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Abigail took a deep swig off the bottle in her hand and glowered at Arthur Morgan. He sat on the opposite side of the big campfire, leaned in close to Dutch, talking and gesturing with a tight, frustrated expression knitting his brow.
That’s right, keep up your scheming you damnable man. The thought was like acid, burning her just as strongly as the corn liquor in her stomach.
It had been less than a month since John had run off , leaving her and baby Jack behind. Sure, Dutch had said that they were more than welcome to stay; Susan had even knitted the boy a soft blue blanket. But she knew that the feeling wasn’t shared by everyone on camp. Especially not Arthur Morgan.
She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but when she passed by Dutch’s tent, he and Arthur were practically shouting loud enough for everyone in camp to hear.
“Now, listen to me, boy. I don’t think you can-”
“Don't you boah me! If he don't feel the need to take care of ‘em, why should we?! She's not any of our woman…..Hell I don't even know if she's John's woman! That baby could be anybody’s! But I know one thing for sure and another thing for damn certain: that little bastard ain’t yours and he definitely ain’t mine. So why are we fretting over him and his mama like he is?”
There was a pause in the conversation, and it took every ounce of self control she had not to burst into Dutch’s tent and smack Arthur Morgan into next year. She could hear a match striking off furniture and Dutch puffing on his pipe; she envisioned the furrow in his thick brow as he pondered what to say next.
“It’s not our way to leave behind a defenseless woman an’ child, Arthur. I’d like to think I raised you better than that…”
There was movement inside the tent and Abigail braced herself to casually walk away if caught listening in when she heard Arthur growl on his way out.
“You raised me better than to let good people starve all because your other, very spoiled, son left behind a crying brat and its good for nothing mama for us to take care of!”
The cruelty in his tone had knocked the breath out of her, leaving her anchored to her spot directly beside the flap of Dutch’s tent. Arthur stepped out and nearly barreled her over, appraising her with a grunt before pushing past her to head for his horse.
That had been two days ago.
Arthur had returned to camp only a few hours before, his saddle laden with a large elk carcass, his horse’s haunches covered in fresh blood. She had been on her way to give him a piece of her mind when she was stopped by Mr. Pearson who asked for help preparing the elk for dinner. She had been too angry to eat, the thought of meat brought by him passing her lips turning her stomach. She had gnawed on a dry heel of bread between slugs off a dark bottle Uncle had hidden inside one of the big wagons.
It had been the liquor that had given her the courage to follow him back to his tent; that’s what she would tell herself the next day, at least. But as she stormed behind him, her step bobbling, she was convinced that she was fueled by nothing but pure, righteous rage.
She was already yelling by the time she whipped open the canvas flap of Arthur’s tent.
“Listen here, Mister Morgan, I don’t quite appreciate the implication that my child and I are anything more than a ray of goddamn sunshine in your otherwise miserable existence ! Just where exactly do you get off talking to Dutch about me like that?”
She swiped a hand out in his direction, catching the brim of his hat and knocking it off his head. “Do you have any idea the amount of work that I do for this camp? For you? “
She didn’t so much run out of things to yell at him as she did air to yell it with. Her chest heaved as she stared at him, getting madder every second she watched him.
Arthur was sitting on the edge of his cot taking his boots off when she had burst in after him. He hadn’t jumped, or even acted surprised, not even as his hat flew off his head to land near the far wall of his tent. He simply grinned, and continued pulling his boots off, chuckling softly as her volume increased. He leaned over to place the boots at the end of his cot, finally looking up at her as he lay back on the bed. He studied her for a moment while he lay there, then he sat up stretching his neck and unbuttoning his collar while he spoke.
“Well, Missus Marston, I know it may be common practice for you to enter a man’s quarters,but I think Miss Grimshaw may take offense with you bein’ here. You know, what with you being a mother and a taken woman an' all…..”
His lips curled with a wolfish grin as he rubbed his knuckles over the dark stubble on his chin.
Abigail was so angry she could spit
“Fuck you Arthur!”
Arthur threw his hands in the air defensively
“See, that’s the spirit! I’m just saying, if you already don’t care about your reputation, why not do us all a favor and make some money out of it? It’s the oldest profession for a reason, darlin’”
Abigail laughed, a short sharp bark of a laugh. She most certainly did not think he was funny.
