This is a story based in the old west of the 1870's. I have tried to be historically accurate in many regards but have chosen to use modern references to feminine undergarments in some places simply for my own pleasure. I hope that you will forgive me for that one indulgence. The story is quite long but I originally wanted it to be much longer.

 

The Saddle Bride

by Teresa Ann Wood

Chapter One

Claudius Hopper, known locally as 'Claude' ambled down the very center of the dusty street. It had become his usual path as avoiding the wooden sidewalks, and the dark alleys that opened between the various buildings, had become a necessity since the other boys his age had discovered his unwillingness and complete inability to fight back. His last black eye had only recently faded.

Claude had always been miserable, his life nothing but heartache. He didn't remember his parents beyond a few faint impressions of his mother that couldn't qualify as actual recollections. His childhood to this point had been partially spent with a cousin of his father, a distant man who loved alcohol and resented Claude's intrusion on his life. He beat the boy regularly until Claude was six. That was when the cousin had been found dead behind his favorite saloon; having choked to death on his own vomit. Things had gotten no better for Claude after that and the next eight years had seen him shuffled from orphanage to orphanage, with a dozen side trips of never more than a few months to various adoptive parents who quickly realized that the small, slight Claude would never have the physical strength necessary for farm or ranch work. At fourteen he had been turned out on his own, the orphanage needed the bed for a younger child, and at fifteen he had turned up here in Salt Flats Utah, starving and desperate. That was when Miss Johnson had found him.

He loved her immediately, that saucy, aging tavern trollop. At forty she looked sixty, and relied heavily on makeup, wigs, and gaudy clothing to maintain her appearance as a successful 'madam'. Lady Victoria Johnson's customers rarely came to see her anymore, preferring the younger girls for their pleasure, but she owned the bordello and made enough from the watered whiskey and percentages taken from the other whores to keep her alive. Yet she had taken pity on the starving Claude and took him in, giving him odd jobs around the bordello and a place to sleep in the back room. She fed him, obviously cared about him, and went out of her way to be kind. Claude had never known any affection and quickly became the darling of all the girls.

For the past six months Claude had lived in the bordello. Emptying spittoons, washing shot glasses, mixing Miss Victoria's hangover cure for the whores each morning, all had become his tasks, as was washing the soiled sheets each and every day. He didn't mind; he'd done far worse in his young life, and reveled in having his own tiny cot to sleep in each night without being worried about being discovered and arrested as a vagrant.

"You're just too pretty a boy to turn away," Miss Victoria would often say to Claude. From her those were wonderful words, as she was always being kind to him. From the other boys his age, and many who were younger, the same words were hateful, spiteful. Was it Claude's fault that he was so small? Thin of build, thin of shoulders, his years of abuse had left him without 'even a bit of meat on his bones' Miss Victoria would say. Even now, after six months of regular meals, the only place he had gained any weight was in his behind, and that not very much. While following homesteading wagon trains into Utah, no one had been around to make him cut his hair, and so now Claude's pale hair hung most of the way down his back and his face, fair, soft, and smooth, looked nothing like a young man's. When he had been younger, Claude was told that he would 'grow out of that softness' but he never had. Wherever he had lived other young boys had tormented him for his girlish face and weak body and nowhere worse than here in Salt Flats. Perhaps that was because he had lived here longer than anywhere else.

But the abuse from the boys of Salt Flats was nothing to Claude, not when he had the love of Miss Victoria to sustain him. She was not as attentive as most real mothers would be, but Claude had nothing to compare against and thought she was truly wonderful. At times Miss Victoria or one of the other girls would ask him to fill a bathtub for them, or help them into a bustle, or even apply their makeup for them. He sometimes helped them with their corsets but he wasn't strong enough to do them any real good there. Seeing the women naked was a daily occurrence to Claude but he rarely became aroused. Twice he had been given a 'freebie' by one of the younger women in thanks for some task but he had been more embarrassed by the gifts than grateful.

The prostitutes were not as attractive to him as some of the well-dressed ladies of the town, none of which would ever speak to him. Claude didn't believe that his disinterest in the whores was 'odd' or 'different'; he felt that it was a consequence of constantly being around the working prostitutes. He had seen all of them 'at work' on many occasions and wasn't the least surprised to see multiple men and women having sex anywhere in the bordello at any time of the day or night. Only seeing one of the whores giving a man oral pleasure even caught his attention. For whatever reason he was more intrigued by that than anything else, but here in the bordello, it wasn't all that rare a sight, and so even that interest soon faded.

The only thing that had ever really interested Claude had been reading, and he had voraciously read everything he could get his hands on. Books, newspapers, which were rare in 1872 Utah; if it had printed words Claude would read it. His opportunities were few but he had made the most of them, ever thankful for basic schooling he had received in the orphanages. His mathematics skills were adequate but he remembered almost everything that he read, giving Claude a grasp on history and even the rudiments of basic law that those around him did not have. Not that any of those things did him any good; he was still the little girly-boy that lived in the bordello.

Today had been an exciting one for Claude, as his teacher had informed him that she was expecting three new books to arrive soon, and he would be the first allowed to read them after her. Miss Victoria had worked for months to force the town into allowing Claude to join the local school. He had begun attending in the fall and despite being the oldest boy in the class, had enjoyed it immensely. Getting to and from school without incident was difficult, but the opportunity to learn was more than worth the occasional beatings to Claude.

Even now in late September the air was hot and thick, and few if anyone was out on the streets. A few tired horses were tied up in front of one of the saloons, but the only person in sight was an old cowboy Claude new as 'Whiskey Jim'. Old Jim's leg had healed crooked after a stampede, and he now lived with his son and daughter-in-law in Salt Flats. He rarely left the shade of the porch in front of his son's store and today was sitting fully clothed in the horse trough located there. Claude wondered if it helped cool the old codger down.

"Afternoon Claude," waved Whiskey Jim, splashing a bit of the warm water as he did.

Whiskey Jim didn't care who thought what of him, so he was one of the few people who would speak to Claude on the street. It always amazed Claude that people who were more than friendly when visiting the bordello wouldn't even speak to anyone who worked there when they met on the street. Miss Victoria had just announced that, 'that's the way things are, hon," and dropped the subject.

"Mr. Jim," Claude said back, taking off his battered, shapeless hat to scratch at a persistent itch on his scalp. Perhaps he should cut his hair. "Does sitting in that trough cool you any?"

"Nope, nary a bit," laughed Whiskey Jim, "but I believe in being hopeful. Besides, when I get out I'm going to traipse water all over Ellie's floors, to get a rise out of her. It's been too quiet around here lately."

Claude laughed and hurried on. Jim and his daughter-in-law were always bickering, but in truth cared a great deal for one another. He briefly considered stopping to speak with Jim for a moment, but thought he saw a shadow move in a nearby alley. No sense in taking chances. Miss Victoria's bordello was just down the next street.

The first shot didn't surprise Claude, as rarely a day went by that a drunken cowboy didn't fire off a few rounds in celebration or a citizen of the town found a rattlesnake curled up beneath his front porch. The whole town was that way; unlikely to get excited over something as common as a few gunshots. Legend was that old Calvin Stenson once shot an Indian through a missing board in the side wall of his outhouse while answering nature's call. The Indian had collapsed and died between two homes and no one even came outside to see what all the noise was about. Even the second shot didn't arouse any suspicion in Claude, but the sound of thundering hooves certainly did as stampedes through the town happened once or twice each year and often turned out deadly for anyone caught in the middle of the street. True to his timid nature, however, Claude failed to immediately respond, and found himself still standing in the middle of the street when six horses turned the corner ahead of him.

Chapter Two

A furious flurry of gunshots sounded and one of the men on the running horses collapsed, falling backwards from his saddle to lie still in the street. Behind Calvin another shot sounded and he heard the bullet whip past his head. The men on horseback returned fire; two shooting at or beyond Claude while another fired towards the roof of the hotel just down the street. Terrified the boy dropped to a crouch there in the street, shaking in fear at the gun battle raging around him.

"Run, Claude," yelled Whiskey Jim, rolling out to take cover behind his water trough.

