Lesbian Cowboys (5 page)

But it sure as hell wasn't going to fool Miss Beulah Kitt.

What had Buff been thinking, setting her up like this? Vance had thought for a while that maybe Jones even suspected she was a woman, but he'd seemed willing to look the other way, and he still did. Well, it would be what it would be. Vance excused herself to her bedroll, claiming tiredness but hefting her nonexistent balls meaningfully. More laughter, but no one seemed to mind. Some of them were probably off to do the same thing. Or...almost the same.

Vance settled in the dark and slipped her hand around the leather phallus, imagining that a gorgeous, long-legged woman like Beulah Kitt was wrapping slim fingers around her hot, stiff cock. She had the thing strapped on so if she tugged on it just right, one of the support straps pressed and pulled on her clit. If anyone ever did catch a glimpse of her wanking on a moonlit night, her hand moving under the blanket, it'd look exactly like they'd expect.

The added bonus was since she'd started doing it this way, she came harder than she'd come in her life. She didn't know if that was the cock, or the added fantasy of Miss Beulah Kitt.

She'd have to ask Buffalo Jones what color Miss Kitt's hair was.

 

Beulah looked up from her accounts. She could hear the sound of boots against the floorboards downstairs, voices starting to get raised as the afternoon crowd began to thicken. By sundown the place would be packed, but it was getting to be time to get dressed and make herself presentable.

She had no maid. She did her own hair, her own makeup, and even put her corset on herself, the laces already done in the back, while up the front there were tiny hooks and stays. She could tighten it further if she needed a little more shape, but a “loose” woman hardly needed the strict, breath-stealing constriction of a true lady's corset. She had learned early on in her career to put her boots on first, as once the thing was on, there was no bending over.

She flounced her skirts, making sure they were moving right as she walked back and forth in front of the mirror. It was important to show off her legs. It drew the eyes of the lustful away from her face, which was actually quite plain, her jaw too square, her lips too thin. Makeup did wonders, softening the lines, and she had always had thick eyelashes. She batted them in the mirror and pronounced herself ready for the evening.

Downstairs, Buffalo Jones was sitting at the bar, laughing with Frenchy about something, already halfway through a glass of whiskey. The hands were all sitting together around a table at the bottom of the stairs, and she nodded to them as she passed by on her way to Buff. The pale one in the corner, the one who looked like he didn't shave yet, that had to be the one.

She ran her hands across the yoke of Buff's shirt, and then settled her body next to him with one arm around his shoulders, just a half inch of her ass on his stool. “I got your letter, Buff,” she purred into his ear. “You sure you ain't in town to see me yourself?”

Buff chuckled. “You know you're something special, darling. But no, not this time anyhow. You want to meet Vance, also known as ‘The Bulldog'?”

Beulah laughed and clucked her tongue. “It's early yet, Buff. Let's let 'im stew for a while. Anticipation is part of the experience.”

“Yeah, yeah. And the more my hands sit around here, the more they'll spend on food and drink.”

“All part of the price, my dear.” Beulah flashed Buffalo Jones a smile, then slipped away to greet another customer, her hand trailing off Buff's shoulder as she went, as if she didn't want to lose contact until the very last moment.

 

Vance climbed the stairs following Beulah Kitt like a lost miner following a rescuer with a lamp. The other hands had bought one or two rounds too many, she thought, and she clutched the banister like it was the railing on a rocking ship. Beulah's lacy, ruffly, bustle of an ass was swaying almost right in front of her eyes as she went up and up and up.

Vance wanted to reach up and grab it, but she was sure that any cowhand who did that would earn a smack and maybe even a boot out the door. The cheers and jeers of the other hands were still audible behind her, so she just concentrated on not falling down.

Was it the alcohol that made Vance's face burn such bright red that she could feel the heat coming off it? Or was it how Beulah had come up to their table, standing right behind Vance's chair, and run her hands down Vance's cheeks and said, “Sweet honey dear, have no fear, you'll be shaving in no time. Because tonight I will make you into a man.”