She stared down at him with narrowed eyes
“Oh, you’d love that wouldn’t you? That way you’d finally have a chance, seeings how money’s the only thing that could get me in bed with you!”
He leaned back on his elbows to look up at her, running his tongue over the pointed tip of his incisor as he studied her.
“Oh I can promise you one thing,sugar: I ain’t paid a pro since I was a youngin’, but the day I do, I’ll be sure to pick the pony that hadn't been ridden by every feller that’s strolled through this camp.”
A sharp crack split the silence of the night that hung heavy around the tent. Abigail’s palm stung; she quickly brought the hand back to her side, balling it into a tight fist. Her heart was in her throat as she watched the bright red hand print rising into a welt on the cowboy’s cheek.
Arthur finally seemed surprised
He pursed his lips and nodded
“Well, I s’pose I earned that one….. which is why I’m gonna let it slide.”
Abigail laughed sarcastically
“Oh really? You’re gonna ‘let it slide’?”
She wrung her hands, feigning supplication
“Oh please Arthur Morgan, accept my undying gratitude for you giving a silly little hooker like me a second chance! Maybe one day I can be as upstanding and proper a citizen as you! The poet and statesman…. And card sharking, cattle rustlin’, stealin’ killin’ son of a bitch that Dutch turned you into!”
At the mention of his surrogate father’s name, Arthur’s eyes darkened.
“All right now…… Why don’t you call it a night ‘fore that little mouth of yours gets you into more trouble than your hand did?”
He stood up, his large frame towering over her, but having found a nerve to strike, Abigail felt no fear. She straightened up, staring him in the eye.
“Or what, Arthur?”
He cocked his head, looking her up and down like he was trying to decide if he was angry or entertained.
“Or maybe I teach you some manners. Seems to me like you aint never had a strong man to do it for you.”
Abigail felt her cheeks burn and her eyes flared with anger
“Oh, I’d like to see you try!”
On the final word she swung at Arthur again, her palm splayed wide to smack that teasing grin right off his face. What she hadn’t expected was his large hand to wrap around her wrist and pull her forward, down over his lap.
She gasped loudly as his knees caught her stomach and her nose nearly touched the ground. He had both her wrists now, pulled taut over her head, keeping her pinned on his lap. The angle and quick transition had her disoriented, but as soon as she felt his large hand sliding down her back to cup one of her ass cheeks she started to struggle.
“Get your hands off of me, you low down cur! I’ll - I’ll scream! I’ll call for Dutch, Miss Grimshaw! “
She felt Arthur lean in close to press his lips to her ear, his torso squeezing her tightly against his lap. His voice rough and husky, and she could smell the liquor on his breath
“Come on now, girl. You knew what you were getting into when you followed me in here tonight.”
He laughed, a deep chuckle rumbling up through his chest
“Hell, part of me thinks you was hopin’ this would happen. How else do you explain gettin’ me all riled up when you know what kind of man I am?”
He nuzzled against her cheek, his stubble scrubbing roughly against her skin. Abigail cried out, partially out of discomfort, but partially out of surprise at her body’s response to the cowboy’s hot breath on her skin. She squeezed her thighs together, shocked by the slick that was dampening her undergarments.
This would be yet another occurrence she would blame on the alcohol the following morning.
Arthur laughed again and slipped his hand under the hem of her long skirt, slowly hitching it up until he could toss it over her shoulder. He patted her through the thin material of her undergarments, nodding his head appraisingly at the wetness he felt soaking through the linen.
He gave a low whistle and growled,
“ Well, would you look at that! You just as ready to go as I am! Ain’t John took care of you ‘fore he run off?”
Abigail wanted to yell, wanted to call him every name under the sun, but the only sound she could manage was a soft whimper. His hands felt very, very good.
Without realizing it, she leaned back , pulling against the grip around her wrists to chase the warmth of his hand.
Arthur gave another low chuckle then with a single swift tug tore away Abigail’s bloomers at the waist; the loose material fell to hang at the backs of her knees. The cool night air on her feverish skin raised gooseflesh on her arms and she cried out.