Claude wanted to, but couldn't find the courage to move. If he stood up to run, he'd be hit by a bullet, he just knew it! He opened his mouth to yell at the gunmen to stop, that he was an innocent bystander and if they would just stop shooting he would get out of the street, but nothing initially came out. Then a bullet kicked up dirt beside on foot, and that broke the ice in his veins, shrilling a cry of fear Claude turned and ran from the horsemen who were now milling about in the street. In his fear he didn't even leave the street, but ran towards the two deputies who were firing at the horsemen from behind a wagon.

Claude was never certain of exactly what happened; his fear had become so great that rational thought was lost to him. He ran from one group of gunmen towards another, never leaving the center of the unprotected street. All the while he was screaming, but he didn't know that, or just how girlish his screams sounded. One moment he was running and then someone grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and with a grunt deposited his slight body across the front of his saddle.

"Shut up that caterwaulin'," demanded a deep voice and Claude immediately complied. Not because he had been told to, but because the saddle horn in his stomach had knocked the wind from him. Gunfire was still all around him, and the thin whine of bullets passing close by told Claude who the targets were. Petrified with fear, Claude looked back to see who had picked him up and found himself looking into the cold, dead eyes of a stranger; an outlaw. Without further thought, Claude fainted dead away.

"You drop your guns, or the lady's dead," announced the last outlaw. His horse stood in the center of the street, its muscles trembling in fear as the scent of blood was strong. Eight men and three horses were down, dead or dying, and only he of the six men who had robbed the bank was still in the saddle.

"Lady?" whispered the senior deputy to his wounded partner. They had thought that they were well concealed behind the wagon but a bullet had still found its way into Clem's thigh. "Ain't that the long-haired boy from over at Lady Vicky's?"

"I think so," Clem grunted through his pain. He was trying to tie off his wound with a neckerchief while holding his six-gun in one hand. "I can't be sure."

The deputy looked down the street, seeing that some of the men of the town had cut off the outlaw's retreat in that direction. "Go ahead and shoot 'em, I'll drop you soon as you do." His words sparked laughter from some of the men down the street. Few people would mind if Claude was killed.

"You let me go or she dies," the outlaw demanded again, pointing his gun directly at the back of Claude's head. He didn't understand the laughter of his captors and truly believed his hostage to be a woman. A woman dressed in men's clothing, certainly, but her screams and the way she ran had convinced the outlaw of her sex. Plus Claude's oversized shapeless hat had fallen away when he fled, looking very much like a bonnet to the adrenaline-filled outlaw.

"We don't care what you do to 'her'," snickered the deputy. "You drop that gun; get off your horse or you're dead where you stand. Don't matter to me; the reward is the same dead or alive."

The outlaw's horse capered about nervously as he kept the gun firmly against Claude's head. He was not about to surrender; it was the noose for him if he did, but surely these townspeople wouldn't risk the life of one of their own just to catch him?

"This is your last chance," the outlaw thundered. "Let me go and she lives, I'll drop her off somewhere down the trail. Anybody tries to stop me, I'll shoot her dead." With that the outlaw began to ride slowly towards the wagon concealing the two deputies. The townsfolk behind him were content to let the deputies handle it; they weren't going to receive the reward with the lawmen involved, and so they held their fire, waiting to see what the lawmen would do.

"Let him come on," whispered Clem, his teeth clenched in pain. "When he gets close you can drop him easy, no chance of missing. He's riding right to you."

"Good idea," answered the senior deputy. "I won't say nothing, and he'll think we're going along."

"I don't think so," came a sinister voice. The senior deputy didn't dare look around to see who was speaking; the barrel of the shotgun pushed against the back of his head had all of his attention.

"What is your problem," seethed Clem, both his hands now occupied with keeping his neckerchief tight. "You can't let that outlaw get away! That's Mad Mark Murphy!"

"I don't give a damn about that outlaw," screamed Victoria. "I will not let him harm Claude."

The outlaw was surprised to see the old whore holding the deputies at bay with a shotgun, but he was an opportunist and took full advantage of the situation. Tipping his hat to her he drove his spurs into his horse and fled the town.

Chapter Three

By the time Claude regained his senses the outlaw had apparently covered several miles. Too frightened to protest at the rough treatment, his stomach was terribly bruised from the saddle horn by this point, Claude surreptitiously tried to ease his way into a more comfortable position. His attempt brought him a sharp slap on his rump for his trouble.

"You sit still missy," growled the outlaw, allowing his hand to linger on Claude's backside for more than a moment. "You try to slip off this horse and I'll shoot you dead."

Frightened almost to the point of passing out again, Claude didn't even notice the 'missy' or the lingering hand. The pain of the slap was not great, he was wearing jeans after all, but it had gotten all of his attention. Gritting his teeth against the pressure of the saddle horn tried to send his mind away; anywhere that the pain and fear would not follow.

Thankfully the ride didn't last much longer and without warning the running horse suddenly came to dead stop and Claude was pushed from the horse. Sitting on his backside in the dust, he saw that the outlaw had brought them to a ramshackle old corral built across the entrance of a box canyon. Inside the corral was a spring and six fresh horses already saddled and ready to ride.

Taking only his rifle and saddlebags, the outlaw slid from the horse and gave it a slap to send it running. Grabbing Claude by the arm he dragged the small boy to the entrance of the canyon and pushed him back to the earth by the gate. Opening the enclosure, the outlaw whistled and most of the horses came to him. Likely they thought he had grain or hay. Moving quickly the outlaw gathered up the reins of four of the animals and chased the others from the canyon with a loud 'yee-haw!' All the time he kept glancing back in the direction they had come; anticipating the arrival of their pursuit at any moment. Without a word at all he dragged Claude back to his feet and, taking him by his thin waist, tossed him easily into a saddle. With the reins of the three horses including Claude's tied to his saddle horn, the outlaw quickly whipped the beasts into full speed on up the main canyon.

They rode all that day along little-used gaming trails that wove in and around the wide-spread mountains of the area. Occasionally the outlaw would change direction suddenly and cross a saddle, or follow an area of bare rock for miles before returning to a trail of any kind. Soon enough Claude was as lost as he'd ever been and the lack of water, the outlaw shared little of what he carried despite the blazing sun, eventually left him too dehydrated to care where they were. They stopped twice to switch horses as they continued their flight on through the night, the outlaw constantly watching their back trail for any sign of pursuit. It wasn't until well after dark on the second night that the outlaw allowed them a true break from their travels.

Stopping at a cool spring, the outlaw allowed Claude and the horses to drink their fill while he refilled his several canteens. After that they moved on several more miles before bedding down in the lee of a towering spire of rock that had just enough room to hide the horses. With no fire and only a piece of rawhide tough jerky as a meal, Claude was bound hand and foot and left lying on his side on the gravel slope to sleep. Within seconds of lying down himself, the outlaw was asleep, his soft snores testament to his exhaustion. Claude had been planning to work at his bonds so that he could escape, but before he realized it he also was fast asleep.

For a week they continued their flight, though as far as Claude could tell there was no sign of pursuit. The only notable incident along the way was their unexpected stop at a small run-down ranch. Apparently the outlaw had expected someone to meet him there, as he cursed when he found the barn and house empty. When they left there they stopped twice to study their trail from high points, but again they saw nothing. Still the outlaw looked nervous until they reached a fast-running river that they crossed on a ferry. Once across, the outlaw visibly relaxed and even began to speak to Claude in more than a single terse word at a time. That night, as they made camp beside a spring among a grove of cool cottonwoods, they even had a short conversation. At least the outlaw did, Claude was still too frightened to say anything.

"We've lost them now," the outlaw bragged, flashing the first smile Claude had ever seen on the man. "If we didn't lose them in the mountains, and I'm certain that we did, they would have caught us before we reached the river as tired as these horses are. I was supposed to have more waiting for us, but someone didn't do their job." His eyes thinned as he considered what had happened. "They'll be sorry for that."

When it came time to bed down, the outlaw brought the short lengths of rope he used to tie Claude. The boy, by now used to the routine, obediently held his wrists out for the loop. This time, however, the outlaw stopped after finishing Claude's bindings and took a long, serious look at him. "You know what missy? I was thinking about killing you once I outran the posse but now I have another idea… you didn't have any plans for the winter did you?" he asked, laughing and slapping his knee as if his joke was the funniest thing he had ever had. Claude nearly swooned at the words, his eyes going wide as his mouth dropped open. Still laughing, the outlaw spread his blankets upon the ground and, to Claude's surprise, ordered the boy to lie upon them rather than the bare ground. Unsure why and expecting another cruel joke at his expense, Claude lay down where he was told and rolled onto his left side. The outlaw lay down behind him and spread a second blanket over them before scooting up behind Claude and stroking his bottom.

