The Saddle Bride

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"

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.

Chapter Nine

Petrified, Claude hid in his room, cowering beneath the covers. Not that he had any real choice; Paco made sure the door of his room was locked all the time and checked it after every visit by Feyela. His head laying on one of the thick pillows and his hands gripping the volume of poetry he so enjoyed, Claude remained huddled there for hours in pure terror. As darkness fell he heard the sound of the key in the door and dared peak out from under the covers. Perhaps it was Feyela, bringing him his evening meal. It was not. It was Mark.

The man remained filthy from his travels and moved as if he were very tired. He hadn't shaved in days his hair was matted with sweat. The outlaw moved reluctantly into the bedroom as if loathe to perform a task that he knew had to be done and after a long moment staring at the lump hidden beneath the pile of quilts, moved to pull a chair around so that he could sit facing the bed. Claude, still peeking, noticed that the chair was some distance away, as if Mark was afraid to get too close to him.

"I know you're not asleep, boy," Mark growled. "Pull your head up here and let's talk."

Fear and shame competed for the right to stop Claude's heart as the boy reluctantly pushed back the covers and sat up in the bed. He noticed a surprised look on Mark's face when the outlaw saw that he was wearing a dress. Realizing that hiding at this point was silly, Claude pushed the covers further back and turned to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Still wearing dresses I see," Mark said, his voice cold and his eyes narrowed. Despite himself Claude managed to squeeze out a few words.

"It's all I have; Feyela wouldn't bring me anything else."

Nodding, the suspicion dimming slightly from his eyes, Mark seemed to accept that explanation.

"Well that's what I told her to do, before..." he paused. Claude knew what `before' he was speaking of. Before the outlaw found out that he was a boy.

"If you'll bring me something else, I'll change," Claude said quietly, unable to look the man in the eyes at that moment. "I never wanted to dress this way anyway."

"Then why did you?" demanded Mark, leaping to his feet with his eyes blazing. "All those weeks of riding, me calling you `missy', you could have said something!"

"I tried!" Claude wailed, tears bursting from his eyes. "I just couldn't say anything; I was so afraid of you!"

"You could have just said, `I'm a boy'! How was I to know you were a boy? You were small, pretty, and you never once tried to say that you weren't a girl."

"I was scared," wailed Claude. Had Mark said that he was pretty? "And at first you said you were going to let me go once we had outrun the posse, so I let you think what you wanted to think until then. I thought that if you knew that I was a boy, you'd shoot me instead of releasing me. Then later, when you made me suck you..."

Mark was silent for a long moment, returning to his chair as he watched the boy in a dress weeping. What the boy had said was true; he would have killed him out of hand if he had realized it was a boy and not a potential saddle bride he had kidnapped.

"But how could you suck my dick, when you're a boy?" Mark asked lamely.

"It was that or die," Claude said between sobs. "Once I had done it a couple of times I decided that if I keep doing it you'd finally get tired of me and maybe let me go."

Again Mark was silent as he contemplated the boy's words. Perhaps it was his fault, at least partly, but the boy should have had the courage to say something before giving up his masculinity that way. Now what was he to do? Shooting the boy would be the obvious fix to the problem but Mark was concerned that Paco's squaw would poison his food one evening; the Mexican had said that the two were very close now and Sioux woman was not to be trifled with. So if he killed the boy, Mark knew that he would have to kill the woman too and then he and Paco would be trapped here in the valley all winter without a saddle bride and who knew whether Paco would accept the death of the squaw so easily? Might he have to kill all three of them?

Standing up again Mark contemplated the sobbing boy. There were plenty of supplies, so he didn't necessarily have to make a decision right now.

"Look boy, uh, what's your name?"

"Claude."

"Claude!" Mark stated, instantly his revulsion returned tenfold at the masculine name coming from such a feminine person. "Look, uh, Claude, I'm not going to kill you if that's what you're worried about. Hell I'm even sorry that I beat you up, but I was just so surprised. I'm not saying that I won't ever kill you, you never know about me, but for now at the least I'll leave you alone. You can stay here until spring and then I'll decide what to do with you. I can't just let you leave on your own; somebody might follow your back trail to find my hideout and it's just too good to lose."

Amazed at the outlaw's words Claude stopped crying, his ears perked to hear more.

"And I'm sorry about the dresses but for now that's all I have for you to wear. I'll have Feyela start making you something more... appropriate, but for at least the time being you'll have to make do with the dresses. Neither Paco nor I have any extra clothes and, let's face it, they wouldn't fit you anyway."

"That's fine, I can put up with it a little longer," snuffled Claude, smoothing a wrinkle from the dress he was wearing. They weren't all that bad, he thought. The silk felt really nice against his skin and the dresses were comfortable and warm so long as he stayed out of drafts.

"Alright, then we have a deal. You can have free run of the house until spring, and wear whatever you want until Feyela can come up with something else."

"Thank you," Claude whispered.

"Yeah well, I need to get downstairs," Mark said, moving towards the door. He obviously wasn't comfortable around the boy anymore.

"I guess you have to see to your new saddle bride," Claude said, somewhat depressed that someone else was going to have to suffer the same indignities that he had, even if they had been born the appropriate sex for what Mark had in mind.

"What?" Mark asked quizzically. "Oh, I guess Paco must have told you. No, I couldn't find me a new saddle bride; I didn't want to take someone from a nearby town, they could too easily find my hideout. I tried to hire a whore for the winter, but no one wanted to come." He laughed, "Well, no one I wanted to bring, anyway."

Thrilled that Mark's quest for a saddle bride to take his place had failed, Claude certainly didn't want anyone to suffer as he had, the first smile in some time edged slightly onto his face.

"Sorry about that," Claude offered, then before he thought blurted, "But you shouldn't be stealing women for your pleasure anyway."

Clamping his hand across his mouth, Claude waited in wide-eyed horror for Mark's response. Why had he said something so stupid? To his surprise, Mark just laughed.

"I take what I want, that's what being an outlaw is all about..." he paused as if about to say something else and the changed his mind. "Look, I can't call you Claude when you're dressed like that. If someone from my gang came around and saw you and then heard me call you `Claude', well, you get the idea. Paco will keep my secret but some of the other men I deal with... well if one of them should happen to slip in here through the snow before Feyela can make you some new clothes we'll need a new name for you, temporary-like."

Grateful not to be punished for lecturing an outlaw on the immorality of kidnapping and rape, Claude quickly agreed. "That makes sense."

Mark looked at him expectantly but Claude didn't know why.

"Well? What is your name going to be?"

"Oh," Claude said, surprised that he would get to choose. So few things in his life had been under his control that it had never occurred to Claude that he would be allowed to pick his new, temporary, name. He had known so few women by their first names that it didn't take long for him to choose.

"Caroline," he said hesitantly, looking to see if his mother's name would please Mark.

The outlaw simply nodded once and left the room, saying over his shoulder, "Good night Caroline."

Despite himself, `Caroline' smiled.

Chapter Ten

The next few days Caroline continued to be cautious around Mark and tried his best to avoid Paco entirely. Each day was spent with Feyela who finally allowed him to leave his room and move about the house. Mostly healed from the beating, only his knee remained sore, Caroline tried to help his friend with the cooking and cleaning but the Sioux woman always refused, forcing the boy into a nearby chair to watch while she worked. Caroline continued to wear dresses, trying to stay with the plainest of those available, but Feyela seemed to delight in dressing him up as much as he would allow. Of her medicinal treatments, only the Winkte was still served to him but since Caroline had already developed a taste for the tea; that became a routine that he enjoyed. When Caroline once offered to make some of the tea for everyone, Feyela would not allow it, pantomiming that the tea was only for Caroline.

Mark said little to Caroline at first but was always polite at meals. The snow was falling fast so the men were trapped inside most of the day though they did have to go outside each day to bring in firewood and continue to shovel clear the path to Paco's cabin and the barn. Little by little Caroline was allowed to help with Feyela's chores and found himself to be a quick study at cooking. He even enjoyed it and always shared a secret smile with Feyela when one of the men would compliment her for something that Caroline had cooked. By the end of December, the four had developed a routine and Mark had even begun to purposely spend some time with Caroline, explaining that they `ought to at least get along'. Caroline could only agree.

