Welcome to Saturday SerialsYou may remember Mistress Sweet from past Saturday Serials as the protective Dominatrix.
But at Mister Valance's Porch she's Miss Sweet, owner of a cozy saloon and a broken heart. Below is her story.
Saturday Serial - Miss Sweet's Saloon Part X
His head weren't the only thing pounding when Gus woke up surrounded by yards of cloth. The saloon had turned into a brawl with half-drunk patrons dusting off their fighting arms in just about every corner. Except, of course, his. He was, apparently, ensconced in the midst of his buxom barmaid's embrace, both of them wedged up against the wall and out of range of stray bottles or fists.
Now you would think a man would appreciate the pleasant awakening when so many more unpleasant outcomes could have easily come to pass, but Gus wasn't called grumpy for nothing. His mood was tepid on an average day, throw in having his manhood crushed in damn near public and he was more ornery than a skunk in a bees' nest.
With a growl he shook the remnants of unconscious fuzz from his head and struggled upright, despite the protests of the barmaid beneath him.
"Mister Gus, you mustn't get up." She wrapped her arms around his waist in an attempt to keep him on the floor between her legs.
She rested her head on his shoulder and whispered in a scared voice, "Don't give the scoundrel a reason to touch you again. He surely meant to take advantage of you." Her words broke off as she gasped and tightened her arms around his waist.
As if her words had conjured him, the scoundrel stood not two feet before them reveling jagged white teeth and bloody knuckles.
"You gonna finish what you started?" the scoundrel taunted. "Or do you prefer the safety of a woman's skirts?"
He cocked his head to one side and twirled his greasy mustache as he added, "You sure do look pretty surrounded in all that pink lace." The sentence trailed off in a slithering of sound that crawled under Gus's skin and had him struggling to stand.
The scoundrel laughed and muttered insults to the group beginning to gather around them. "Yearling! So weak. Can't even stand on his own two feet. Least when I knock him down, he's got a soft place to land!"
After considerable effort, Gus stood shakily with his head still spinning from lack of air. The scoundrel was still posturing a few feet in front of him, goading the crowd of bar patrons and distracting them from the mounting danger.
Playing to his disoriented state, Gus feigned additional weakness allowing his head to drop so that his hat covered his wandering eyes. The scoundrel's men were circling the brawl-exhausted townspeople, strategically standing behind them or blocking the exit.
He raised his head and straightened his spine. Ignoring the increasingly vile and creative insults spewing from the scoundrel's mouth, he stared him dead in the eyes and waited.
Acknowledgement slid through those black eyes and with one nod of his head, the scoundrel's men drew their weapons and fired into the ceiling effectively holding up the entire saloon.
"This here's a stick up," the scoundrel bellowed. "And if'un you be getting any ideas about being a hero, I'll ask ya to think on what is more important to you… your gold or your life." And the gun came down to aim directly into the center of Gus's chest.
The two cowboys remained motionless as the scoundrel's men fleeced the townspeople of weapons and valuables. Once stripped of anything of worth, the crowd was herded tight into a corner and surrounded. Whimpering could be heard along with the rustling of clothing and an occasional angry murmur.
The unease was tangible. Robbery was very common out in the wild west, but the size of this particular theft took balls of a gigantic size. And it was lookin' like Gus was going to be getting up close and personal with those balls.
There was a strange glint in the scoundrel's eyes as he held Gus at gunpoint, a calculation perhaps. The evidence of his thoughts soon became apparent with the next set of words to drawl out of his mouth, "This young man right here is going to make sure none of you kind townsfolk forget that your lives are more valuable than gold. He'll be the first one I shoot." Suddenly there were two more men at his shoulders, grabbing hold of his arms with both hands above and below his elbows.
"Just remember, the devil don't take coins," his lips spit to reveal those jagged white teeth again, "I do!" And on that last taunt the scoundrel's men grabbed their loot and filed out of the back of the saloon dragging Gus along behind them.
Did you miss the beginning of this wandering wild west story?
Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI.1 • Part VI.2 • Part VII • Part VIII • Part IX