"You and me are going to get along just fine, missy," the outlaw said, gripping Claude's behind firmly before moving even closer and draping one heavy arm around the boy's tiny waist. True to form the man was asleep in seconds, his hand replaced by something else that also was probing Claude's backside: an erection!

Mortified Claude tried to scoot away but he was held firmly in place by the outlaw's arm. Even through the thick denim of their jeans Claude could feel the firm intrusion of the outlaw's erection, particularly when the man occasionally pushed firmly into him while in the passion of some dream. Likely he was dreaming of some trail-town whore he had known but it was Claude's backside that the man was dry humping. It was well into the night before the boy could relax enough to fall asleep.

Before dawn was fully broken they were up and moving, Claude relieved to return to the saddle. Better the hard leather prodding his buttocks than the outlaw's engorged cock. Despite his assurances that they were no longer being followed, they still set a stiff pace that day, switching horses often, and rode on until well after dark climbing steadily into some low but rugged mountains. That night was spent just like the previous one, with the petrified Claude trying desperately but unsuccessfully to avoid the prodding, turgid penis of his sleeping captor.

Early the following day they crossed a high saddle and again the outlaw visibly relaxed. The land beyond the saddle was still rugged, but was filled with the green of grass and trees. A cool breeze fell off the short peaks to the northwest and the air was almost comfortable. For the first time since his abduction, Claude was allowed a noon-time break. As had become their routine he was allowed to attend to his bodily functions privately only after being tethered to a long rope. At least he could get out of the man's sight even if he couldn't escape.

"Time might come, missy, that you won't be so shy around me," the outlaw gloated, leering in a nasty way. Claude said nothing, still too petrified of the man to admit that he was not a woman; afraid that the man might just kill him out of hand. Blushing furiously Claude moved behind a conveniently large boulder to the limit of his tether and made his water. Returning to their camp, he found the outlaw sprawled out in the shade of a nearby aspen.

"You can fix us dinner today," the man laughed, pointing to the saddle bags that held his supply of jerky. "Surprise me."

Dutifully Claude opened the bag and removed enough jerky for the two of them and gave most of it to the outlaw. Moving as far from the man as he could, Claude sat down as far away as possible and ate his, chewing at the tough leathery meat in an effort to soften it enough to swallow. Being frightened was common now, he felt it every second of every day, but Claude was now beginning to feel something else; a sense of foreboding caused by the strange way the outlaw was staring at him.

As for the outlaw, he was mesmerized by the way in which his captive was eating 'her' jerky, the lady like way she chewed, the dainty bites ripped away from the larger piece. The robbery at the bank may have turned out poorly but he had escaped, and at the moment he was feeling very much like celebrating. Once again he had avoided the law and this time he wouldn't have to share his loot. The soft lips of the young woman traveling with him were giving him some rather pleasant ideas as well.

"C'mere missy," the outlaw said, the softness of his voice nearly stopping Claude's heart. Was this it then? Was he to die now?

Rising to his feet Claude brushed at his jeans, a very feminine mannerism to the outlaw, and hesitantly walked over to him, sitting down only when the outlaw told him to do so. Without preamble or saying another word, the outlaw unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans, pulling them down just enough to allow his soft cock to pop out. It lay there, fat and limp along his left leg, far longer soft than Claude's was when erect. Surprised and terrified, the boy could only stare at the man's dick as if it were a snake prepared to strike. Certainly he had seen naked men before and even a number of erect ones as well there in the bordello, but this outlaw's dick was obviously bigger than anything he'd ever seen before; or at least it would be when erect. Frightened of the outlaw's intentions, Claude said nothing; just sitting and staring at the monster revealed before him.

"You know what this is, missy?" Claude could only nod.

"You know what they're for?" Again Claude only nodded. Of course he knew what they were for. He had one himself, didn't he?

"Well that's good, you being sort of young I thought I might have to explain a few things to you before we could get down to business. Have you ever heard of a man putting this in a woman's mouth?"

Claude went cold inside even as the outlaw's dick gave a little surge of expansion. He was a boy, not a girl, didn't the outlaw know that? Perhaps he did but called Claude 'missy' as an insult. Claude had heard of men who did… 'things'… to other men, but those stories had always been about seamen on long ocean voyages. Was this outlaw the kind of man who preferred sex with other men?

"Well, missy, that's what I want you to do for me."

With all his will power Claude tore his eyes away from the now partially inflated cock and pulled them up to meet the outlaw's gaze. For the first time ever he looked the outlaw in the eyes, prepared to blurt out that he was a boy, almost a man, and certainly didn't want to put this outlaw's dick in his mouth!

Pleased with the surprised look on the girl's face, the outlaw smiled as his cock swelled even more. "See 'cause you and me, we have a problem. I can't be burdened with hauling a woman around with me unless there's something in it for me. I mean, here I am feeding you, providing a horse for you to ride, keeping you warm at night, and I'm not getting a thing back! It would make pure good horse sense just to shoot you right here and now and save myself the trouble of hauling you around! Unless of course, you can do a favor or two for me along the way," he said, his smile now stretching from ear to ear.

Take this man into his mouth or die? Claude's brain nearly shut down with fear. He couldn't do this, he didn't want to do this, but he didn't want to die either. He wanted to plead with the man, beg him for mercy. He tried, but all that came from his lips was a feeble, "I can't… I don't know… I'm not,"

"Now don't worry about being new at this sort of thing," the outlaw said, lifting his hips and pulling his jeans down a little more. "I'm more than willing to overlook your lack of experience and, well I'm even willing to take the time to teach you how to do it right," his eyes turned cold. "It's either do this, missy," he said, reaching out to pat his holstered gun, "or I shoot you here and now. It's your choice," the outlaw finished, easing back against his saddle and finding a comfortable position. He knew the girl would make the right decision.

In shock Claude's eyes returned to the slightly turgid cock still draped across the leg of the jeans before him. Hands shaking he reached out to take the thick beast into his hand, holding it up so that the single eye was directly before him. The outlaw gave a soft groan of delight at the touch, and relaxed more as he waited for what was to come. The cock started to swell up more quickly now, and in just a few seconds it was more than halfway hard. His mind far away, seeking for that place he always ran to when receiving a beating, Claude instead found himself remembering the whores of Miss Vicky's bordello doing this to some of their customers.

"Now, you mind your teeth, missy," mumbled the outlaw as he lay with his eyes half-lidded, watching the frightened young girl. "It's not teeth I want to feel, but them soft lips of yours and that tongue."

Claude knew that; he'd heard the whores talking. Teeth out of the way and lots of hand action would 'do the job the quickest', they'd laugh. "You just put the end of it on your tongue and get a good grip," a whore named Sarie had told a new girl. "Keep the head of it warm and work it with your hand and they'll swear you had it all the way down your throat. Gets 'em done quicker than anything."

Still petrified but resigned, Claude moved his head in as he gave the hardening cock a few experimental strokes. Perhaps he could finish the job with his hand, and avoid touching it to his mouth altogether. Somehow he didn't believe that the outlaw would allow that, but it was worth a try; Claude certainly didn't want this man's cock in his mouth!

"You're squeezing me too tight," cautioned the outlaw. "Ease up a little on your grip, that's a girl. Hold it firm but gentle. Now move your hand up and down… yeah, just like that, missy." The outlaw groaned again. "It's been too long, missy. Just too blamed long. Alright now, let's feel that tongue, c'mon, start licking."

Mortified that his plan hadn't worked, Claude did as he was told, following the outlaw's commands and instructions. First he licked the dick, tasting nothing but sweat at first. Claude licked up and down the shaft as it grew even thicker, and then flicked his tongue around the head where he eventually began tasting something different. Salty and wet, Claude new that it was precum but tried desperately to shut his mind down and not think about it. All the time he was licking the big cock, he kept one hand or the other busy stroking it from the base; amazed that the thick monster just kept getting bigger. The outlaw's breathing began to get faster and Claude's thoughts turned to the possibility that the outlaw might finish without his having to take the thing into his mouth; a possibility quickly dashed by the outlaw's next command.

