "I'm Billy."

"I'm Annie."

"What's your poison?"

"Whiskey, I always like a stiff shot."

"Two whiskeys bartender." Looking at her, he sees the generous cleavage of a well-proportioned woman. "Are you free?"

"Hold on cowboy. You're saying you have something worth offering?"

"I'm not a cowboy ma'am, not into roping and branding, but I am in for a good ride."

"How old are you Billy? "

"Eighteen Ma'am."

"You're just a kid. I like that."

She spins on the stool, stands up and grabs his shoulders. Pushing him back against the bar, she rips open his maroon cotton shirt. She runs her hands through the curly black hair on his chest and gazes at the tiny brown nipples. Her hand cups the large bulge under his pistol belt.

"Is that a six shooter?"

"If you like."

She quickly unbuckles the belt and it falls to the floor with a thud. Unbuttoning his jeans reveals a thick black bush, to her delight, he is cocked and ready for action.

He pulls her shirt over the flowing blonde hair, the untamed round breasts bouncing free. They sport silver dollar sized areolas. He pushes her jeans over the wide hips and down the supple thighs. She sits on the bar stool and he pulls off her boots and pants. Kicking off his boots and his own jeans, he then lifts her and moves her to a table.

The bartender shouts at them.

Billy bends over, takes out his pistol and shoots the bartender between the eyes. He looks around the room, the smoke still hanging at the barrel. "Anyone else?"

He bends over Annie. She is flushed, her nipples pointing straight into his cobalt eyes. He presses his muscled torso over her silky skin and they start kissing. Deep, passionate unbridled lust fills them both. Billy can feel her moist cunt pulsing against his abdomen. Pulling back, he runs a finger between her folds and feels she is ripe for the prick. He positions his hard seven inches and glides in effortlessly.

"Fuck me hard Billy."

"That's what we're here for Annie."

He runs his cock in and out of her cunt slowly. His hands fondle her generous breasts, teasing the nipples between thumb and forefinger.

She watches as the hairy young stud slams into her vagina, the table quakes beneath her with every stroke of the thick rod. She reaches around and feels his muscular ass rippling with each blow.

Billy slows his stroking and bends over Annie's body, his chest hair brushing her breasts and his hot breath falls on her throat. Slowly he works in and out waiting for her to catch up to him. He gently strokes her trigger.

Annie starts to moan, "I'm ready stud, make me cum."

Billy picks up the pace again, pounding here clit relentlessly. She arches back, watching his supple body tighten with each stroke. Their bodies hot with passion, lips parted, until they are both crying out in ecstasy. He bends down, kissing Annie's mouth.

"That was fun. Maybe we'll meet again some time."

"Yes, maybe." She replies wistfully.

Billy hands her the boots and clothes. He picks up his own things. Billy hitches the gun belt over one shoulder, the jeans and shirt over the other. He carries the boots as he strolls out of the bar and into the blazing sun.