Cocked and Fully Loaded

From Gunmetal Blue, by G. R. Bretz:

Blue swam to the bank and discovered, to his distress, that his clothes were missing. More distressing, his pistols were with them. Their absence made him feel much more naked than his lack of attire. Well, it was nothing to be concerned about. Sally had his back. He had little doubt that she had his pants, as well. If ever there was a feisty wench . . . .

“Did you lose something?”

He turned his head and saw her sitting on a blanket next to the campfire. He smiled, having solved the mystery of the disappearing pants. “Would that it was the greatest thing I had ever lost.”

She giggled and tossed her head back. Her strawberry blonde curls sparkled in the setting sun. She stuck her tongue out and ran it slowly across her upper lip. “Sit down with me. We’ll talk about the first thing that pops up.”
She turned her head and stared at his crotch, quite deliberately, quite intently. “Oh, I see something has already popped up.”

His face grew hot and he did his best to keep his private parts private, devoting both hands to the effort. But there she was, sitting on the blanket with her lips shimmering and her tits spilling out the top of her dress. Two hands would only cover so much. He needed a saddle bag.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes I do,” she said. “I really need to do this.”

Southern gentlemen are raised to be chivalrous, but chivalry had its limits. A sensible man did not decline a blow job. It had been a long time since his last one and, as he recalled, she hadn’t been all that good at it. Sally struck him as a woman who probably was.

He sat down beside her, being careful to keep his hands over his cock, for all the good that was doing. He was still a bit embarrassed to be stark naked in front of a fully dressed woman. A turning of the tables. A definite first.

“Don’t be shy.” She pushed his hands aside. “Oh my God, you’re big as a mule.”

He couldn’t help himself. He laughed so hard his sides hurt. “And damned near as smart.”

It was a lie. If he had half the sense of a mule he would have ditched her at the stagecoach and made a beeline for the Rio Grande. But there were thick, full, warm, wet lips wrapped around his cock. A luscious, liquid tongue lapping and licking and dancing delirious waltzes on the head, and he was in heaven. He was in her. Reason enough for lingering a bit longer in the Lone Star state.

He was a soldier and a drifter and a bit of a ladies' man. He’d slipped his cock between many a willing pair of lips. But never two so talented, so devoted to the effort as hers. He was never one for false modesty. He knew how well-endowed he was, what a challenge he represented. Most women found him to be a handful, a mouthful and then some. None had ever swallowed him completely and he didn’t expect Sally to accomplish the task. Still, she seemed determined to try. She forced herself down on his cock until he was deep in her mouth. She gagged, her eyes went wide and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Through it all her gaze never left his. He had found his perfect sexual match; a woman who looked him straight in the eyes while she sucked him. He could never have asked for more.