Chapter 12: The Photograph
Abigail tossed the photograph on Tibb's desk. He was sitting behind it with his
feet propped up on top.
"What the hell's this?" he asked, hands behind his head, chewing on a broom
straw.
She hadn't bothered putting on a raincoat. The cotton dress she was wearing
clung wetly to her breasts.
"You wanted to know who Green is."
He studied her face for a moment, the reddish-brown hair hung in damp ringlets
down her cheeks. Slowly, he drew his feet down and tilted his chair forward on
all its legs. He picked the photo up casually by a corner and stared at it while
flicking it with the index finger of his other hand.
"So, what's here?"
"On the mailbox," she said, contemptuous of his dullness.
From a drawer to his right he pulled out a magnifying glass. He squinted through
it moving the photograph back and forth until he got it right. He couldn't tell
for sure. It was a short name. But the lettering was too small . . . almost. It
could be McGee. He was almost sure it was. It was close enough.
"I'll keep this," he said, and started to put it in his shirt pocket. Then "On
second thought maybe you'd better put this back where you found it for the time
being. Don't want him to know we know just yet."
He held the photograph out for her to take, but when she reached for it, he
grabbed her wrist.
She looked at him steadily, but he could sense her fear, and that made his cock
start to stiffen.
"What are you doing, Tibbs? Let me go," she cried, trying to wrench her arm
back.
"What's you're hurry, Abby? I thought maybe you might like a little drink; maybe
we could have some more fun, like before."
"You're disgusting," she blurted out contemptuously.
Tibbs stood up and pulled her closer.
"Oh, yeah. And you're gonna tell me you didn't like it, bitch? Bullshit! You
were cuming all over yourself. You loved it. All you cunts are just alike. You
pretend you don't wanna be fucked, but down inside were no one can see, all you
bitches are begging for a man to take you -- any man."
He jerked her up against his chest. The feel of her warm, firm body in the wet
dress made his cock turn within the tight folds of his underwear. She tried to
twist her body away from him, but he was too strong. He forced her to bend over
the desk. From the top drawer he took a pair of handcuffs and clamped them on
her wrists behind her back. She made whimpering squeals as he held her down with
one hand on the nape of her slender neck while with the other he pulled up her
dress above her hips. She wasn't wearing any undergarments.
He ran his hand down the crack of her ass and buried his thumb in her butthole
while clawing, lightly but firmly, her cunt, letting his middle finger ride down
the groove of her slit. His fingers fueled her wetness. He smiled with a
domineering sneer.
"You like that I'll bet," he whispered coarsely in her ear as he bit and nibbled
at the soft, cool lobe.
Abigail whimpered weakly, her pleads and protests mixed with soft moans.
Quickly, Tibbs unbuttoned his pants, letting them fall to the floor and quickly
undid his drawers. The head of his cock brushed against the warm curve of her
ass. He began to quiver with excitement. He spread her cheeks with his big hands
and placed the head of his cock against her cunt hole.
He heard her draw in her breath sharply as he entered her. Her hands made fists,
the long nails denting the heels. As he shoved deeper, they shot open, the long,
slender fingers spreading straight and wide.
He reaved her nonstop, ramming in and out like a steam piston. He cupped her
tits through the thin, wet fabric of her dress. They were heavy and firm in his
tight grip. She made guttural sounds in a quavering voice as his thrusts jarred
her forward repeatedly.
Pulling out of her, Tibbs turned her around and lay her down on the desk face
up. She glanced away from him, her face and cheeks burned red with a feverish
look, her eyes glazed and moist. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, her body
fidgety. He stared at the reddish-brown hairs of her cunt and the darker line of
her slit between the firm banks of her labia. Cruelly he shoved his cock into
her once more. Pounding her viciously, the sounds of slapping flesh and moans
filling the jailhouse.
Rapidly he unbuttoned the top portion of her dress and cupped the tits,
squeezing them, pinching the nipples, pulling and tweaking them. At the same
time forcing his tongue between her swollen lips and deeper into her hot, moist
mouth slithering his tongue over hers. She no longer resisted him but lay
quivering submissively beneath his unrelenting onslaught.
"Beg for it, slut," he said, pressing his mouth against her ear.
"No," she gasped.
"You will," he taunted, "before we're through."
"Never!" she cried, her voice breaking into a whimper as she came.
* * *
"I've got some business to take care of," Tibbs said, buttoning his pants back
up.
She sat on the edge of the desk and watched him strap on his gun and slip into
his yellow slicker. "When I get back we'll take up were we left off." He
uncuffed her. "And you're going to like it."
He placed her chin between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed her lips into a
pucker. She jerked her head aside and glared at him. He taunted her with a
laugh; smacked her hip with the palm of his hand and left, leaving her alone;
her dress still unbuttoned, his cum flowing from her cunt onto the desk.
* * *
"Why you help me, white man?" Bear Claw asked. "It is your people who shot me.
Green finished rolling a cigarette, lit it with a stem of sagebrush from the
fire and handed it to the Indian.
"They're not my people," Green replied. "They're assholes."
Bear Claw could not figure the white man out. He did not look like a fool, but
only a fool would help his enemy. He could not be deserving of respect. He would
kill the white man the first chance he got and steal his horse. But he would
have to wait until the wound in his belly healed some. He could do nothing now.
Unhappily he reflected that there would be no pussy for him now. He was still a
boy, ish-kay-nay, who could not even steal two cows. He was a failure.
"But why you help me?" he asked again, realizing that the white man had avoided
answering him the first time. "No Apache help white man."
"Can't say I blame them," Green answered.
Bear Claw remained silent this time. The white man didn't make sense; he was
crazy, a fool, tagoon-ya-dah. He put his hand to the side of the ledge where
water dripped down and moistened his lips. The white medicine man had told him
not to drink. But his whole body yearned for a long, cooling drink.
Bear Claw would not think about dying. He was young. Death was not something
that comes to a youth who is still not proven. The Great Spirit will not let him
die. He must become a great warrior first and die in battle after proving his
bravery and gathering many scalps . . . and having his blade sharpened by many
pretty squaws.
If only he could climb the hill and light a fire, he could signal his people to
come for him. But the pain in his gut was too much when he tried to move.
He watched the white man cook a jackrabbit impaled on a yucca stalk over the
fire. Bear Claw knew one could not live on rabbit long without other
nourishment; something white men did not seem to know. Normally the smell of
cooking meat would have set his stomach to growling, but now it only brought a
feeling of nausea.
"What is your name, white man?" he asked.
Green told him as the rain splattered off the boulders and on the flat shelvings
around them.
"I will get no pussy today because of your white brothers."
Green smiled. He had smooth, white teeth like an Indian.
"You wouldn't know what to do with it if you had it," Green answered.
"Humph." Bear Claw grinned slightly. "You ever have squaw pussy?"
"Nope."
"Best pussy there is -- like fuck wildcat; you hang on tight. Much better than
white pussy."
Green sidled over and took a look at his wound.
"You're lucky, Buck; the bullet passed clean through."
"My name not Buck," Bear Claw replied, managing not to grimace as Green
readjusted the bandaging.
"Well, what is it?"
"Apache not tell his real name."
"So what the hell do you want me to call you?"
"Bear Claw is my white man name," he answered and jerked his head dismissively.
"OK, Bear Claw, now that we've got that settled, how do I go about locating some
of your people so they can come and get you."
