Keywords: M/F anal, oral
Author: W R Jenkins
Title: Buggery in the Badlands: Needle-Nose Pete


  Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
 This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are 
under 18- 21 in some localities  If you are underage you must leave 
now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the 
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange 
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this 
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral 
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. 
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be 
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so
we can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, 
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.

Buggery in the Badlands
    Tales from the Untamed Youth of our Country when Victims were
victimized without compromise and Damsels fucked right up the butt
with no pause. And bloody retribution from victims left living, angry
relatives and husbands pissed off about the trespass on their private
territory.


Needle-nose Pete

No body knows de trubble I' seen. Nobody knows the sorrow. In a land
of sweeping vistas and stunning scenery, the yet unconquered domain
of Indians and other animals, the brave pioneers face danger of every
sort and on every hand. Cruel weather, poisoned water holes,
dwindling supplies, even these fatal problems fade into insignificance
in the face of the scourge of all that's decent: Needle-nose Pete.

The men sensed the unnatural quiet on their return to Loball. There
were no drunks floundering in the mud and the dance hall piano was
oddly silent. Purposing to circle about to observe the cause of this
strange circumstance, they went by the outside trails around the tiny
town.

They met no resistance. Seeing there was naught for it, they sent
Frank down the main street to see who shot him. There was no
resistance when he reached the saloon. Fearing they would be teased
as over-cautious nervous nellies, the others burst into the place with
Frank doing an over-eager dive and somersault into the midst of the
trouble they feared.

"Now here's that scouting party," Needle-dick Pete mocked them.
"Ease off the hardware, boys, lessen you want the memorial to your
stupid resistance to be erected out here in the stink end of nowhere."

Well-spoken for the leader of a pack of merciless maurauders, they
knew better than to think it indicated weakness. Having some 20 guns
aimed at them, point-blank, aided them in this wisdom. Needle-dick
Pete often left his victims naked and alive, so it was not foolish to
cling to stubborn hope they might yet survive.

"Now who all do we have here?" Pete evidenced that the ruffians were
recently arrived and had not been properly introduced to the captives
they had rounded up in the saloon. "Who's the one with the big tits?"

The prim woman to which he referred was standing at the end of the
bar, wrapped from dirt-sweeping skirts to the collar that covered her
neck. Still, the modest dress could not conceal the straining bodice
which was the object of Pete's interest.

"I'm Felicity Redmon," Felicity Redmon said.

"Well now, Felicity, have you heard the tales about what Needle-dick
Pete and his desperate dsesperados do to fine young women like
yourself?" Pete asked with a leer.

"Do your worst and I hope you take all day!" Feliecity challenged
defiantly and caused a rustling in the crowd of victims behind her.

"Now I'd take that as bravery, foolish bravery, if those other folks didn't
seem so concerned," Pete said. "Now one of you squealing pigs tell
me why you're so ajitated."

"She's Felicity Redmon," blurted out the bleary-eyed man Pete pointed
at.

"She done told me that," Pete was frustrated. "Why does that have
your panties in a bunch?"

"Redmon," a portly old woman snorted. "Don't you ignorant yahoos
know anything? Colonel Redmon of Santa Fe? He's her husband."

"Well then," Pete whistled low, "That puts a pretty shine on fucking the
shit out of her."

"I've already told you to do just that!" Felicity interrupted. "Why don't
you begin? Certainly some small force from the outpost doesn't worry
your band. Why, you have almost as many men."

"You know what she's talking about?" asked Curley, not the brightest
of men, but well above the average for Pete's boys, "She don't seem
scared a'tall."

"Seeing her man is an ancient old relic, she might be hankering for
some stiff prick with no fault to herself," Pete replied. "But old relic or
not, Redmon is something to be considered."

"If she so eager, how we know she ain't diseased?" asked one we
won't bother to identify, "You remember that whore in Tuscon."