"Let's go missy, put my cock in your mouth. I want you to have a little taste of what Mad Mark Murphy has for you."

Hearing the man's name for the first time should have frightened Claude to death; the man was notorious throughout the west for his many crimes, but at that moment the name was stored away in a dark corner for later contemplation; the fact that he was about to put another man's cock into his mouth had all of his attention for now. Whimpering softly he leaned closer to the thick head of this massive cock and opened his mouth as wide as it would go. Sliding only the head into his mouth, Claude was intent on taking as little as he could; Claude clamped his lips closed just beyond the flared ridges, amazed that even that much was more than a mouthful and the thing was still getting bigger! Groaning loudly with satisfaction, the outlaw relaxed completely and reveled in the feel of the young girls mouth wrapped around his hard dick.

"I knew your lips would be soft, missy, but I ain't never felt anything that good."

Claude continued to work the cock with his hand as he cradled the head on his soft tongue. At the outlaw's order he began to work his tongue again as well, and then nursed softly at the cock when told to do so. The outlaw seemed to know his plans and continually ruined them; insisting that Claude now slide more of the cock into his mouth and so he began to take more of the dick into his mouth and then still more, finally the outlaw ordering him to slide up and down the stiff length in time with the movement of Claude's dainty little hand.

"That's it, missy, you're a fast learner. You're doing great… ugh! Here it comes," the outlaw grunted, following his words with a groan of satisfaction as a thick stream of sperm erupted into Claude's mouth. Squealing in surprise the boy tried to pull off the shuddering cock but found the outlaw's strong hands holding him in place as wave after way of hot cum blasted into his mouth. Swallowing what he could, Claude choked and gagged through the rest but was not allowed to release his mouth-lock on the twitching cock until the last tremor of the orgasm was completed.

His pleasure complete, the outlaw put his softening member away and quickly tied the still gagging Claude. Within minutes of his orgasm, the two were again huddled together beneath the outlaw's blankets. Claude cried himself to sleep with the taste of the snoring outlaw's sperm in his mouth.

Chapter Four

The days moved past with dulling sameness but Claude looked forward to each night's stop with fear and loathing. The outlaw didn't pull out his cock for Claude to suck every night, but often enough that the boy was well acquainted with it by the time they had traveled together for another three weeks. Eventually the loathing subsided somewhat and Claude was grateful that at least the outlaw hadn't tried to fuck him yet and seemed absolutely convinced that Claude was a boy. Two weeks out on the trail the outlaw was treating Claude better; and even shared his name. Claude was called 'missy' without fail and feared being asked his real name. Now Claude was afraid to tell the outlaw any different, convinced that the fellow would shoot him dead on the spot so that no one would ever find out a boy had been sucking his cock.

Their route of travel was somewhat roundabout, but Claude was sure that they were heading steadily west. The mountains ahead were now tall and wherever their destination was it was among them for surely the outlaw didn't plan on crossing them this late in the season. They avoided towns, riding well around any they stumbled upon to avoid being seen and switched horses twice at small out of the way ranches. Both times Claude had been firmly gagged and never allowed to be seen. The outlaw Mad Mark Murphy obviously knew the ranchers and some type of arrangement had been made in advance.

Snow was threatening to fall when finally they crested a small pass deep within the nameless mountains and Claude found himself looking upon a deep, fertile valley hidden within the peaks. The grass was all but dead now but it looked to be knee deep and streams crisscrossed the floor of the valley. Cattle and horses moved about in small clusters, grazing in the face of the coming winter. In the center of the valley, standing atop a tall, sloping hill, stood the largest house Claude had seen since leaving Kansas City when he was ten.

It stood two stories tall and had a shingled roof and big, massive windows of glass. The walls were whitewashed the roof steeply pitched to keep snow from breaking it down in the winter. Someone had put a great deal of effort into its construction. Here in this secluded valley it must have been very difficult to accomplish, yet here it was. Mark seemed not to worry about anyone seeing them as he road directly to the house.

Pulling up the horses Mark indicated a small patch of headstones a hundred yards from the house. "They were the people that built this house. They died three years ago, the whole lot of 'em. Cholera is my best bet. I found 'em, buried 'em, and took the place for my own. So far no one has ever showed up to argue ownership with me," he chuckled. "Makes for a nice place to hole up during the winter. Once snow flies, there's no getting in or out of this valley, even if you know how to find it."

Claude didn't say a word; he rarely did anyway and Mark obviously wasn't asking his opinion. He was briefly concerned about being in a house that had seen Cholera but Mark wasn't worried so Claude dismissed it as an issue. He had more important things to worry about as it was and at that point would have welcomed death by any means, just so he didn't have to suck Mark's cock any more.

Once they arrived they found a man waiting for them; a big, burly Mexican with a missing arm named Paco. He was apparently a friend of Marks as the two seemed genuinely glad to see one another. Claude gathered that Paco lived in a small cabin just behind the big home and cared for the place in Mark's absence, keeping it ready for his winter hideout. They spoke together in Spanish so Claude had no idea what they were saying, but Paco's derisive laughter and the looks he shot Claude's way told him a great deal.

The remainder of the day was spent airing out the big house. Paco brought up buckets of water from the nearby well and poured it into a big brass kettle that sat above a fire tending by a small Indian woman who emerged to follow Paco's commands. Once hot, the water was carried into one of the upstairs rooms and a bathtub was filled. Mark took Claude by the arm and led him up to the room, pushing him in and ordering the boy to take a bath.

"Get yourself all cleaned up, girl. We're going to celebrate tonight," he stated. Walking past the gigantic four-poster bed the outlaw threw open the doors to one of the four tall wardrobes, revealing a plethora of dresses and other feminine garments. Two thick cedar chests were thrown open to reveal undergarments and ribbons. "The folks that lived here had daughters, so I think you can find something here to fit you. Put on something pretty for me," he added, winking lasciviously at the boy before leaving the room. The sound of the lock in the door was enough to let Claude know he wouldn't be escaping.

Claude cried for some time, he wasn't sure how long, but eventually he gathered himself and stripped off his clothing. Sinking into the warm water felt wonderful and the soap, smelling strongly of some flowery scent, soon had his skin scrubbed clean. The Indian woman came in to claim his soiled clothing but did not speak, simply offering him a sad little smile before leaving. Claude felt better despite his reservations of what lay ahead. It took longer to clean his hair than anything else and the water was dark with dirt by the time he was through. Rinsing himself off, Claude used the thick towels left by the Indian woman to dry himself, then with no other options available to him, began going through the available clothing.

Chapter Five

Digging around in the chests was an adventure. He was looking for clothing that was as non-feminine as possible but one trip through the chests told Claude that would be very difficult to do. From his time spent in the bordello Claude was quite familiar with most feminine clothing but some of what he found there was surprising. Shelves were built into the chests and he lifted each out in turn to find even more amazing discoveries. Much of it was utilitarian; everyday clothing made of cloth or even raw scratchy wool, but quite a bit was of more luxurious fabrics such as silk, which he had only read about. There was at least one other fabric that he couldn't identify at all but it felt as nice as did the silk. The family that had built this house had obviously had a great deal of money, odd that they should have invested so much into such an isolated ranch. Digging through the assorted panties he soon chose a pair of white silk both because of their non-color and because he was intrigued by the soft fabric. With the panties in place, they really did feel nice; Claude began looking through the wardrobes for a clean pair of jeans. Nothing presented itself, and the boy soon realized that the only clothing available to him were dresses. Tears fell freely as Claude threw himself atop the massive bed and screamed his anguish into a pillow.

He cried for some time and may have even fallen asleep for a few moments when Claude was startled by the click of a key in the lock. Petrified he lay very still, hoping against hope that whoever it was would go away. His hopes were soon dashed by the pad of quiet feet across the hard wood floors. At least he knew that his visitor was not Mark or Paco; neither could walk so silently in their boots. A hand was placed on his shoulder, and a soft voice spoke a few comforting words to him in Spanish.

"I don't understand Spanish," he sobbed, lifting his face slightly to be heard.