The sensation was immediately followed by the shock of Arthur's rough palm against the soft flesh of her back side. She could feel the handprint shaped burn raising into a welt on her skin. She bit down hard on her lip, refusing to give him any more of the wanton noises that threatened to burst out of her.
“Now that’s for swingin’ on me the second time! And this one-”
He raised his hand and brought it down against her ass cheek, his palm slapping the same raw flesh. Abigail whined, but buried her face in Arthur’s leg to smother the sound. If he wanted to hear all the noises she could make, he was going to have to earn them.
“This one was for knocking my hat off.”
His vice grip on her wrists released and she could feel the pressure of his stiff cock as it pressed into her side. The hand he had spanked her with suddenly turned kind, gently trailing its tips across her scorched skin. He skated his fingers down towards her leg, slipping around to the inside of her thigh before dragging through her wet folds.
Abigail could no longer contain her cries, a low moan spilling out of her as Arthur fingers fluttered over her clit.
“Now….. seems to me, John left us both high and dry” Arthur growled, grinding his hard tip into her ribs.
“We've both said some less than charitable things about the other. Why don’t we let bygones be bygones……try an’ make this an enjoyable night for everyone involved?”
He turned his palm over to pat her wet cunt, his ring finger teasing her hole. Abigail gasped, her back arching involuntarily. It had been so long since she had been touched like this, even before John left ….
No, she needed to focus. She was angry at Arthur, furious even. But if just the tip of his thick finger felt this good…….
and there was no way of knowing when John would be back.
If he was ever coming back.
But why did it have to be him ?
She wriggled against him for a moment, trying and failing to free herself but succeeding in making his cock even harder.
“N-no, no!” she stammered out, “We can't! I'm not- What about John?” She offered weakly, only half meaning it.
Arthur chuckled darkly and teased
“What about little John? You can't tell me there haven't been nights where you two are laid up in that tent across the way where you find yourself thinkin’ of me.”
He grinned wolfishly; he noticed the blush creeping across Abigail's cheeks to color her throat. He released her wrists to twine a large hand through her loose bun; he pulled her head back to watch her face as he spoke, his eyes sparkling with pleasure at the soft hiss of pain and pinched expression she wore. His voice was low and husky, mocking her.
“I can just picture it now: John's asleep after three minutes of the most boring humping this side of the old soldiers home and you're laying there, staring up at the sky, listening to him snore. I'll bet you've had to stop yourself more times than you can count from sneaking out through that canvas flap and climbing into bed with me so I could show you how a real man takes care of a woman.”
His finger drifted from her quivering hole to trace lazy circles into her clit, and Abigail trapped his hand with a squeeze of her thighs.
She moaned into his legs, his pants muffling her cry of pleasure and frustration. She rolled her head to lay her face on his lap and look up at him with fiery eyes.
“ Fine, goddamn it……..” She relented
“This is only happening because I'm drunk. We're not telling anyone about this and it's never happenin’ again.”
Arthur laughed,
“If that's what you've gotta tell yourself so you can pretend you haven't been dyin’ for it, be my guest, baby girl.”
“You're a reprobate, Arthur Morgan.”
She felt his grip in her hair tighten
“That's a new one. Normally you women folk just call me a dog before I make you cum.”
Abigail opened her mouth to retort, but her words died in her throat, lost to a deep wail as Arthur plunged two fingers inside her pussy.
She arched, pulling against the hair twisted in Arthur’s fist, her bare toes slipping against the grass as they sought purchase for some kind of leverage against the sudden intrusion.
She braced herself against him, gripping his knee as he pumped inside her, flexing and curling his fingers against her slick walls. Her breaths husked out of an open mouth along with raspy profanities.
He nuzzled his cheek against hers, shushing and murmuring softly, like he was soothing a spooked horse
“Easy, girl. Thaaaat's it! Lookit you, takin’ two fingers right outta the gate! You were just ready ‘n waitin’ for me, huh? You just allll wound up, ain't ya?”
He furrowed his brow, suddenly very aware of the tightness of his pants. He tugged on Abigail's hair, the corner of his lips curling when he heard the breathy whimper he conjured. The squeeze of her body around his fingers was intoxicating, spinning his head more than a shot of Uncle's moonshine.
