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 IX
Blue eyes glared into black as the cowboy and the scoundrel stood nose to nose.
The saloon grew quiet with anticipation, only a stray giggle or grunt coming from the table of strangers' laps.
It seemed the two men were looking to wait each other out. A good ol' fashion staring contest the likes of which no one had seen since the age of ten. But the scoundrel, holding true to his name, didn't fight fair.
Nope, that conniving bastard used his mind as a trusty second in this duel of wits (and perhaps his pants were whispering in his ear as well). For, as time slowed to a crawl and grit watered unblinking eyes, a giggle burst forth from the cowboys' lap and the bountiful piece of flesh perched there.
The cowboy held the scoundrel's mocking stare as anger began to heat his face and neck. He watched as a nasty smile curved the mustache and scared lips in front of him. From the corner of his eye he could see the scoundrel's arms moving and judging from the increasing amount of giggles coming out of his lap, he could guess where those thieving hands were-all over his current choice of prime womanflesh!
He fought against breaking the steely eyed gaze to look down at this blatant insult. With gritted teeth he wrapped one arm tight around the barmaid's waist, bringing her sideways across his lap, and swept the other down her side from neck to knee in search of the stranger's wandering hands.
The giggling turned to sighs as she succumbed to the pleasure to two pairs of strong hands tracing along her body. The cowboy's grip tightened as his free hand finally found the roving scoundrel's, high above her knee and entwined in her garter.
Their hands were camouflaged beneath layers of skirts and the press of the men's bodies, one threatening step from touching.
And still, the staring contest continued. It was as if to speak would be to incite greater violence than this childish masculine display of dominance and submission. To break the silence was to forego children's games and embrace men's games of blood and war.
The change came quickly. The cowboy attempted to break the hand beneath his barmaid's skirt. The hand feigned retreat only to surge forward with a step that brought the scoundrel's body in between the cowboy's knees. His oily black eyes twinkled and his teeth flashed quick and bright before he pushed through the bairmaid's skirts to clamp and his hand obscenely around the cowboy's manhood and squeeze.
The cowboy's eyes grew wide, glistening with outrage as his free hand came up in a nasty right hook. With that incendiary punch, the silence in the saloon broke with barmaid's screams, cracking jaws and wood. And the scoundrel's reciprocal head lock put Grumpy Gus down and out for what seemed like two weeks of unconscious bliss.
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