Mark found it interesting that Caroline liked to read and asked the boy to read to him, and Caroline happily complied. Each evening after the others had returned to their own cabin they would sit by the fire, he lounging across a long settee and Caroline in an overstuffed chair nearer to the flames as they shared whatever book they chose for that evening. At first Caroline would read poetry to him but Mark would quickly lose track of the intricate language; he was far from stupid, Caroline discovered, but had no schooling at all. Eventually Caroline found books that appealed more to him and their nightly sessions became more enjoyable for them both. Sometimes as he read, Caroline would notice odd looks from the outlaw but he tried to put them out of his mind. They were more comfortable together than ever and the boy didn't want to imagine that the outlaw was thinking badly of him.

As for Caroline's male clothing, Mark explained to Feyela, through the translating Paco, what type of clothing that she needed to make for the boy. She promised to get right on it and even showed Mark the fabric's she had chosen for the project from her limited supply. With all the approvals in hand she said that she would work on them in the evenings and would allow Caroline to help. Unfortunately the Indian had a lot of sewing piled up as she had put all her darning and such aside to occupy her through the winter and said that some of that simply had to be done first. Since no other gang members showed up before the passes became blocked, Mark didn't argue the point and simply told Feyela to get the new clothes ready as soon as she could. Feyela seemed to have trouble finding the time but would occasionally get out a shirt or a pair of pants and perform some cutting or stitching but somehow just never seemed to complete anything that Caroline could wear. By mid-January Caroline had stopped asking about his boy clothes and since Mark had only asked once, the subject wasn't brought up any more. This gave Feyela the opportunity to simply stop working on them and by the first of February they had all silently agreed, though it had never been mentioned aloud, that Caroline would continue to wear dresses throughout the rest of the winter. It wasn't long after that that something new happened that changed Caroline's outlook on her captivity.

Caroline had always been a vivid dreamer, even from when he was a small boy, and these days were no exception. Often his dreams were frightening with bullies from the past beating and threatening him with hot pokers. One night he had a dream unlike any he had ever had and awoke the next morning with soiled panties; he had cum in them during the night. He remembered the dream completely and embarrassingly avoided Mark as much as possible that day and begged off reading to him that night claiming he was too tired. In the dream he had again been sucking Mark's cock, but this time it was because Caroline had wanted to. At some point in the weeks after that Caroline, though he still looked forward to being able to return to his life as a boy come spring, began to think of himself as a `she'.

It was just simpler that way, she decided. Wearing dresses and makeup every day while being called `Caroline' was difficult enough without having to constantly refer to herself as himself. If she had to spend one winter as a woman, why not just go with it? It would all be over soon enough and he could return to his normal life. Suddenly wearing pretty clothes mattered a great deal to Caroline, and she took great care with her makeup and wardrobe after that. Feyela noticed the difference right away, although Caroline never said anything to anyone else about her decision.

Things were fine throughout February and Caroline was quite content with her life. The dreams about she and Mark came more and more often but she rarely had `wet dreams' any more, but they were quite arousing. She had stopped feeling guilty about them and figured they were simply a side-effect of being forced to live as a woman. So long as they were dreams it certainly wasn't her fault, so she stopped worrying about them. She and Feyela had slowly worked out a complex method of communicating that combined words from English, Spanish, and Sioux along with hand gestures that allowed them to understand one another. They still could communicate everything but with each passing day they came closer. They developed a deep and abiding friendship and truly enjoyed their time together. Caroline's evenings with Mark were wonderful; for the first time in her young life she was able to read on a daily basis and share her new knowledge with someone else. Mark seemed to enjoy it as well, and soon forgot his reluctance enough to actually sit beside her on the settee sometimes. At times Caroline felt guilty that she was enjoying herself so much.

Unfortunately cabin fever struck Mark badly towards the end of February and he began to drink heavily. Paco had a large supply of cheap whiskey on hand. "I need to get out of here so bad," he would grouse. "These walls are closing in on me."

Caroline tried to console him, but he stopped even listening while she read. She told Feyela about the problem the next morning over a cup of Winkte and her friend just smiled.

"He will be fine with the spring," she explained. "He is having the Spring Fever."

Caroline accepted her friend's opinion and tried to make things more interesting for Mark. She worked extra hard to make good meals for him, and went out of her way to choose only books that he enjoyed. By this time even Mark was referring to Caroline as she' and her' and so Caroline decided to work even harder on her appearance to enhance the illusion that she was a true woman.

"That way maybe he'll forget some of his embarrassment from before and it'll improve his mood," she explained to Feyela in their mixed language not realizing how silly her words would sound even if the Indian had a perfect grasp of what she was being told.

"Winkte," she said, smiling. Caroline didn't know what a cup of tea had to do with Mark but she accepted Feyela's invitation. How she enjoyed that tea!

Two nights later Caroline was surprised by a knock on her door. The hour was late and she was just about to get into bed, so she opened the door a little hesitantly. When she saw that it was Mark she stepped aside to allow him entry, and he quietly closed the door behind him.

"I want you to read to me," he grunted, the sour smell of whiskey reeking on his breath.

Caroline nodded and led him to a chair, then began thinking about what she could read.

"The only book I have here is poetry," she said, thinking of the slim volume that she still kept beneath her pillow.

"That's fine," Mark said. Normally he didn't like poetry so Caroline was secretly pleased.

Taking the book from its place she sat in a chair close by and opened to a favorite passage. It was called `For the love of a woman' and spoke of a daring knight who risked all for his lady love. The man was enraptured with her and induced erotic pictures of the two of them together, though the poem itself kept the couple chaste throughout. Caroline hadn't read long before Mark abruptly stood up and left the room, a half-empty bottle she hadn't noticed before held in one hand. Sad that she had driven him away with her silly poetry, Caroline removed her robe and slide beneath the sheets with the book still in hand. Before she blew out the lantern she wanted to read that poem just once more; it always sparked some of her best dreams. It was then that she realized just how sexy and daring the nightgown she was wearing was; it was a good thing that she had been wearing her robe when she answered the door

Giggling to herself she opened the book and began to read, immediately feeling the familiar warmth that always spread through her groin when she read that poem. What would\Mark have thought to see her dressed like that? If she had been born a woman she'd have likely ended up a prostitute doing things like that.

With her arousal well under way she read the poem a second time, imagining herself in the place of the lady love as the handsome knight sought to earn her affection. Finishing it again she closed the book with a sigh and closed her eyes, forgetting for a moment that the lantern was still lit. Poetry was simply so beautiful...

Her reverie was broken by yet another knock on the door. With a bit of mischief in her heart Caroline ignored her dressing robe completely this time and simply moved to open the door dressed just as she was. Mark didn't wait for her to answer this time, and simply came straight in, catching her halfway across the floor. His eyes red from drinking he still had the bottle in his hand but the level of the liquid had been noticeably lowered. Slamming the bottle down on a table the outlaw stood and stared at the suddenly uncomfortable Caroline as she stood demurely there in the middle of the floor, her eyes downcast in embarrassment. Now that she was being seen in the nightgown, she really wished that she had the robe handy to cover herself with. Finally she turned to head for the robe but Mark's strong grip on her arm stopped her.

Turning her about Mark looked down at the beautiful woman standing before him. Her body looked female, her clothing was eminently feminine. There was nothing in the vision of beauty before him that even remotely hinted of a man. His dreams had been odd lately, and the whiskey had finally torn down most of his inhibitions. The sight of Caroline in her nightgown had finished off the last of them.

"Are you my saddle bride or not?" he demanded, dropping her arm and working at his belt. Even inebriated it took him but a moment to release it and his pants quickly fell to the floor. His cock was already rock hard and jutted upward in its need.

Caroline gasped at Mark's words and stood looking down at the erect cock in surprise. She was horrified by the outlaw's attention; there was no way that she wanted to resume her cock-sucking activities but she hesitated to say so; he was still a killer and this might be the time that he decided to finish her off once and for all. He had been drinking, hadn't he? Knowing that she had to go along with it just this once, likely Mark would be terribly embarrassed by this in the morning, she only nodded once before reaching out to hold his thick cock with one hand.

"I'm your saddle bride, Mad Mark Murphy, and I have to take care of your needs," she whispered, hoping her words would satisfy him in his drunken state.

Chapter Eleven

Growling with lust Mark scooped up his saddle bride and quickly deposited her onto the bed. Stripping off his pants and boots he crawled atop the beautiful woman who lay meekly awaiting him and knelt astride her chest. Leaning forward he plunged his hard cock into her open and inviting mouth and began to face-fuck the boy, no the woman, who had haunted his dreams for weeks now.