She bucked against his hand, her pussy wetly slapping against his palm.
He chuckled
“I'd expected Jack woulda ruined ya, maybe that's why John ran out on you. But, Jesus, you're tighter than a nun.”
Abigail shook her head angrily, ignoring the scream in her scalp. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she rode his fingers. She gritted her teeth and hissed
“Oh shut the hell up, Arthur! Just l-let me cum and don't ruin it by being yourself!”
She sank back fully onto his fingers and pressed her clit against his palm. She could feel the pressure of an orgasm building below her navel, threatening to crest.
Arthur laughed loudly
“Oh, I don't think I'll be lettin’ you do that just yet.”
He lifted his hips from his cot to grind his cock into her ribs as he mercilessly pulled his fingers from her pussy. With a quick snatch of her hair, Arthur had her on her feet only to toss her face down on the cot a moment later, her stomach catching the edge and folding her in half.
Hot, frustrated tears blurred her vision and suddenly, her skirts were thrown over her head leaving her to stare into the tear-warbled darkness.
Through the buffer of her woolen skirt, she heard the jingle of Arthur's belt buckle.
Abigail had heard gossip from the women around the camp who had either claimed to be friendly with Arthur or to have accidentally stumbled upon him while he was bathing: Arthur and his manhood were a topic of wide eyed whispers and nervous, tittering giggles.
She had herself only been able to make an educated assumption about his endowment, aided in part by a particularly worn pair of his saddle jeans.
But when she felt the head of his cock slide through her wet folds and press against her hole, her stomach dropped to her toes.
“Alright Mrs. Marston, I'm gon’ go slow to start….but I ain't goin’ easy on ya after that.”
She felt his large hand splay wide between her shoulders, pinning her to the bed.
Arthur sighed and pushed his swollen tip inside her, and Abigail understood why the women’s eyes went wide.
She ground her lower lip between her teeth, feeling every inch of Arthur stretching her as he sunk slowly into her. Their hips touched, and he held her there for a moment, his grip denting the soft flesh on her sides. Suddenly, he bucked his hips, pulling out then slamming his cock deep inside her, fast and hard.
Abigail cried out, lifting up off the mattress onto her elbows;the tears that clung to her lashes now rolled down her cheeks.
Again, Arthur soothed her.
He pet her hair and wiped her cheek with one hand while the other gripped her shoulder tightly so he could continue to pound into her.
“ Ahhhhhh, good girl-” he panted, leaning down to press a kiss into the back of her head. His rest of his praise was accented by thrusts
“Goddammit girl-”
“This fucken pussy-”
“You fit like a glove, baby-”
Abigail hung her head and groaned loudly
“Oh my god Arthur,stop talking an’ let me cum goddammit!”
Arthur growled; he grabbed her by the hips and tossed her fully onto the cot. Abigail yelped and rolled onto her back as she landed, trying her best to keep her eyes on the unpredictable cowboy.
He nodded down towards her lap
“Well……..get to it then.”
Abigail furrowed her sweat damp brow, struggling to focus on what he was saying through the fog of arousal that was shrouding her brain.
“H-w-what? What are you talking about?”
“You heard me, you impatient heifer!”
Taking a few steps backward, Arthur leaned against the edge of a nearby side table. His cock was still out, its tip hard and shiny. He ducked his head to spit in his palm, then started to languidly stroke his length. He didn’t take his eyes off her for a single second. When he spoke, his voice was slow and deliberate, but it still made her jump.
“If you’re so damned impatient to cum, then go on! Get to it!”
He kicked the edge of the cot
“Get yourself all warmed up for me and let me see what you look like when you blow for real. That way I get a preview of the face I’m gonna have you making for the rest of the night and you can practice how you want to scream my name.”
Abigail rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to reply with something equally sassy, but Arthur cut her off.
“You’re free to leave whenever you are unsatisfied with my company, Mrs. Marston “ He leaned up from his seat on the table top, pointing toward the flap of the tent.