Vance's heart pounded. What Beulah said had a kind of truth to it, too. If Vance could come out of this somehow unexposed, the night with Beulah would buy her a surefire image as a man. That would probably be good for two years if she stuck with Jones's crew, before she'd have to move on and start over again somewhere new, lying about her age as well as her sex. As it was, Buff's boys thought she was still in her teens. She was closer to twenty-five, and the harsh wind and sun were going to start showing on her face soon.

Still, it was a horse she'd ride as far as it could carry her.

Miss Beulah pulled open the doorway to a satin-bedecked boudoir and Vance followed her in. The moment the door shut behind them, Vance couldn't help herself. She wrapped her arms around Beulah from behind, the rigid ribs of the corset like a saddle in her arms, and breathed in the scent of the skin on the back of her neck. “You smell so pretty.”

Beulah turned quicker than Vance would have thought possible and slapped her across the face. “None of that, mister. If you're going to spend a night with Miss Beulah, you do as Miss Beulah says.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Vance said, chagrined and wringing her hands. She'd left her hat downstairs. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I just got carried away.”

“You don't touch and you don't look unless you're invited. Are we clear on that?”

“Clear as crystal, ma'am.” Oh, God, Vance thought. There was no way she was going to get through this then. She'd been hoping the whore would let her take the initiative, and please her and satisfy her (hopefully) with such enthusiasm that...that maybe she wouldn't notice certain deficiencies? All right, it had been a stupid hope, but it had been a hope nonetheless. “I'm sorry. I'm...I'm normally real shy.”

“You must be,” Beulah said, looking Vance up and down. “Or Buff wouldn't have bothered to bring you to me.” Her demeanor softened, and she looked both kind and alluring as she stepped close again and put her hands on Vance's belt buckle. “Come on, now, let me...”

“Er...” Vance blushed hard and jerked back, not quite ready for it all to come down around her. “I'm...I told you I was shy.”

She swallowed as Beulah's hand slid down over the bulge in her jeans. “Funny,” she said in a voice that was warm and
breathy with desire. “You don't feel shy.”

“I...well...” But then Vance moaned as Beulah ran her hand up and down her phallus, sending jolts of pleasure through her hidden clit. Vance thrust her hips, moving the strap back and forth against her clit and moaned again.

“Good boy,” Beulah said. “Maybe you should come for me right now.”

“Keep doing that, I will,” Vance said, and it was nothing but true. “Let...let me lie down and I'll...”

Beulah pushed him back and Vance fell onto the bed. When had they moved so close to it? The whiskey here was strong. Beulah's hand went up and down, pressing hard and making everything in Vance's body tighten. She had her boots on the bed, but she didn't care, bucking up against that hand trying to get more stimulation. “Faster!” she begged.

“Hush, honey, I gotcha,” Beulah crooned, tugging at it a bit through the thick denim.

Vance cried out as she came, thinking for half a second that God, wanking was never going to be the same again, and then not able to think anything else as the orgasm wiped out everything.

When thoughts flowed again, the first to emerge was:
Beulah Kitt made me cream in my pants
. The second was:
Here she comes
.

Beulah climbed astride the flushed, staring cowboy, her flouncing skirts coming to rest all around his groin. She settled her crotch against the seam, centered on the bulge, and made friction by sliding her hips forth and back. “Mm, how's this, boy? Reach up and grasp my waist.”

Strong hands settled at the curve of her corset and helped her rock back and forth. God, how she loved to feel a firm grip like that. “That's it, yes...” She let Vance work her up and down his
cock, falling silent as her breaths became more rapid and then small cries came forth in time with the motion. Oh, yes, that was the way, that was... She pressed her hands against his chest, her hips thrusting hard, again and again, and then clung to him, thrusting until she came. The orgasm went right through her, all through her, and she fell back because the corset would not let her fall forward.

At last she took a deep breath, wiped her brow with her forearm, and declared, “And you'll tell 'em you made Beulah Kitt come before you even took your trousers off.”

The answer was a breathy, “Yes, ma'am.”