So great was his desire that it took no more than a few moments of feeling her soft lips and active tongue gripping and sliding along his aching cock before he began to blast stream after stream of cum into her hot mouth. Gasping and swallowing Caroline did her best to see to Mark's obvious need and managed to contain most of his seed. Anything, she told herself, to keep him from becoming angry. Once he stopped moving she nursed gently on his softening dick, still hoping to appease him, until she had sucked out every drop of his cum. Satisfied at last the drunken outlaw finally pulled his drooping cock from Caroline's mouth and collapsed across the bed. Soon he was snoring; leaving the still-reeling girl to squirm out from under him and find a more comfortable position snuggled up to his side.

Caroline awoke to find Mark snoring beside her and a beaming Feyela standing over the bed. Giving the saddle bride a hand, the Indian helped her crawl from Mark's unconscious embrace. Once free of the tangled covers Caroline helped Feyela gather up the discarded clothing and, putting on her robe this time, carry them to the wash room. Every time the two women met one another's gaze they would begin giggling again, although Caroline wasn't exactly certain why she was so giddy this morning. Certainly she hadn't wanted to suck Mark's dick, but perhaps now he would be more friendly, or perhaps not if he felt more embarrassment from allowing a boy to suck his cock. In any event Caroline felt happier than she ever had and told Feyela what had happened that night.

"Winkte," Feyela said, and Caroline was happy to accept the offer. A good cup of strong tea might wash out the taste of Mark's sperm from her mouth. It didn't taste or smell so bad at the time he was cumming but by the next morning it gave her terrible breath. By the time Caroline had finished her tea she heard Mark stagger from her room to his own, so she felt that it was safe to return for a change of clothing.

She hoped that he wouldn't be mad at her. For some reason the outfit she chose that day was possibly the most feminine dress in all of the wardrobes, with ribbons and lace in abundance. Her false breasts were a must with that dress, which she had never worn before, but she was surprised to find that the bodice fit somewhat snugly. Most of the clothing had been a perfect fit, or been too large if anything. Shrugging she forgot the problem, it wasn't that tight, and went on about her day.

By noon Mark was up and groaning over an intense hangover. He said nothing about the previous night so Caroline decided that it was possible that he didn't even remember it. Shortly after the evening meal he began to drink and an hour after sunset he was again knocking on Caroline's door.

She had waited up for him, just in case, and had read her favorite poem and some others that she really liked a number of times to prepare herself. Her outfit was even more revealing this night and Mark forced her face onto his cock while he was still standing in the doorway. Once was apparently not enough this night as he came quickly and, still rock-hard with his need, gently carried her back to the bed for a second round. This time he lay on his back and allowed her to take charge and she did so with gusto. By the time he grunted yet another blast of sperm into her wet mouth, she had licked, sucked, and gnawed his cock for nearly an hour. Her jaws ached terribly but she was oddly satisfied that he had forced her to do it again; it was important that she keep him happy to avoid death, wasn't it? She didn't believe that anymore, not in her heart, but the last vestiges of Claude buried deep inside her demanded that excuses continue to be made. His cock at last soft and relaxed and held gently in her hand, she curled up against him and they were both soon asleep.

Caroline awoke slowly the next morning, aware of the chill on her face but more intensely aware of the pleasant heat beneath the layered quilts of the bed. Mark's muscular body lay beside her and the man's body heat was amazing. After checking to see if he was still asleep she took a quick peak beneath the covers and noticed that he was sporting a massive hard-on this morning. Giggling she pulled her head back out and looked at his face again; still sleeping. Peaking again she felt an odd sensation in her chest and a strange idea came to her mind; something that she immediately had to justify to the remnants of Claude.

"If he wakes up like that, he's going to make me suck it before he gets out of bed," she thought. "So if I'm going to have to do it, I might as well get it over with." Her conscience temporarily appeased, she slid back beneath the covers and took him into her mouth.

He was very hard this morning, perhaps harder than she had ever seen him. Gripping the base with her hand she slid her mouth over the rigid monster to give it a slick coating of saliva. Stroking him firmly with her fist she pulled the dick from her lips with a soft `pop' and began to lick it, even sucking gently on his balls from time to time. His legs moved slightly as he gave a groan of appreciation and Caroline felt the covers pulled down to reveal her nibbling her way up his massive erection.

"Good morning," she said, releasing his cock from her lips for a moment and flashing Mark a tentative smile. Whatever he had been about to say fled his mind as he returned the smile before lying back with a relaxed sigh. Taking that as a sign of approval, Caroline returned her full attention to the thick wedge of meat before her and took it back into her mouth. This time she gave him a long, loving blowjob telling herself that that is what the outlaw would demand and swearing that she wasn't enjoying it in the slightest. It took a long time to satisfy him but she stayed at the task; licking the big dick thoroughly and sliding her lips up and down his thick rod until his cum flooded her mouth once again. Thanking her for the pleasant wake up, Mark picked up his discarded clothes and walked from the room naked. Despite herself the sight of his bare buttocks caused a slight stir of desire in Caroline's feminized breast.

Later that morning Mark suggested that Caroline move some of her things into his room, and so she did secretly thrilled to be doing so. The room with the feminine clothing became her room, but before long Caroline began thinking of the master bedroom with its huge bed as `their' room. Claude's arguments were not to be heard.

Chapter Twelve

That spring was a wet one and Caroline loved every second of it. She and Mark were together every day and spent each and every night asleep in one another's arms. She didn't have to pleasure him every day, but she certainly offered every day, and her dreams came back vividly. They were always the same; with her a complete woman and Mark fucking her voraciously. Her panties were sometimes soiled by the next morning but not often. Sometimes she masturbated when alone, thinking of Mark always, but even when she could achieve an erection she rarely produced any cum and quickly found out that she could orgasm quite well without either. Despite its small size Caroline was careful to keep her penis from Mark's sight at all times.

And keeping it hidden was getting easier; because unless Caroline was mistaken it was getting smaller, and there was no doubt that her testicles were smaller than they once were. Caroline was easily able to push the little bits of flesh back between her legs, leaving not one semi-masculine bulge in even the skimpiest of panties. And that wasn't the only change Caroline had noticed; her chest had begun to swell. By the end of the spring there was no mistaking the small breasts growing from her chest. Mark had still not seen them as May ended, but completely amazed by their appearance (and secretly thrilled) Caroline measured them daily to see if they were getting any larger. She prayed that they would and hoped that by the end of the summer she wouldn't need her false breasts to make her dresses fit properly anymore. These daily observances started a routine of daily inspection of her entire body and Caroline finally decided that she was gaining weight as well as her behind was getting fuller, he hips swelling slightly. That was no surprise; any time she ate regularly she had always gained weight first in her behind. She would be careful not to get too fat.

The only thing that disturbed the idyllic life of the valley was Mark and Paco's arguments. There weren't many and always held in Spanish, but obviously the two did not agree on something. Caroline tried to find out what but Mark ignored her requests. Feyela eventually figured it out.

"Paco, he want you back here," she explained, patting Caroline's expanding rump.

"I don't understand," responded Caroline, although she had a few suspicions. She'd heard of men who liked sex in the rear, but none of the whores she'd known at the bordello would allow it.

"Paco and Mark, they often share saddle brides, as Paco as on occasion given me to Mark. Now Paco asks for a night with you and Mark has refused."

To Caroline the only words she heard were that Feyela and Mark had been together. Jealousy raged inside her and her response was not exactly lady-like. Feyela only laughed.

"Since you came, Mark not interested in me. He only has eyes for Caroline, now."

Somewhat mollified, Caroline returned to the original discussion. Shuddering at the thought of being with Paco at all, she commented about how sad it was that Feyela had to spend her nights beneath that filthy beast.

"He is a bad man," agreed Feyela. "And a poor lover but he feeds me and that is more than other men I have known. Some fuck better but do not hunt between. So long as he does not drink too much, Paco leaves me alone until he has... this..." she said, pantomiming a cock protruding from her crotch.

"An erection?" Caroline supplied.

"Yes, and then he finds me and puts it inside me, sometimes here," she continued, pointing first towards her own crotch and then to her behind. "And sometimes here, but he is small and causes me no discomfort."

"I'm so sorry, Feyela."

"It is nothing," Feyela said, waving away Caroline's sympathy. "He is very small so I do not hurt, and when he is in front I can close my eyes and pretend he is someone else. Mark, he is a man! You and he have not fucked in ass?"