Again the woman spoke in Spanish, then switch to another dialect completely. Looking towards her Claude blinked away the tears and shook his head. "I don't understand that one either. Do you speak English?"

Now it was the woman's turn to shake her head. "No Englas," she said.

By this time the woman was sitting on the edge of the bed and brushing Claude's hair from his face, a look of sorrow and pity as well as tears of sympathy glistening in her own eyes. Despite himself Claude began to cry again, and soon the two were clinging to one another and sobbing together. Still lying on his stomach, it was the woman doing the holding, but Claude gripped her arm with his hand squeezed tightly.

Finally they composed themselves and the woman stood up, brushing at the wrinkles in her dress. She fired off another rapid burst of Spanish and seeing that Claude still didn't understand stepped over to the fireplace and picked up a small pair of shears from the mantle. Holding it up she pantomimed cutting her own hair, offering to give Claude a trim. Nodding dully, Claude pushed himself up from the soft feather mattress. Perhaps cutting his hair would be a good idea; if she cut it short enough then Mark would immediately know that he was a boy and stop treating him like a girl. He had just stood up from the bed when the woman exclaimed.

"Madre de Dios!" she moaned, her hand held over her mouth. Embarrassed, Claude could tell by the angle of her eyes what she was looking at; if the lack of breasts had not given him away the small but unsightly bulge in his panties certainly had. Before he could move to cover himself, the woman hurried across the room, her eyes never leaving his crotch, and grabbed the front of his panties. Pulling them, she took a long look down at his tiny, shriveled penis before looking up to meet Claude's horrified eyes. Ignoring the tears in his eyes, she looked back down and then grabbed the miniature penis firmly between two fingers and tugged gently on it. Dropping the organ and allowing the panties to close back, she took a step back and looked again at Claude.

"Madre de Dios," she said again, quietly, then fired off a series of questions in Spanish and her own language.

When Claude only shrugged, she stopped speaking and began to pace, tapping one temple with a finger as she thought, searching her memory for something. Finally she stopped before him and gently cupped his face. "Winkte"? She asked. Claude didn't understand the word and said so. She thought for a moment and tried again. "Mark see?" she asked, cupping his privates again. Was she asking if Mark had seen it?"

"No," Claude said, climbing back onto the tall bed. "Mark doesn't know, and he'll kill me when he finds out," he finished, using his finger to pantomime shooting himself in the head.

Smiling the woman stepped closer and hugged the boy, stroking his hair as she spoke unintelligible words into his ear. Claude had no idea if she understood or not, but the sympathy and reassurance was exactly what he needed.

After a moment the woman began speaking quickly, smiling and pulling Claude by the hand towards one of the chests. He pulled back slightly, unsure because of her enthusiasm, but soon enough she had him standing where she wanted him as she dug through the underwear and began choosing things. Soon it was obvious that whatever she had in mind it had something to do with the frilliest, girliest underwear she could find. Claude protested hotly but the Indian only smiled and patted his cheek, winking once in a while as well. What was she doing?

Despite his continued protests the women soon had Claude dressed in a complete set of women's underwear including a corset with attached breast padding. She was intent on making him as feminine as possible! His words were simply ignored as she continued to babble on, the only thing he understood was her name, 'Fey-e-la', was Claude's best guest at the pronunciation. By the time the long silk slip fell into place, Claude was thankful that at least she hadn't insisted on a bustle. Even this minor victory paled when he saw the dress she chose from among the many hanging in the wardrobes. It may not have been the fanciest, frilliest one available but it certainly screamed 'woman', with it pink embroidered flowers and its light blue fabric. Naturally it was long enough to hide her ankles, these had been modest women after all, but the bodice with its lace was lower than he'd like, which means it would reveal all of his neck and small part of his upper chest, and the sleeves would leave most of his arms bare. What was Feyela doing?

"I don't want to wear that!" he shrilled. "I can't fool Mark any longer; he has to know that I'm not a woman!"

She hushed him again, kindly and gently forcing him into the dress all the while prattling on non-stop. This time the only word he understood was Mark's name, which was spoken often.

The dress finally in place to Feyela's satisfaction, Claude was led to a chair that sat in front of a table that held a good sized mirror. Still talking quickly the woman pulled jars and boxes from the drawers of the table and set them before him, pointing to each in turn as she did. He still understood nothing she said, but recognized what the items were. Rouge, lipstick, powders, all the things the whores had used in quantity to make themselves as attractive as possible. Wrapping an old sheet around his upper body, Feyela pantomiming that Claude should begin using the products, and then she began fussing with his hair; combing out the tangles and deftly straightening up the ends using the shears. She was good at catching the little bits of hair she cut away, and the sheet of course protected the dress. Hands shaking, Claude began to use the makeup as instructed; his mind returning to the many time he had helped the whores at the bordello with the same tasks.

But it was not the whores that he was thinking of as he began his work. Rather Claude pictured in his mind the upstanding ladies of the town, who wearing their beautiful dresses and carrying their tiny parasol's would not even speak to him on the streets back in Salt Flats. Rather than working in volume, like the prostitutes, he kept the makeup light as did the ladies and without really thinking about enhanced his personal beauty a great deal. He did a great job as the surprised Feyela tried to communicate to him, but to him he just looked silly.

Still, as Feyela pleasantly tugged and worked at his hair, Claude found himself thinking more of the young ladies of Salt Flats and how they carried themselves about town. They were beautiful, sophisticated, and likely had been dressed just as he was now, down to the panties! Perhaps they hadn't been forced to pad their chests and they certainly didn't have the same thing in their panties that he had in his, but otherwise he was at this moment just as they had been. Despite himself this brought a shiver of pleasure to him. He dismissed it immediately, however, as just admiration and desire for those ladies.

Feyela did a masterful job with Claude's hair, brushing it so that it hung down his back and then arranging it into a magnificently feminine hairstyle. Next the woman added ribbons of blue and pink that matched the dress perfectly and gave a sparkle to Claude's eyes he wouldn't have understood at that moment. She explained that the hairstyle wasn't anything special, because his hair was so straight and she didn't have time to do more, but of course he didn't understand a word that she said. The hair finished Feyela helped Claude don a pair of heeled shoes, again just like those he had seen the fine ladies of Salt Flats wear, and taking his hand led him to stand before a full length mirror.

Claude was staggered by the sight of himself. He was beautiful! Or rather, the devastating young woman in the mirror was beautiful. If he had been born looking like this, he would never have been mistreated or failed to be adopted. No one would have beaten him or chased him down alleys or teased hi, or hurt him just because they could. He wouldn't have been overlooked either; he was stunning! Men would have fawned over him everywhere he went; buying him gifts, begging for his attention.

With a start Claude awoke from his reverie; he was a boy! He didn't want men fawning over him! No matter what these clothes made him appear to be, he had a penis the same as any man and no amount of silk and ribbons would change that! Tears began to well again but Feyela calmed him with soft words and a hug from behind. She thought Claude was overwhelmed by how beautiful he looked, not because he didn't want to look that way. Once Claude was calm again Feyela added a few pieces of simply jewelry before taking him by the arm and leading him towards the door.

If Claude could have run he would have then. The heels of the shoes made doing so impossible but the fear in his heart of what the outlaw would do to him still remained there as well, and that alone forced the frightened and feminized young man to follow meekly along with Feyela. Walking down the steps was difficult as he had no experience whatsoever in walking in the heels, but the Indian woman stayed with him every step, clinging to his arm and helping him regain his balance whenever he swayed. Once they reached bottom Feyela released him and gave him a few steps to practice on his own. He wasn't truly confident but by the time the reached the dining room Claude at least felt that he could make it to the table on his own without falling on his face.

To Claude his entrance into the dining room was nothing spectacular; he didn't come sweeping in or doing a spinning dance like one prostitute he knew from the bordello. He didn't do anything but walk, teetering desperately atop the tall heels, and concentrated more on avoiding falling than looking graceful but to Mad Mark Murphy he looked like a princess.

To the outlaw his 'saddle bride' moved gracefully, demurely into the dining room, looking so lovely that his heart began to race and his groin swell. He had never seen anything so beautiful and he had bedded whores from Montana all the way down to Texas. The dress she had chosen was made for her and showed off her slight form to perfection. Mark had believed that the girl was flat-chested but he could see now that he had been mistaken. Perhaps his saddle bride didn't sport massive breasts but something was holding that bodice in place! Despite himself he whistled appreciatively at the sight and smiled when the woman he had kidnapped blushed prettily.