The small, pitiful sound that came out of her mouth caught Abigail off guard. Arthur turned his gaze back to her, and hummed approvingly. He settled back onto the table top and nodded down towards her. He spoke, and he had never sounded more condescending
“Well, let’s get goin’ then.”
Abigail would never admit this to any one, but she had never been more turned on in her entire life than she was in this moment.
She leaned back on her elbow and slipped one hand under her skirt, keeping her eyes on Arthur. She had just found her wet core when he tutted
“Uh uh uh now. How am I s’posed to enjoy the show if you never pull the curtain?”
He nudged the cot with his sock foot, a devilish grin on his lips.
Abigail breathed deeply, then, before she could stop herself, she raised her knees and parted her legs wide. Slowly, she grabbed the hem of her charcoal gray skirt and pulled it back down over her thighs to bunch it into a pile on her stomach. Her ruined undergarments hung limply around one thigh, exposing her aching, wet pussy. The cool air hitting her sensitive skin made her jump, her legs bouncing gently and knocking her knees together.
She moaned deeply when her fingers slid along the sides of her swollen clit; a loud ragged cry that nearly covered the sound Arthur made.
A deep, throaty growl of pleasure rumbled out of him as he watched her fingers disappear into her wet, needy hole.
Abigail wasted no time seeking her release. He pinky curled against her inner thigh as she shoved three fingers inside her, pumping and scissoring them with loud, wet squelches. Her thumb swiped over her swollen, overstimulated clit and she bucked against her hand, throwing her head back towards the sky.
Arthur stroked himself as he watched her, his cockhead sensitive and leaking. Suddenly, she sucked in a shuddery deep breath and stuttered out
“Oh….oh god.. Oh fuck I’m gon- I’m gonna……..uhhhhhh!”
Abigail writhed, her hips rising from the cot as she wailed through her orgasm. After a moment of hoarse whining, she sagged into the blankets, boneless and limp , one leg dangling off the side of the bed. Her eyes drifted closed and a sleepy smile stretched her lips.
Arthur chuckled, he sounded pleased.
“Feel better, now that you got it out of your system?”
Abigail opened one eye to glare at him, but after an orgasm that amazing it was difficult to be annoyed at anyone, even Arthur Morgan.
He leaned up off the end table and sauntered across the small tent to stand over her; his cock bounced with the movement, pendulous and full.
He looked down at her with an expression that could have passed for warmth had it been on the face of any other person besides Arthur Morgan. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss into each of her hips before clamping his teeth around the small pouch of her stomach with a hungry growl. She squirmed and tried to raise up onto her elbows, but suddenly found herself caged in by Arthur’s arms. His weight bore down on top of her, pinning her arms underneath her.
“Eaaaaaase on back there, girl. I got ya. “
His voice was a fine silk while his rough hands caressed her body, sliding up her bare legs to her waist to tug her shirt tail loose. With a soft grunt of effort, he ripped her shirt open to reveal the pale skin of her torso, popping two buttons loose. Abigail gasped; had her arms not been buried in the mattress, she would have thrown them over her chest.
Her nipples were blush and hard and her breasts were full; it had been a week since she had stopped breastfeeding Jack but she was still producing. A pearly drop of milk beaded at the tip of one nipple then rolled down the fat rounded side of her breast to settle at the shelf of her ribcage. Arthur stared down at her with a curious look in his eye, then ran his middle finger along the wet trail on Abigail’s skin. He rubbed the liquid he collected between his thumb and finger before sucking them clean
“Well, I guess I was wrong: You are doing something to feed the gang.” Arthur chuckled, then ducked his head down close to her ribs. Suddenly, she gasped.
Abigail felt the wet heat of Arthur’s mouth close around her nipple; his tongue twirled around its tip and a moan spilled from deep within her as she felt the pressure and suction of him suckling on it. She wriggled under him, finally pulling her arms free to cradle his head against her chest. She pushed his hair back off his sweaty forehead, twisting a sandy lock around her finger before tucking it behind his ear.
Arthur sucked on her nipple, loud and greedy, his tongue darting out to catch an occasional stray drip. Meanwhile his hips pumped against her, his cock rubbing dryly against the bunched up skirt on her stomach.
Abigail nuzzled against his crown, breathing the musk of his sweat in deep.