Blushing at the woman's words Caroline hastened to deny it. "No, I pleasure him with my mouth only. So far he's been content with that."

"He yes, of course, but what of you? Do you not want content?"

Caroline just laughed. "Don't worry about me, Feyela, I'm more than content."

As June began Mark and Paco left the valley; the outlaw on horseback for some type of meeting he wouldn't discuss and the Mexican in the buckboard to replenish their supplies. Caroline and Mark were passionate in their goodbyes and she wept every day that he was gone.

Feyela did what she could to cheer up the little saddle bride and began to introduce her to slightly different forms of the Winkte. Each time the flavor was subtly different and finally the Sioux woman took Caroline out to search for the plants and herbs she used to make the tea and many other things. Caroline discovered that Feyela knew a great deal about local plants and things and was amazed at what she knew. It was during this time that she realized that it was the Winkte tea that was causing her maleness to shrink and her breasts to grow. By this time they could communicate enough for Feyela to explain.

"There are some like you among my people; they are known as `Two-Spirits' because they are born of one sex but think like the other. Females born with two spirits are allowed to hunt and war with the men while male Winkte, like you Caroline, are allowed to live as a woman. Sometimes, if the wise ones approve, the male Winkte are given certain herbs that will gradually make him more feminine. This is my gift to you."

Caroline had at first been upset that Feyela had been giving her the potion without explaining what it was doing to her, but soon enough she realized that the woman had known what was best all along and revealed to her the physical changes she had been experiencing. Feyela was delighted.

"Already you are seeing the changes? That is wonderful, you may be one of those who are chosen to complete the Winkte journey!" she had said, going on to describe Winkte who had progressed to the point of being almost completely indiscernible from natural women. Though her language wasn't completely up to the terms she needed, she managed to explain to Caroline that her testicles might eventually disappear completely and her penis shrink down to miniscule proportions and perhaps even draw back up into her body. Her breasts might grow to any size but once Feyela had examined them she declared that Caroline's would likely be larger than Feyela's own. The Indian woman taught her the precise roots and herbs to use in the tea, which was not called Winkte despite what Caroline had originally thought, and explained the proper way to harvest and prepare them. Certain ones had not been available during the winter and so Feyela predicted that the changes might occur more rapidly now that a supply of some of the more exotic herbs could be found. Excited and happy, Caroline began to plan a surprise for Mark upon his return that would involve the revelation of her budding new breasts.

Originally Mark was only supposed to be gone for a few weeks but July was very nearly over before he returned. Caroline was weeping with relief to see him and rushed to his side as soon as he rode up to the barn. Two other men were with him, however, and he did not return her enthusiasm.

"We'll talk later, Caroline," he had growled, and led the newcomers to the sitting room to talk. She had gone to her room, not their room, and cried the rest of the day.

The two strangers, a half-breed named Agunsuh and an older man with one ear that the others called `pirate' were surly, mean fellows who ogled Caroline openly. They did their best to corner her so that could fondle her breasts and grope at her behind. Mark said little, intervening only when they attempted to take her upstairs, or take her there where they caught her, and the young saddle bride was beside herself with anguish over his lack of emotion. Feyela had it even worse, as Paco was more than willing to share his woman with the newcomers. Finally the two strangers finished conducting their business with Mark and left; soon there would be another robbery of some sort added to the record of Mad Mark Murphy.

Mark continued to be sullen with Caroline for another week and drank heavily. He had announced that his next caper would happen in late august, so he sat around the house and did little but drink. In all that time he barely touched Caroline, having come to her room only twice for middle of the night blowjobs. Showing little affection for the saddle bride, he had silently left as soon as his sperm was safely in her belly. Caroline decided that was worse than being ignored. Then one night he appeared at her door, drunk and raving at something Caroline couldn't understand.

"A man's gotta have more," he roared, kicking open the door once Caroline had released the latch. "You're my saddle bride ain't you?" he slurred, tossing aside an empty whiskey bottle and grabbing at her arm.

"You're hurting me, Mark," Caroline wailed, trying to pull away from the angry man. He was having nothing of that.

"Are you my saddle bride? Ain't you the little sissy that likes sucking dicks?" he roared, using her captive arm to sling her roughly towards the bed.

"I'm your saddle bride," she cried. "And your dick is the only one I love to suck," she said, not realizing that she had meant to say `the only dick I've ever sucked'.

Her words had no effect on the enraged outlaw. He pushed the girl again, this time she fell against the bed. Lifting her by the waist he tossed her onto the mattress and climbed atop, pulling his cock from his pants and unceremoniously sticking it into her mouth. Gagging she tried to service him but he wouldn't let her, bucking his hips furiously as he fucked her face. Fortunately for her, he soon passed out and rolled from her before he was close to cumming and suffocating her. Lying on his side, hard cock thrusting obscenely from his jeans, he lay on her bed and began to snore. Pulling herself free, Caroline fled the room.

Unsure where to go, she couldn't go to Feyela because Paco would be there and to step foot outside unsupervised would earn her a beating she knew, Caroline found herself standing in the dining room trying to sob quietly. The last thing that she wanted to do was to wake him in that condition. Moving on into the sitting room she curled up in a chair before the unlit fire and sobbed herself to sleep, asking herself why did things have to change?

How Mark managed the stairs without alerting her Caroline had no idea, but suddenly the man was there, staggering through the door to the sitting room roaring that he was `gonna kill her.' Shrieking in fear Caroline ran but didn't get far as Mark caught her from behind in a powerful bear hug before she could even reach the dining room table. Growling and mumbling something she couldn't understand, the drunken outlaw held her firmly against him as she struggled to get away. Her best efforts were to no avail; Mark was simply too strong and the best Caroline could do was to wiggle around within his embrace. After a moment or two of that Mark began to get quiet; the effects of Caroline's womanly bottom wiggling against his long-neglected cock simply too much to ignore even as inebriated as he was. With one last mumble he pushed the startled saddle bride so that she was bending over the dining room table. With as little delay as possible he pulled her nightgown up and her panties down and with no warning beyond that inserted his raging cock into her ass. Screaming in pain, Caroline suffered through a dozen hard strokes before passing out.

By the time she came too Mark was finished and was staggering away, mumbling `a man's gotta have more,' before slumping down to sleep in the hallway floor. Working her way back upstairs, Caroline cleaned herself as best she could before crying herself to sleep in her own bed.

Chapter Thirteen

Caroline didn't speak with Mark for two weeks, time he spent drinking and she spent with Feyela. The Indian woman continued to act as her mentor; consoling the young saddle bride while simultaneously sharing certain secrets with her to make the next similar occurrence more endurable.

"The bacon grease will work well," she said, telling Caroline how to apply it before Mark entered her. Caroline barely listened, claiming that she would die before she let him do that to her again. Feyela continued to console her, explaining that such sex did not have to be all pain.

"I know that he hurt you, but it can be tolerable, even enjoyable if it is with the right man. Caroline rejected the woman's words and continued to sulk. The pain in her backside didn't truly stop for several days even if the worse was past far more quickly. She knew that she would never forgive Mark for what he had done.

Three days later a sober Mark came to her with tears in his eyes and a fistful of flowers he had picked for her. He apologized for what he had done and begged for her forgiveness. Not that night but the next Caroline was again sucking his cock, and by the end of the week had returned to his bed full time. They talked about his need for penetration one night.

"Why didn't you just ask? I might have tried it if you'd only asked," she said, pillowing her face in his hairy chest as she cried. His sperm was still warm and sticky on her tongue and immediately after the orgasm the subject of the rape had come up again.

Mark had tears in his eyes as well. "I never thought you'd go for it," he said. "I mean, no matter what else you are, you're still a boy despite the dresses and the makeup... I never dreamed that you'd be interested... and I didn't think I would be interested either... I've never done it before," he had said through his sobs. Caroline's heart had instantly melted.

"Let me show you just how much of a man I am," she had said quietly. Standing up on the bed, she had lifted her nightgown away, followed that by pulling down the cotton panties that was all else that she was wearing. He had gasped at the sight of budding breasts but was amazed at what little remained of her manhood.

"My breasts may be small," Caroline scolded, cupping them for him to see, "but these are the breasts of a woman, Mad Mark Murphy! This may not be a pussy," she continued, releasing her breasts and pointing to the empty bag and miniature cock between her legs, "but trust me, sir, that I am no longer a boy! I am a woman, Mark, your woman and I love you! If you have a need, ANY need, I will fulfill it. You don't have to get drunk first! I will keep my man happy but you have to tell me what you need!"