"No, I don't as I don't fuck nothing with sores on her snatch like that,"
Pete reprimanded the man, "But I think she hopes we'll all be busy
when her husband rides to the rescue and catches us with our pants
down."

"Didn't she say we've got as many men?" Curley recalled. "Why don't
we bushwhack the son-of-a-bitch?"

"For one," Pete looked around, "He's not likely to have as many damn
fools as we've got here and who will be kilt doing damn fool things right
at the start. For another, he's territorial govenor and likely to have 500
bluebellies riding hard to his aid when he sets out."

"500 is more than we've got," the unidentified man gulped.

"Oh no," Feliecity interrupted. "He'll send the troops to guard
Annabelle. Her family has got the money."

To shorten the talk so we can get to the action, Pete discovers that
Annabelle is Redmon's other wife, a dried, but rich hag who Felicity
hates with a fiery passion. She is travelling to the pass with a small escort and a large strongbox.

"Still can't see how a man can have two wives, or want 'em," Pete
said as he absorbed the information.

"He's a Mormon. They do that all the time," Felicity filled in.

"Then there's only one thing to do boys," Pete said decisively.
"Turkeyfoot, you go on the roof and whoop if you see dust. The rest of
us have some raping to do before we set out to capture Redmon's
other wife."

What can we say? They're bad men. Felicity is stripped right down to
her petticoats and those are ripped for convenience as Pete himself
sprawls her over a table like a dance-hall doxy and pulls open her
petticoats to expose her bottom.

"Now you'll see why it's called Buggery in the Badlands," Pete told his
helpless victim.

"Oddly enough, I had figured that out," Felicity said defiantly even with
Pete's cock pressing her asshole.

She was so tight Pete had no doubt he was going where no man had
been before. He had to push something fierce to get it to open, which
had the additional benefit of making Felicity squwak rather than run
her scornful mouth. She remained blessedly non-verbal in her protests
as he worked his cock up her ass until he was hard on her butt.

He noticed she was holding on to the table for dear life and needed
little other restraint, so he looked about at how the others were faring.
Curley was making the old, fat woman suck his cock and most of the
others had someone across a table as Pete had.

It being the old days when 'live and let live' and 'steal all you can' were
the maxims of the day, Pete wasn't much bothered that his boys were
butt-fucking men and women with equal gusto. He had his pecker up
Felicity's tight ass and wasn't much bothered by anything else at the
moment.

"I wish you people were richer, 'cause then I'd have a lot of loot and
be fucking you up your tight ass," Pete taunted Felicity as he fucked
her ass, "That would be as perfect overall as jammin' it up your rear
door is at the moment."

Still blessedly moaning and grunting as his cock stuffed her ass,
Felicity had no smart reply. Pete trusted his message was received,
and didn't care much anyhow, as he pounded his cock up her tight
ass. The sad thing was Redmon wouldn't miss it because he'd never
had it, but Pete was and that was an additional pleasure along with the
tight ass stroking his pumping cock.

Whatever horrible end inevitably found him, Pete was presently as
pleased as could be with his pecker in Felicity's butt. It reduced
spending ill-gotten gains to its proper lesser thrill. This was actually the
point. Jamming his cock up unwilling ass was as good as it gets,
according to Needle-dick Pete.

"Anyone still got a load for this heifer?" Pete called out when he'd shot
a bumper crop up Felicity's ass.

"Then go relieve Turkeyfoot  and let him have some of this," Pete
ordered when there was no reply.

Now it was nowhere near as exciting as personally drilling her ass, but
Pete found watching Turkeyfoot whaling away on the up turned bottom
to be satisfying in a different, calmer way. He could take time to notice
the sour look on Felicity's face as her butt was stuffed and watch her
jerk about in discomfort as Turkeyfoot crammed her ass with his prick.

She didn't like her second cum enema one bit and that tickled Pete as
well.