Claude reached the seat indicated by Feyela and gratefully dropped into it. The table was large enough to seat a dozen people but only four places had been set, clustered together on the end nearest the kitchen. The plates were china and the glasses crystal, but Claude didn't recognize either as he had never seen their like before. Mark was there, looking clean and while nowhere nearly as dressed up as Claude was had at least put on clean clothing. Paco was puttering around in the kitchen and Feyela hurried in to help him as soon as Claude was safely seated.

His mouth oddly dry Mark sat down next to Claude and poured his saddle bride a shot from a bottle of whiskey. It was rotgut but the best he had available. Paco did what he could to keep supplies on hand but bringing them in from the nearest town was a difficult journey, particularly for a one-handed man trying to drive a six-mule team through the rugged mountains. She gripped the glass tightly in her hand but made no move to drink; must not have a head for spirits Mark thought.

Paco soon joined them and he for one had no compunctions against drinking the whiskey so he and Mark quickly consumed half the bottle while they shared small talk with one another. As Paco spoke very little English and Claude spoke absolutely no Spanish and spoke as little as possible anyway, it was left up to Mark to do the translating and carried most of the conversation. Paco laughed a lot and leered constantly at Claude, making him even more uncomfortable than he was, if that were possible. Most of Paco's comments seemed to be aimed at the little blond saddle bride but Mark was careful to dilute them when he translated.

"Paco thinks you look lovely tonight, my dear," would replace Paco's comment of "I'd like to fuck her myself," and "her pussy must be very sweet," was translated as "Paco says that dress looks nice on you."

When Feyela entered with their meal, both men immediately stopped talking and ate with gusto. The meal was simple fare for such elegant china plates and silver spoons, but the beans, frijoles, and some type of fried salt pork were cooked to perfection. It all tasted like ashes in Claude's mouth, as he spent the entire meal with Mark's hand resting on his knee.

Once the meal was finished Paco fished a thick black cigar from a vest pocket and after lighting it took a long moment to study Claude. Then, with only a low voice 'good night' to Mark he grabbed Feleya by the arm and dragged her through the kitchen and out the back door to roars of laughter from Mark. It happened so quickly that Claude wasn't sure if he was more frightened of the man's sudden actions or the fact that he was now alone with Mark. Dressed as he was, there was no doubt in Claude's mind what Mark's thoughts would now turn to, if the hand on his knee hadn't been proof that the outlaw's mind had been there all evening. At least for that moment, however, concern for Feyela outweighed her apathy about what lay in store for himself.

"Where is he taking her?" he said, just barely above a whisper.

Mark didn't hear what she said due to his laughter and asked her to repeat herself.

"I believe Paco is going to give Feyela a good fucking," he laughed once he heard what Claude was asking. "But in his mind, it will be you lying under him."

Claude trembled at the thought of a naked Paco, cock hard and jutting towards him. "He scares me," he said.

"Paco? He should scare you. Hell, he even scares me at times! He's a bloodthirsty killer wanted for murder in three countries, two states and three territories."

"Then why do you keep him around?" Claude asked, so horrified that for a moment he lifted his eyes to meet that of the outlaw.

"Because he's loyal, and he lost that arm riding for me. He keeps my hideout here well taken care of and I see to it that he has plenty of money and a saddle bride when he wants one."

Confused, Claude asked, "What's a 'saddle bride'?"

Laughing, Mark explained. "A saddle bride is a woman you take for a short time. You don't marry her; you just keep her with you to give you something to do when you're holed up for a while. Winter is pretty tough around here, and once the passes are sealed we'll not be leaving until spring. Having a soft, pretty woman around sure makes those long days and nights pass by a little more interestingly," he finished, reaching to stroke Claude's cheek.

His voice barely audible, Claude asked, "Is that what Feyela is?"

"Yep, I bought her off of a Comanche over towards Kansas. He'd stolen her from her own tribe, Sioux I believe she is. Paco must like her a lot; he kept her all summer long. He must be getting soft in his old age."

His voice weakening with each word, Claude asked a question that Mark could not have heard, however the outlaw knew exactly what his young guest was asking.

Mark replied, "Yes, my dear little missy, you are my saddle bride."

Claude nearly swooned at the words. Mark's next sentence finished the deal; causing the boy in a dress to faint dead away.

"Paco will have to settle for thinking about you, but I have it in mind to take care of you personally. C'mon missy, let's you and I go upstairs and consummate our newfound friendship."

Chapter Six

Claude came to slowly and at first did not recognize his surroundings. Finally he remembered the meal, and the dining room, but he was not there any more. Then he remembered Mark's words and realized that he must have fainted. That was another reason Claude had always been abused; once the bullies learned that he could be frightened into passing out they missed no opportunity to try to make him do it. Claude found himself lying on a soft, feather mattress, looking up at the ceiling of a strange room. This wasn't the one he had been brought to earlier; the one with the wardrobes filled with feminine clothing. This room was decidedly more masculine with a stuffed buffalo head mounted above the fireplace and a corner shelf with at least a couple of dozen books resting on it.

Books? Claude felt a slight stir of excitement; an emotion that was replaced with ones far more negative when he heard Mark's voice.

"Feeling better now, missy?" he asked. Turning towards the voice Claude found the outlaw sitting in a chair near the bed, shirtless and wearing only the lower half of a pair of long woolen underwear.

Trembling with fear Claude didn't respond, just lay there staring at his abductor. If Mark noticed her fear he didn't care, and stripped off his underwear before standing to his feet and approaching his young saddle bride.

"You do look beautiful tonight, missy."

Again Claude said nothing, averting his eyes to look at anything but the half erect cock that Mark was sporting.

Claude felt Mark's weight settle on the bed, and very nearly fainted again when he felt the outlaw's hand upon his cheek. Soft, almost tenderly, the man turned Claude's head until they were facing one another. The look in Mark's eyes was gentle as he lowered his face to Claude and gently pressed their lips together.

After being forced to suck the man's cock on the trip here, kissing him wasn't so bad and Claude managed not to vomit or pass out again. Soon enough the outlaw's tongue intruded into Claude's mouth and he was forced to taste second hand the whiskey he had avoided drinking at dinner. Still the kissing wasn't so bad and Claude relaxed slightly and even participated a little; anything to keep the outlaw occupied and to not continue along the path the boy was expecting; he knew that he would die when Mad Mark Murphy found the secret hidden within his silken panties.

But perhaps there was a way he could survive, at least for a little longer! If he could stall long enough, perhaps the whiskey would make Mark pass out! Not that he looked drunk, even a little bit, but alcohol affected some men that way, Claude knew from his time in the bordello. If the man didn't pass out on his own, perhaps he would after a thorough blow job weakened his resolve. Claude didn't want to do it, but since he had already what would once more matter? If he did a good job then even if Mark didn't pass out, he might drift off to sleep. That was something else men often did at the bordello. Once the outlaw was unconscious perhaps Claude could escape; may be even take Feyela with him! She was a saddle bride too, and might welcome the chance to flee the disgusting Paco.

Briefly Claude entertained the notion of using one of Mark's six guns, he could see them resting atop the mantle, and killing the outlaw while he slept. Rejecting that thought, Claude knew that he didn't have what it took to shoot someone, he returned to his first plan just in time to put it into action. Mark was beginning to allow his hands to wander, cupping Claude's imaginary 'breasts' and apparently finding them real enough for the moment. Pretending to enjoy the attention, Claude began to move towards his captor, moving against his mouth until the outlaw took the hint and lay back against the pillows.

Reaching down with one hand, Claude grasped the outlaw's rigid cock in his dainty little hand. The beast was thick and rampant with need and Claude had every intention of giving it what it wanted. Continuing the kiss, his tongue now willingly swirling about inside Mark's mouth battling his own, Claude lay his small body against the much larger man. Breaking away from the kiss Claude began kissing his way down the man's chest, pausing to suck and nibble at the man's nipples along the way as he'd seen the whores do sometimes, and then worked his way further down.