Chagrined and ashamed, Mark truly cried for the first time in his adult life then, begging for the forgiveness of his beautiful saddle bride. Caroline held him and forgave him; and soon the two were entwined in a passionate embrace that had them madly touching and stroking one another. Soon enough, but not soon enough for Caroline, Mark's thick cock was in her mouth and her heart was humming with happiness. She worked hard to get him well slick and ready, stopping once his orgasm was nearing, before saying the words she had secretly wanted to say for weeks.

"Will my husband please fuck his pretty little wife?"

Even with the help of the bacon grease it took a little time for Mark to work himself into Caroline's back door. Eventually, with enough care, grease, and a great deal of attention paid to Caroline's breasts, most of Mark's monster was firmly encased inside his saddle bride. Sighing in contentment when her husband was, finally, completely inside her, Caroline's heart sung with pure joy at how full she felt. They were joined so completely, so perfectly, that she cried tears of happiness as he began to move. His strokes were long and slow, each inward thrust met by the rising of her hips to meet him, and were topped off by the soft collision of his balls against the crack of her ass. There was some pain for the little woman, but that soon fled before the marvelous feelings that Mark's cock was generating somewhere deep inside of her. What was left of her soft little dick was leaking steadily after only a few strokes and Caroline's body was shaking with the best orgasm of her young life before a full minute had passed. Mark barely lasted much longer; the sight of his beautiful wife, her breasts bare to his gaze and her hot hole squeezing tightly on his cock was just too much, and only a few dozen strokes into their first fuck he was blasting his load deep inside of her.

The lovers wore out their bed over the coming weeks until Caroline's mouth and ass throbbed with a dull ache continually from her efforts. Mark's cock was red and raw from the constant friction but neither were the least bit reticent about falling into one another's arms at any time of the day or night. The sweet taste of his cum or the wonderful feeling of total penetration were both wonderful to Caroline, and she would often hunt her husband down if he dared get busy and not return to the house to see to her needs every few hours. Feyela worried that her friend was not eating or getting enough sleep.

"I'm eating plenty," Caroline assured her. "But you're right; I'm not getting much sleep!"

Everything was so wonderful that the couple lost track of what was going on around them, and failed to miss the growing tension between Paco and Feyela.

Chapter Fourteen

Paco was an evil man, not simply selfish or anything as simple as an outlaw. He murdered his own father as a boy and fled his home in Sonora to join a gang of bandito's. When many of his compatriots were killed by the Rurales, he turned to the Comanchero for a new career smuggling guns to sell to the Apache. When U.S. Marshals ended the career of most of his band, Paco began robbing trains and, after joining the gang of Mad Mark Murphy, banks. Not only had he murdered a number of people, he had raped his way from Mexico up into Oregon. He was hateful, spiteful, and despised women beyond serving him or satiating his physical needs. After he lost his arm from a gunshot wound that turned septic, Paco had gotten even meaner if that was possible, and despised being a handyman around Murphy's hideout. Of all the saddle brides Paco had ever taken, and over the years there had been many, it was only Feyela who had been kept around for more than a single winter. Usually he grew bored of them and found a creative way to kill them by the time spring wore around.

Feyela, however, had been different. The Sioux woman had been bought by Murphy and given to Paco. Usually the Mexican stole a woman when he wanted one or visited the nearest whore house. Wanting to keep Paco out of trouble locally, Murphy had made the necessary arrangements. Accepting of her fate as a commodity to be bought and sold, Feyela had not been necessarily willing to share her bed with Paco but did not expect anything less. The real differences between Feyela and the typical saddle bride became evident the first time that Paco had beaten her; as soon as she recovered, she had taken a plank to him while he slept. Paco had come to respect the Indian and so did not kill her that first spring. Then Murphy had brought home his latest saddle bride.

How beautiful she was! Paco had been stunned at the sight of her and had burned with lust for the girl even when he learned her true sex. Patiently he had waited for his chance to share in her charms, he did not mind backdoor sex at all, thinking that Murphy would likely tire of her by spring and be happy to share. They always had shared before; hadn't Murphy used Feyela at times in the past? Had Paco not shared what he had? But Murphy had refused and, unknown to anyone else, they had even come to blows over the problem.

Sex with Feyela now consisted of inserting his cock into the woman, usually in her behind, and imagining that the dark hair was blond and the stout thirty-year-old body of the Indian was instead the lithe teenage body of Caroline. The vision of the girl was too much for him, and he always came quickly and lately Feyela had begun to notice his lack of stamina and to laugh at him. Not openly, perhaps, but she was laughing; he could see it in her eyes. No one laughed at Paco. By the time Murphy left to meet up with six other men for his next bank job, Paco had become truly obsessed with the blond beauty living in the big house. So long as Murphy was around Paco would behave; he knew that he was no match for Murphy with a gun and couldn't hope to defeat him in a standup fight with only one arm. But as soon as the outlaw road away Paco was prepared to satisfy his lust for Caroline; he only needed to tie up a few loose ends first.

Even as Paco watched Mark and Caroline's tearful goodbye he was planning his story. `The girl ran away right after you left and Feyela; I just got tired of her.' Not an imaginative lie but it was about as creative as Paco was capable of concocting. He would bury both women in the same grave, why dig two? Feyela would be left in the barn to ripen until Paco was finished with Caroline; then the blond would be buried at the bottom with Feyela on top. Even if Murphy chose not to believe Paco and dug up the grave, he certainly wouldn't go any deeper once he found the bloated corpse of the Indian. Paco would explain how he had trailed Caroline down the trail into Burkesburg and reported that she had taken passage on a stage. She had spoken with no one along the way. Would Murphy believe him? Maybe not; but Paco felt certain he could keep the outlaw from being sure enough to do anything about it. Then, when Murphy was asleep or had his back turned, Paco would shoot him and leave with whatever money the outlaw had taken on his last bank robbery. A simple plan and one that would work. It would serve Murphy right for becoming so struck on his little boy/girl.

Murphy rode away still blubbering after his little whore and Paco had to laugh. Murphy had always been a strong man but now he was weak; turned into a kitten by a soft tongue and willing lips. Well Paco would soon test that little mouth himself, and show the blond hussy how a man takes a woman from behind. Likely she'd be thankful for his attentions, just like she became with Murphy, the little slut. But Paco was in no hurry. He had things to prepare and so Caroline was safe that night but soon, very soon, Paco knew, it would be he fucking the blond saddle bride.

Chapter Fifteen

The second night after Mark left Caroline was awakened from a sweet dream about her lover by a single gunshot. Jumping from bed, her little heart pounding in fear, she quickly donned her dressing robe and ran downstairs. The house was quiet and a peek out the windows showed nothing amiss at Paco's cabin. Perhaps the Mexican had shot a coyote; they occasionally came near the house looking for a calf, a number of which still roamed the land. But the coyotes did not come near during the summer, only during the winter when game was scarce. Still frightened Caroline sat for hours looking out the window; expecting at any moment to see wild Indians or other strangers approaching the house. Finally dawn broke, and she allowed her fears to die.

But Feyela did not come to the house to cook breakfast. Nor did she come to prepare lunch. Paco came for both meals, eating what Caroline prepared without a word of thanks and ignoring her questions concerning Feyela.

"She is sick," he said, just before riding from the house around noon. Where was he going?

Frightened for her friend, Caroline waited until Paco was out of sight before running to the cabin and pounding on the door. When she received no answer she cautiously opened the door and realized her worst fears.

Feyela was dead.

Shrieking in horror Caroline ran from the cabin and back to the house, thinking only to hide and wait for her Mark to save her. She knew that Paco would be home soon, and she knew that the Mexican bandito would be coming for her. She'd seen the looks he sent her way, the way that he had stared at her ass and tried to look down her dress when she bent over. She thought of getting a rifle, she knew where Mark hid one, and shooting Paco if he came for her but the Mexican was ready for any such foolishness; he had left only to ride around the house and slip back inside through the front door. He was waiting for Caroline when she ran into her and Mark's room.

