Date: Fri, 22 Jun 2007 19:13:31 GMT
From: "teresawood1@juno.com" <teresawood1@juno.com>
Subject: The Saddle Bride (TG Story)

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.