Mark's breathing was deep as he lay there; enjoying the attentions of the beautiful woman. He was surprised at her cooperation, even willingness to participate, but decided that his pretty little saddle bride must have decided that since she had no choice she might as well go along. Groaning a little in anticipation he felt the girl's tongue work its wet and wonderful way around his navel and then bite playfully at the skin of muscular abdomen. All the while she was keeping a firm grip on his dick, not moving her hand, not stroking it in any way, just holding it. Her palm was gloriously warm and the pulse was throbbing in his cock head as he waited for what he knew was coming.

Claude's face finally reached his own hand and so he released his grip on the outlaw's cock so that he could begin licking at the base of the beast. As soon as he let go the monster flopped down across Claude's cheek, it didn't stick straight out from his body as so many men's cocks did, but instead ran up his belly when erect with the head resting in his navel. Claude licked his way around it, allowing it to flop gently down against Mark's belly, and then worked the underside of the big dick, licking it firmly from base to head in long, loving motions. He may not be enjoying it himself but the knowledge gained from watching the whores do this combined with his own experience with this very cock allowed him to make it very enjoyable for the outlaw. Within a few licks the man was moaning his appreciation. Grasping it gently at the base with only two fingers this time, Claude lifted the end of the cock upright slightly, just enough that it could slide into his mouth when he rested his check on Mark's stomach. He lay there for a minute or so, licking at the head with quick little motions as the outlaw tried in vane to shove his dick home in Claude's mouth by bucking his hips in that direction. Giggling despite himself, Claude evaded the invader and continued his tongue-only assault until he judged by Mark's deeper breathing that the moment was right, then slide his head forward to welcome the cock into his mouth.

The startling warmth of Claude's soft lips and magnificent tongue felt amazing to Mark. The blowjobs he had received from this same little woman on the way here had been good, even very good, but now that she was willingly participating in the act it was infinitely better. With her lips wrapped around him he lost all sense of time and just melted away into a world of pure pleasure. She bobbed her head up and down, taking him as deep as any whore ever had, as she sucked, licked, and gently gnawed at his erection. Never had he felt such pleasure! It was amazing! Almost more than he could stand. It was all that he could do to hold back, to keep from blowing his load too quickly and losing the feeling of her warm mouth. If this girl fucked like she sucked, he might keep her an extra winter or two himself!

Sucking and licking, Claude bobbed his head up and down the long pole of the outlaw, willingly seeking to do the best job that he could this one time. It was the only hope of saving his life! Giving in to the imperative of the situation was somehow freeing for him, and he found that having the now familiar cock in his mouth wasn't nearly as disgusting as it had been previously. If his plan worked, this would be the last time he would ever have to do this but it would only work if he did the best he could possibly do. With all those thoughts running through his mind, Claude sucked that dick with all his might. He was certain that he was literally sucking for his life!

Sliding up to the top of the cock the saddle bride kept up the suction as a little more saliva was added to the free-flowing precum to keep the rock-hard shaft well lubricated. Swirling her tongue about the head of the cock she slid slowly back down the length, taking at least half of it into her hot mouth. Mark moaned loudly as she moved around so that she could lick at the underside as she slid upward again, then he moaned even louder as her hand gripped him firmly again just below the point where her lipstick marked the point of deepest penetration into her mouth. Slurping and sucking she began to move faster, making small sounds of pleasure herself as she worked on the thick cock. His last reserves of will power were bleeding away when she suddenly used her other hand to squeeze his balls, and with a grunt he gave in to the urge to blast his load.

Claude had known that grabbing Mark's balls would be the best way to end it and so he had timed it perfectly, taking them gently just when the cock was buried as deeply as could be in his mouth. Continuing to lick and suck on the beast, the saddle bride kept a firm lip lock and continuous suction on the dick as the man began to pump spray after spray of hot, thick cum into Claude's waiting mouth. Despite himself he felt a sense of accomplishment, particularly at Mark's grateful groans of orgasmic pleasure. His own groans, faked up until then, were replaced with a real one as Claude felt the sperm striking the back of his throat. This was why he had done this, wasn't it? Making Mark cum in his mouth was his only chance to save his life. That was the pleasure he was feeling, not the act of feeling someone's sperm in his mouth. Wasn't it?

The final stream of hot cum splashed onto Claude's waiting tongue and was swallowed along with the rest. Holding still, the saddle bride nursed the cock for a moment or two, keeping it held firmly against his tongue until the dick began to deflate and the last possible drops of sperm had been gently nursed out. Relaxing as best he could in that position and wearing those clothes, Claude did not move even after the now-limp cock slipped from his lips to plop softly against Mark's body. The outlaw's breathing was slowing, and was beginning to become very steady as he drifted towards sleep, so Claude dared not move in fear that he might break the man's reverie.

Mark's breathing slowed as Claude waited. Five minutes passed, then ten. The man had to be asleep by now but still Claude waited; he had to be sure before he moved. Just as the crick in his neck began to hurt so badly that he wanted to scream, Claude decided that twenty minutes had passed, and escape should be possible. Gently releasing his grip on the base of Mark's limp cock, Claude slowly began to back his way off of the bed, which was difficult in the long dress and corset. Quietly he found the edge and lowered one foot, then the other to the floor thankful that the outlaw had taken the time to remove his high heels before placing him on the bed. His stocking feet should cause no noise on the hard wood floors. His eyes were riveted to the relaxed face of the outlaw as he regained his footing and took a quiet step back from the bed. If he kept his cool Claude knew that he could leave the room without making a single sound, if only the floor wouldn't creak. Three more steps backwards and the boy dared turn around, his path to the door and freedom now clear. He was less than halfway across the room when Mark's deep voice interrupted his attempted flight.

"Where're you going, missy? We ain't done yet, not by half!"

Chapter Seven

Mark slid out of bed and sauntered towards his saddle bride, the smile on his face broad and his eyes looking far from drowsy. He took Claude by one small hand and tugged him back towards the bed.

"You weren't trying to slip out on me, were you missy?" he asked, playfully cupping Claude's bottom as they walked. "That's not very polite, particularly on our honeymoon."

Mark laughed at his own joke but Claude felt sick to his stomach. All his work sucking Mark's cock for nothing… it had been a good plan! Did he do something to wake the man?

"I must say again, little missy, that your cock sucking skills are amazing, and getting better and better each time, but I think it's time our relationship advanced to the mutual orgasm stage," the outlaw said, nuzzling his face into Claude's neck. "In other words my dear, I am about to fuck your silly!"

What else could he do? Claude began to cry.

"Now don't worry, missy, I know the first time for a woman can be painful but you won't be the first flower I've plucked and I'm not a heartless man; I'll see to it that you don't suffer too much and, believe me when I say this, you'll soon learn to appreciate this when it's put to proper use," Mark said, lifting his still limp cock and shaking it for emphasis. "I've never known a woman yet who didn't thank me after I slipped between their thighs."

Claude was nearly frantic with worry, so Mark's misguided words were of no comfort to him. He couldn't hide his secret much longer, and surely Mark would kill him when he found out.

"Only bad side," Mark said as he turned Claude around and began unbuttoning his dress, "is that after you feel this," he jabbed Claude gently in the buttocks with his slowly engorging dick, "you'll never want another man. They'll never be able to fill you the way that I can."

Claude certainly believed that; he'd never seen a cock in the bordello that could match Mark's for size. Yet Claude wasn't worried about being penetrated by that monster; Mark clearly wasn't gay and besides, Claude would be dead soon.

In surprise Claude felt his dress fall to the floor and he moved quickly to hide his padded breasts. The man certainly moved fast! His slip was soon stripped away as well despite his protests. To stave off further disrobing, he climbed onto the bed and move to the other side. There he slid beneath the covers and hid himself. It might only delay his discovery by only a few moments but he was desperate. Mark, however, took his movements as eagerness and joined his saddle bride beneath the covers and slid his way over to lie close beside Claude, once again nuzzling at the boy's neck and now feeling of his barely concealed false breasts.

"You're going to remember this night for the rest of your life, missy," Mark whispered, easing a hand down the boy's stomach towards his panties.

Thinking quickly Claude dipped his head beneath the covers and without foreplay pushed Mark's semi-hard cock between his lips. His jaws ached from the first blowjob but perhaps a second one might accomplish what the first one could not, and Mark would fall asleep.