Hiding behind the door, Paco stepped up and wrapped his long arms around his prize; groping at her breasts and rubbing his erection into her soft ass. In Spanish he called her names as he raped her; whore, bitch, and worse. Thankfully she understood none of it. Paco was rough and brutal; ripping away her dress and tossing her face down onto the bed before pushing his cock into her from behind. She cried from the pain but most from the embarrassment. Paco's manhood was too small to cause much damage but the bandito did nothing to ease the passage of his cock. When he finished he tied up the little saddle bride and left her on the bed naked until he wanted her again, then he would return to rape her once more.

The day passed slowly for Caroline. Many women might have been broken by the abuse but she had suffered at the hands of everyone she'd ever known save Miss Vicky, so Paco's abuse was dealt with and put aside. It broke her heart that another man was tasting of her charms; she had wanted only Mark to ever make love to her. But Paco was going to do more, Caroline knew. At some point he would kill her if she didn't escape and so the saddle bride worked throughout the day to free her hands from the leather strings.

Paco drank heavily throughout the afternoon, returning once just before dark to take Caroline once more. Satiated for the moment he went back to drinking and by eight o'clock was passed out cold in the floor of the kitchen.

Caroline had made little progress on her binds but vowed to stay awake through the night to keep trying. She didn't know how long she had before Paco killed her but didn't want to give him any more chances than she had to. Unfortunately her efforts continued to be fruitless and at some point exhaustion claimed her. She awoke at the sound of the bedroom door opening and found daylight streaming in; and Paco standing naked in the doorway.

"Good morning bitch," he said in his heavily accented English. "This morning I am going to take your ass and then make you clean my cock off with your tongue," he said, laughing through the groan of a hangover induced headache. His cock was rampant and bounced comically before him as he waddled bow-legged across the room. Slapping Caroline with a backhand he forced her over onto her stomach and then pulled her ass closer to the edge of the bed. Lining up his cock with her hole he pushed it in; forcing hard against her resistance as he drove himself in to the hilt.

"Ahh, damn that feels good," he grunted. His eyes were closed as he reveled in the firm grip Caroline's body had on his cock. "No wonder Murphy keep you for himself, you one tight little bitch," he said, pulling halfway out and shoving himself back in again.

Caroline cried from the pain but otherwise tried to ignore the stinking man. He might hurt her but she fully intended not to give him the pleasure of reacting to his hurtful words and hatred. She could do nothing about the rape but she didn't have to make it any more pleasurable for Paco than she had to.

Three more strokes and Paco paused again. "You know what, bitch? Your ass is tighter than that Indian bitch's was. I'm gonna cum quick, and it's gonna be a heavy load!"

He did blow a large amount of sperm into Caroline's ass, but he never knew it. The bullet that blew apart his head saw to that.

Mark holstered his gun and with a cry of anger jerked the still twitching body of Paco off of Caroline's bare back. Cutting her free of her bindings he gathered up the sobbing girl to him and held her as she cried.

Chapter Sixteen

When his contacts had failed to meet him, Mark had returned home. Something must have happened to mess up his plans; two quick banks in Arizona and a ride back to the hideout before snow fell had been his idea. That the pirate wasn't waiting for him at the edge of his hidden valley had been a bad sign; likely the man was dead or in custody, and so Mark had quickly left. He had enough money to get him through another winter despite having pulled no jobs this whole summer and if the law were too close to his compatriots he could afford to wait until next spring. Thinking about that made him laugh; it was funny what the love of a woman could do to a man.

He had of course been surprised to find Paco fucking Caroline and for a moment the worst had been thought; that Caroline was a willing participant in the tryst. When he saw her bound hands, however, he recognized the rape for what it was. They had buried Feyela in the grave Paco had already dug but the Mexican bandito's body was dropped off near the mountains to feed the wolves and bears.

"He doesn't deserve any better," Mark told Caroline. She didn't argue one way or another. She was far more upset with the death of Feyela than she was the rape. Mark knew that she was innocent in that so she was content over that.

Mark had given his saddle bride a few days to get past the rape before he approached her and was surprised to find Caroline much more amorous than he would have expected. They again began to make love daily, sometimes more often, and spent more time in one another's arms than ever before. Some days they did not leave the bedroom until hunger drove them out and sometimes they would go days without putting on any clothes. Despite missing her friend, Caroline was happier than she had ever been.

Caroline continued to drink her herbs daily; she and Feyela had harvested more than enough to see her through the winter, and continued to keep her panties on during sex to conceal her shrinking male parts. Mark didn't mind pushing the panties aside to insert his cock and appreciated the illusion she continued to portray. By December the changes in her anatomy had become even more striking and Caroline began making plans to share something new and special with her husband.

The breasts that had begun to bud the previous spring were now full sized and rounded. These days Caroline needed the support of a bra and her nipples were large and plump. Her backside was fuller, softer, and the mere sight of her bare ass often drove Mark insane with lust. Caroline's hips had spread slightly as well, giving her a more feminine way of walking. Her voice even changed slightly, becoming a clear, sweet soprano. Not that she had sounded man-like before.

But the changes elsewhere in her body were even more dramatic; as her scrotum was completely gone now, having receded up into her body and forming the lips of her new vagina. Her cock, puny to begin with, had receded as well and was now little more than a small pink nub located inside her pussy lips. Naturally Caroline was thrilled and couldn't wait to show it to her husband, but unfortunately her new pussy had no depth to it; at least not yet. She could barely fit one finger inside it up to the first knuckle so far, but was hopeful that by the end of the year she might hold more. When she thought of Mark's massive cock she always giggled, hoping her pussy could hold a great deal more.

On New Year's Eve she asked Mark to pull off her panties and relished the look of delight that appeared on his face. They tried to fit his cock into her pussy that very night with no real success; he managed to fit the head in, barely, but that was all. Still they enjoyed the attempt and it became their routine to try it every night and by the end of February, much to their shared delight, something gave inside of her and at least half of his mammoth cock slid into her soft, wet depths.

Crying in absolute bliss Caroline locked her legs around her husband's slim waist as he fucked her pussy for the first time. The friction against her new clit was unbelievable as her body shook with orgasm after orgasm. Nothing she had ever experienced prepared her for the feelings that exploded from her vagina when Mark was inside her and when he later began experimenting with his tongue she knew that she would never be unhappy again. By the first of April he was able to work himself in to the root and the long, sweet strokes of his thick tool would keep her squirming about their silken sheets for hours. Legs spread, feet locked behind him, lifting her hips to meet his every powerful thrust; almost became Caroline's only reason for living. It was all that she thought about, sucking, kissing, and licking her husband's thick cock before he impaled her pussy upon it. Now that she could truly experience sex as a woman, having his cock in her mouth somehow meant even more to her; as if to have him in her mouth brought them closer, made them more intimate as she thanked his thick rod for the womanly pleasures it gave to her. More than once she nearly lost her voice from hours of shrieking her orgasms.

By June there was no trace of Claude left in Caroline. Not even she could find a flaw in her perfect little body. Her breasts were full and her twat perfect in ever way; she was even pleased with the way her butt looked in a mirror! She was deliriously happy as was her husband, so when he broke the news to her that morning of the fifth of June, it was almost as if he had told her that he was leaving her forever.

"I have to leave, just for a few weeks," he said, watching as his wife tearfully stroked his cock.

"You don't have to leave, you can stay here with me," she sobbed, sliding her fist up his long pole to force a small drop of precum from the tip.

"Mm," he groaned. "But I have to go; we need money."

"No we don't," she argued, licking the precum away with a firm lick. "You don't need to rob banks anymore; we can stay here! We'll be ranchers, we have everything we need right here!" she added, sliding her tongue down his aching member.

"I'm no rancher," he grunted, overcome with pleasure as Caroline took one testicle into her hot little mouth.

"You could be," she said, her voice muffled as she dropped one testicle and quickly claimed the other.

"You don't understand, Caroline, it takes a lot of money to be an outlaw... particularly a free one."

Thrilled as always when Mark said her name, Caroline responded by gently nibbling her way up his enormous length. "You don't need money for gambling, or whoring anymore," she complained, taking the head of his meat into her mouth for a soft suck before continuing. "You said so yourself."

Her lips were working their way down his dick as he tried to frame a reply, making it very difficult for Mark to think rationally as her soft tongue flickered against the underside of his cock. "And I have debts, Caroline. Debts to men who would kill us both in a heartbeat. I have to pull one more job, honey. It just has to be."