Beulah righted herself, her skirts covering the sight of their crotches. She rose up onto her knees but didn't take her eyes from the cowboy's face. “Reach down there, boy, and take that pecker out. There's nothing I love more after coming hard like that than a good fucking.”

Miss Beulah was good at poker, and she saw the tell, as Vance blanched a second when any other red-blooded American cowboy would have said “yee haw!” But then Beulah knew what to look for. “Go on,” she said, quiet-like, and Vance's hands sped through belt buckle and all. Beulah reached between her legs to find her hand wrapped around a sizable but not ridiculous protuberance. She stroked it and found it reasonably smooth and stiff, but it could still use a little help.

“Reach into that drawer there, wouldya fella, and get that little jar out?”

Vance could reach the side drawer enough to pull it open but couldn't quite see into it or reach anything. Beulah leaned over and grabbed the grease. “Here you go. Butter up that corn cob of yours.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Vance was the perfect picture of lust, skin flushed and damp, hair flung back, and helpless with need.
Beulah wondered how many orgasms it would take to satisfy this one.

She took a bit of the grease and reached behind herself. “Gonna ride you, cowboy,” she whispered.

Holy mother of Jesus Christ Almighty
, Vance thought, as Beulah Kitt lowered herself onto her prick.
Holy shit, I'm fucking her.

The motion was slow and smooth, until Beulah came to the bottom of the pole and rested there. “A nice fit,” she said, and Vance almost wanted to ask,
Just blurt it out, you know it's not real, right? That's why you had me grease it up?

But then Beulah was moving, and each time she lifted up and impaled herself again, another spark went through Vance. It was beyond arousing, it was overwhelming. Meanwhile Vance forgot all about the not touching without being told, and ran her fingertips along the top of Beulah's corset, where the creamy flesh of her bosom was softest. Beulah seemed to have forgotten about it, too, though, because she didn't scold, just sighed and rocked harder.

Time stopped moving for Vance. There was fucking Beulah, and then still fucking Beulah. This time release was gradual in coming, but Vance could already tell it was going to be even bigger than the previous one, which had up until then been the hardest she'd ever come in her life.

“Oh, God, Miss Beulah...” Vance couldn't quite bring herself to say the rest of it, which was “fuck me until I come,” but maybe it was evident enough. Beulah rode her cock like a mad Cherokee, beginning to whoop. Vance wondered if they could hear it downstairs; they probably could. That was her last thought about anything for a while outside of Beulah and heat and friction and oh, God just one more and I'm going to explode.

When Beulah's head finally touched the pillow next to
Vance's, she was out of breath (damn corset) and thirsty but too tuckered out to pour herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the stand. Beulah closed her eyes briefly and felt a light touch on her forehead, her temple. Vance was brushing the hair out of her eyes.

She cleared her throat but didn't open her eyes. “That was a mighty fine ride, bronco. But don't get any romantic ideas about how horses love their riders and vice versa.”

The hand withdrew and the answer came back in a rough half-whisper. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Gonna tell you a bedtime story now, cowboy,” Beulah said softly, holding back a yawn. “There was a young one I deflowered once, back when I was just the top attraction here, and before I...and Harley bought this place.” Jesus, she had to be careful, but post-orgasmic bliss made her sloppy. “There was a young cowhand who was working for a boss named Black Bill. Black Bill, as you might've guessed, wasn't black-skinned but black-hearted, and he mistreated his hands pretty bad. He was boss of a big herd, though, and working for him paid well, even if they said he was a sodomite and a sinner of the worst kind.”

Beulah opened her eyes to make sure Vance was still listening and hadn't drifted off to sleep. “Anyway, this hand of his came into town one day with the lot of them, and caused a ruckus of a sort, saying that he wouldn't leave town again until he'd had a night with me. Now the money he had from Bill so far wouldn't buy a night with me, and he and Bill had a bust-up first thing when Bill wouldn't give him more. That got the town all abuzz, of course. So then when he got out of the hoosegow for fighting and disturbing the peace, he started challenging all the card sharks in town to poker, trying to increase his stake enough to buy that dream night with me.