"Umm," Mark groaned. "That feels nice, missy, but you don't have to worry about me being good and hard when I put it in you; the sight of your tight little pussy will do that well enough…" he protested, then relaxed back against the pillow as a Claude began sliding up and down the now-rigid pole. His protests pushed aside for the time being, Mark lay back and enjoyed the attention, but despite Claude's hopes and plans he had no plan on cumming again so soon, and his saddle-bride's oral ministrations were too good for him to maintain it long. Mark wanted this girl's pussy tonight, and he was going to get it.

Finally deciding that he had had enough, Mark gently pulled the saddle bride off his rampant cock and pushed her back to her pillow. She struggled some to protect the ties of her corset, but he soon enough fought through the knots and pulled it away.

Laughing he said, "You are flat-chested, aren't you little missy? You didn't have to pad yourself all up just to impress me," he added, tossing the corset off the bed and clamping his lips to one of Claude's rock-hard nipples.

Despite himself the boy felt a surge of pleasure at the action, and hesitated for a moment in his efforts at keeping the outlaw's hands away from his panties. Finally tired of the fight, Mark pushed aside the heavy covers and sat up, forcing Claude's knees apart as he knelt between them. The boy's hands automatically moved to protect his crotch as he lay there, helpless, with only his stockings and panties between himself and death at the hands of this cold-blooded murderer. Grabbing both of Claude's tiny hands in one of his own, Mark pulled them easily aside and grabbed the top of his saddle bride's underwear with his free hand and jerked them down. Play time was over; it was time to fuck this cute little girl.

A moment of absolute silence broken only by Claude's soft sobs lasted for nearly a minute. Claude's hands, now free, were covering his eyes as he wept, waiting for the outburst he knew was coming. Finally the waiting became too much for him, and he peeked through his fingers to find exactly what he had expected; Mark looking down at his tiny cock in absolute horror.

Not that there was much to see, but Claude's tiny cock was rock hard yet still was smaller than a man's pinky finger. It was thin and practically useless and Claude had never grown any body hair. At first Mark didn't even recognize it for a male organ, but once he did and began running the experiences of the past weeks through his mind, he knew what had happened. Horrified that another man had been sucking his cock, he leaped to the decision that it had been the boy who had led him on.

"You demented pervert!" he yelled, backhanding Claude across the face. Only his own hands over his eyes kept the boy from being driven unconscious on the spot. The next blow was even harder, and Claude's hands were knocked away, leaving him helpless to receive the third. He didn't feel the fourth.

Chapter Eight

Claude woke up to find sunlight streaming into the room, indicating that noon had long passed. The room was cold; there was no fire in the fireplace, and he found himself dressed exactly as he had been when Mark found out his secret with his stockings and panties pulled down to just above his knees but at some point he had been carried back to the room where he had originally changed. Someone was gently bathing his face with cool water and he began to shiver as he reached for the person's hand and pushed the cold cloth away. Feyela made soft, sympathetic sounds as she returned the cloth to the basin and took Claude's hand in her own. Her eyes were sorrowful as she looked up the boy, and he knew by the look on her face that his own must be a horrible sight to see.

His face ached and a few tender touches found it quite swollen and sore. Surprised to be alive, he hurt so badly that he almost wished that he was not. After gathering his strength the boy tried to crawl from the bed but with some difficulty Feyela convinced him to stay put. Mark must have continued to beat him long after his consciousness had faded, and his injuries might be worse than he believed. She brought a mirror to him to show him just how bad it was. After looking himself over as best he could, Claude was grateful that Feyela had kept him from getting up; if the bruises were any indication he might not be able to walk.

He looked bad. His face was indeed swollen; it looked like one big bruise. His body was battered as well with bruises along both sides of his ribs and purple-black splotches along his legs. His testicles, small as they were, ached terribly with every small movement despite not showing any bruises of their own. Likely they had been a favorite target of Mark's rant. Feeling gently along his ribs and then over the rest of his body, Claude decided that nothing was broken, but one knee was twice as large as it should be and probably wouldn't be able to hold his weight.

Feyela spoke soothing words as she forced Claude to ease back onto the pillows and relax. He couldn't until she spoke Mark's name and pantomimed riding away; and only then could the boy's anxiety ease. The Indian woman took her time washing him and brought a clean pair of panties for him to wear; plain cotton this time, and despite his protests forced him into a long cotton nightgown as well, explaining that the nights were getting colder by hugging herself and shivering. Too weak to fight about it and certain that there were no masculine clothing around since his own had disappeared, Claude let the issue drop. After sliding warm cotton stockings up his legs, they reached to his knees; Feyela then built a fire and left the room. With a few minutes she was back with a bowl of broth which she patiently spoon fed her battered patient. Despite the aches in his jaw Claude obediently ate and soon fell back asleep.

The days passed slowly at first as Claude recovered from his beating. Each day Feyela indicated that Mark had not returned so Claude was able to contain his fear. Paco came into the room every other day to bring firewood, but the Mexican was surly and never spoke; only glared at Claude as if he were dangerous. Claude cried a great deal, not always certain as to why, but some portion of each day was spent weeping.

Boredom was thick until Claude had the idea to ask for a book to be brought to him and after a long conversation between he and Feyela which was held in bits of three different languages and a great deal of hand motions, she eventually brought him one. It was a thin volume of poetry and Claude happily devoured every word, reading it cover to cover three times. It was the happiest he could remember being in some time. Once finished he slipped the volume beneath his pillow and asked for another book and so the time passed more quickly. Whoever had bought the books, Claude felt certain that it wasn't Mark, had dry tastes in literature but any book was good to Claude.

Snow fell twice during the two weeks Claude was kept in bed by Feyela, but each time it melted away the following day. Finally nurse Feyela allowed Claude to walk a little around his room so long as she was there to grip his arm. She was stronger than Claude would have believed; she must have worked hard in her life, and had no probably bearing his full weight. She wasn't a tall woman, probably less than average, but still taller than him by a slight margin. As a nurse she was magnificent and took the time to bath his wounds each day in water scented with pungent herbs she must have gathered herself. Claude had heard that Indians knew a lot about natural remedies and now believed it; his bruises almost melted away and even his swollen knee soon returned to normal size. Only his testicles seemed to resist her cures, and they remained swollen and sore for days. Finally, the swelling subsided and they shrank back down to their typical puny size.

Feyela nursed him inside too, bringing him cups of bitter tea that she insisted he drink several times each day and spending long hours talking with him, listening to his problems even though she couldn't understand the words and holding him when he cried. She didn't even seem to mind emptying his bedpan several times each day; that tea just seemed to run straight through him. When he asked her what was in it she naturally didn't understand, but finally she explained something to him in Sioux. He eventually decided that the name of the tea was 'Winkte', because that was the word she always said when bringing it to him. It was always bitter but sometimes the flavor would be slightly different. Eventually he began to enjoy it, even look forward to it just as many people loved the bitter taste of coffee.

The Indian woman had continued to choose his clothing for him each day and either didn't understand his request of male clothing or refused him, and today he was dressed in a simple house dress of gray. Only a few tiny flowers embroidered along the bodice and a single pink ribbon adorning his hair showed any touch of fashion but the underwear he had on was as soft and silky as ever. Feyela continued to insist that he wear padded corsets or bras and despite his arguments Claude always gave in. The Indian had even sewn him a pair of false breasts out of cloth and filled them with ground grain. These embarrassed the boy more than anything else but she was adamant. So close had the two grown despite their inability to communicate that Claude had finally accepted her demands and remained fully dressed as a woman at all times.

Almost a month had passed since Mark had left and it was well past time for the passes to become choked with snow. Claude wasn't sure if he should be grateful for the man's absence or worry about his being trapped to die in the snow somewhere; despite all that the outlaw had done to him Claude didn't want him or anyone else to die. The fear of Mark's return was greater than all other influences, however, as Claude still expected to be killed upon the man's return. From overheard conversations between Paco and Feyela, held in Spanish but Claude had picked up a couple of words, he had determined that Mark had gone to the nearest settlements to look for a new saddle-bride for the winter. Claude wondered if he would be shot out of hand or turned out to die in the snow whenever Mark did return. A month to the day after the beating a heavy snowfall began; one that looked as if it would be falling for several days, and just past noon Mark did return.

(continued)

  

  

  

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