Knowing that she couldn't talk him out of it, Caroline decided to take his mind off the issue, at least for a while. Releasing her liplock from his dick with a soft `pop', she straddled his waist and dropped one full, round breast into his mouth. As he sucked on that she stroked his hair and used one hand to guide his engorged cock into the entrance of her pussy. Typically she preferred for her husband to be on top, she adored feeling his weight atop her as they fucked, but today she mounted him as if his cock were a saddle, and slid her hot pussy down onto him. Mark grunted in pleased surprise and arched his hips upward to penetrate her to the fullest. Thankful for his efforts, Caroline closed her eyes and squeezed her cunt around him.

"I want you here with me, Mark Murphy!" she said, sliding her tight pussy up and down on his thick cock. "I want you to stay here with me."

His eyes squeezed shut as he fought the urge to already blow his load, Mark tried to answer intelligently but it all just came out garbled. Moaning a steady "Oooooo", Caroline bounced up and down his stiff pole, glorifying in the way her new clit rubbed against its hardness. Unable to just lie there, Mark grabbed her hips and rolled his bride over. Now on top and still buried inside her, the outlaw took one nipple into his mouth as he began to pound into Caroline's soft snatch. Within seconds they were both lost in a mind-blowing orgasm.

Chapter Seventeen

True to his word Mark left a few days later, intent on finding the remnants of his gang and finding a new bank or two to rob. Caroline was adamant that he stay but her tears fell for nothing; Mark knew how little money was left to him. Promising that he would be back in two months, he left his bride in the care of a new caretaker; a smiling old Indian named Long Run. He claimed to be a Cherokee from North Carolina and spoke perfect English. He had known Mark for many years and was thought to be honest. Caroline wasn't so sure and stayed well away from the old man and his one-tooth smile for weeks before she became comfortable in his presence. Eventually they became good friends and spent hours each day talking. Long Run claimed that he was too old to be interested in anything more. In truth he was very interested in what Caroline had to offer, but she wasn't offering, and he would never push the issue. Soon she became almost as a granddaughter to him, and thoughts of her as a woman left him completely... except when he accidentally caught a few tantalizing glimpses of her on bath days.

She loved being called `Mrs. Murphy' but eventually Caroline asked Long Run to call her by her first name instead. He treated her well and never let a day pass that he didn't spend at least some time with her; listening to her read aloud or talking while she sewed. Long Run kept a close eye on the area too; his first duty was to protect the lady and he took that very seriously. Caroline had never seen him without his massive buffalo gun was nearby.

Long Run moved slowly on foot but on horseback he was as nimble as the horse he rode. The old man spent several weeks searching the valley for cattle and turned up a sizeable number of livestock. Paco and Mark would occasionally hunt a deer or a wild steer in the valley, but they hadn't realized just how many cattle were around. Long Run gathered them up, branded them all with an M bar M for Mark Murphy and let them go again. There were enough to start a real herd, he claimed, before moving on to fixing the barn roof. Repairs to the corral went quickly as did cleaning out the well. In just two months he had improved the ranch more than Paco had in six years.

"I'm going to see to it that Mr. Murphy treats you very well for all this," beamed Caroline as she surveyed more of the old fellow's handiwork. Long Run would just smile and wave away her praise. "I earn my pay; can't no one say different."

The rest of the summer was lonely for Caroline, not that Long Run wasn't good company, but she missed having a woman around to talk to and she missed Mark in a much more physical way. However she kept herself busy by taking over Feyela's garden and with the harvest she began storing food for winter. Likely half of it would go to waste, she stored so much, but it was enjoyable and passed the time. Her worries over her missing husband increased as October waned, and with the signs indicating an early winter she truly began to agonize over his whereabouts. Her worry leapt up and tried to strangle her that morning when she heard the shots.

A lone rider came down the road from the western pass riding at a dead run. Mark was supposed to return from the east so Long Run almost took a long range shot, his Sharps wasn't accurate at long ranges but the bullets would travel for some distance, but something cautioned him into withholding his fire. As the rider neared Caroline squealed in delight at the sight of her returning husband. Had the shots been merely his way of alerting them to his return? She started to run out to meet Mark but Long Run held an arm out to stop her. Surprised she looked at the old man for an explanation but the grim look on his face told her all she needed to; Mark had not signaled; someone was shooting at him.

His horse staggered as it entered the yard behind the house and nearly fell when Mark slid from it. The sound of another distant shot was followed by the sharp whine of a bullet passing overhead. Squeaking in terror Caroline wheeled about, gathered up her long skirts, and sprinted for the back door. Mark passed her and threw open the door; shielding her tiny body with his own until she had reached the safety of the kitchen. Long Run retreated to the barn, leading Mark's horse and walking slowly across the yard despite the bullets kicking up dust near his feet. Caroline could hear him singing something.

"Oh Mark!" she wailed, seeing for the first time beyond his adored face and noticing the blood flowing freely down his shirt. He ignored her words, slumping into a chair and trying to reload his rifle with one hand. Tearing at his shirt, Caroline pulled it back enough to reveal a neat hole through his upper chest, about two inches above his left nipple. The blood was flowing freely but she saw no signs of bubbles or very dark blood; two things that Feyela had taught her were dangerous signs in wounds.

"Leave me be, Caroline," Mark rasped, his breath coming fast as he tried to focus on his rifle through the pain. "There's a posse on my trail."

Ignoring him Caroline pressed a towel she grabbed off the table against the hole and a second to the exit wound in his back. She tied them into place with strips torn from her petticoats. By the time that horses were heard nearing the house, both Caroline and Mark were finished with their tasks.

Her heart pounding in fear, Caroling found herself pushed down to lie on the floor, her now ample bosom holding her head higher than she would have liked when a pair of questing bullets burst through one of the kitchen windows.

"Mad Mark Murphy; this is Deputy U.S. Marshal Colton of Braham County. Come out with your hands up now and we promise you'll not be hurt."

"You go to hell," Mark shouted, firing blindly out of a window as he threw his body atop that of his wife. A moment after he fired a volley of a least a dozen bullets passed through the room to strike the far wall.

Petrified Caroline lay silently weeping; she had no idea what to do and fear for her husband had nearly petrified her. Suddenly his weight was gone from atop her and Mark was tugging on her shoulder with his good arm.

"Get up, honey, you have to get to shelter."

"We have to get to shelter," she sobbed. But where? The house was wood and glass, nothing to stop a bullet except the logs used to build the frame. Mark must have been thinking the same thing as he cautioned her to stay low and risked a quick peek from a shattered window.

"They're surrounding the house," he whispered. "The cellar would be the safest place for you but..." he didn't finish his sentence as he snapped a quick shot out the window. No one returned fire but someone began cursing. Caroline didn't need the sentence finished; she knew that the only entrance to the cellar was outside.

With sudden inspiration Mark stepped over to the large stove and felt the top. Finding that the cast iron was giving off no heat, he threw open the oven and then the fire box, finding both empty. It had simply been too hot to cook indoors, so Long Run and Caroline had been handling those duties out of doors. Throwing her a crooked smile Mark motioned for his saddle bride to crawl into the space, which seemed quite spacious when baking but turned out to be a narrow fit for the tiny woman.

"What about you?" she whispered, her concern greater for him than for herself. No one wanted to kill her.

"Don't worry about me, this is what I do," he returned, smiling at her with his crooked grin. Despite herself Caroline's heart melted at the sight; she truly loved her man. "Take this," he added, pushing his six-gun into her hands before shoving the oven door closed. Caroline didn't have to ask why; the posse might want to celebrate with a little celebratory rape if they found her alone and unarmed.

From the barn came the dull roar of Long Run's buffalo gun. Someone outside began to scream, but the sound was cut off.

"That's one of you," shouted Mark gleefully. "How many more of you have to die before you give up? I have a lot more men on the way!" he lied. The posse didn't bother answering, but distant voices drifted in to Mark as the Marshal shifted his men around to cover the barn as well.

Mark sent a few more rounds their way just to keep their heads down and then hurried to check the front of the house; to be sure that no one was trying to come in that way. The deputies had moved more quickly than he had expected; one was already there in the front hallway.

Throwing himself back into the kitchen Mark fired from the hip with his rifle just as the .45 in the deputy's hand roared. The fall backward saved Mark's life as the bullet missed the heart it had been aimed for and instead creased the outlaw's temple as it passed and then ricocheted off the oven door. Stepping forward the unharmed deputy kept his pistol on the outlaw, thinking that the man was surely dead. Then he noticed that Mark's chest was moving. Standing there in the kitchen door he took careful aim at the center of the outlaw's forehead and the room was filled with the roar of a single shot.