"Now boys, let's ride!" Pete urged his gang. "We've got an old lady to
bugger and some cash to steal!"

"Ow, ow, my ass! Ow, my ass!" most of the victims in Loball
complained as Pete and his men rode away.

I haven't been laid in five years, the old fat woman kept to herself, I
think I'm in love with Curley.

Then come the obilgatory scenes of Pete's men riding in a cloud of
dust toward the canyon, the cavalry to the rescue in a bigger cloud of
dust from the other direction. Trading between them for three looks
each, the scene suddenly shifts to a stiff cavalry officer making his
wary approach to Loball at the head of 50 men.

"I see we're too late. I suppose you've been raped by the outlaws?"
Redmon asked his wife in the saloon.

"Just like all the rest," Felicity told him. "We were all raped, men and
women, and they took all we had."

"And your fault too, since you run off and didn't stay at my side as I
ordered," Redmon was unsympathetic.

"And I am amazed that you came to find me as the maurauders are hot
on the trail to intercept your beloved Annabelle and her strongbox,"
Felicity replied, giving evidence why Redmon called her willful.

"Actually, they're on the trail to intercept the cavalry, which will shoot
them," Redmon said. "Annabelle couldn't make the trip, having been
tragically kilt by Indians yesterday."

With that, he went to his horse and produced Annabelle's head from
his saddle bag and held it up.

"But, as her husband, all that cash is mine and I'm rich and have a
pretty wife who better learn from Annabelle's example and not go off
where she might be kilt by Indians and force me to take a younger,
more agreeable bride," Redmon said.

We are for the moment distracted by the look of horrified surprise on
the face of Needle-dick Pete. As the following dust clouds up to
partially obscure his face, we see him try to wheel his horse about in
the midsts of his gang, who have yet to see the cavalry charging upon
them.

There is a pathetic humor to the horses jostling and rearing, the
outlaws, one by one, seeing the danger and trying to turn into the still
advancing mass. Such as are not killed by the first volley of the
cavalry turn in frantic flight to ride hard spurred back through the
canyon with the implacable cavalry in full pursuit.

"You've not had the decency to dress and I reckon this is not a sight
unfamiliar to the others," Redmon said as cause for him pushing
Felicity over the hitching post and hitching her petticoats out of his
way. "As I have the benefit of legal right, I see no impediment to
availing myself of the priviledge."

"You're naught but an animal and I reckon only able because of the
shameful excitement of my ill use," Felicity nearly spat out before
Redmon could jam his prick up her ass.

She got to "only able because..." before she shrieked with the renewal
of the pain left by Needle-dick's cock.

As much as silenced by the bright heat of humiliation to be bent over a
pole on the street and buggered, Felicity also was reminded of the
horrifying spectre of Annabelle's head and her suspicions of its true
fate. Furnishing a spectacle for those who gathered was horrible, but
paled beside the prospect of having her head carried off in Redmon's
saddlebag after mysterious 'Indians' kilt her.

She was forced, thereby, to totter dangerously over the cruel rail as
her husband rammed his cock in her abused ass. Even her large
breasts escaped their confinement and flopped about as Redmon
remorselessly pounded on her precariously perched bottom.

For himself, her husband had no little pleasure in either the tight
asshole about his prick nor the approving stares lavished on him as
he drove his pecker in his wife's ass. It well suited his demeanor to be
the righteous husband as well as the unflinching dispenser of just
punishment.

He saw it in just that way as he proved his wife to be his chattel by
cramming her ass with cock and demonstrated that none were above
his justice. As for the tight ass he invaded, there was a whore in
Laramie who was tighter, but he took pleasure in knowing the distress
he caused his wife, who he had before this designated 'tight ass'.

"You have no respect for me or marriage!" Felicity railed against her
abuse when she was let up.

"You're a woman. That's what you're for," her husband told her. "Now
cover up or I'll let the troops do the same as I did."

Such is the fate of poor damsels in the Badlands.