Chapter 8: The Marshall Visits Abigail
Marshall Harry Tibbs woke up that morning with a slight whiskey head. He could
hear the rain splattering off the roof and thick sides of the mud red adobe
jail, see it pelting at the blurred, barred windows. His dry mouth felt grainy
with sand. Reluctantly he sat up on the side of the narrow bunk bed across from
his office desk, his large bare feet feeling the cool of the wood floor. He ran
his fingers through his thinning hair and wiped at his thick, black, walrus
mustache. Yawning, he walked to the rear door, opened it and pulled out his
large, erect cock from the slit in his underpants and pissed into the rain.
Going back to his desk he took out a bottle of whiskey from the top drawer,
uncorked it and downed several deep swallows.
It put things right. Soon his head began to clear.
He shaved at the wall mirror behind his desk and got dressed in the same clothes
he had worn yesterday, the same he'd worn all week, in fact.
He checked his vest pocket watch, saw that it was still early on, so, after
strapping on his pistol and throwing on his slicker, he went across the street
to the cantina and had Elena fix him breakfast. His business with Abigail --
five-hundred dollars worth -- could wait awhile longer, weren't no rush.
An hour later, hunched against the rain, he strode past the Red Rock Lantern.
Through the front window he could see Faye Morgan bent over her desk discussing
something with her printer, Pete Miller, a bald, tall, thin man with wire-rimmed
bifocals.
He nodded up at a rifleman perched on top of Doc Greely's second floor office as
he stepped up onto the porch of the hotel.
Inside it was quiet, except for the steady cascade of rain drumming down on the
roof. Since the Indian attacks against the stage line there hadn't been any
travelers staying at the hotel. The dining room was empty. Plates and cups were
neatly placed upside down around the table for the few locals who came in for
meals. But today no one was around, no sounds of pots being scrapped or pans
banged; no smell of cooking food wafting through the kitchen door that opened
onto the dining room. The rooms were gloomy and depressing in the pale
fluorescent light coming through the windows.
Softly, behind the curtained doorway to the side of the reception desk, Tibbs
heard a woman humming. On the desk he saw a pearl-handled .38 and wondered at
such carelessness. What if he were an Indian?
Quietly, walking to the doorway he pulled the curtain partially aside. Abigail
was seated in a highback tub taking a bath in the center of the room. She was
facing him; he stared openly at her firm, round breasts. He had to give it to
her; most women would have panicked and raised their hands to cover themselves
-- either with genuine or faked modesty, but Abigail Crane was a self-possessed
woman -- always had been as far back as he had known her. She merely returned
his hungry stare quietly, the only indication of unease a slight widening of her
brown eyes.
"You don't believe in announcing yourself, marshal?"
Her right hand held a soapy sponge.
Tibbs grunted. "If I did that I might miss something worth seeing."
"Well, now that you've seen 'it' why don't you leave?"
Tibbs stepped forward and let the curtain fall. His wet slicker dripped on the
clay floor.
A wood-burning stove sat to his right; a faded oak armoire to his immediate
left, that reached almost to the ceiling, and a brass bed farther to the back,
stuck in the corner.
The scent of lavender filled the air.
"Can't," he said. "I'm here on official business."
Abigail gave him a derisive smile.
"And what business might that be?" she asked, taking up a towel off a nearby
chair and covering herself.
"Concerns that guest of yours, John Green."
"What about Mister Green?"
"I want to know who he is."
"Why?"
"Cause I think he's wanted"
"For what?"
"Murder. Maybe several."
"I don't see that it has anything to do with me, marshal."
Tibbs' eyes focused on the towel wet against her breasts; he could feel his cock
becoming hard.
"All you have to do is find out who he really is," he said ignoring her refusal.
"And just how do you expect me to do that -- not that I would?"
Tibbs smirked.
"I know you got close to him. I saw you through the upstairs window last night."
He saw her cheeks reddened and her eyes flash.
"I'm not on your payroll, Tibbs. Do your own dirty work."
"That's no way to talk, Abby," Tibbs mocked. "Especially not for a widow woman
all on her own. All you've got is what the town of Red Rock gives you, and
Mister Loomis owns Red Rock. And he don't like strangers hanging about. All I
have to do is tell him you're not being cooperative and you'll be on the
street."
"Go to hell, Tibbs!" she answered.
"Aw, now you're being foolish."
She watched, suddenly apprehensive, as his thick fingers began to unclasp the
ladder catches of his slicker.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, as he took the slicker off
and tossed it aside.
He ignored her and took off his vest and pulled his shirt over his shoulders
casting both aside. His thick chest and swollen stomach were covered with coarse
black hairs, even his shoulders.
She watched his thick pistol hand fumble with the buckle of his cartridge belt
then with the buttons of his pants.
"No, damn you!" she gasped.
He untied the drawstring of his drawers and let them drop to the floor. His huge
cock swung up slowly jerking with tiny spasms as it grew harder and harder. A
long, clear strand of cock fluid dripped from the swollen, purple head.