Chapter Eighteen

"Ma'am" the shopkeeper said, tipping his hat as he paused his sweeping of the walkway and nodded to the beautiful woman walking by. She was well known to him, and to every one in town as she was something of a celebrity. Imagine, Mad Mark Murphy's wife right here in Brockston!

"She ought to be in jail," sniffed the shopkeeper's wife, stepping from the store to stare after Caroline.

"Naw Bette, you know they already had her hearing. No one in this country is going to blame a woman for defending her husband; particularly when he's out cold and a man's a fixin' to shoot him dead!"

"The deputy was just doing his duty," the woman spat, glaring at her husband. "Bringing down a criminal, a murderer, like Mad Mark Murphy was justice, pure and simple."

"A trial and a hangin' is proper justice, Bette, not shooting the man in cold blood. There were two witnesses who saw it happen; they had warned Hubert not to do it if Murphy could be taken alive but he had other ideas. Mrs. Murphy was completely cleared."

"Tramp!" the wife sniffed, stalking back into the store and slamming the door.

Caroline had of course heard the whole exchange; just as the woman had intended. Some of the people in the town were sympathetic to her plight but not all. She had indeed shot the deputy, and could not regret her actions. Mark was alive today, even if he was in jail, because of what she had done.

Trials moved along quickly in Brockston Nevada. Within days of the posse's return with their two prisoners, Long Run had escaped into the hills and a new posse was chasing him, Caroline had been tried and acquitted while her husband had been found guilty of a variety of crimes including the murder of two men from Brockston in Mark's latest bank robbery. Now, barely three weeks after their capture, the date of Mark's hanging had arrived; in the morning Caroline would be a widow.

Darkness was falling now as she neared the jail. The judge and the Sheriff had been kind enough to allow her to spend the last night with Mark but had refused to bring her husband to the boarding house where she had been `incarcerated' since her arrival in Brockston. She had been surprised at the decision, particularly after her failed attempt at stealing the keys and passing them through the window to her husband. It was amazing what these men would forgive when it came to a pretty face. Her heart throbbed with fear for her husband but she had taken Mark's advice and found the inner strength to conceal her concern; she was aloof but polite to the townsfolk but found it difficult to feel friendship for them. For all the terrible crimes Mark had committed, he was still her husband and she loved him dearly, and these people were about to take him from her.

Walking sedately, she was dressed in her absolute best dress complete with bustle and multiple petticoats, Caroline finally arrived at the jail. She had insisted that the deputies bring all of her clothing, partly because she didn't know what she might need and partly because she wanted to give Long Run more time to flee, and in the end the posse had been forced to bring back two full wagons just to carry the wounded Mark and all of Caroline's clothes. She had been concerned about money but a week after arriving in Brockston she had found a small roll of bills beneath her pillow, wrapped around a single eagle feather. Long Run had been there. When the old Indian had escaped he had taken the money from Mark's last robbery with him, having recovered the cash from the outlaw's saddlebags while holed up in the barn. He must have been worried about Caroline.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to live on for some time. For now the county was paying for her room and meals, so if she was careful she would be fine for a few months at least. Her first few months as a widow.

She was already sobbing, a lacy handkerchief held to her face as she entered the Sheriff's office. He was waiting there for her, as was Deputy Marshal Colton and the Sheriff's wife Abigail. As usual Abigail was there to search Caroline, to ensure that she was smuggling nothing in to her husband. Abigail was friendly towards Caroline, she was sympathetic to any woman about to lose her husband, but was very careful with her duties. If nothing else Abigail's searches had finally convinced Caroline that her transformation into a woman was perfect. The men obediently left during the search, and were called back by Abigail to escort Caroline in to see Mark.

Mark's cell was located at the end of the small jail. Blankets had been hung over the bars to give them some privacy but Caroline knew how easy it would be for someone in an adjacent cell to reach through and move the blanket aside for a view of making love to her husband. She didn't care; she had one last night with Mark and that was all that was important now. She didn't even notice that the other cells had been emptied; all she had eyes for was Mark.

The outlaw looked haggard, as well he should. His wounded shoulder was far from healed and he kept his left arm pressed tightly to his side most of the time. The scratch on his temple was not deep but the thin line was still very visible and Mark complained of frequent headaches. He had lost weight while in the jail; partly from his wounds and partly from a loss of appetite over his impending hanging. After Caroline's attempted passing of the keys had failed, Mark had tried to talk her out of trying as he didn't want his beautiful wife to end up in prison; his only hope had been if one of his friends had decided to attempt a breakout. No one had tried. He was simply too weak to attempt anything on his own. Of all his associates only Long Run might have tried to save him, and the old Cherokee was still trying to elude the posse after him from all Mark had overheard there in the jail. It seemed as if Mad Mark Murphy's legendary luck had finally run out.

They embraced at the door of the cell and were passionately kissing before the embarrassed Sheriff could even lock the door back. With the blankets back in place the couple began making love with a ferocious intensity. Mark blasted load after load of cum into his willing wife's mouth and pussy, moaning and groaning as they each shuddered through orgasm after orgasm. By dawn they were exhausted but had stopped long enough to get dressed again, finishing only moments before the men came for Mark. Sobbing, Caroline had to be pulled from her husband's arms and while being comforted by a group of townswomen, watched in near hysterics as Mark was hung.

Chapter Nineteen

The Widow Murphy could not bear to remain in Brockston and so after seeing her husband properly buried had taken a stage from town. Several stages, actually, disembarking from one and boarding the next in a dim confusion of grief that left her only barely able to function. Returning to the hideout had never entered her mind; there were simply too many memories of Mark there now. Besides; the family of the original owners would certainly show up at some point to take possession. Eventually she found herself in a small town named Whitesburg California and with much of her money now spent, began to think about taking a job.

In what direction to take her life, Caroline had no real idea. She had more than enough offers from men wanting to set her aside for themselves, and every madam in town tried to hire her for their whorehouse before she began working as competition but she patiently refused all such offers. In Whitesburg she found an advertisement in the small local paper concerning a job teaching at the school. The school board, all men, needed only a few minutes to offer her the job at slightly more than they had originally agreed to pay whoever they hired. Each secretly hoped to find the lovely Miss Murphy, despite never actually being lawfully married she chose to keep Mark's name, very physically appreciative of their part in hiring her but they were each pleasantly rebuffed; Caroline was still grieving the loss of her husband.

Teaching school was a wonderful new experience for the former saddle bride and her first year there passed by quickly. The children loved their beautiful teacher and even the older boys behaved just so they could remain in the class and enjoy the sight of her. Behind the scenes Caroline continued to harvest the special herbs and prepared them as Feyela had taught her; she enjoyed her life as a woman and had no intentions of ever going back.

By that next summer the requests by the young men of the town to accompany them on picnics and to church became more interesting than tiresome and finally she began to accept. By the next fall one particular young man had singled himself out as her favorite and they soon became inseparable. James Walton was an engineer who worked for the railroad owned by his father. Wealthy, James did not flaunt it and worked hard laying track and digging tunnels. He was sweet, handsome, and to Caroline's surprise and delight, even more eminently endowed than Mark had been. By the following spring they were married.

Epilogue

The stage stopped in the center of the street and the handsome young passenger quickly stepped down to help his beautiful bride negotiate the narrow steps. All about the little town the men paused to gaze in awe upon the single most beautiful woman any of them had ever seen. Every inch a lady, the tiny woman glided down the walkway on the arm of her attentive husband, smiling at his jests and oozing sex appeal with every dainty step. The other women of the town, normally so grand and regal in their small way, were awed by this vision of loveliness and suddenly felt small and ugly in comparison. Expecting to be treated as the newcomer's equals, they were politely rebuffed and basically ignored by this princess.

She avoided the grand ladies but spoke to the prostitutes she passed, nodding politely and speaking a greeting to the surprised whores. She even entered one particular establishment to the surprise of everyone in the town; stepping into Lady Victoria's bordello with her handsome husband in tow. That generated no end of tongue-wagging. Barely an hour later the couple returned to the stage and left Salt Flats forever; only one person, Miss Victoria, in all the town having recognized Mrs. Caroline Walton as the former Claude.

"She patted me on the cheek and called me by name," stated a pleased Whiskey Jim. "She must know a real man when she sees one." It wouldn't occur to the old man for several weeks to wonder just how this beautiful stranger had known his name.