He adjusted his weight, then she felt the pressure, pain and sudden fullness of his cock pushing into her. She choked on a sob and clung to his neck, every thrust threatening to split her in half; she gave a soft, wounded whimper with each pump.
One of Arthur's large hands slipped under her lower back, pushing their bodies even tighter together; The rough calluses of his palm scraped against her skin.
He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing heavily, and slowed the rhythm of his hips to a gentle rock . He licked his lips and barked out
“How careful do I need to be?”
Abigail leaned back into the mattress to look at him, her face sweaty and eyebrow knitted with confusion; she wasn't sure if he hadn't made sense or if his meaning had been lost to the second orgasm that she felt building low in her stomach and confounding her senses.
“What are you talking about, Arthur?”
Arthur rolled his eyes and growled softly, dropping his head to rest his cheek on her shoulder, frustration and exhaustion mounting.
“After y'had Jack, did the doctor say you were fit for more children?”
Abigail’s cheeks flushed a bright red and she looked away from his face to focus on a stain on the canvas wall behind him..
“I never… I never saw a doctor when I was with child. And I birthed him here in camp, John didn't fetch a doctor then either. Him and Sean had just rustled a head of sheep from a nearby farm and he was worried about drawing attention…..”
Arthur swore softly and smoothed her hair back from her face, kissing her cheek tenderly.
“Jesus, he’s a little boy out here playing pretend with a whole family…..”
He laid his head back on her shoulder and murmured into her skin
“Well, we don't need another mouth to feed……I'll think of something.”
Abigail started to question what he meant, but the words were punched out of her by the deep stab of Arthur’s cock. He pressed his lips to hers in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue quickly forcing her lips open. He filled her mouth, massaging her tongue with his before sucking on its tip; Abigail wasn’t sure if it was the lack of oxygen or the force with which he was pistoning inside her, but her head was spinning. Her second orgasm came quick and loud. And wet
She buried her heels into the backs of Arthur’s calves, digging in as she bared down against the blossoming fire in her core.
“Ar-Arthur! Arthur, oh fuck……. Oh please don’t- don’t stop! Don’t stop, I’m gonna cum! I’m gon-”
She clamped her teeth against the corded muscle of his neck, muffling her scream in the tan sweaty skin. Arthur groaned, pain from the bite and the squeeze of her body around him blending to create a curious and overwhelming sensation as he fucked her through her aftershocks. A rush of slick soaked Abigail’s thighs and she whined softly.
Arthur patted her cheek and chuckled gently then kissed her forehead
“That’s a good girl”
He rose up onto his knees and inched up her torso to settle on her chest. Abigail wrapped her arms around his back and watched him as he pumped his aching cock , brushing it against her swollen lips.
“Now open up for me and swallow what I give you, a’ight?” His voice was stern, like a father meting out responsibilities to a disobedient child.
She couldn’t manage English, so she nodded, her eyes wide.
Arthur ran a hand through her bangs, brushing them back off her forehead before he twisted the hair in his fingers and shoved his cock in her mouth.
If he seemed big in her pussy, Abigail felt like Arthur’s cock was going to kill her as it rammed against the back of her throat.
He fucked into the back of her mouth with a renewed intensity, his eyes screwed shut and sweat beading at his temples. She choked noisily against his member, drool streaming out of the corners of her mouth to settle in the creases of her neck. She struggled to breathe around his cock, sucking in air between thrusts.
Arthur made a strangled sound, his breath hitching in his chest; he cupped her cheek with his free hand
“Uhhhhhfffffuuucck baby girl………..”
He tightened his grip on her scalp and pumped into her mouth, a breathy moan punctuating each thrust. Then, with a loud groan, he came, filling her mouth with saline heat. She gagged at the volume, a drop escaping her lips to roll down her neck and onto Arthur's pillow. She swallowed hard, never taking her eyes off the man on top of her.
Arthur rolled off her chest to snuggle in beside her on the narrow cot. He nuzzled his face against the lone pillow, wiping the sweat off his forehead before sliding an arm behind Abigail’s neck. He sighed, loud and content.
“So, what was it you was trying to tell me about all the work you do around camp?”