His legs were thick and muscular and covered with a coat of coarse hair like the
rest of his body. He kicked his feet free of his pants which caused his cock to
swing heavily from side to side.
He stepped to the tub and yanked the towel from her and stared down, letting his
eyes devour her naked flesh. She turned her head away, but he stuck his index
finger into her mouth against the inside of her cheek while pinching the outside
of her cheek with his thumb. He pulled her face around until it was level with
his cock.
Her eyes stayed riveted to the massive organ; trembling, she glanced upward
toward his face. She mumbled something indistinguishable as saliva dripped from
the side of her mouth.
"No sense in fighting it, Abby; you might even find you'll like it."
She squealed and tried to pull away from him, but his thumb and index finger
held her cheek as if clamped in a vice.
"Never had me anything but whores before. Mostly Mex whores. Always wondered
what it would be like to fuck a decent woman. Now I aim to find out. Course
after last night, you and that Green feller, maybe you've been a whore all
along, and I just didn't know it. Huh?"
He yanked her cheek. Her foot splashed in the water.
"Or maybe you're sweet on him for some reason. Maybe you ain't been puttin' out
till now. Could be. But it don't matter. Cause after you get a taste of this --"
he rubbed his cock against her face, "-- you're gonna forget all about anyone
else."
He let go of her.
"OK?" He made a fist.
She nodded.
"Don't bite -- cause I'll hurt you really bad if you do."
The head of his cock slid between her lips filling her mouth.
"Aw, yeah, that's right. Easy . . . easy . . . nice . . . aaaand . . .
eeeeassssy. Ah, yeah, that's got it. You've done this before, haven't you? Be
nice," he chuckled softly.
He pushed the head forward into the warm wetness of her until he felt it lodge
against the back of her throat. He pulled his hips back. Rhythmically he fucked
her back and forth until his cock had swollen to its full hardness. Her mouth
could barely take it in . . . .
The tip of her tongue prodded his pee hole sending tiny electric shocks up and
down his spine causing his legs to quiver like a stallion before it covers a
mare. The quicker she made him cum the quicker it would be over. She laved her
tongue around its circumference slipping the tip under the foreskin pushing it
back past the flange, pulling it back up over the swollen head and gripping the
lip of foreskin stretching it taut, pushing it back down over the head,
repeating the process over and over in rapid succession. She took the base of
his cock in her hand and began running her tongue up and down the undersides
popping the head into her mouth while twisting her hand wrench-like around the
base then jacking it back and forth rapidly. She could taste ejaculatory fluid
in tiny pre-cum squirts across the surface of her tongue, and she knew he was
ready.
The thought of swallowing his cum nauseated her, but she doubted she would have
any other choice.
Soon it would be over.
She thought about taking his cock out of her mouth and jacking him off. Better a
face full of cum than a belly full, but he ended that hope by grabbing the back
of her head in his thick paws ramming his cock deep into her throat causing her
to gag violently. His warm cum shot down her throat. Pulse after pulse. She had
to swallow to keep from gagging further. His cock was all the way down her
throat. Her nose was bent against his hairy belly.
She was going to be sick.
He withdrew his cock, slippery with cum and wiped it off in her hair.
At least it was over, she thought.
But it wasn't; not by a long shot.
He suddenly picked her up and tossed her wet and naked onto the bed.
He spread her legs, before she could gather her thoughts, and positioned himself
between them. He forced his cock into her; she resisted. Her soft, small hands
beat futilely at his massive chest. Her cries only made him laugh.
"You'll learn to like it, Abby," he whispered hoarsely in her ear.
His tongue found her lips and forced its way into her mouth. He smelled and
tasted of whiskey.
Did he honestly think she would ever let him touch her again after this?
Never! Never!
He worked his cum-slick cock back and forth, each time delving deeper inside
her. She felt as if she were being ripped apart. She struggled, but he grabbed
her wrists and held them over her head with one hand while he kneaded her
breasts with the other.
His mouth found her nipples and sucked and bit harshly at them until they became
taut and swollen. Despite her disgust, her body responded to his coarse probing.
Tingling sensations prickled her flesh.
It waited for his crude touch.
She arched her back as he entered her. She murmured slight protests while her
hips moved to meet him. She became wet. He entered her fully, completely.
"No . . . no . . . no," she whimpered, her heart racing.
She tightened around him. Not once, not twice, but again and again until she was
moving frantically beneath him.
Everything suffused suddenly. Bright colors filled her mind, exploding within
her. Her body racked with sensations too intense to resist. She cried out
loudly, gasping, pleading. Unaware of all around her except for the concentrated
and overwhelming disorder of her senses.
After what seemed a long time, she was aware of Tibbs pulling out of her. A
sudden feeling of shame overwhelmed her. As if in a disjointed dream sequence
she was next aware of watching him dress, of him standing over her by the bed.
"Just remember," she heard him say, fully dressed now, adjusting his hat. "I
want to know who he is. Don't disappoint me. Cause you don't wanna do that."
When he was gone the room seemed darker, seemed to close in upon her: a naked
woman alone.
